Category: English

The clock read six in the morning when I got up to make Avery’s oatmeal. Her stomach was delicate, so this was a non-negotiable part of my daily routine. At nine, she slammed a set of divorce papers on the dining table. “Just sign them,” she said, her voice as cold as the marble tabletop. “There’s no point in dragging this out.” I walked over, the bowl of oatmeal still in my hand. I flipped to the third page: division of assets. The house and the car were both listed under her name. I turned to the last page. A supplementary clause, number seven, practically screamed at me: The husband voluntarily forfeits all claims to any and all marital property. “The mortgage,” I heard myself say, “there’s still seven hundred and thirty thousand left on it.” She didn’t even look up. “My dad made the down payment. The house is in my name. It has nothing to do with you.” I set the oatmeal down, picked up the pen, and signed. The moment my name was complete, the strength drained from my fingers, and the pen clattered to the floor. She gathered the papers, tucked them into her handbag, and walked out without a backward glance. At the door, she tossed one last command over her shoulder. “I want you out by today. Leave your key on the shoe cabinet.” After the door clicked shut, I looked at the electrical box in the entryway. Taped to it was a piece of A4 paper I’d put up last year, covered in my neat handwriting: a dense list of repair numbers for every appliance, filter replacement schedules, and password backups. I peeled the paper off, folded it carefully, and put it in my own bag. 1 It took me six hours to move everything I owned. “Everything” wasn’t much. Two suitcases. One box of clothes, one box of books. That was the sum of my existence in that home after four years of marriage. The rest of it—the sofa, the dining table, the curtains, the rugs—they were all part of the scenery of “home,” but none of them bore my name. On my last trip out, I stood in the doorway and took one final look around. The indicator light on the water purifier under the kitchen sink was blinking. The filter needed changing. I didn’t tell her. I left the key on the shoe cabinet. The password for the door lock—I didn’t tell her I’d changed that, either. She’d come home drunk last October and couldn’t get the door open. I was the one who got up in the middle of the night to reset it for her. The new password was a string of numbers she didn’t know. But she’d never asked what it was. Because I was always the one who opened the door. I was dragging my suitcases toward the community gate when old Mr. Zhang from the management office called out to me. “Mr. Hayes, this month’s parking fee—” “You’ll have to get it from Avery from now on.” He looked surprised, probably wanted to ask why. I didn’t explain. I just nodded at him and got into the waiting taxi. The car was quiet. The driver asked where to. “East side. 17 Peace Road.” It was a place I’d rented three months ago. Small, a one-bedroom, twenty-three hundred a month. I’d paid the deposit and first month’s rent out of my “private” money. Private money. The term was almost laughable. For four years, my monthly salary was eighty-six hundred. Forty-seven hundred for the mortgage was automatically deducted from my account. Eighteen hundred for the car payment, also from my account. Internet, gas, property management, heating, water purifier rental, parking fee—that was another twelve hundred a month. What was left, less than a thousand, was the only money that was truly mine. It took me three years to save thirty-four thousand. Thirty-four thousand. Less than what she’d spend on a single dinner with a client. The taxi pulled up to 17 Peace Road. I hauled my boxes upstairs, unlocked the door, and stepped into an empty room. The only furniture was a folding bed and a bag of bedding I’d snuck over last weekend. I dropped my luggage and sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Are you out?” “I’m out.” “Did you leave the key?” “I left it.” “Good. Did she give you any trouble?” I thought for a moment. “No. She didn’t even look to see what I was taking.” There was a pause on the other end. Then my mom said, “You should have left a long time ago.” I said, “Yeah.” After hanging up, I lay on the folding bed and stared at the ceiling. A thin crack ran from the light fixture to the corner of the room. I stared at it for a long time. It suddenly occurred to me that this little crack felt more real than anything I had experienced in that house over the past four years. Three days after the divorce, Avery called me for the first time. It was eleven at night. “Rhys, the internet’s down. Do you know the password?” I was eating a bowl of instant noodles. It was the first time I’d tried to cook for myself since the move. I’d found the fridge empty and the stove disconnected, so I’d gone downstairs and bought a cup of noodles. “Which password?” I asked. “The router. I’ve restarted it a bunch of times, but it won’t connect.” “Check the back of the router. There should be a default password.” “I did. It’s not working. Did you change it?” I had. Three times. The first time was when we moved in; the default password was too simple. The second time was after her colleague came over and hogged all the bandwidth; I changed the password and limited the speed. The third time was last year, during a big online sale; she complained the internet was slow and told me to “fix it.” Every time, I was the one who fixed it. “The password I set is in my phone’s notes,” I said. “It’s your internet. You can call customer service and have them reset it for you.” “Why can’t you just tell me?” I slurped a mouthful of noodles, saying nothing. “Rhys?” “Avery, we’re divorced.” She probably wasn’t expecting me to say that. She was quiet for a couple of seconds. “I know we’re divorced. I’m just asking for a password.” “The internet contract is in my name, signed with my ID. If you want, you can go to the service center and transfer it to your name, or just get a new one.” She hung up. I finished my noodles, washed the bowl, dried my hands, and opened a document on my phone. The title was “Home Operations Manual.” I’d started compiling it last year. One hundred and forty-seven items in total. From the mortgage payment account to the model number of the air conditioner filter, from the property manager’s phone number to the login password for our son’s kindergarten portal. One hundred and forty-seven items, each one meticulously detailed. I hadn’t sent her the list. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. She hadn’t asked. She had asked for a password. She hadn’t asked, “Just how many things in this house were you actually taking care of?” The two questions were worlds apart. On the fifth day, Avery called again. This time it was in the afternoon, around three-thirty. She sounded more frantic. “The property manager just called. The heating bill is due. If it’s not paid, they’re shutting it off next week. Did you pay it or not?” It was December. Six degrees below zero outside. Without heat, the house would be an icebox. “The heating bill is paid every October. I paid this year’s bill in October.” “Then why are they saying it’s not paid?” “You’ll have to ask them. The receipt is in the second drawer of the TV stand in the living room. Blue folder. Third document from the left.” I heard some rustling on her end. “There’s no blue folder.” “Then check somewhere else.” A few more minutes passed. She found it. “Okay, got it. The receipt is in your name. They said the homeowner information has to be updated, or you can’t be the one to pay next year. I have to sign a new contract myself.” “Right.” “So what do I need to do?” “Go to the management office. Bring the property deed, your ID, and fill out a change-of-information form.” Silence. “You did this every year?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t you ever ask me to go?” I almost laughed. Ask you? Avery, in four years of marriage, you never even knew where the management office was. “I didn’t not ask you. You never offered.” More silence. This time, it lasted longer. Then she said, “I see,” and hung up. I put my phone down and looked out the window. The heating at 17 Peace Road wasn’t great. The radiator was only lukewarm to the touch. I sat on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. I was cold. But my cold was something I could solve myself—add another blanket, turn on a space heater. Her cold required someone else to solve it. And that someone else was gone. On the seventh day, things really started to blow up. At eight in the morning, I was brushing my teeth when my phone buzzed four times in a row. All messages from Avery. The first: “Car payment is overdue.” The second: “Did you not pay it?” The third: “I just got a late notice from the bank on my phone.” The fourth: “Rhys, what the hell is going on?” I finished rinsing, wiped my face, and then picked up my phone. I typed back: “The car payment was linked to my bank account for automatic withdrawal. I made the last payment before the divorce. Starting this month, you need to set up your own payment method.” She replied instantly: “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I stared at those five words. I found them fascinating. Why didn’t you tell me sooner. As if I had some obligation to remind her which bank account her own car payment was being drawn from. That car. She made the down payment. The monthly payment was eighteen hundred. But starting from the third month, she “forgot” to transfer the money to the payment card. I reminded her twice. The first time, she said, “Just cover it for now, I’ll pay you back.” The second time, she said, “Don’t you have money in your account? Just set up an automatic payment, it’s easier.” I’ll pay you back. She never did. It’s easier. Easier for her. Eighteen hundred a month for forty-five months. Eighty-one thousand. Add to that my share of the mortgage, the internet, the property fees, the heating, the utilities, the parking spot… I’d calculated it once. In four years, I had poured nearly three hundred thousand into that home. Three hundred thousand. Enough to buy a two-bedroom apartment outright back in my hometown. I never showed her the math. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. It was that caring would have been pointless. The divorce agreement clearly stated: The husband voluntarily forfeits all claims to any and all marital property. Voluntarily. Yes, I had signed it. Because I knew a truth that Avery didn’t. That entire household, every single part of it, was running on a backend system named Rhys. And when Rhys logged out, the machine would simply grind to a halt. I didn’t need to fight for anything. The system itself would show her the truth.

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1 As my soul drifted from my body and floated out of the basement, I expected to be hit by a wave of heat so intense it could melt flesh. Instead, I was greeted by a blast of cold air from the air conditioner, a chill that made my spectral form shiver. In the living room, Liam was sprawled on the sofa, clapping his hands and roaring with laughter. “This is brilliant! My ‘brother’ actually bought that whole scorching apocalypse story. He’s hopelessly stupid!” My wife, Isabelle, scoffed from beside him. “Serves him right for always lording his ‘true heir’ status over you, Liam. Now he knows who’s in charge.” My son, Charlie, was clinging to Liam’s arm, his voice a childish chime. “Don’t worry, Daddy Liam. I’ll protect you. I won’t let that bad man take your things anymore!” But the sight that truly chilled me to the bone was my sister, Victoria. The sister who I thought had perished from thirst in the imaginary heatwave. She was sitting right next to Liam, carefully peeling grapes and feeding them to him. “Don’t you worry, Liam. If he ever tries to bully you again, I’ll cut him out of my life for good.” The thermostat read a mild eighty degrees, but I felt as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. The so-called scorching apocalypse, from beginning to end, was nothing but an elaborate hoax designed to break me. All of them, my entire family, had conspired to help this imposter get his revenge on me. I thought back to thirty days ago, when Victoria had “died” in the fictional heat. I had left the last bottle of water for my wife and son, scrawling a final note: If I die, you can live a few days longer. Then, I had sliced open my own wrist. Now, that bottle of water, that suicide note, my own death—it all felt like a colossal, cosmic joke. … I hovered in the air, a weightless observer of my own demise. I looked down at myself, a broken figure lying in a pool of my own blood. My lips were cracked and split from dehydration, my cheeks hollowed out by starvation. On my wrist, beneath the fresh, fatal wound, were several older, deeper scars. Scars from a few weeks ago, when Victoria was “dying of thirst,” and I had desperately cut my own arm, trying to get her to drink my blood. It was all fake. In the entire house, I was the only one suffering through the end of the world. Liam sipped on an ice-cold Coke, his eyes filled with mock pity as he looked at Isabelle and Charlie. “It’s so hot out. I can’t believe you two have to suffer in that basement with him. It’s torture.” “Why don’t we… stage another scene?” he suggested. “You could fake your deaths, just like Victoria did. Then you’d never have to go back.” Charlie’s face lit up, and he was about to agree. “No,” Isabelle said sharply. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought she was saying it out of concern for me. Then she frowned, her eyes filled with disgust. “Connor is too cunning. If we didn’t go back, he’d get suspicious and come looking for us. The whole thing would be ruined.” “We agreed to lock him up for a full month to teach him a lesson for what he did to you, Liam. Not a day less,” she said firmly. “It’s only one more day. We can wait.” A month. A cold dread washed over my soul, making it tremble. Liam had framed me, claiming I’d pushed him down the stairs and broken his leg. He was in the hospital for exactly one month. Victoria had slapped me across the face on the spot. To get back at Liam’s “attacker,” she shoved me down a flight of stairs herself. As I lay in a pool of my own blood with multiple fractures, it was Isabelle who rushed me to the hospital, her face etched with worry. She had sworn she didn’t care about the accusations, that she would always believe me. But in the end, she was still in on it, still punishing me for something I never did. And my son, the boy I had raised with all my love, was now cuddling up to Liam, whining. “I don’t wanna go back! I don’t want that selfish, evil man to be my daddy! I want to be with Daddy Liam forever!” His clear, childish voice was a poisoned dagger, plunging straight into my heart. Even in death, the pain was visceral, tearing me apart. A flicker of triumph crossed Liam’s face, but he feigned sympathy, stroking Charlie’s hair. “Don’t be angry, Charlie. Your aunt Victoria already posted the security footage online. Everyone is on our side now, teaching him a lesson for me!” In that instant, I felt a new kind of cold, a deep, soul-level chill. I looked at my sister in disbelief. She smiled and held up a tablet. On the screen was a video with over a million views. It was a compilation of my last month in the basement. The comment section was a flood of vitriol. “I heard this guy is the nanny’s son. Not only did he steal the real heir’s wife and kid, but he’s trying to steal his identity too!” “Thank God the sister is standing up for the real heir, locking that scum in the basement to give him what he deserves.” “Shameless bastard. He should just die and spare the world his presence.” Reading the hateful words on the screen, my heart grew colder and colder. Liam was the nanny’s son. His mother had switched us at birth. I had spent my childhood in the countryside, enduring endless abuse and neglect before my wealthy parents finally found me and brought me home. But on the way back, they were killed in a car crash. From that day on, Victoria hated me. “If you hadn’t insisted on coming back, Mom and Dad would still be alive!” she would scream. Her hatred and prejudice blinded her. No matter what happened, she always took Liam’s side. When I showed her the scars from my childhood abuse, she just sneered. “Liar! You’re just making that up to frame Liam’s mother!” When Liam deliberately tore his own suit and cried that I had done it, she didn’t even ask for my side of the story. She ripped all of my clothes to shreds and locked me in a closet for three days. With Victoria’s unwavering support, Liam’s games became more and more frequent. Over time, her patience with me wore away completely, replaced by a deep-seated loathing. “Connor,” she had spat at me once, “why wasn’t it you who died? I never should have brought you back!” She had forgotten. The only reason the nanny had the chance to switch us was because Victoria, as a child, had wandered off and left me alone. Seeing the smug smile on her face now, a knife twisted in my gut. Charlie tapped the screen, playing the most-viewed clip. It was a video of me on my hands and knees, licking condensation off a rusty pipe to save our drinking water for Isabelle and Charlie. The water was filthy, tainted with rust, but I lapped it up greedily, as if it were the finest nectar. The comments mocked me, calling me disgusting and pathetic for drinking sewer water. A lump formed in my throat. Tears I could no longer shed burned behind my eyes. We should have had enough water. But Charlie had thrown a tantrum, demanding a cold soda, and had deliberately knocked over one of our precious water bottles. By the time I noticed, the puddle had already evaporated, leaving me with no choice but to lick the rusty pipes. At the time, Isabelle and Charlie had just looked at me with annoyance. “It’s just one bottle of water. Do you have to be so dramatic?” But all I could think was: If I drink a little less, they can last a little longer. My mind was filled with love, with sacrifice. To them, it was just weakness. Pathetic. They had been lying all along. All of them. Hiding behind a screen, watching me struggle like a dying animal, watching me abandon my dignity just to survive. They recorded my suffering and broadcast it to the world, turning me into a laughingstock. I had never felt such despair. Suddenly, someone in the comments noticed something. “Is the video frozen? Why is he just lying in the corner, not moving?” Victoria and Isabelle paused, zooming in on today’s live feed. The next second, they saw me, motionless in a pool of blood. Their faces went white. “Connor!” They scrambled toward the basement, about to break down the door. But Liam, a flicker of venom in his eyes, stepped in front of them. His voice was soft, innocent. “Victoria, Isabelle, wait… I think I saw him buy some fake blood props a while back.” “He’s a clever one,” Liam continued, planting the seed of doubt. “He’s probably faking it to make you feel sorry for him, to trick you into letting him out early. If you go in there now, you’ll be playing right into his hands. He’ll use this ‘apocalypse’ prank to hold over your heads forever!” Victoria froze. Isabelle hesitated, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. Seeing his chance, Liam tugged on Charlie’s sleeve. “Charlie saw him with the fake blood that day, didn’t you, buddy?” To my utter horror, my son nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes! It’s all fake! Dad bought it from a movie prop store!” In that moment, what was left of my heart turned to dust. Victoria exploded with rage. She kicked the basement door with all her might. “You ungrateful bastard! We’ve spoiled you so rotten you’d even fake your own death to trick us?” “If you hadn’t crippled Liam, would he have been in the hospital for a month? You owe him this! You still don’t get it, do you? Get out here and apologize to Liam!” Isabelle’s face was a stony mask as she stared at the monitor. “Connor, how dare you lie to me in front of our son? What kind of father are you?” “Stop the act. Just come out, apologize to Liam, and swear you’ll never bully him again, and we can put this behind us,” she said, her voice cold. “The three of us can finally be a proper family.” I stared at her, invisible tears falling to the floor. Isabelle, there is no ‘us’ anymore. When there was still no movement from inside, their frustration curdled into fury. Victoria kicked the door again, her voice a disgusted snarl. “Connor! If you don’t want to come out, then you can stay in there forever! Rot in there for all I care!” Isabelle scooped up Charlie, took Liam’s hand, and walked away without looking back. “Liam, he’s gone too far this time.” “What do you want? I’ll buy you anything you want right now to make up for this.” As they left, Liam shot a triumphant, mocking glance back at the basement door. The house fell silent, leaving me trapped, my soul drowning in an endless, cold despair. Two weeks passed. They never came back to the basement. Because of Charlie’s lie, Isabelle remained convinced I was just throwing a tantrum. In a fit of pique, she had my clothes and belongings thrown out of the house. Victoria took down our family portraits, replacing them with photos of her and Liam. They openly moved Liam into my home, into my life. To spite me, they instructed the staff to address him as “Mr. Ashworth.” Any servant who dared to mention my name was fired on the spot. They were systematically erasing me, trying to force me out of hiding to beg for Liam’s forgiveness. But only I knew the truth. I was already dead. I was never coming out of that basement. Liam, now the master of the house, held Isabelle in his arms, his voice laced with false concern. “Connor is being so stubborn. Still holding a grudge after all this time.” “What do you think he’ll do when he finally comes out and sees how things have changed? Will he blame me?” Victoria sneered. “He’s the one who’s being childish, picking a fight with our Liam. He has no right to be angry.” Charlie squeezed Liam’s hand, raising a small fist. “Don’t be scared, Daddy Liam. I’m here. I won’t let that bad man hurt you!” Isabelle’s face was dark, her lips twisted in a contemptuous smirk. “If he dares to cause a scene, I’ll have to seriously reconsider whether he’s fit to be my Mr. Ashworth.” A calculating glint appeared in Liam’s eyes. That night, an anonymous online post went viral, outing Liam as an imposter and a homewrecker who had stolen my place. Isabelle and Victoria frantically tried to get it taken down, but it was too late. It was the top trending topic in the city. A maid rushed in, her voice shrill with panic. “Ma’am! It’s Mr. Liam! He couldn’t take the online attacks… he tried to kill himself!” They raced to his room and found him on the bed, a few shallow, superficial scratches on his wrist. They reacted as if he were dying, rushing him to the hospital. All the way there, Charlie clung to his hand, sobbing. “Daddy Liam, please be okay! Please don’t die!” The doctor quickly bandaged the minor cuts. Liam lay in the hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, the picture of a tragic victim. “Isabelle… Victoria… don’t blame Connor,” he whispered weakly. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who took his place. He has every right to hate me.” That was all it took. Victoria erupted. “That bastard! How dare he do this to you! He should have just rotted in that basement!” Isabelle’s face was livid, her eyes filled with a new level of hatred for me. “Don’t you worry, Liam. I’m going to drag him here right now and make him kneel at your feet and beg for forgiveness!” She called my phone dozens of times. Of course, there was no answer. Finally, in a rage, she called my assistant. His voice trembled on the other end of the line. “Mrs. Ashworth… Mr. Ashworth hasn’t been to the office in two weeks. We’ve lost several major projects…” “It was Mr. Liam,” the assistant stammered. “He told me not to tell you, he said he didn’t want you to worry…” Liam immediately started crying, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “I thought he was just being moody,” he sobbed. “I thought he’d be back in a few days. I never thought he’d actually abandon his responsibilities.” “He can hurt me all he wants,” he choked out, “but the company… that’s your life’s work! He’s gone too far! Victoria, Isabelle, you have to do something!” Isabelle’s face was grim, her disappointment hardening into pure fury. “That bastard! It wasn’t enough to ruin your reputation, now he’s trying to ruin our company? Unforgivable!” Charlie’s face was red with anger. “Bad man! He hurt Daddy Liam! He’s not my daddy anymore!” Victoria was trembling with rage. “I’m disowning him! From now on, Liam is my only brother!” I heard all of this, but I was numb. The pain was gone, replaced by a cold emptiness. I floated above them as they called a press conference. “The online posts are lies, fabricated by Connor Ashworth to frame our Liam!” Victoria declared. Isabelle held up a photo of herself and Liam. “My husband has always been Liam! Connor is the one who has been obsessively stalking me!” Victoria produced a doctored birth certificate. “Liam is my biological brother! Connor is an imposter trying to steal the life and love that rightfully belongs to him!” Charlie clung to Liam’s arm and shouted at the cameras. “My only daddy is Liam! I don’t even know that bad man, Connor!” The cameras flashed. The crowd roared its outrage. “How can someone be so shameless!” “Get out of our city, Connor Ashworth! You homewrecking piece of trash!” Listening to the symphony of hatred directed at me, a smug, triumphant smile spread across Liam’s face. Suddenly, the wail of sirens cut through the noise. The doors to the conference hall burst open. Police officers walked purposefully toward the stage. One of them held up an evidence bag containing a blood-stained dagger. “We found Mr. Ashworth’s body in the basement of your residence.” The officer’s voice was flat, professional. “We suspect you may be involved in a murder investigation. Please come with us.”

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On the day of our third wedding anniversary, Joshua used work as an excuse to avoid coming home again. I opened the door to his home office and unexpectedly stumbled upon that journal. It turned out that in this marriage, I was nothing more than a living memorial to another woman. He had meticulously molded me into her exact likeness. But I decided to tear it all down with my own hands. I stopped being the submissive, obedient wife. I began systematically rebelling against every memory he held of his perfect phantom. The tension finally detonated during a massive fight, where I laid every single piece of his deception out in the open. I demanded a divorce. I told him to go find the woman he was so desperately obsessed with. Joshua completely broke down. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed, confessing that she had passed away years ago. I just stared at him with absolute ice in my veins and asked, if he couldn’t let her go, why didn’t he just go to the grave with her? 1 On our third anniversary, Joshua once again claimed he was too busy to celebrate. Even after I begged him, promising I had a massive surprise waiting for him. His voice remained flat, laced with irritation. “Grace, I really do not have the time today. Stop nagging me, alright?” Through the speaker, his voice was thick with exhaustion and alcohol, yet there was no background noise. No clinking glasses, no corporate chatter. Under what circumstances does a man drink heavily in complete silence? As the thought crossed my mind, the line went dead. The dial tone dropped into my stomach like a lead weight. I felt the weight sinking deeper, terrified of what I might find if I dug any further. Honestly, digging wouldn’t even make sense to me. Three years ago, Joshua supposedly fell in love with me at first sight. He pursued me aggressively from the moment we met. I never believed he was actually sincere. At the time, he was a thirty-year-old managing director. Sharp, mature, always in bespoke suits. I was fresh out of college. A naive, hyperactive design assistant who showed up to work in eccentric, colorful thrifted clothes. We were on entirely different frequencies. How could real feelings possibly develop between two people like that? I assumed he just found my aesthetic amusing. Something new to play with before tossing it aside. Plus, the massive gap in our social and financial standing made his pursuit feel almost predatory. I was terrified the office would start whispering that I was sleeping my way to the top. So, initially, I rejected him completely. But he didn’t stop. He spent three solid months trying to win me over. Fresh roses on my desk every single morning. Following my beat-up Vespa in his Audi just to make sure I got home safe. Stepping in to take the shots whenever a client tried to pressure me into drinking at networking events. When I called in sick with terrible cramps, he personally delivered premium ginger tea and hot water bottles… He actually brought me care packages all the time. I always pretended not to be home. I never opened the door. I never ate the food he left on the welcome mat. Maybe it was just the vulnerability of being in pain, genuinely wanting someone to care for me. But that day, I opened the door. I agreed to go out with him. His eyes actually welled up with tears. He reached out to pull me into a hug, but then clumsily stepped back. “I just came in from the cold. My jacket is freezing. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His gentle, overwhelming consideration acted like warm honey, sealing over every crack in my heart. In a moment of profound weakness, I believed in his so-called true love. The very next day, he handed me an engagement ring. That was three years ago. But marriage wasn’t the fairytale I had envisioned. The moment the ink dried on the certificate, Joshua’s blazing passion seemed to evaporate instantly. He was still gentle, but it was a gentleness laced with a chilling, detached apathy. He stopped being eager. He stopped trying. The dynamic between us completely flipped. I became the one constantly doting on him, managing his life down to the smallest detail. He, on the other hand, began dictating mine. The phrase I heard the most was how I needed to change to better fit the title of “Mrs. Mercer.” As for anything else… If I begged for a sweet word, he would throw me one. Never two. And never unprompted. I was devastated. The paralyzing fear of being tricked flooded back. But his family, his status, his wealth—they all eclipsed mine entirely. And he had already married me. We were legally bound. What could he possibly be tricking me into? Eventually, I chalked it up to the classic male flaw. The thrill of the chase was over, so he stopped valuing the prize. I convinced myself to just suck it up and live a peaceful life. But the one thing I absolutely could not tolerate was exactly what was happening right now. Every single year on our anniversary, Joshua refused to come home. Every year, he used work as an excuse. No matter how much I pleaded, seduced, or screamed, he would not budge. Why? I realized today had to be a significant date for Joshua. It just had absolutely nothing to do with me. He was definitely hiding something monumental. The thought made my skin crawl. I couldn’t sit still anymore. I couldn’t stomach a single bite of the elaborate anniversary dinner I had spent all day cooking. Before Joshua came home, I marched straight into his home office. Where do I even start looking? The massive mahogany bookshelves were crammed with hundreds of spines, making me dizzy. I hated reading. I had hated it since I was a kid. Joshua spent half his life locked in this room. When his coldness first started, I used to wonder if I was just too shallow for him. Did he get bored of my face? Was my mind not complex enough to hold his interest? But if that was true, why didn’t he just divorce me? Carrying that massive, suffocating question, I started tearing the room apart for clues. My eyes quickly locked onto a specific shelf. Sandwiched between dense volumes of political history and economic theory was a row of brightly colored fiction novels. It was a glaring anomaly. I reached out and pulled one down. I flipped to the author’s biography on the back flap. Staring back at me was a photo of a woman who looked exactly like me. At least a seventy percent match. Her name was Harper. She had long, jet-black hair. Her aura was elegant, gentle, and refined. The glossy photo looked like it had been obsessively rubbed by a thumb over and over again, the ink around her lips slightly faded. A hazy memory surfaced. I suddenly remembered Joshua sitting in his leather chair, staring blankly at this exact book. It was right after we got married. I was young, clingy, and desperate for validation. I couldn’t comprehend why a man who had rushed to marry me after three months had suddenly turned to ice. I convinced myself we just hadn’t built a deep enough emotional foundation. So I was always trying to coax him, clinging to him, begging for his attention. One night, he was in the office reading. I walked in, whining dramatically, draped myself over his shoulders, and told him I felt sick and needed him to coddle me. His reaction was to physically push me out of the room. “I am incredibly busy every single day. I am exhausted to the point of nausea. I do not have the time or the energy to coddle you.” “Take care of yourself and stop being a burden to me. Do you understand?” As he slammed the heavy office door in my face, cold tears burned my flushed cheeks. I stood frozen in the hallway for a long time. He wasn’t even working. He was just reading a book. It wasn’t an emergency. I couldn’t understand why he refused to spare even a fraction of his energy for me. But looking at this book now, everything made terrifying sense. The book he was reading that night was the exact one I was holding right now. The author was Harper. It was a book written by the woman he actually loved. The delusional mirage of his desperate love for me collapsed instantly. The reality was blindingly clear. No wonder Joshua “fell in love at first sight.” I met him on my first day of work. The very next day, I received roses. At first, I didn’t get it. I thought it was some weird corporate hazing or a welcome gift for new hires. But then they arrived the next day. And the next. My coworkers started teasing me. “Wow, Grace, your boyfriend is really going all out.” My stomach dropped. I didn’t have a boyfriend. And the card on the flowers only had the boss’s last name—Mercer. Filled with anxiety and suspicion, I found Joshua’s contact in the company directory and messaged him. He bypassed all small talk and immediately confessed. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” “Make me believe it.” Even as a terrified junior employee, I shut him down immediately. “No, I don’t.” The corporate world is full of sleazy executives using their power to prey on young assistants. But I was still confused. Usually, those old creeps kept things discreet. They would send late-night texts pre-loaded with “I’m so drunk” to give themselves an out. Why was Joshua doing this completely out in the open? His relentless pursuit became the loudest gossip in the office. I couldn’t figure it out. My coworkers couldn’t figure it out. But it turned out… Joshua was the only one who knew exactly what he was doing. What I thought was a fairy-tale romance was actually a calculated, psychological trap. What I thought was winning the lottery was the most degrading scam imaginable. He never loved me. He was obsessed with the ghost I happened to resemble. Back then, I only shared a passing resemblance to Harper. But Joshua spotted me in a crowd and instantly claimed me. Then, he went to work carving me into her shape. My bright red hair? He manipulated me into dyeing it jet black. My eclectic thrift-store clothes? He commanded me to dress “appropriately.” My loud, chaotic personality? Crushed under his demands for me to be “composed.” I was nothing but a lump of clay. A custom-built mannequin designed to hold his sick desires. I looked closer at the book jacket. Harper’s birthdate was printed in the author bio. It was today. Why did Joshua refuse to celebrate our anniversary? Because he was out mourning someone else. He purposely chose to marry me on Harper’s birthday. She was the only woman he ever wanted to marry… He couldn’t stand the thought of another woman claiming the most important day of his life. I understood everything now. There was nothing left to uncover. A wild, feral weed seemed to sprout inside me, wrapping its thorny vines tightly around my freezing heart. An overwhelming, violent urge to destroy everything surged through my veins. I wanted to rip the photo of that woman to shreds. But I stopped myself. The mystery wasn’t completely solved. If Joshua was so deeply obsessed with Harper, why wasn’t he with her? Why did he go to such psychotic lengths to build a replica? I pulled out my phone and searched for Harper’s name. Absolute dead end. The suffocation in my chest tightened. The hatred burned hotter. But I decided not to trash his office just yet. If Joshua’s obsession ran this deep, destroying his shrine might cause him to instantly throw me out on the street. I refused to accept that outcome. Not because I was heartbroken and couldn’t bear to lose him. But because it was violently unfair! Why the hell should I be the only one humiliated and emotionally mutilated in this sick game? I wanted revenge. I wanted to play with his reality exactly the way he had played with mine. I wanted him to watch his carefully constructed masterpiece shatter into a million pieces right in front of his eyes. I wanted his last three years to be as worthless and hollow as mine! With that thought, I put my phone away. I didn’t call him. I didn’t touch the massive anniversary feast I had cooked either. Instead, I boiled a huge pot of spicy instant ramen. Before I met Joshua, I ate this garbage all the time. But he hated it. He despised the smell of the artificial spices lingering in the apartment. I loved him, so I respected his rules. I sacrificed my own comfort. But now I knew I had sacrificed it all for a ghost. It was time to unleash my true self and actually love the person in the mirror. After I finished eating, I left the apartment to completely obliterate my current aesthetic. Even though it was past midnight. For the past two years, the moment the clock struck twelve—the exact moment Harper’s birthday ended—Joshua would walk through the front door. But right now, I couldn’t care less if he came home or not. Would he feel the same sickening panic I felt when he abandoned me? I didn’t care. I booked a late-night appointment at a 24-hour salon. Hair and nails, the full package. I used to be obsessed with acrylic stilettos. I got them done so often I could type a hundred words a minute with them on. My coworkers used to joke I was an elegant, lethal crab hacking away at my keyboard. But Joshua hated them. After we got married, he insisted I quit my job and let him provide for me. I became completely dependent on him. I lost my financial independence, and I lost my right to choose my own nail shape. He claimed acrylics were tacky and unnatural. He said my bare, natural nails looked much more refined. Back then, I thought I was just making myself beautiful for the man I loved. So I happily complied. Same went for my hair and makeup. I used to dye my hair every color of the rainbow. Neon pink, electric orange, platinum blonde. After Joshua “suggested” a change, I spent three years with pin-straight, jet-black hair. By the time I walked out of the salon, I looked like an entirely different human being. When I used to leave the house, people joked I looked like a walking traffic light. Lately, everyone told me I looked like a strict high school English teacher. Maybe looking like a gentle, intellectual wife wasn’t inherently a bad thing. At first, I even liked the polished version of myself. But after a while, it felt like a prison. Looking exactly the same every single day made me sick of my own reflection. But whenever I brought up cutting it or changing the color, Joshua would shut it down. Even though he was highly educated, he would feed me insane lies about UV nail lamps causing cancer, or hair dye seeping into my brain… He blocked every single attempt I made to change my appearance. Because he didn’t give a damn about my health. He only cared about maintaining the illusion of her. Right now, I didn’t care about the health risks either, even though I probably should have. I was pregnant. But that was a problem that was going to be solved very, very soon. 2 At 1:00 AM, Joshua called me. He must have finally walked through the front door. I answered, and his voice was tight with irritation. “It’s the middle of the night. Where are you?” I replied with casual indifference. “Getting my hair done.” His tone spiked into angry panic. “What are you doing to your hair?” I recalled a toxic joke and let out a cold laugh. “Exactly what it sounds like.” “Do you think I’d look better with cherry red or neon green?” “Probably green, right? What do you think?” I hung up before he could respond. I had zero interest in his reaction, and I wasn’t about to let him ruin my mood. I flipped my phone to Do Not Disturb, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram while manually declining every single call he frantically dialed. By the time he hit his ninth attempt, I unlocked the front door, sporting a fresh, electric teal bob. I was wearing a floral, off-the-shoulder sundress that showed off my collarbones. In my hands were half a dozen shopping bags stuffed with even more loud, colorful dresses. “Where the hell have you been?!” The interrogation hit me before I could even catch my breath. I tilted my head. He was sitting at the dining table, his face drained of color. His dark eyes were swimming in a freezing, venomous rage. I had never seen Joshua look like this. A violent shiver ran down my spine. This was the real him. Dark, obsessive, and ruthless. Not only was he in love with a ghost projected onto my body, but the gentle, perfect husband I loved was entirely a hallucination too. Our entire three-year marriage was a grotesque, theatrical joke. A sharp retort burned on my tongue. I wanted to scream, Where the hell have YOU been?! But I swallowed it down. My psychological warfare had just begun. I wasn’t about to show my cards this early in the game. So I just laughed lightly and ran my fingers through my teal hair. “Isn’t it obvious? Do you like it?” Seeing my completely nonchalant attitude, Joshua’s meticulously crafted composure shattered into pieces. His brow furrowed violently, like jagged rocks exposed at low tide. His eyes bored directly into my scalp as he finally forced the words out. “Why would you suddenly do something like this to your hair?” I kept my tone perfectly breezy. “It’s not sudden at all. Didn’t I always dye my hair crazy colors before we met?” “I only kept it black because you said you liked it. I was accommodating you.” “But I don’t feel like accommodating you anymore. I feel like accommodating myself.” His voice exploded, hitting me like a physical shockwave. “I told you I was tied up with work yesterday and couldn’t make it back! Are you seriously throwing this kind of passive-aggressive tantrum over a scheduling conflict?!” “You refused to eat the dinner you cooked, you stunk up the house with that garbage instant ramen, and you mutilated yourself to look like an absolute mess! What exactly are you trying to accomplish?!” “Is one stupid anniversary really that important to you? Is it worth acting like a complete psycho?!” Yeah. An anniversary meant absolutely nothing to him. Because he hadn’t married the woman he actually loved. Of course there was nothing to celebrate. And now, it meant nothing to me either. So the one acting like a complete psycho screaming in the living room was him, not me. I sighed, cutting off his tirade. “Whether it’s the ramen or my ‘messy’ appearance, this is exactly who I am.” “If you found it so revolting, why did you hunt me down in the first place?” The conversation had accidentally steered straight toward the cliff edge. Would Joshua finally confess the truth? Absolutely not. He froze, his jaw clamped shut in suffocating silence. I had zero intention of interrogating him. I already knew the horrifying answer. I refused to stand there locked in a stalemate with him. I grabbed my shopping bags and walked past him toward the bedroom, tossing a fake smile over my shoulder. “I’m heading to the coast with some friends. That’s why I dyed it teal. Fits the beach vibe.” “I’ll be gone for three or four days. You’re going to have to hire a maid to clean up after yourself.” Joshua grabbed my bicep, his grip bruising. His voice was laced with a chilling, dominant fury. “Why didn’t you ask for my permission before deciding this?” His physical aggression crossed a line. It hurt. Even though I was trying to avoid a screaming match, my rage boiled over. “You know exactly why. You give orders, not opinions.” “Do I no longer have autonomy over my own physical body?!” I violently ripped my arm out of his grasp. I didn’t spare him another glance. I walked straight into the bedroom and started throwing clothes into a suitcase. A long minute passed before I heard his heavy, deliberate footsteps. He walked into his home office… My lungs seized. Would he notice I had been in there? Would he realize I had unearthed his sick secret? Would he finally drop the act, sit me down, and confess his psychotic manipulation? A million terrifying scenarios raced through my brain. Joshua delivered his answer a moment later. “My attitude just now was entirely out of line. I’m sorry.” The dark, venomous aura had vanished from his face. He looked exactly like the gentle, loving man who had courted me years ago.

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1 I was eight months pregnant when the car crash happened. The accident didn’t just rob me of my child; it was caused by a luxury car whose driver showed not a shred of remorse. Instead, she twisted the narrative, claiming I’d thrown myself in front of her vehicle to extort money. I was in the middle of a D&C procedure when she stormed in, dragged me off the operating table, and had me taken directly to a courtroom. There, she stood in the plaintiff’s box, her words dripping with venom. “If you can’t afford a baby, you shouldn’t be having one. So young and already a grifter.” She preened, adding, “Do you have any idea what this car is worth? Millions! My husband is a top-tier lawyer with a nine-figure net worth. You’ll be bankrupt by the time we’re done with you!” I stood in the defendant’s box, the physical agony and public humiliation churning inside me. Black spots danced in my vision, and I felt myself about to collapse. Just then, the courtroom doors swung open. The arrogant woman instantly transformed, melting into the arms of the man who had just walked in. He addressed the judge without a second glance in my direction. “Your Honor, my wife would never intentionally hit someone. This is clearly an attempt at insurance fraud, and it must be punished severely.” When I saw the back of that man, the blood in my veins turned to ice. That man in the impeccably tailored suit, the very picture of a polished, elite lawyer, was none other than my husband, Vincent. The same husband who had told me he was being sent away on a mandatory work assignment for six months. … At his touch, the woman pointed a dramatic finger past his shoulder, her voice thick with self-pity. “It was her! She got blood all over the new car you bought me. It’s bad luck!” Vincent followed her finger. His gaze landed on me, and the anger in his eyes flickered into shock. But only for a moment. Three seconds later, his expression became a cold, unfamiliar mask. “I am Ms. Monroe’s legal counsel,” he stated flatly. “You will direct your comments to me.” The man I had shared a bed with for five years spoke to me like a stranger. Every question I wanted to scream died in my throat, choking me. Just a few weeks ago, he’d called to say his firm was transferring him to the next city over for a project, with double the pay. He became impossible to reach, my calls unanswered, my texts ignored. I had navigated my pregnancy alone—lugging myself to appointments, running up and down the stairs of the clinic five, six times for a single check-up, my swollen belly leading the way. And all that time, he was here, with another woman, building another life. The thought sent a fresh wave of pain through my healing wounds, and I instinctively hunched over. Only then did Vincent’s gaze fall to my now-flat stomach. “The baby…” he started, his voice a low murmur. Isabelle cut him off sharply. “A woman like that doesn’t deserve to have children anyway. They’d just grow up to be trash like her.” She tightened her grip on his arm. “But this car is worth a fortune, honey. She has to pay!” I dug my nails into my palms, my heart hammering against my ribs. Vincent had told me his family was bankrupt, that they had lost everything paying off debts. He’d asked me to be patient, to live modestly for a while. So I did. I pinched every penny, comparison shopping for something as simple as a green onion. The anxiety of providing for our coming child had become so overwhelming I needed medication just to function. Now, standing here, my pathetic scrimping seemed like a clown’s act compared to her multi-million-dollar car. “Darling, I want her to pay for the repairs. And I want an apology,” Isabelle cooed, swaying on his arm. I stood frozen, my heart in my throat. Vincent looked troubled, as if he wanted to object, but at her insistent pout, he let out a weary, indulgent smile. He turned his gaze to me, and it was filled with a clear warning. “Just apologize to my wife.” The words hit me like a physical blow. A chilling cold spread through my limbs. I had lost our child, our child, and he was telling me to apologize to the woman who killed it. At the judge’s impatient prompting, I moved like a wooden doll and bowed. “Ms. Monroe… I’m sorry.” She ignored me completely, linking her arm through Vincent’s. “You couldn’t afford the repair costs in a hundred lifetimes. We’ll settle for three hundred thousand. Let’s call it a lesson.” The number was staggering. My heart, which I thought couldn’t get any colder, turned to a solid block of ice. Vincent looked at her with adoration, not sparing me another glance. He seemed to have forgotten the time I sold my own family heirlooms to scrape together money for my mother’s medical bills, and even then, I couldn’t come up with a sum like that. I walked out of the courthouse alone, clutching the court order. A Maybach sped past, jolting me back to the cruel reality. A text from Vincent buzzed on my phone. “Wait for me at home. We’ll talk. Don’t let her find out about you.” A silent tear traced a path down my cheek. Eight months of pregnancy, five years of marriage I had poured my soul into—all of it had just become a sick joke. When I stepped into my apartment building, I was met with chaos. Movers were carelessly tossing my belongings out into the hallway. I lunged forward, desperate to stop them. “What are you doing? Stop it!” Just then, Vincent emerged from our apartment, looking calm and composed in his sharp suit. “You need to move out for a while,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “It’s for your own good.” I started to tremble, my voice a raw whisper. “Five years. You lied to me for five years. Isn’t that enough? Are you trying to drive me to the edge? Do you even have a heart?” Vincent closed his eyes and sighed, a picture of weary patience. “Can you please not make a scene?” “My relationship with Isabelle was arranged by our families. I kept you a secret to protect you. You can understand that, can’t you?” he continued, his voice infuriatingly reasonable. “And this entire building… I bought it for Isabelle. Now that she’s seen you, you can’t stay here. She’d find you eventually.” My vision blurred with tears, but his words became painfully clear. Every single one was a stab to the heart. The home that held five years of my life, of our memories, had never been mine at all. As he turned to leave, he tossed a set of keys at my feet. “My assistant will take you. You’ll stay in the suburbs for now. Don’t be difficult.” I watched his retreating back and, with a final surge of despair, picked up the keys and hurled them uselessly after him. I never imagined the man I had loved and supported could become so monstrous. Vincent’s assistant drove me to a magnificent villa. The moment I stepped inside, he locked the door behind me. The first thing I saw was a massive framed photograph hanging on the wall. A smiling family of three. Vincent and Isabelle, holding a little boy who looked to be about three years old. He didn’t care about the baby in my belly because he already had a son. Then I saw the date printed on the corner of the photo. My heart plummeted. That was the day my father died of a sudden heart attack. I had been crouched in a hospital corridor, calling Vincent over and over, my voice raw with grief. He had sounded so tired, so distant. “I’m sorry, honey. The boss sent me on another business trip. I won’t be back for a week.” He had rushed off the phone without a single word of comfort. While I was drowning in the worst grief of my life, he was here, taking a family portrait with them. I lost control. I ripped the photo from the wall and smashed it on the floor, then collapsed among the shards, sobbing without a sound. When the tears finally ran dry, I took out my phone and contacted a lawyer. “I need you to draw up divorce papers.” I stared at my hands, numbly noticing the blood seeping from the cuts, the wounds on my body still fresh and unhealed. On instinct, I dialed Vincent’s number. The first time, he rejected the call. The second time, it went straight to voicemail. The pain, both physical and emotional, became too much, and I passed out. I was jolted awake by two or three large men bursting into the room. They grabbed me, forcing me into a car that sped through the night. It took me back to the hospital. They threw me onto a bed in a private room and tied my hands and feet to the railings. My eyes widened in terror as I saw one of them approach with a thick needle. “What are you doing?” I screamed, struggling against my restraints. Then, a face contorted with rage appeared in my line of sight. It was Vincent. “I warned you not to show your face to Isabelle,” he hissed. “You just had to test me.” “She knows about you now. She tried to kill herself. She slit her wrists,” he snarled, his voice trembling. “I know you have a rare blood type. The same as hers. You’re going to save her.” He spun around and barked at a terrified-looking doctor. “Do it now! My wife is waiting!” Through the haze of pain, I could see how pale he was, his lips shaking as he spoke. I had never seen him so frantic. I had no time to fight back. The thick needle plunged into my arm, and a searing pain shot through my entire body. The world started to spin as the blood drained from me, and I blacked out. I don’t know how much time passed, but I woke to a violent, cramping pain in my lower abdomen. “What… what’s happening to me?” I whispered, looking down to see the sheets beneath me soaked in blood. A terrible premonition seized me. I begged the doctor for an answer until he finally, reluctantly, spoke. “After Ms. Monroe found out you were pregnant with her husband’s child… she became very agitated. She insisted… she demanded we remove your uterus. Mr. Donovan signed the consent forms.” The world tilted on its axis. They killed my baby. That wasn’t enough. Now they had stolen my right to ever be a mother. A choked sob escaped me, followed by a mouthful of blood. Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently. It was flooded with notifications. “If you’re that desperate for a man, try a steel wool sponge, not someone else’s husband.” “Homewreckers are so shameless these days. She even tried to use a baby to trap him!” … The words “mistress,” “slut,” “homewrecker” swam before my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. I was Vincent’s wife. We were legally married. How could I be the one branded with this shame? Fighting through the pain, I posted a photo of our marriage certificate online, along with a clear timeline of our relationship. But the response was not what I expected. Someone zoomed in on the photo. “That seal is a fake! This bitch will stop at nothing!” My jaw dropped. I magnified the image myself, my heart pounding. It was true. It looked… off. A moment later, Isabelle posted a photo of her own marriage certificate online, with a close-up of the crisp, official seal. At the same time, my phone rang. It was Vincent. “That certificate she has… is that one real?” I demanded, the words tumbling out. I remembered the day we went to the courthouse. My mother was on her deathbed, and her last wish was to see us married. He had held my hand, looked into my eyes, and sworn to protect me for the rest of his life. Now, his voice was cold, clinical. “I had to give her a proper status. I couldn’t let her be with me without a legal title.” “It’s different with you,” he continued, as if explaining something simple to a child. “You would stay with me no matter what. Let’s not get hung up on the details right now.” I could hear the sound of things crashing in the background. “Isabelle is very unstable at the moment. You need to apologize to her. Post a public statement. Admit that you were the other woman.” I was so stunned I could barely breathe. “I was the one who was lied to for five years! Why in God’s name would I apologize?” A cold laugh echoed down the line. “Because your mother is still breathing thanks to my money and my medical connections. You think about that,” he said, and hung up. I collapsed onto the bed, limp and powerless. My mother’s illness was a relentless beast, each hospital stay costing tens of thousands. Vincent had covered it all. No matter how busy he was, he always found time to visit her. “Elise,” he would say, “don’t stress. We’ll get your mom through this. She’s my mom too.” And now, he was using my only remaining family, my mother’s very life, as a weapon against me. I checked myself out of the hospital, my body still a wreck, and started looking for a job. But my face was all over the news. People recognized me. They threw garbage at me, rotten vegetables. “Who would hire a morally corrupt homewrecker like you? Get lost!” “God knows what kind of diseases she’s carrying!” I was a pariah. The news eventually reached my mother. She called me, her voice barely a whisper. “Elise… don’t… don’t beg him… for my sake…” The shrill, flat-lining beep of a monitor sliced through the phone. “Mom, don’t worry about me!” I choked back a sob. “I have to go!” In the end, I went to him. Seeing that I had surrendered, a satisfied smile touched Vincent’s lips. He handed me a prepared speech. “After you go live and admit to being the other woman, I’ll compensate you.” Before I could process his words, a horde of reporters swarmed me, their cameras flashing like a firing squad. “This is a public execution!” I gasped, horrified. Vincent leaned in, his voice a soft, cruel whisper in my ear. “You don’t have to do the broadcast. You can just go tell your mother to her face. Tell her you’re a mistress. She hates them more than anyone, doesn’t she?” My heart seized. He knew. He knew my mother’s health had collapsed the day she found out my father was having an affair. Telling her this would be a death sentence. She was all I had left. I couldn’t lose her. I swallowed the blood that had risen in my throat and, in front of all the cameras, I knelt before Isabelle. “I’m sorry, Ms. Monroe,” I said, my voice hollow. “I tried to destroy your family. I tried to use my child to trap your husband. I am shameless.” “I… am… sorry.” I bowed my head to the floor, again and again, like a dog stripped of all dignity, until blood blurred my vision. When it was over, I looked up, first at Isabelle’s triumphant smirk, then at Vincent. “Was that apology… good enough for you?” I saw his chest heave, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He cleared his throat and tossed a bank card at my feet. “Three million. That should be enough. Go save your mother.” I snatched the card and ran. I ran all the way to the hospital. When I saw my mother lying pale and still in her bed, I began to shake uncontrollably. I thrust the card at the doctor. “Please,” I begged, “you have to save her!” A few minutes later, he returned, a grim look on his face. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve tried several times. This card has been frozen.” My mind went blank. My eyes fell to the gold bracelet on my wrist. “This! This has to be worth something! It’s solid gold!” The doctor gave it a cursory glance, his expression softening with pity. “Ma’am… I think you’ve been scammed. This is just gold-plated steel.” The bracelet slipped from my numb fingers and hit the floor with a hollow clink. Vincent had given it to me right after I found out I was pregnant. I had begged him for it. Even when I was publicly humiliating myself, I hadn’t considered selling it. It turned out that in his eyes, both me and our child were worthless. The heart monitor beside my mother’s bed let out a long, piercing scream. Her eyes closed. A sound of pure agony ripped from my throat. I walked out onto the rooftop, holding her ashes. My phone buzzed with a message from Vincent. [Sorry, I’m at the hospital with Isabelle. She’s on an IV. I’ll come see Mom as soon as she’s asleep. Tell her not to worry.] [I bought a new house for you. Just tell me what you want.] [Isabelle said she’s willing to turn a blind eye. I’ll make more time for you from now on.] I didn’t reply. The cold wind on the hospital roof whipped my hair across my face as I walked toward the edge. “Vincent,” I whispered to the wind, “there is no ‘us’ anymore.” And with a small, sad smile, I stepped off the ledge. At that exact moment, in a room floors below, Vincent glanced idly out the window. His eyes widened, his pupils contracting in horror.

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On the third day of our state-mandated divorce waiting period, I suited up and went to the gallery just like any other morning. It was as if a decade of brotherhood hadn’t rotted to the core, as if my marriage was still perfectly intact. But the moment I walked back into the house, I pulled out my phone, pointed the camera at our belongings, and began a meticulous inventory of our assets. The debts she secretly racked up, the cheap trinkets he gifted me over the years, I documented every single detail, tagging them neatly before forwarding the entire file to my attorney. At a weekend gathering, a few mutual friends shot me hesitant glances, carefully dancing around the subject of me, her, and him. I picked up my espresso, took a slow sip, and set it down with a practiced, polite smile. I told them everything was handled. We were parting on good terms, going our separate ways, and leaving each other in peace. The catalyst for all of this was breathtakingly simple. I discovered that my wife of three years had been sleeping with my best friend of ten years. The very day I found out, I dragged her to the attorney’s office to file the divorce petition. 1 The photo was sent to our decade-old college group chat by Tristan. It was an “accident.” In the picture, Vivian was resting her head intimately against his shoulder, their hands overlapping on the glass coffee table. The background was unmistakably my own living room. I stared at the glowing screen for exactly ten seconds. Then I opened Vivian’s contact and typed a single message. “My lawyer’s office. Tomorrow at 3 PM.” My phone lit up with back-to-back calls from her. I let them all ring out into silence. The next afternoon at ten minutes to three, I parked outside the downtown law firm. I straightened my blazer, grabbed my briefcase, and checked my watch. A text buzzed through. “I’m here.” I pushed the car door open. Vivian was standing by the entrance. When she saw me, her posture stiffened. “Silas…” “Ms. Bennett.” I cut her off instantly. “Did you print the petition?” Her hand froze in mid-air. “Ms. Bennett?” she repeated, her eyes wide with hurt. “Why are you calling me that?” “It’s the appropriate title for an ex-wife.” I plucked the manila folder from her grip and flipped straight to the signature line on the last page. “Do you have a pen?” “Silas, you need to listen to me.” She took a desperate step forward. “That picture isn’t what it looks like…” I shifted my weight, sidestepping her entirely, and uncapped my own fountain pen. I signed my name with sharp, precise strokes. Silas Thorne. Wait, I can’t use Thorne. Silas Mercer. “Tristan and I really don’t have anything going on. He was just…” Her voice was frantic. “He was just helping me get through the depression of my failed startup. We are strictly friends.” I capped the pen and handed the clipboard back to her. “The papers are signed. I’ll see you in thirty days when the cooling-off period is over.” “No!” she cried out, grabbing my wrist. “I never intended to betray you! Tristan… he was just being overly supportive. We are completely innocent!” I stared down at her fingers digging into my cuff. Using my free hand, I peeled her fingers off my wrist. One by one. “Ms. Bennett.” I met her eyes, my voice devoid of any inflection. “Holding hands on my couch is your definition of innocent?” She opened her mouth, stammered, and finally whispered. “I only came today because I wanted to see you. Not to divorce you. I don’t want a divorce.” I smoothed out the crease in my sleeve. “I do.” “Just listen to me.” She chased after me as I turned away. “I admit we got a little too close, but I swear on my life we never crossed the line! Tristan took that photo on purpose. He just wanted to get a rise out of you…” “And your point is?” I stopped and looked back at her. “You sat there and happily played along while he tried to provoke your husband?” “That’s not it.” Her voice shrank. “I was just under so much pressure lately. Tristan was constantly there, comforting me. I didn’t even realize things had gotten to that point.” Her eyes were rimmed with red, playing the victim to perfection. Just like every time we used to argue. But this time was different. “Ms. Bennett.” I turned toward the parking lot. “See you in thirty days.” “Silas!” she screamed at my back. “You’re misunderstanding everything!” I didn’t look back. The moment my car door clicked shut, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Tristan. “Silas, don’t be mad at me, man. Viv and I are completely innocent~” I stared at the tilde at the end of his sentence and let out a dry laugh. Delete contact. Block. The thirty-day countdown started today. During the first week of the waiting period, I went to work at the gallery just as I always did. Exactly like every day for the past three years. I got home at seven in the evening. Before my key even turned the deadbolt, the smell of braised short ribs wafted through the door. I pushed the door open. Tristan was standing in my kitchen, ladling soup into porcelain bowls. Wrapped around his wrist was the diamond-encrusted watch I had bought him for his birthday last year. “Viv, soup’s ready!” he called out, carrying the bowl toward the dining table. He froze when he saw me. “Oh. Silas. You’re home.” I dropped my keys on the console and said nothing. Vivian practically sprinted out of the home office. When she saw me, panic washed over her face. “Silas. You’re back.” She shot a terrified glance at Tristan, then back at me. I gave a curt nod and walked straight to the master bedroom. Just before my door clicked shut, I heard Vivian hiss under her breath. “Didn’t I tell you not to come over?” Tristan immediately put on his sickeningly sweet, theatrical voice. “But Viv, I was so worried about you being all alone with no one to take care of you.” I shut the door and walked over to the window. I stared at the amber glow of the streetlights outside. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Ten minutes later, a soft knock echoed through the wood. “Silas, come out and eat.” It was Vivian. “Tristan and I really have nothing going on. He just came over to cook a meal. He’s leaving right now.” I pulled the door open. She stood in the hallway, her eyes darting everywhere but my face. “Can we please just talk?” she pleaded. “I want to explain everything.” “It’s called a cooling-off period,” I interrupted smoothly. “It’s for cooling off, not for giving excuses.” “But…” she tried again. I sidestepped her completely and walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Tristan was busy placing a tender piece of meat onto Vivian’s plate. “Try this, Viv. I spent hours perfecting the recipe.” I picked up a glass from the cabinet and filled it from the fridge dispenser. “Silas, want to join us?” Tristan asked with a bright, innocent smile. “I specifically made your favorite ribs.” I glanced at the spread on the table. “No thanks. I ate downtown.” His plastic smile twitched. Vivian slammed her fork down. “Tristan, you need to leave.” “Viv…” Tristan looked at her, his eyes welling up with fake tears. “Are you annoyed with me now?” “No.” Vivian rubbed her temples in exhaustion. “I just… Silas and I need space.” I carried my water glass back to my room. As I turned the lock, I heard Tristan’s muffled, dramatic sniffling through the drywall. “Silas won’t actually go through with the divorce. He loves you too much. He’ll come crawling back in a few days. Don’t stress yourself out, Viv.” Vivian didn’t reply. I leaned against the back of the door and took a sip of water. It was freezing cold against my teeth. Half an hour later, the front door clicked shut. Footsteps approached my room. Vivian knocked again. “Silas, he’s gone. Can we talk now?” I didn’t answer. “I know you’re furious,” she spoke to the wood between us. “But things are not what you think. Tristan… you guys have been best friends since college. He would never do anything to betray you.” I stared at the door panel, listening to her pathetic defense. “That photo was an accident,” she continued. “I was having a breakdown that day, and Tristan came over to comfort me. We were just talking. When he leaned his head on my shoulder, I didn’t react in time, and he snapped the picture.” “Silas, please just say something.” I unlocked the door and pulled it open. She stood there, her hair slightly disheveled, looking desperate. “Ms. Bennett.” I looked down at her. “Twenty-seven days left.” She froze completely. I shut the door in her face. Lying in the dark, I stared at the ceiling. My brain was a carousel of that damn photo and all the tiny, nauseating details from the past few years. Looking back, the cracks were there from the very beginning. I was just too blind to see them. Ten years ago, on move-in day at the art institute, I rolled my luggage into the dorm room. Tristan was already there, unpacking his duffel bag. He turned around, his eyes lighting up. “Hey man! I’m Tristan.” “Silas,” I replied with a smile. His eyes immediately dropped to my leather Hermès weekender bag. They lingered there for a long time. After that, his favorite phrase became, “Silas, you’re way too good to me.” Whenever I picked up the tab for dinner, he would promise, “Next time is on me, bro.” But next time never came. During our junior year, his family hit a financial crisis. He couldn’t make tuition. I wired him three thousand dollars on the spot. He actually cried, hugging me. “Silas, you’re literally the brother I never had.” When we graduated, he bought me a celadon tea set. It looked relatively intricate. “Silas, we are brothers for life,” he had said, gripping my shoulder. I was genuinely moved. Until I stumbled across the exact same tea set on Amazon a month later. It cost fifteen dollars. Three years ago, during my gallery’s spring exhibition, Vivian stood entirely captivated in front of an abstract piece. I walked up next to her. “Good eye. That’s a rising contemporary artist.” She turned to look at me, her eyes sparkling. “Your understanding of art is absolutely mesmerizing.” She was a junior curatorial assistant back then. Soft-spoken, elegant, polite. She pursued me for six months before I finally asked her out. While we were dating, Tristan constantly nagged me. “Come on, man, let me meet the lucky girl!” Our first dinner together was at an upscale sushi spot. I came back from the restroom to find Tristan using his chopsticks to place a piece of premium sashimi directly onto Vivian’s plate. “Try this, Viv. It’s incredibly fresh.” His smile was practically dripping with sugar. Vivian looked slightly taken aback. “Thank you.” I sat down next to her. Tristan immediately looked at me. “Silas, your girlfriend is so gentle.” I just laughed it off. “Yeah, she is.” Looking back now, why the hell was he calling her by a pet name after knowing her for ten minutes? During the first year of our marriage, Tristan practically lived at our house. “Silas, I missed you, man!” he would announce, walking in with bags of junk food. Whenever Vivian was home, he would kick into overdrive. “Viv, what book are you reading?” “Viv, I brought you that matcha latte you like!” “Viv, how’s the seasoning on this pasta I made?” Vivian would respond with polite grace. I would be in the kitchen prepping dinner, listening to them laugh in the living room, genuinely thinking it was nice to have a lively house. One night, I got stuck at the gallery until ten. When I unlocked the front door, Tristan was still there. He and Vivian were sitting on the couch watching a movie. The physical distance between them was virtually nonexistent. As I toed off my dress shoes, he shot up like a rocket. “Silas, you’re back! I was just keeping Viv company while we waited for you.” Vivian stood up right after him. “Did you eat dinner?” I told them I had grabbed takeout. Tristan snatched his jacket from the armchair. “Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t want to ruin date night.” As he stepped out the door, he looked back over his shoulder with a bright grin. “See you next time, Viv!” Back then, I thought he was just being a thoughtful friend. Now I realize he wasn’t saying goodbye to me at all. During the second year of our marriage, Vivian’s boutique agency went under. She was left thirty thousand dollars in the hole. The stress made her toxic. Every night she would lock herself in the home office. Her tone toward me turned glacial. “You literally just look at paintings all day. You have no idea what real pressure feels like.” “Stop bothering me.” “I need space.” During that dark period, Tristan started coming over constantly. He pulled me aside and said, “Silas, let me talk to her. I’ll help her get her head straight.” I was so immensely grateful. I even gave him a spare key. “Come over whenever. Just keep her company when she’s spiraling.” He gripped my hand tightly. “Silas, you’re the best guy I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take perfect care of Viv for you.” And like a complete idiot, I believed him. One afternoon, a meeting was canceled, so I came home early. Pushing the door open, I heard hushed voices from the living room. Tristan and Vivian were sitting intimately on the couch. He was carefully peeling an orange for her. “Viv, you can’t let this drag you down. Failing a startup is just a stepping stone.” “I just feel like… Silas doesn’t understand me at all,” Vivian whispered, her voice cracking. “Silas is just a little out of touch with reality,” Tristan murmured softly, handing her a slice of fruit. “He grew up with a silver spoon. He doesn’t know what it means to actually struggle.” I stood frozen in the entryway. In my hand was a takeout bag from her favorite artisan bakery. I ended up eating the pastries alone in my car later. They tasted entirely like salt. Or maybe I was just crying. During the final six months of the marriage, Vivian started coming home later and later. Tristan’s visits became even more frequent. One afternoon, I was cleaning up the living room and found a silver chain bracelet jammed between the couch cushions. It belonged to Tristan. I carried it toward the master bedroom, intending to leave it on my dresser to return to him later. I pushed the bedroom door open and stopped dead. Sitting on my nightstand was an identical silver bracelet. I stared at it for a long time. I picked it up. It was definitely Tristan’s. When exactly had he been inside my bedroom? I walked back out and asked Vivian, “Was Tristan in our bedroom?” She was scrolling through her phone and didn’t even bother looking up. “Yeah. He was looking for your clothes. Said he wanted to borrow something.” “Borrow clothes?” “He said he had a big networking event and your suits fit him better.” I walked over to my closet and pulled the doors open. My bespoke charcoal Tom Ford suit was gone. My most expensive piece. I didn’t say a word. I just closed the doors. And finally, Tristan “accidentally” dropped that photo in the group chat. Week two of the cooling-off period. A Saturday. I started boxing up the clutter. Photographing every single item. Logging them into a spreadsheet. The celadon tea set in the living room. Gifted by Tristan. Photographed. Tagged: “His.” The geometric sculpture on the bookshelf. Tristan. The jewelry box in Vivian’s closet, packed with cheap trinkets he had given her. I dumped them all onto the mattress, lining them up like evidence. Photographed. The diamond watch was sitting right at the front of the pile. The exact same one he had left on my nightstand. I shoved the jewelry back into the velvet box and kept digging. In the bottom drawer of her desk, I found a notarized debt clearance form. Thirty thousand dollars. Under the “Paid By” column, a signature was scrawled in black ink. Tristan. I stared at that signature until my vision blurred. He had paid off her business debt. No wonder he played the knight in shining armor so perfectly during her depression. Photographed. Forwarded to my attorney. Note: “Hidden marital debt.” Vivian walked through the front door at six. She froze when she saw me sitting on the living room rug, surrounded by boxes. Spread across the coffee table was every single gift Tristan had ever brought into this house. “Silas, what are you doing?” she asked, hovering by the entryway. I didn’t look up from my laptop. “Liquidating assets.” She walked closer, her eyes widening as she recognized the pile of junk. All the color drained from her face. “Are you… are you planning to give all of Tristan’s gifts back to him?” “Lawyer’s advice.” I snapped another picture of a ceramic mug. “Oh, and I’ll be demanding back every single thing I ever bought him. But your debt? You can pay that off yourself.” “Silas.” She dropped to her knees across from me. “I only hid it because I didn’t want to stress you out.” I stopped typing and finally looked at her. “So you let him pay it?” “No, that’s not…” Panic leaked into her voice. “Tristan just helped me with a small portion to tide me over. He said bros look out for each other…” “Thirty thousand dollars,” I cut her off cleanly. “He paid the entire balance.” She was stunned into silence. “I had no idea…” she stammered. “I swear to God, I thought he only chipped in a few grand.” I let out a harsh laugh. “Sure you didn’t.” “I mean it!” She reached across the table and grabbed my wrist. “Silas, look at me. I swear on my life I didn’t know he paid the whole thing. He never told me.” I yanked my arm back violently. “Then why the hell would he do it?” Her face flushed crimson, a mix of humiliation and anger. “If I had told you about the debt, would you have paid it?! You’re always so high and mighty… Silas, I was terrified you would look down on me! I did it because I loved you!” I paused for a second, my face completely blank. I went back to packing the box. “My lawyer will handle it.” Later that night, she was on a video call in the home office. I walked past the door and caught the distinct pitch of Tristan’s voice through the speakers. “Viv, is he still throwing a tantrum?” “He’s not throwing a tantrum.” Vivian’s voice was exhausted. “He’s packing his things. And he found the paperwork for the debt you paid off.” “Oh?” Tristan’s voice spiked in panic. “What did he say?” “Nothing. He just said his lawyer is handling it.” “Oh.” Tristan let out a sleazy chuckle. “Well, whatever. The clock is ticking anyway. Once the divorce is finalized, we won’t have to hide anymore~ Plus, since it’s a marital debt, he’s legally on the hook for half of it! He owes me fifteen grand!” “Tristan…” Vivian hesitated, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been thinking lately. Maybe we…” “Vivian!” Tristan snapped, his sweet facade vanishing instantly. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet. I dropped thirty grand to save your ass!” Vivian went dead silent. I stood entirely still in the dark hallway. In my hands was that cheap celadon tea set. A fifteen-dollar “brothers for life” tea set. Exchanged for a thirty-thousand-dollar investment in my wife. What an absolute bargain. Week three of the cooling-off period. A Wednesday afternoon. I was at the gallery, walking a high-net-worth client through the main exhibit. “The investment yield on this piece is exceptionally strong. The artist has already secured a massive foothold in the European contemporary scene…” The heavy glass doors of the gallery swung open. Tristan strolled in, wearing the bespoke beige suit I had tailored for his birthday last year. “Silas!” he called out, waving like an idiot. “Came to visit you at work!” The client raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed by the interruption. I gave the client a tight, apologetic smile. “Please excuse me for one moment, sir.” I spun around to face Tristan, pointing rigidly toward the lobby. “The waiting area is over there. Sit down and don’t move.” He rolled his eyes and sauntered over to the leather sofas. After securing the client’s purchase and seeing him out, I walked over to the front desk to organize the exhibition catalogs. Tristan leaned against the marble counter, invading my space. “Man, your job is a joke. You literally just stare at paint all day.” I closed the thick catalog and stacked it. “It pays the bills.” “What is this garbage anyway?” He flipped open one of the brochures disrespectfully. “People pay millions for this? Abstract expressionism? My dog could paint this.” I snatched the brochure out of his hands and filed it away. “It’s fine if you don’t understand it.” He bristled instantly. “I don’t understand it?” he scoffed, his face flushing. “I went to design school, bro. How the hell would I not understand it?” I took a slow sip from my thermos and didn’t bother engaging. He glared at me. “Silas, do you have a problem with me?” I just stared at him, letting the silence hang.

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1 I remarried Alexander, but this time, I wasn’t the paranoid wreck I used to be. I stopped checking his collars or his phone, and I no longer cared if there were other women. Our relationship felt like it did at the beginning, as if the years of bitterness had been a bad dream. The truth is, I’d been battling ghosts since our first year. The first time, I found lace panties in his car. I stormed into his office, forgetting the stove was on—our first house burned down. The second time, my PI sent photos of him with another woman. The elevator I was in stalled, trapping me for hours. The third time, I crashed a wedding to catch him, and a chandelier fell, leaving me bloodied. So this time, even when Alexander didn’t come home all night, I didn’t ask. Until he crashed his car. They pulled him from the wreck with a naked woman. Numbly, I packed his bag, my hands moving over things that smelled like someone else. In the hospital, Alexander jumped up, shielding the woman. “You’ve finally got what you wanted, Sophia? Take it out on me—leave her alone!” A tired smile spread across my face. I didn’t need to see her face. I recognized the bracelet on her wrist—the one I gave my best friend, Ava, last month. Years of tension snapped, replaced by hollow relief. “Alexander,” I said, my voice steady. “Let’s get a divorce.” … He let out a short, incredulous laugh, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “A divorce? So you can come crawling back to me in a few months, half-dead and begging to get back together?” I shook my head, the smile never leaving my lips. “There won’t be a next time.” The familiar words, but a different answer. It was a distorted echo of a conversation that had already destroyed me once. It had been just a year into our first marriage when the cracks started to show. I found clues of his infidelity everywhere, hidden in the corners of our life. Little things, like a pair of lacy underwear that wasn’t mine. Big things, like an invitation to a wedding he was attending that I knew nothing about. But it was as if fate itself was playing a cruel joke on me. No matter how much I acted like a madwoman, scrutinizing every woman who got close to him, I could never figure out who she was. Instead, every time I got close to the truth, a freak accident would throw me off course, leaving me broken and bleeding. The last time, with the chandelier, it wasn’t just my body that was shattered. The impact tore through my abdomen. When I woke up in the hospital, there was a hollow ache deep inside me. Our baby, the one who never had a chance to see the world, was gone. Back then, I had been just like this. Numb. I’d asked Alexander for a divorce then, too. But he had fallen to his knees, begging, swearing he was only at that wedding for business. His brand-new tuxedo and the unfamiliar wedding band on his finger told a different story. In a daze, I’d snatched a fruit knife from the bedside table. I held it to my own throat, my hands shaking, and told him to let me go. He must have loved me then, because in the end, terrified, he agreed. I thought leaving him would be the cure. But I withered. The depression was a physical weight, pressing down on me day after day until I could barely breathe. My own parents were afraid to get too close, scared of saying the wrong thing. The only one who broke through was Ava. My Ava, who I’d grown up with, who felt more like a sister than a friend. She was the one who threw herself in front of me, her own hands grabbing the blade I was holding to my wrist. We clung to each other, our blood mixing, our tears indistinguishable. But I knew she couldn’t save me. She had her own life, a boyfriend she was crazy about. I couldn’t drag her down into my darkness. Maybe it’s better this way. The thought pinned me to the spot as the truck barreled towards me. I just stood there, waiting. Then, out of nowhere, Alexander was there, shoving me out of the way, his body taking the brunt of the impact. In that split second, I realized two things: I didn’t want to die. And God help me, I still loved him. He lay in a pool of his own blood, his eyes losing focus, but his arms were wrapped around me so tightly it felt like he would never let go, not even in death. While he was fighting for his life in the ICU, I knelt by his bed and prayed. Just let him live. I won’t ask for anything else. I don’t care about anything else. I thought that if I just stopped looking, stopped questioning, our fractured love and our broken marriage could heal. We could go back to the way we were. But then the police officer handed me a bag of his personal effects from the crash. Inside, nestled among the contents of his wallet, was a box of condoms and a pair of familiar lacy panties. That fragile hope shattered into a million pieces. My stunned silence must have irritated Alexander. He shielded the woman on the bed even more fiercely. “What are you planning now, Sophia? Whatever happened, it’s not her fault—” As he spoke, their intertwined hands were like a dagger twisting in my gut. It was the final straw. The carefully constructed wall of my composure crumbled. Tears streamed down my face as I heard my own hoarse voice. “Ava,” I whispered. “You once told me you wished me a lifetime of happiness. Now… I’m giving that wish back to you.” I paused, their frozen, shocked figures blurring through my tears. “I’m out. I’ll let you two be happy together.” Before the words had even fully left my mouth, a sharp slap cracked across my face. My head snapped to the side, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Alexander’s voice trembled with a rage I knew all too well. “What the hell are you talking about, Sophia? What does Ava have to do with any of this?” Ava… The way he said her name. So familiar. So intimate. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I should have known. I should have seen it all along, but I had been so determined to lie to myself. The two of them, who used to bicker like cats and dogs, had somehow grown closer. “If you ever hurt Sophia, I swear I’ll never forgive you!” she used to say. “I’ll love her for the rest of my life. I’ll give her a home. You won’t be the one to take her from me!” he’d shoot back. Somehow, over time, that bickering had turned into a secret language, an unspoken understanding. I remembered a trip we all took. He’d ordered a table full of her favorite spicy dishes, completely forgetting they set my mouth on fire. I remembered spending weeks picking out the perfect birthday gift for her. The day after I gave her the bracelet, I saw her wrapping a scarf she’d knitted herself around Alexander’s neck. When I’d questioned them, they’d both laughed it off. “This is just what people who care about you do—they learn to get along!” What a pathetic lie. And like a fool, I believed it. Now, I pressed a hand to my throbbing cheek, fighting back a fresh wave of tears as I met Alexander’s dark, unreadable eyes. “Whether it’s true or not, it doesn’t matter anymore. We should have ended this a long time ago.” As if my words were a physical blow, the woman on the bed finally broke. Ava stumbled out from under the sheets, her face a mess of tear-streaked mascara. “Sophia, I… I don’t know what came over me,” she sobbed, scrambling off the bed and grabbing at my clothes. “I was wrong, I’m so sorry! Please, forgive me! You can hit me, scream at me, anything…” Her frantic fingers clutched at my shirt, and her hand brushed against the faint, raised line on my abdomen—the scar from the miscarriage. A jolt of revulsion shot through me. I instinctively pushed her away. The next thing I knew, a powerful force kicked me from behind. I stumbled backward, crashing into an IV stand. One of its cold metal hooks dug deep into my back. A searing pain ripped through me, and I felt a warm wetness spreading through the fabric of my white blouse. A familiar, terrifying cramp seized my belly. Alexander’s lips were a thin, hard line, but he didn’t hesitate to scoop a crying Ava into his arms. The cramping intensified, a sickening echo of the past. The fear of losing another child, a fear I thought I had buried, clawed its way up my throat. My hands trembling, I fumbled in my purse and pulled out the folded-up pregnancy report. I held it out to him. “I’m pregnant,” I gasped, the pain making it hard to breathe. “Call a doctor… please…” For a split second, he took a step toward me. But then Ava whimpered in his arms, a small, fragile sound. His expression hardened, his eyes filling with a cold annoyance. “Stop with the drama, Sophia,” he spat. “After the miscarriage, the doctors said it would be nearly impossible for you to get pregnant again!” He looked down at me, his face a mask of contempt. “Maybe this will teach you a lesson. Don’t you ever lay a hand on Ava again.” He swatted my hand away. The white paper fluttered to the floor, landing in a growing pool of my own blood. My heart didn’t just break. It plummeted into a black, bottomless abyss. Alexander turned his back on me, carried Ava out of the room, and slammed the door shut. I heard the distinct click of the lock. He left me there, bleeding on the cold tile. He ignored my last, desperate plea for help. And in the moment I felt the last flicker of life inside me go out, I think a part of my own soul died with it. When I woke up again, the doctor was looking at me with an expression of pity and regret. “Ms. Albright,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.” A void opened up inside me. I didn’t realize I was crying until the tears blurred my vision. My hands shook as I dialed my father’s number. “Dad,” I choked out. “It’s Alex and Ava. They’re together. I want a divorce.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded like it had aged twenty years in a single second. “Okay, honey. Don’t you worry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll find someone else to help with your mother’s care. Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for this family.” His gentleness, his unwavering support, was the final undoing. I collapsed into the phone, sobbing uncontrollably. My father came and took me from the hospital. We buried the ashes, the tiny, fragmented remains of my child. I ignored the flood of texts from Alexander and Ava, both filled with pathetic excuses and explanations. The betrayals had hollowed me out. I was exhausted, body and soul. All I wanted was for it to be over. I walked into Alexander’s office building, the divorce papers clutched in my hand, ready to end it all. But as I reached for the door to his office, the voices from inside froze me to the spot. Through the crack in the door, I saw Ava, her eyes swimming with tears. “Yes, I love you! But watching you send people to hurt Sophia, time and time again, just to protect me… you even caused her miscarriage! I can’t do this anymore! It was wrong, and we have to stop!” Her words hit me like a physical blow. My ears started to ring. Send people to hurt Sophia? My mind went blank. Ava’s voice cracked as she continued, tears streaming down her face. “My parents abandoned me, but Sophia took me in. She shared everything she had with me. How can I stand by and watch her suffer like this?” For a fleeting, insane moment, I prayed Alexander would deny it. But the truth, the one I had refused to see, came from his own lips. He cornered Ava against the wall, his voice a low, frustrated growl. “You can’t stand to see her suffer? Do you think I can stand to see you suffer? That time I had someone… mess with her… all I could think about was the scar you got on your hand trying to pull her away from that falling light fixture!” His words dragged me back into the nightmare of my past. While I was lying in a hospital bed, physically and emotionally shattered after losing our first child, they were living a lie. Ava, supposedly sick with a high fever from the shock. Alexander, supposedly forced to stay at that wedding for appearances. In reality, they had put on the perfectly tailored wedding clothes they’d prepared and celebrated their union, surrounded by the blessings of oblivious guests. In that instant, every sleepless night I’d spent blaming myself, telling myself I was too sensitive, too paranoid… it all became a sick, twisted joke. Alexander’s voice inside the office softened, filled with a twisted sort of passion, each word a new cut on my heart. “What do you want me to do? I love you, Ava, I love you too! If you’re afraid she’ll find out, we just have to be more careful. We’ll stop her before she can. We’ve been doing it for years, haven’t we?” Ava’s resolve crumbled. With a sob, she threw herself into his arms. They held each other in a desperate, frantic embrace, as if trying to merge into one being. My face was a mask of ice. I pushed the door open. They sprang apart, guilt and panic flashing across their faces. “Sophia!” Ava stammered, her face white as a sheet. “I… I just tripped. Alex was just helping me up. Please, don’t be angry. I was just about to quit my job.” She looked at me with those wide, pleading eyes, the same eyes that had once looked at me with so much love and trust. I remembered bringing her to Alexander’s company, telling him to look after her, making her his personal assistant so she wouldn’t be alone. She had hugged me so tightly that day, her eyes shining. “Sophia! We’re going to be best friends forever! Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on your husband for you!” I shifted my gaze to Alexander. I could see the rigid control in his jaw, the forced calm in his eyes. “What happened last time… I was impulsive,” he said, his voice low and placating. “You can punish me however you want. And I’ve already arranged for a better medical team for your mother.” He was trying to smooth it all over, as if these monumental betrayals were just minor bumps in the road. “Okay? I promise, there won’t be any other women. We can go back to how things were. Please?” I couldn’t understand it. How could they stand there and lie to my face, so calmly, after everything they’d done? To protect their sordid affair, they had systematically destroyed my life. The home filled with our memories, reduced to ash. Me, trapped in an elevator, gasping for air. Me, bleeding out on a ballroom floor, my baby gone… They had called it all a series of unfortunate accidents. And now, they expected me to believe their lies again, to let them continue their sick game while I played the fool. A wave of nausea washed over me as Alexander reached out to touch my face. The revulsion was so strong, so visceral, I couldn’t stop myself. I flinched back, slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” His face darkened, the mask of contrition falling away to reveal pure, cold anger. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m dirty?” I took another step back, my stomach churning. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “What do you think? You arranged ‘accidents’ to hurt me, to stop me from finding out about you and Ava. And you expect me to just play dumb? Alexander, Ava… you both make me sick.” The words hung in the air. The office plunged into a dead silence. Ava’s face was chalk-white. She started to sob, moving as if to fall to her knees and beg. As she stumbled, she knocked over a picture frame on the desk—an ultrasound photo of our first child. Glass shattered across the floor. Instinctively, Alexander pulled Ava into his arms, shielding her from the flying shards. I lunged for the frame, but it was too late. I fell to my knees, my hands landing in the pile of broken glass. But I didn’t care about the pain. My eyes were fixed on the photo. There, marring the image of our unborn child, was the faint, greasy imprint of a hand. An intimate touch that wasn’t mine. My sanity finally, irrevocably, shattered. I clutched the broken frame to my chest, heedless of the glass cutting into my skin. A raw, guttural sob tore from my throat as I glared at them. “Are you that depraved? I won’t let you get away with this! I’ll tell everyone what you are! I’ll make sure the whole world knows how disgusting you both are!” The flicker of guilt in Alexander’s eyes vanished, replaced by pure fury. “You wouldn’t dare.” But the weight of it all, the betrayals, the loss, the lies—it was too much. I was choking on my own rage. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ll do it right now—” I pulled out my phone, opening the camera and pointing it at them, huddled together in their guilt. But before I could press the button, he lunged forward and knocked the phone from my hand. The next second, he was on his own phone, his voice cold and hard as steel. “Leak every intimate photo we have of Sophia. I want the whole world to see what kind of slut she is.” I stared at him, my mind reeling. It was like seeing the man I had shared my bed with for the first time. Ava looked on, a flicker of horror in her eyes, but she said nothing. She just lowered her head, a silent accomplice. A moment later, my phone, lying on the floor, began to buzz uncontrollably. It was my father. I scrambled to pick it up, my hands bleeding. “I… I must be cursed,” he wailed, his voice cracking with despair. “I’ve been a professor for decades, and this is what I raised? A disgrace! I’d rather be dead!” Then, a sudden, sickening thud on the other end of the line. The phone went silent, replaced by a murmur of panicked voices. “Professor Albright, the one everyone respects, his own daughter’s scandal gave him a heart attack!” “What a tragedy for the family…” “Someone give him space! Oh god, I think he’s…” A notification popped up on my phone’s shattered screen. It was from my mother’s hospital. [We regret to inform you that your mother suffered a stress-induced acute episode. Resuscitation was unsuccessful.] All those nights. All those moments of intimacy with Alexander. They had just become the blades that delivered the final, fatal wounds. The screen lit up with a torrent of hateful messages from strangers, but I couldn’t see them. I was hollowed out, a ghost in my own body, as I sank to the floor. The last two people who mattered in my world were gone. I cried until I had no tears left, my throat raw. I looked up and met Alexander’s cold, triumphant gaze. “What’s wrong?” he sneered. “Still want to cause a scene? I can make it all go away. Just promise you’ll behave.” A single, hot tear fell onto the back of my hand. “It’s too late, Alexander,” I whispered. I pushed myself to my feet, my body trembling with a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. He frowned, still keeping Ava tucked securely behind him. “It’s just a few online comments. A little lesson to teach you not to cross me. Why are you being so dramatic?” I turned my back on him and looked at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. I didn’t even spare him a final glance. My voice was a bare whisper. “Mom, Dad… my baby… I’m coming to be with you.” The next second, I threw the broken picture frame with all my might. It crashed against the window, spiderwebbing the thick glass. And as it shattered, I ignored the desperate, horrified screams behind me. I took one last step forward and plunged into the open air.

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A year ago, my roommate ended her relationship. I used to watch how that guy treated her, soaking up his every act of devotion with a quiet, burning envy. Eventually, we found our way to each other. He was gentle, orchestrating my life with a seamless precision, yet there was always this invisible wall of cold detachment between us. Half a year of this lukewarm existence dragged on before something in him finally shifted. I was overjoyed, foolishly believing my absolute sincerity had finally melted the ice around his heart. Until the holidays, when he unexpectedly ran into her. Under the explosive light of winter fireworks, the truth hit me hard. He had never really let her go. 1 The reason I got together with Sebastian was agonizingly simple. I loved the way he cared for my roommate. It was a quiet, unassuming warmth. Back in our dorm days, I had a front-row seat to their long-term romance, standing on the sidelines like a voyeur, envying her and everything she possessed. Even her name. Hunter. It didn’t sound like a girl’s name, but it held her father’s greatest wish for her. To be the hunter, clear in her direction, never having to bend her will or alter her course for anyone else. And my name was Grace. The phrase my father drilled into my head the most was to be graceful, sweet, and compliant. What I mastered was the art of keeping people happy. So when I saw Hunter throwing a fit outside our dorm because Sebastian was running late, my chest tightened. Sebastian just brushed her forehead affectionately and pulled a pastry box out of his bag like a magician. It was a viral croissant from a Soho bakery that required a five-hour wait in line. Hunter took exactly one bite and handed it back to him without missing a beat. “I hate hazelnut. Remember what I like and don’t like.” Sebastian just smiled and said he would. I was stunned, and then a wave of bitter sourness washed over me. Because if it had been me, I would have pretended to love it. In my world, pleasing someone meant being loved, or at least being loved a little more. But Hunter didn’t need to play that game. She just needed to exist as herself, and someone would love her unconditionally. Sebastian and Hunter broke up right around graduation. It rained heavily that day, and he stood outside our building in the downpour for a very long time. A year later, I ran into him at a dinner party. He was genuinely surprised to hear I had also graduated from Columbia. It made sense. Back then, his eyes were entirely filled with Hunter. He probably never even registered my existence. I was just that small, that invisible. So when he actively started pursuing me later, I hesitated. I knew there was a space in his heart that could never be overwritten. But in the end, I nodded. I just wanted to know what it felt like to be treated that way. To feel the weight of being firmly chosen, to be indulged, to have my preferences memorized, to be treated like the center of someone’s universe. All those things I had spied on from the dorm window. I wanted a taste. Once we got together, Sebastian treated me well. Impeccably well. Whenever my cramps flared up, a hot water bottle and ginger tea were already waiting. If I worked late, he was parked downstairs, never complaining. Flowers on holidays, thoughtful gifts on birthdays. He covered every base. But once I actually had him, something felt incredibly off. He rarely showed any raw emotion. He spent most of his time wrapped in silence, lost in thoughts he refused to share with me. We treated each other with the polite courtesy of esteemed guests rather than lovers. The old Sebastian was so vibrant. He used to get nervous when Hunter was mad. He would laugh and coax her when she said the wrong thing. He would get visibly upset if she stayed out too late. I used to hear him through the dorm walls, eagerly telling Hunter what he ate for lunch and what funny thing he saw on the street. With me, he was perpetually mild, proper, and lukewarm. A year into our relationship, he had never once volunteered a random detail about his day. It felt like he was fulfilling the duties of a boyfriend rather than actually loving a person. Sometimes, deep in the night, I would find him sitting out on the balcony. The glowing ember of his cigarette illuminated his face in the dark, his expression unreadable. He was the youngest Managing Director in his region, a man who strategized multimillion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. What could possibly make him look so profoundly lost? Only Hunter, I figured. When the ache got too heavy, I would ask myself what I even liked about him. The answer terrified me. Maybe I didn’t actually like him at all. Maybe I just wanted a lover who wouldn’t push me away. Someone who would let me be myself and still love me fiercely, just the way he had loved Hunter. But Sebastian never gave me that chance. One day, I tested the waters. “What kind of girls do you actually like?” He looked at me and said he liked girls like me. Quiet. Well-behaved. He hated high-maintenance girls. He practically listed every trait that was the exact opposite of Hunter. A tiny fracture split open in my chest right then. Because I had seen what he looked like when he was truly in love. It wasn’t this. It wasn’t built on a foundation of convenience and peace. But I swallowed the lie anyway. I wanted to make a bet with myself. I boxed up all my messy emotions and played the role of the perfect, understanding girlfriend to the absolute extreme. I wanted to know if being considerate enough, if being the anti-Hunter, could buy the devotion I was starving for. And if it did, would I even be happy? We drifted along in this painless, numb state for another six months. One weekend, I made plans with a friend to catch a movie. We picked a theater exactly halfway between us so it was fair. Right before I left the house, my phone buzzed. “Grace, there’s a new IMAX theater doing a promo nearby. The tickets are super cheap!” I opened the link. It was a five-minute walk from her apartment, but over an hour’s drive for me. Her text sounded so excited, though. I didn’t want to ruin the mood. When I finally arrived, I texted asking where she was. “Still on the road. Traffic is a nightmare.” I stood there for fifteen minutes. My phone buzzed again. “The weather app says it’s going to pour. Should we just skip it?” I stared at the glowing letters. I slowly backspaced my drafted reply of “I’m already here.” “Yeah, let’s just do it another time. It’s a pretty far drive for me anyway.” She replied instantly. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Drinks are on me next time!” I texted back a smiley face. Standing out on the pavement in front of the theater, I suddenly felt the urge to laugh at myself. I had done it again. I swallowed the words someone else was too coward to say, handed them a perfect out, and absorbed all the inconvenience they refused to carry. It was as natural as breathing. It was a pathetic instinct. I texted Sebastian. “Where are you?” He replied quickly. “Meeting with a supplier. How’s the movie?” I locked my screen. The thing adults are best at is keeping their mouths shut at the worst possible times. I didn’t go home. I wandered the streets aimlessly until I walked past an exotic pet shop. In the glass display sat a lizard. It was ash-brown, its scales looking like a cracked, dry riverbed. It lay completely motionless on a piece of driftwood. While the other animals scrambled around, it just sat there in absolute stillness. I stared at it for a long time. It didn’t exist to please anyone. You get close, it doesn’t flinch. You ignore it, it doesn’t beg for attention. Its emotions belong entirely to itself. It requires no comforting, and it certainly won’t comfort you. I wanted it. Not because it would provide emotional support, but precisely because it wouldn’t. There would be no expectations between us. No draining demands. I couldn’t achieve that kind of simplicity, but this creature could do it for me. “I’ll take him.” The shop owner blinked in surprise. “A lot of girls think they’re cool but get scared of them once they’re home. This is a living thing, you know. You have to commit.” “I’m not scared,” I said. When Sebastian came home and saw “Duke” in the living room, his expression was incredibly hard to read. He leaned close to the glass tank, staring at the lizard perched on the wood. “You bought this?” “Yeah.” “You’re not afraid of it?” “No.” He looked up at me and smiled. It was a genuinely soft smile. He reached out and lightly tapped my forehead. “You look so delicate. Who knew you were into cold-blooded reptiles. What’s his name?” “Duke.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward. It was subtle, but I caught it. “Pretty arrogant name.” “He earns it.” Sebastian nodded. He pulled out his phone and immediately ordered a premium heat mat and specialized calcium powder, stating that Duke would need them. “How do you know that?” I asked. “Did you research it?” He paused, as if weighing whether to tell the truth. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I used to have one. I gave it away.” “Why?” “Someone was scared of it.” I didn’t say a word. He didn’t elaborate either. He just pocketed his phone and looked at me. “You never answered me earlier. How was the movie?” The moment he asked, something inside me cracked. The floodgates holding back my humiliation and exhaustion just gave way. Tears spilled over my eyelashes. Sebastian actually looked startled. But he quickly masked it, stepping close to wipe the tears from my cheeks. “What’s wrong? Was the movie that bad?” I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell him I got stood up. I wanted to tell him I waited outside like an idiot for nothing. But the words that came out were… “Yeah. It was bad.” He pulled me firmly into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of my head, one hand cradling the back of my neck. His voice was a low murmur. “If it was that bad, we just won’t watch movies like that anymore.” His other hand patted my back in a slow, rhythmic motion, the way you soothe a frightened child. My mind flashed back to my childhood. Whenever I was upset, I desperately wanted my parents to hold me the way other kids were held. Instead, they would scold me, making me feel like my sadness was a burden, an emotion I hadn’t earned the right to express. The memory made me cry harder. I completely ruined the front of his shirt. By the time I pulled myself together and looked up, the fabric over his chest was soaked and severely wrinkled. I sniffled, suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed. He glanced down at the wet patch on his chest, said absolutely nothing, and just used his thumb to wipe a stray tear off my jaw. “This shirt is designer. You’re going to have to pay for that.” My voice was thick and raspy. “I make a good salary. Send me the bill.” I immediately wired him fifteen hundred dollars from my phone. Sebastian was notoriously picky about his wardrobe. He never compromised on fabric or tailoring. Any random piece pulled from his closet was worth half my monthly rent. But the infuriating part was how effortlessly he wore it all, like those absurdly expensive clothes were custom-grown for his body. He flicked my forehead lightly. “You little brat. You used our joint Amex account to pay me back. You’re using my money to pay for my ruined shirt.” I suddenly remembered he had re-routed my primary payment method to his card the month prior. He caught my expression and let out a genuine laugh. “Do I really look that desperate for cash to you?” His smile slowly faded, replaced by a grounded sincerity. “If you’re upset and don’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to force it out of you. But I really hope you learn to let it out eventually. You can choke back your tears and swallow your voice, but whatever it is you’re keeping bottled up is rotting something inside you. And only you know what that is.” He didn’t press any further. He just softly asked, “Are you hungry? I’ll make us something.” I nodded. “I want pasta. With two fried eggs.” “Done.” His smile was breathtaking. But I never ended up eating that pasta. By the time Sebastian came out of the kitchen to get me, I was shivering on the couch, half-delirious. Getting caught in the cold rain earlier had triggered a brutal fever. When he reached out to check my forehead, I instinctively flinched away. In my past, getting sick always started with my father’s explosive lectures. He would scream about how irresponsible I was, how I was too old to not know how to take care of myself. Only after breaking me down would the pity show up in his eyes. I braced for the scolding, but it never came. Sebastian just turned around, grabbed a cool, damp towel, placed it gently over my brow, and coaxed me into swallowing some ibuprofen. Lying there, I listened to the sounds of the kitchen. The rhythmic chopping, the water boiling, the soft clatter of a wooden spoon against a pot. A long time passed before he walked in holding a bowl of soup. He sat on the edge of the mattress, stirring the broth and blowing on it to cool it down before lifting the spoon to my lips. “Open.” It was extremely late by the time he finished cooking. He could have easily ordered delivery on a corporate card, but he knew I loved his cooking, so he made it from scratch despite his exhaustion. He fed me spoon by spoon, never rushing. When the bowl was empty, he took a tissue and carefully dabbed the corner of my mouth. Then he pulled the heavy duvet up to my chin, tucking me in securely. He rested his warm palm against my forehead, his thumb stroking my hairline. “Go to sleep. I’m right here.” His voice was a deep, quiet anchor in the room. I closed my eyes, my fever-addled brain drifting into a hazy thought. Is this what love is supposed to be? I suppose so. I thought I could survive the rest of my life like this. From that night on, the air between us felt different. When the winter holidays hit, I drove Sebastian to the airport. He pinched my nose playfully at the drop-off zone. “It’s freezing out here. You really didn’t have to drive me all the way down here.” I didn’t say anything. I just threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tight. This was the first time we were going to be apart for an extended period. I hated letting him go, but there was a sick, secret thrill to it. I wanted to see if the distance would make him miss me. I wanted to see if he would panic, if he would finally be the one reaching out first. I was dead wrong. The moment his flight landed, he basically dropped off the face of the earth. I forced myself not to text him the first day. Around midnight, I got a generic “I’m home” text. After that, absolute radio silence. During my family’s holiday dinner, I stared blankly at my phone, waiting for his name to pop up on the screen. The house was packed with relatives. At the dinner table, my dad started recounting stories from my childhood, bragging to the aunts and uncles about how docile, obedient, and completely hassle-free I had always been. Then he looked at me and sighed. “But look at her now.” A suffocating wave of panic gripped my throat. I excused myself to my childhood bedroom and made the very first rebellious decision of my entire existence. At 2 AM, I booked the earliest flight upstate to his hometown. I packed a massive duffel bag full of specialty foods from my city, desperate to share them with him. During the three-hour flight, the window showed nothing but the pitch-black sky and my own tired reflection in the glass. My hair was a mess, but the thought of seeing Sebastian’s face ignited a warm, buzzing energy in my chest. The world was massive, but right now, I only wanted him. By 9 AM, I was standing outside his upscale apartment complex. My heart fluttering, I typed out a message. “I’m downstairs.” Nothing. I hesitated, wondering if I should call him. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement on a wooden bench near the courtyard entrance. Sebastian was sitting there. Hunter’s head was resting heavily on his shoulder. She looked like she was crying, her shoulders shaking in small, violent tremors. Sebastian had his arm wrapped securely around her. His other hand was gently stroking her hair. Neither of them spoke. They just sat there, glued together in the cold morning air. I stood behind the thick trunk of an oak tree, the winter chill sinking straight into my marrow. My phone vibrated in my palm. A text from Sebastian. “I’m not home right now.” I looked up. His hand was still firmly pressed against the small of Hunter’s back. He hadn’t let go for a single second. And he definitely hadn’t noticed me. I turned around and walked away in absolute silence. I knew Sebastian had just been sentenced to death in my heart, but the sheer logic of it didn’t stop the excruciating pain. I have zero memory of how I bought the return ticket or boarded the train back into the city. I only remember my hands and feet feeling like blocks of ice, my nose stinging from the bitter wind. On the train, an elderly woman sitting next to me noticed the bulging duffel bag in my lap. She smiled warmly. “Sweetheart, did your boyfriend buy you all those treats? He must really love you.” I nodded slowly. “Yeah. He really does.” The scenery whipped past the window like a broken film reel. The gray northern sky, the skeletal trees, the patches of dirty snow on distant rooftops. Inside the train, the atmosphere was loud and cheerful. It was the holidays, after all. People were glowing with joy. I sat glued to the window, absorbing the desolate winter outside while drowning in the noise inside. I suddenly wanted to scream and cry until my throat gave out. The universe is so endlessly vast, and I am so pathetically small. The world was spinning perfectly on its axis, completely unaffected by the fact that my entire life had just collapsed. I pulled out my phone and typed a message to him. “Sebastian, I miss you so much.” I missed him like I was dying of thirst. I knew I should be screaming in rage, but my heart was still begging for him. I despised myself for it. He didn’t call until much later that evening. I answered, and his voice flowed through the speaker, smooth and gentle as always. “Where are you right now?” I sniffled. Crying for hours had wrecked my vocal cords. “At home.” I paused, clutching the phone. “I was just messing with you this morning. I never left the apartment.” Maybe I couldn’t stomach the reality of what I had seen. Maybe I just refused to look that pathetic. So I lied. “Good. Look out your window. Come downstairs?” My heart slammed against my ribs. I practically ripped the curtains open. Sebastian was standing under the streetlamp below my apartment. He was wearing a charcoal wool overcoat, looking up at my window with a breathtakingly soft smile. “It’s freezing. Put a coat on before you come down.” I flew down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. The entire way down, my brain spun with scenarios of how I was going to confront him. But the second I burst through the lobby doors and saw him, all my defenses crumbled into dust. I just looked at him, and the tears betrayed me, spilling over my cheeks. I launched myself into his chest. Sebastian wrapped his arms around me, patting my back steadily. He didn’t ask why I was crying. Instead, he pulled a small paper box from a boutique bag. “Basque burnt cheesecake. Just like I promised.” I took the box with trembling hands. But the air around him felt heavy. The conversation wasn’t over. He looked down at me, his gaze painfully serious. “Grace, there is something I need to tell you face to face.” He paused. His voice was still dipped in that same gentleness, but there was a heavy, suffocating finality to it.

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1 The city streets blurred past the passenger window. My brain was still stuck on an endless loop, replaying the word “Positive” printed on the clinic’s lab results. My wife suddenly broke the silence. Her voice was cold enough to freeze water. “There is something you need to know.” The smile died on my face. I watched her pull a folded document from her designer bag and toss it onto my lap. It was a DNA report. Under the section labeled “Father”, a name was stamped in bold ink. Garrison. My own brother-in-law. “That night you were burning up with a fever and passed out in the back seat.” She traced the leather of the steering wheel with one manicured fingernail. “He and I were right here in the front.” All the blood rushed straight to my head. I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it had been filled with wet concrete. No sound came out. Valerie rested a hand over her slightly swollen stomach. Her eyes were completely dead. “If you can’t handle it, I’ll get rid of it. But don’t ever expect me to carry a child for you again.” She tossed the choice into my lap like we were discussing what to have for dinner. “To keep it or not. You call the shots.” The silence inside the SUV was suffocating. After a long time, I forced my mouth open. “Why? Why would you do this to me?” Black spots danced in my vision. It felt like invisible hands were wrapped around my throat, choking the air out of my lungs. Seeing the tears spilling down my face, Valerie pulled the car over. She reached out and wiped my cheek. “My older sister died without leaving a single kid behind. Garrison has no one left in this world to lean on. Giving him a child was the only thing I could do.” “If I terminate this pregnancy, I’m never going through the process again.” “If we keep it, I’ll make sure the kid calls you dad.” “It is entirely up to you.” Every word out of her mouth backed me further into a corner. I didn’t even have the strength to clench my fists. Just a few hours ago, she was wrapped in my arms, excitedly talking about our future family of three. As the director of the city’s top medical research foundation, she had been crying tears of joy. “We’re finally having a baby. I’m putting all my executive bonuses into a trust fund. I’m going to personally make sure he gets into an Ivy League school.” But a few hours later, she casually informed me the baby wasn’t mine. I raised a trembling fist in blind rage, but my hand dropped back down. “Valerie, you are completely out of your mind.” She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even raise her voice. “Let’s go home. I’ll make dinner.” Her tone was light. She reached over and gently clicked my seatbelt into place, acting like the conversation we just had never happened. I recoiled from her touch like I had been burned. Her face began to blur through my tears. The last time she had a miscarriage, I blamed myself entirely. The guilt dragged me into a severe, crippling depression. The local therapists couldn’t figure out how to help me, so Valerie used all her corporate connections to bring in a specialist from overseas. For countless days and nights, she dealt with my emotional breakdowns, bringing all her lab paperwork home just to keep an eye on me. Thinking back to how deeply we used to love each other, I couldn’t hold back my desperate question. “But you promised me. You promised you would try for another baby with me. Did none of that mean anything?” My intense reaction completely drained whatever patience she had left. “I am not holding a gun to your head and forcing you to raise this kid.” “You are forcing me.” My voice came out cracked and ruined. Valerie froze. Right at that moment, a motorcycle courier pulled up alongside our SUV and knocked on the glass. “Director. Garrison hurt his leg badly at the work site. You need to drive him to the emergency room right now.” All the color drained from Valerie’s face. She shoved me hard, pushing me toward the passenger door. “Walk home. You clearly need to cool off anyway.” She didn’t even leave me a parting glance. She hit the gas, and the heavy SUV roared down the street, leaving me behind. I hit the pavement hard. I struggled in the dirt for a long time before I could finally drag myself to my feet. I don’t know how long it took, but I stumbled my way back to our apartment. I walked straight to the expensive landline phone we rarely used. I picked up the receiver and dialed a number I had memorized long ago. “Hello. This is Rowan. I want to formally accept the volunteer teaching position in Alaska.” “Rowan. Thank God. That’s fantastic news.” After a brief moment of excitement, the voice on the other end hesitated. “But you need to be absolutely sure. Joining this project means relocating to the deep frontier. You’ll be stationed there permanently. It will be nearly impossible to visit your family. What about your wife…” I didn’t let him finish. “My mind is made up.” “Alright then. We’ll send a transport truck to pick you up in three days.” I hung up the phone and started packing my bags. We had been married for eight years. Every piece of furniture, every picture frame in this house was something we picked out together. She wanted to give all her corporate bonuses to Garrison. I hadn’t argued. I worked grueling freelance jobs just to pay our daily bills. Now, the home I had poured my entire soul into was popping like a cheap soap bubble. The front door clicked open. Valerie walked in. She saw me throwing clothes into a duffel bag and rolled her eyes, assuming I was throwing a tantrum. “You play these childish games every single time. If you don’t want the baby, just say it.” “Garrison was bleeding from a severe injury, and he still begged me to get an abortion so I wouldn’t upset you.” “He’s been through enough on his own. Can’t you learn to be a little less selfish?” A hollow, miserable laugh ripped out of my throat. “You think these past few years have been easy for me?” “That is enough.” Her patience was completely gone. “He lost his wife. He has nothing. No matter how much you complain, you still have me. You’ve been living a comfortable, easy life all these years just coasting on my status as a director.” I froze. A wave of pure absurdity washed over me. Ever since Valerie’s sister died in the line of duty, Valerie took it upon herself to act as Garrison’s surrogate wife. She catered to his every single demand. When a piece of falling debris cracked my skull open, she wasn’t there. When I was trapped in the mountains for three days during a brutal snowstorm on a charity run, she wasn’t there. Even on the day my father died of cancer, she wasn’t there. But every time Garrison had a minor cold or a scraped knee, she dropped everything and rushed to his side. And after all that, she had the nerve to say I was coasting on an easy life. My eyes burned. I laughed, mocking my own stupidity. “You’re a highly respected director, and you’re sleeping with your dead sister’s husband. Where is all that morality and dignity you love to preach about?” Right on cue, Garrison limped into the room. “Rowan, how could you say something like that? I’ve always treated you like my own little brother.” The man’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. “Blame me. It’s my fault. I was just too selfish. I wanted to leave a piece of my family behind. If you hate the idea of this baby so much, I’ll tell Valerie to go to the clinic right now.” He put on a pathetic display, turning around and limping toward the door, dramatically shouting about finding a doctor. Valerie clicked her tongue in annoyance and shoved me away in pure disgust. She turned to chase after him. The push sent me stumbling back. My head, still fragile from the old debris injury, slammed violently into the sharp corner of the coffee table. I grabbed her sleeve in agonizing pain. “Valerie. My head. It hurts so bad.” She violently yanked her arm out of my grip. “Sit here and think about what you’ve done. If his leg gets worse because of this, I’m holding you responsible.” The door slammed shut behind her, rattling the frames on the wall. It was only after she left that I felt the warm, thick liquid sliding down the back of my neck. Dizziness washed over me in sickening waves. I practically crawled across the floor to the landline and dialed the local emergency clinic. “I’m bleeding. My head. Please come help me.” I didn’t expect the voice on the other end of the line to be Valerie’s. She growled at me in pure irritation. “You are sitting safely at home. What danger could you possibly be in? Do not tie up the emergency medical lines for your petty tantrums ever again. Don’t call this number.” When I finally opened my eyes again, my head was wrapped in thick, tight gauze. A young nurse stood by the bed. She quietly told me that if they had found me a few minutes later, I would have bled to death. I reached up and touched the bandages. The pain in my chest was worse than the wound. Valerie. You almost murdered me with your own hands. Before I could even wipe the tears from my eyes, a neighbor from our apartment complex rushed into the room, looking terrified. “Rowan. The subsidized apartment the foundation promised your mother. Valerie just revoked the lease.” “You need to come quick. Your mom collapsed. It’s her heart.” It felt like lightning struck my spine. I didn’t even care about my head. I ripped the IV out and stumbled out of the clinic, practically dragging myself to the apartment block. When I arrived, Valerie was standing by the door, ordering a crew of movers to throw my mother’s belongings out onto the street. My mother had passed out from the shock, her frail body crumpled on the concrete. “What the hell are you doing?” I ran over like a madman and pulled my mother into my arms, glaring up at Valerie with pure hatred. There wasn’t a single shred of guilt in her eyes. Only deep, biting disgust. “Your mother has been walking around the complex spreading rumors that my baby belongs to Garrison. She is ruining our reputation.” I fired back with a bitter sneer. “Is it not the truth?” “You.” Valerie choked on her words. “My sister died a hero. Garrison is the widower of a hero. The foundation’s housing benefits absolutely must prioritize him.” “As for your mother, she can go back to her old slum. It makes no difference.” My mother seemed to hear those brutal words. She weakly twitched in my arms. When we got married, Valerie had knelt down in front of my mother, promising to treat her like her own flesh and blood. She personally promised to move my mother out of her rotting, leaky shack and put her in a safe, warm apartment. I never expected her promises to rot this quickly. Fighting through the blinding pain in my skull, I staggered to my feet and stood in front of her. “If anything happens to my mother, we are getting a divorce.” My words visibly knocked the wind out of her. She looked at my bloodstained clothes, then down at my unconscious mother. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t find her voice. Garrison picked the perfect moment to break the silence. He let out a pathetic, shaky sob. “Director. Just give the apartment to the old woman. I can sleep in an alley for all I care. You two can’t destroy your marriage over a guy like me.” His little speech instantly painted me as the hysterical villain. Valerie looked at me. Her eyes were full of absolute disappointment. “How can you throw the word divorce around so casually? You’re just saying that to torture him.” “Get over here and apologize to him right now.” I couldn’t hear her screaming anymore. I could only focus on my mother’s face, which was turning a terrifying shade of gray. I looked at the foundation’s private SUV parked nearby. It was my only hope. “I have nothing to apologize for. Valerie, order your driver to take my mom to the hospital. Now.” The second the words left my mouth, Garrison suddenly grabbed his thigh and let out a loud groan of agony. He twisted his face into a mask of pure suffering. “I was wrong. I’m sorry, Rowan. A worthless bachelor like me doesn’t deserve a child anyway.” Seeing his twisted, pained expression, Valerie didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his arm and practically carried him into the SUV. I chased after them, violently grabbing the car door handle, but she slapped my hand away with brutal force. My fresh stitches tore open. A wave of black dizziness hit me. The neighbors, completely confused by the drama, backed away from me like I carried a plague. Not a single person was willing to give us a ride. I had to drag my mother out to the main road, begging passing cars until a stranger finally pulled over. I carried her through the hospital doors, sprinting down the hallway, only to be blocked outside the intensive care wing. “I’m sorry, sir. We have absolutely zero beds left. We can’t admit her.” “Why not?” “Director Valerie has a VIP suite permanently reserved. This is her mother-in-law. Why can’t she use it?” I lost control of my facial expressions entirely. The nurse took a step back, her voice shaking. “The Director just checked her brother-in-law into that exact room ten minutes ago. The slot is completely occupied.” I turned my head stiffly and looked through the glass of the VIP suite. Garrison was lounging on the premium hospital bed, casually eating slices of fresh apple. Valerie was hovering nervously by his side, handing him a glass of water, acting exactly like a devoted wife. I shoved the door open, shattering their perfect domestic scene. “Valerie. My mom…” “Why are you stalking us?” Valerie cut me off, her eyes blazing with fury. “His leg flared up because of the vile things you said. If we were a second later, he could have lost the leg entirely.” Right at that moment, Garrison speared a piece of apple with a toothpick and chewed it slowly, looking completely relaxed. He didn’t look like a man fighting for his life. Valerie shoved me out of the suite and locked the door from the inside. My entire body was violently shaking. I had to find a way to transfer my mother to a private hospital. But when I checked my pockets, I realized I couldn’t even afford a taxi ride across town. I spotted Valerie’s assistant in the hallway. I grabbed her arm like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. “Valerie’s executive bonus for this month. Please, let me get an advance on it. I swear on my life I will pay her back.” The assistant wouldn’t meet my eyes. She stammered out a reply. “The Director spent the entire bonus on imported supplements for Garrison. There’s nothing left in the account.” My grip went totally slack. My eyes were bloodshot and wild. I watched my mother struggling for every single breath. Every second that ticked by felt like a knife dragging across my heart. In a sheer panic, my hand brushed against the heavy jade pendant around my neck. It was the wedding gift Valerie brought back from an expedition years ago. Even when I was starving and living off stale bread, I never thought about pawning it. Now, I didn’t care. I ripped the necklace off and shoved it into the hands of the attending doctor. “This is a genuine antique. It’s incredibly valuable. Please, use this as collateral. Do something.” The doctor, who clearly knew a bit about jewelry, glanced at it and pushed it back into my chest. “Somebody ripped you off, buddy. This is a cheap piece of glass from a tourist trap. It’s basically a toy.” In a split second, the blood froze in my veins. The assistant couldn’t bear to watch anymore. She quietly explained the truth. “The Director did bring back a priceless jade piece from that trip. But she gave it to Garrison as soon as she landed. Yours… she bought yours at a gift shop down the street.” The fake jade slipped through my fingers and smashed against the tile floor, shattering into two pathetic pieces. Every ounce of strength drained from my body. Right there, sitting in the freezing, sterile hospital stairwell, my mother took her last breath. I bit down on my own lip so hard it bled. The sound of my own shattered sobbing echoed through the concrete walls. That night, after making the final arrangements for my mother’s body, I picked up my duffel bag and climbed into the transport truck heading for Alaska. At the exact same time, Valerie finished tucking Garrison into bed. She stepped out of the VIP suite and handed a stack of cash to her assistant. “Take this to my husband. Buy his mother some decent vitamins on the way.” “Tell him I’ll personally take him to get his head checked at the clinic tomorrow.” The assistant didn’t take the money. She kept her hands by her sides and spoke in a trembling whisper. “His mother passed away tonight.” “What?” Valerie’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She sprinted down the hallway and bolted out of the hospital doors. As she recklessly sped her SUV back toward our apartment, a dark green transport truck passed her going the opposite direction. She didn’t even glance at it. She just wanted to get home. She had no idea I was already on my way to the frozen frontier, and I was never coming back.

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Today marks my third year as Rowan’s captive. He changed overnight. He ripped out every security camera in the bedroom. Wiped his phone completely clean. Then he pulled open the heavy oak doors of the estate. His face was a blank mask. He told me he did not need me anymore. He told me to go home. Home? I had lived here for three years. Without this place, I had nowhere else to go. I stood frozen in the doorway. My hands felt utterly useless. I wondered if he was sick. I reached out to press my palm against his forehead, checking for a fever. But the second my fingers neared his skin, he flinched away. My hand hung awkwardly in midair. My entire body went rigid. Then his voice came, completely devoid of warmth. He told me he was wrong in the past. He never should have locked me up against my will. He said he had already bought an apartment for me downtown. He would wire twenty million dollars to my account as compensation. Finally, he said we should never see each other again. He wanted to live a normal life. 1 The ice-cold words smashed against my ears. But I heard nothing. The world just faded into static. For Rowan, it was love at first sight. Three years ago, my mother fell critically ill. I was drowning in medical debt. He stepped in and pulled me from the edge. His only condition was that I stay by his side. I did not love him back then. I only prayed he would get bored of me and let me go. But I never expected the man known to the public as the ruthless devil of Wall Street to treat me with such overwhelming tenderness. When I felt suffocated, he flew me across the globe. When I mentioned I loved dancing, he spent a fortune custom-making my ballet shoes. During a vacation that year, a sudden earthquake struck. Our hotel collapsed. He shielded me entirely in his embrace. The crumbling roof shattered his ribs. I sobbed until I could barely breathe. He just kissed away my tears and joked with a bloody smile. “What are you afraid of? When I die, you can finally leave me. You should be smiling.” My heart ached for him. I surrendered to my fate. I stayed quietly by his side. Three years passed. My universe had shrunk until it only contained him. Now, I did not take the bank card he offered. My fingers twisted together nervously. “You are not feeling well. Just rest early.” I turned and fled back to our shared master bedroom. This time, he did not follow me. That night, I waited in bed for a very long time. Rowan never walked through the door. Usually, he was addicted to my body. He was obsessed. He would crawl onto the mattress and kiss me with religious devotion, from my toes all the way up to my neck. Through the wall, I heard the sound of running water in the bathroom. I slipped out of bed barefoot. Taking a deep breath, I stripped off every piece of clothing. I pushed the bathroom door open slowly. Inside, the thick steam could not hide his sculpted physique. Broad shoulders. Chiseled abs trailing down his lean waist. And on his back, a terrifying, jagged scar that looked like a giant centipede. He got that scar saving my life. Hearing the door, he glanced over his shoulder. When his eyes dragged over my naked body, they darkened instinctively. His Adam’s apple bobbed. It was a dead giveaway that he was turned on. But just as I braced for him to pull me into the water… He spun around, snatched a towel from the rack, and wrapped it securely around his waist. “Who gave you permission to come in?” I panicked. He had never spoken to me like that. “I… I thought you liked it.” The old Rowan absolutely loved it. He used to coax and beg me daily just to share a bath. Now, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked like he was suppressing sheer disgust. “Have you no shame?” “What?” He turned his head away. His jaw clenched in restraint. “Get out and put your clothes on.” I could not hold back anymore. I bolted from the room. Ten minutes later, the bathroom door finally clicked open. I heard his footsteps pause outside the master bedroom. Then, they faded down the hall. Early the next morning, Rowan’s assistant, Nolan, found me. He held out a set of keys. And the bank card I had refused the night before. “Mr. Lockwood’s orders. The new apartment is fully furnished. You can move in anytime.” I kept my head down. My eyes burned with fresh tears. Taking a shaky breath, I looked up at him. “Nolan, tell me the truth. Is the company in trouble? Is he sick?” Pity softened Nolan’s eyes. “The boss is perfectly fine. Everything is fine.” I refused to believe it. “If he is fine, he would never throw me away.” Seeing my red, swollen eyes, Nolan sighed heavily. He pressed the items into my palm. “I work for Mr. Lockwood. I probably shouldn’t be saying this. “But feelings come and go. Luckily, the boss is generous. “Take what he gives you. Don’t be foolish and reject it.” The jagged edges of the keys dug into my skin. “When does he want me out?” Nolan looked away, unable to meet my gaze. “Today.” So rushed? He could not even tolerate me for one more night. I forced a bitter smile and whispered a soft okay. I had a lot of things. All bought by him. Rowan was incredibly wealthy and never stingy with me. Over the years, almost as if to compensate me, he bought anything I showed even a sliver of interest in, completely ignoring the price tags. I did not want to take advantage of him, but I also could not bear to leave my past behind. I sifted through my belongings, packing only the most important items. While cleaning out a desk drawer in the study, I noticed a hidden safe. I frowned. I knew almost every inch of this house. But I had never seen this safe before. On pure instinct, I typed in my birthday. The heavy metal door popped open with a click. I blinked and peered inside. No gold bars. No hidden jewels. Just a stack of notebooks. The pages were yellowed with age. I pulled them out and realized they were Rowan’s diaries. The pages were packed with dense handwriting. It was all about me. There were seven notebooks in total. I checked the dates. The earliest entry was from seven years ago. But that was impossible. Seven years ago, I was still in high school. We didn’t even know each other. Confused, I kept reading. That was when I realized our history went back much further than I thought. Back then, he was just a broke kid making deliveries to pay for his tuition. He got into a bad accident on his bike, and I helped him out. Since that day, he could not get me out of his head. Whenever he felt depressed or hit a wall in his career, he would stand outside my dorm building just to catch a glimpse of me. From a poor boy watching from the shadows. To a billionaire standing proudly by my side. It took him four years. I had only meant to skim the pages. Before I knew it, the afternoon sun was streaming through the window. I touched my cheeks. They were completely soaked with tears. When I stood up, a velvet ring box tumbled out from between the pages of the oldest diary. A gorgeous, intricately cut diamond ring rested inside. My mind flashed back to two months ago. Rowan kept kissing my fingers. He even measured my ring size while I was asleep. So all this time… I could not just sit there. I threw everything back into my bag. I had to find him. Every employee at Rowan’s company knew my face. I took the private elevator straight to the top floor. I shoved the heavy oak doors to his office wide open. “Rowan, we need to talk.” The words barely left my mouth when I saw a young woman scrambling off his lap. She hastily adjusted her wrinkled blouse right in front of me. My blood turned to ice. Yet, in that absurdly painful moment, a strange memory surfaced. A few months ago, at a corporate dinner, a female client deliberately brushed her fingers against his hand while pouring wine. Rowan had snapped. He stormed out of the restaurant immediately. When he got home, he scrubbed his hands raw and knelt before me, crying that he was filthy. I finally had to kiss every single inch of his skin to calm him down. Things had changed. I never imagined he would let another woman get this close. “Who let you in!” he roared. “Are the security guards dead?” His secretary rushed in, trembling. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lockwood. I didn’t know…” “Get out!” The secretary backed away and looked at me. “Ms. Avery?” I did not move. I was terrifyingly calm. I looked straight at him. “I just have a few questions. I’ll leave as soon as you answer them.” Rowan stared at me. Finally, he yielded. He led me into the adjoining conference room, slowly buttoning his dress shirt. “You have three minutes. Speak.” I slid the diaries and the diamond ring across the table. “What is this?” He frowned, picked them up, and flipped through the pages carelessly. “What exactly are you trying to prove with this?” “You were going to propose, weren’t you?” He stayed silent. “I refuse to believe your love just vanished overnight. There has to be a reason. Just tell me the truth.” A beat passed. Then, Rowan laughed. “Avery, did all those years locked up in my house give you Stockholm syndrome?” “Before we make this official, do you want me to hire a shrink for you?” He pulled a sleek silver lighter from his pocket. His tone dripped with casual mockery. “If you think a few pathetic journals prove I still care about you…” His thumb flicked the wheel. A bright flame danced from the metal. “…then I’ll just burn them.” The yellowed paper caught fire instantly, the flames eating away the memories. I gasped. “What are you doing?” Ignoring my panic, he kept talking. “Let it go. A few burnt books won’t change my mind. “Avery, I was sick for too many years. I want to be normal now. I want a normal relationship. “You saw the girl out there. She’s younger, she’s prettier. We are done.” Black ash floated into the air, carried by the AC breeze. My only thought was that I had to save those pages. I lunged forward and snatched the burning book. Searing pain shot up my arm, lighting up my nerve endings. Rowan’s mask finally cracked. Raw, unfiltered panic flooded his eyes. He grabbed my waist and pulled me back. “Are you insane?!” I managed to stamp out the fire before my brain registered the agony. The pain was so intense I blacked out. I woke up groggy to the sound of arguing. “What kind of host body did you stick me in? The guy is a total psycho.” “Did you read those diaries? Absolute garbage! A grown man playing the devoted saint. He really thought he was Romeo.” “And that woman is just as crazy. Locked up for three years, and when she gets a free pass, she refuses to leave. Pathetic.” I peeled my eyes open. Rowan was slumped on the hospital sofa. He looked incredibly annoyed. The room was empty, but he was muttering to someone unseen. “Look, let’s just drop the breakup with Avery.” “I only borrowed this body to complete the system’s mission. I don’t want a murder on my hands.” “I actually don’t hate her. Let’s just keep her in the villa. She’s a spineless little canary anyway. She won’t cause any trouble.” My ears perked up. I quietly digested every single word. Once the room went completely silent, I slowly opened my eyes. Hearing the sheets rustle, he rushed to my side. “You’re awake?” I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through my left hand. “Don’t move. Your burns haven’t healed.” I finally noticed the heavy gauze wrapped around my arm. He helped me prop up some pillows and turned to pour a glass of water. “I want hot milk,” I said softly. He smiled, gently taking my uninjured hand. “Of course. I’ll buy you whatever you want.” My heart turned to absolute ice. I am severely lactose intolerant. Dairy sends me straight to the ER. Rowan knew my body better than I did. For years, he inspected every single thing I ate or drank. I casually slipped my hand out of his grip and forced a weak smile. “Thanks, honey.” My arm injury did not restrict my daily life. But ‘Rowan’ insisted on hiring a private nurse. She was a woman in her fifties, highly efficient. Seeing him sit by my bed all day, she whispered to me with envy. “You don’t see men as devoted as Mr. Lockwood anymore.” “My husband never spends a fraction of that time on me.” I gave her a hollow smile. What she didn’t know was that the real Rowan cherished me like his own life. Forget a severe burn. If I bumped my knee on a table, he would kiss the bruise for hours. He would never trust anyone else to take care of me. A week later, I was discharged. He had already ordered his men to unpack all my bags at the villa. He spoke to me like a generous king granting a pardon. “Since you refuse to leave, just keep living here.” Originally, when he burned the diaries, I truly intended to walk away. But now, I had to stay. I needed to find out where my real Rowan had gone. 2 From that day on, the fake Rowan fell into a routine of leaving early and coming back late. He never mentioned the girl I caught him with. He didn’t bring it up. So I didn’t ask. But that didn’t mean I was blind. At noon, I packed some high-end takeout into a fancy bento box. I took a cab to his office building. Instead of calling him, I rang Nolan. “I made lunch for him. Could you bring it up to his office?” “I also grabbed coffee for the team. Thanks for helping.” The bags were heavy. Nolan took them with a frown. “Why not just call the boss yourself?” “I’m afraid of walking in on… something again. Better not make him mad.” Nolan gave me that look of profound pity again. After a long pause, he sighed. “The girl’s name is Brooke. She’s a new intern.” “But it’s weird. Before the final hiring list was even posted, Mr. Lockwood insisted on putting her in the executive suite. It was like he knew she was coming.” During my time with the real Rowan, he was fiercely loyal. He gave me daily reports on every single person he interacted with without me ever asking. I knew everyone in his circle. Brooke definitely was not one of them. Seeing my silence, Nolan rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t mind my big mouth. Just… look out for yourself, okay?” “Call me if you ever need help.” I nodded and gave him a sincere thank you. That evening, ‘Rowan’ surprisingly came home early. “Why didn’t you call me when you dropped by the office?” I lowered my eyes. “I didn’t want to interrupt your work.” I probably looked incredibly pathetic. A flicker of sympathy crossed his face. “The lunch was great. Really delicious,” he said. “But I want you to have your own life. Don’t just revolve around me.” I nodded obediently. “Okay.” He could not resist patting my head. Since I had nothing real to say to this imposter, I took a shower and went to bed early. Not long after I laid down, I heard footsteps pacing outside my door. He was hesitating. I held my breath and listened closely. I could barely make out his whispers. “I just feel sorry for her. Look how obedient she was today. If I don’t sleep in there, she’ll overthink it.” “I’m doing this for the mission. You don’t want my cover blown either, right?” “Relax, I’m not a freak like Rowan. I’m not gonna touch another man’s girl.” A moment later, the door creaked open. I clamped my eyes shut, pretending to be fast asleep. He slipped under the covers beside me. Seeing me asleep, he seemed to let out a huge breath of relief. He leaned close to my neck and took a deep inhale, sighing in satisfaction. “Smells amazing.” Lately, his attitude toward me had definitely shifted. From initial disgust to gradual acceptance. He even moved out of the guest room and back into the master suite. But my feelings were the exact opposite. Every night sharing a bed with him felt like sleeping next to a corpse. It was revolting. However, there was some good news. His ‘system mission’ was going exceptionally well. I figured that out through Nolan. The assistant wore his heart on his sleeve. Every time he saw me, he looked unbearably guilty, as if he were the one cheating on me. One afternoon, the guilt became too much for him. After taking my ‘homemade’ lunch, he dropped a heavy hint. “The boss is going on a business trip to the neighboring city for a few days. He’s taking an assistant.” “Parentheses, that assistant is not me.” So it was the intern. I nodded to show I understood. When I didn’t react, he added quietly, “The downtown apartment is fully cleared of formaldehyde. Are you really not gonna move in?” I shook my head slowly. Actually, the villa I was living in was legally transferred to my name three years ago. If anyone was getting kicked out, it wouldn’t be me. A few days later, ‘Rowan’ casually brought up the trip. When the real Rowan traveled, regardless of the distance, he dragged me with him. He had severe touch starvation. If he couldn’t hold me, he panicked. So, even knowing the answer, I played my part. “Honey, do you want me to go with you?” He blinked in surprise. “You want to come?” I ducked my head, playing shy. “I’m just afraid you’ll miss me.” His expression became visibly conflicted. After a long silence, he cleared his throat. “It’s strictly business. You don’t need to come.” I nodded eagerly. “Then I’ll wait right here for you to come home.” Wait for the real Rowan to come home, I meant. The minute he left, I grabbed his black card and went on a shopping spree. I never noticed it when he was around. But now that he was gone, I actually missed him. So, I picked out several pieces of highly scandalous lace lingerie. The exact kind Rowan used to beg on his knees for me to wear. The silk was exquisite, and the price tags were astronomical. Thinking about how these expensive pieces usually ended up shredded in Rowan’s aggressive grip made my heart ache a little. When I got home, I laid my loot across the bed and tried them on one by one. Seductive eyes. Flawless curves. No wonder the man was addicted to me. I was just about to change into the next set when the front door clicked open. At this hour… was it him? He was back so soon! Suppressing my joy, I bolted out of the bedroom. “Honey, you’re” The words died in my throat. Wrong. The eyes were wrong. When my Rowan looked at me, his gaze was dark, obsessive, and overflowing with desperate love. The man standing before me looked shocked, and then his eyes clouded with pure, dirty lust. It made my skin crawl. Covering up now would look too suspicious. I forced myself to stay calm. “Honey, why are you back? I thought you were on a trip.” “I figured you’d cry without me, so I rebooked my flight.” Damn it. That meant the mission wasn’t finished. Hiding my bitter disappointment, I forced a bright smile. “That’s great! Let me go change real quick.” I tried to step backward into the bedroom. But he moved faster. He snaked an arm around my waist from behind. “Don’t change. I like this one.” My heart plummeted. My muscles locked up. He leaned directly into my ear. “Did you buy this just to please me?” He was too close. I smelled stale alcohol mixed with cheap women’s perfume on his collar. Nausea clawed at my throat. “I was just trying it on…” Before I could finish, his lips dragged across my neck. “Seriously, did you put a hex on me?” “Why do I have zero interest in touching any other woman but you?” At that exact second, a robotic alarm blared in the air. [Warning. Host has violated Transmigration Rule 384. Intimate contact with anyone other than the designated target is strictly prohibited.] [Stop immediately!] “I am Rowan now, and she is my woman,” he growled. “Claiming her is my right. If I fail, so be it. I’m not going back to my old life anyway.” His grip on my waist tightened brutally. Panic fully set in. I clenched my jaw, swung my arm, and slapped him across the face with everything I had. Smack! The next second, he froze completely. He touched his stinging cheek, his eyes wide, pure, and utterly confused. “Wife?!” “Why did you hit me?” He looked down, taking in my lingerie, and blinked. Then, he tilted his other cheek toward me. “Here.” “Hit this side too.” Holy shit! My beautiful psycho was back! I couldn’t even process my own emotions. I practically climbed him like a tree, sobbing hysterically and wiping tears all over his expensive shirt. Rowan instantly panicked. “What’s wrong?” “Okay, okay, don’t cry. Shh, don’t cry.” “I’m here. Your husband is right here.” It took a long time for me to finally calm down. He told me he had been locked in a dark, empty void. “Most of the time I was unconscious. I could only catch glimpses of the outside world through his perspective.” “Earlier, I thought I heard your voice. I heard something about you wearing a beautiful nightgown, so I fought like hell to open my eyes.” His eyes dragged over my body with zero restraint. “You look gorgeous.” I was speechless. It figures. The only thing that could summon a psycho was psycho energy. That night, the lingerie met its usual fate. Torn to shreds in his hands. Reunited after so long, he completely lost his mind. I didn’t even know how I finally passed out. Half asleep, I felt a wet tongue trailing over the burn scar on my arm. It tickled. I tried to pull away. He sighed heavily against my skin. “Protect yourself.” “It breaks my heart.” When I regained consciousness, the body beside me was still warm. Out of pure habit, I nuzzled into his chest. But he didn’t wrap his arms around me like a golden retriever. Confused, I looked up. I met a pair of calculating, unfamiliar eyes. My blood ran cold. Rowan. He was gone again. Rowan briefly seizing control of his body served as a massive warning to the transmigrator. Gavin did not dare touch me again. He kept his distance cautiously. One night, I woke up thirsty. I walked into the hallway and noticed the light glowing under the study door. Inside, the man’s impatient voice carried through the crack. “Why did I suddenly black out? Why did he wake up? Have your engineers figured it out yet?” [This is unprecedented. Technical support is running a diagnostic.] [But I warned you before. This host, Rowan, has exceptionally high mental fortitude.] [Especially regarding Avery. You must not touch her.] [Just complete your mission obediently, and we can both return to our original world.] “And what about Avery?” The system paused. [What about her?] “If I leave, that psycho gets his body back and keeps controlling her life.” The system sounded bewildered. [Why do you care?] The man scoffed. “As long as I occupy this body, she is my responsibility.” “I’d rather stay stuck here forever than abandon her to a control freak.” [???] [You’re just doing a dating sim mission. Where did this sudden superhero complex come from?] “What did you say?” [Nothing. Do whatever makes you happy, sir.] I waited until the room fell dead silent before tiptoeing back to bed. My mind raced. Slowly, a crazy plan began to form. If my touch was the key to waking Rowan up. Then I would go all in. I decided to seduce him. No. I decided to seduce the transmigrator. Since the last incident, Gavin had been sleeping in the guest room. The next night, right as he was getting ready for bed, I changed into a silk slip. It wasn’t overly scandalous, but it clung to every curve of my body perfectly. I spent an hour doing ‘no-makeup’ makeup. I knocked softly on the guest room door. “Honey, are you asleep?” The man reading in bed looked up and froze. “What are you doing here?” “I can’t sleep.” I padded barefoot across the thick carpet. My heart hammered against my ribs. I had never done anything like this before. He closed his book and took off his gold-rimmed glasses. “What do you want?” “You haven’t touched me in so long.” I looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Are you not attracted to me anymore?” I let my fingers trail lightly down his chest. After surviving my intense relationship with the real Rowan, I knew every single sensitive spot on this body like the back of my hand. The soul was fake, but the nerve endings were real. His breathing hitched immediately. I pressed my advantage, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle him. His eyes darkened violently. He grabbed my wrists. A low groan rumbled in his chest. “Wife, keep touching.” That shameless, hungry look. Who else could it be? I knew the bastard couldn’t resist! Since my Rowan was back, the seduction was officially canceled. I scrambled to get off his lap. He clamped his hands tightly on my waist and pulled me flush against him. “Where are you going?” “Why stop now?” Furious, I smacked him right on his painfully obvious erection. “Is this really the time for that?!” He let out a sharp hiss. Then he grabbed my hand and dragged his tongue across my palm. “I need a cold shower.” To prevent him from going feral again, I quickly changed into flannel pajamas and sat cross-legged on the bed waiting for him. A few minutes later, he walked out. He had taken a freezing military shower. I rapidly relayed all the intel I gathered. “The fake guy says he wants to save me.” I rolled my eyes. “Is that the catch? If I leave, his mission is successful?” “What should I do? Should I actually pack up and cut ties with you?” He went totally silent. Then he murmured, “It has nothing to do with you.” “Huh?” He explained. “Since I woke up last time, my periods of lucidity are getting longer. “While I was trapped, I saw his memories.” “His name is Gavin. A broke college grad with too much pride and zero work ethic. “Before he crossed over, his girlfriend dumped him for being a lazy loser. He got evicted and was sleeping on the streets. That’s when the system pulled him in.” “He has absolutely nothing holding him to his original world. He never planned on going back.” His own life was a miserable failure. Coming here, he instantly became a billionaire CEO. Endless money. Supreme power. A perfect body and a handsome face. It was the ultimate reset button.

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In the checkout line at the grocery store, the girl standing in front of me suddenly let out a sharp gasp. She violently sidestepped, ducking behind me like a frightened animal. Her voice was trembling uncontrollably. “You go first.” I gave her a weird look but stepped up and paid for my groceries. The second my transaction went through, a crowd of store employees swarmed me. Confetti popped. They were grinning from ear to ear, loudly announcing that I was the store’s one millionth customer. I had just won a ten million dollar cash prize. The sheer shock paralyzed my brain for a solid minute. When I finally snapped out of it, my first thought was to find that girl and thank her. But as I turned around, my feet glued themselves to the floor. She was leaning heavily against a display shelf, gasping for air. Her face was chalk-white, and her expression was completely consumed by the overwhelming relief of someone who had just barely escaped death. 1 There wasn’t a single trace of regret on that girl’s face. Not a drop of jealousy over missing out on ten million dollars. I knew that exact expression. I was intimately familiar with it. Years ago, I was riding my bicycle without paying attention and got dragged under the wheels of a massive semi-truck. The bike was crushed into twisted metal. The heavy tires screeched to a halt just inches away from my skull. When I crawled out from under that undercarriage and collapsed onto the asphalt, I looked exactly like the girl standing in front of me right now. It was the look of surviving a disaster. Gasping for oxygen. Total physical collapse. But that reaction only makes sense when you’ve just stared death in the face. Why was this girl reacting like that in the middle of a grocery store? I opened my mouth, wanting to ask her if she was okay. She didn’t give me the chance. She turned on her heel and walked rapidly toward the exit. Right as she reached the automatic sliding doors, she stopped and glanced back at me. Our eyes met. A violent shudder ripped through my chest. Because looking back at me, her eyes were completely filled with pity. 2 That look left a deep, crawling sense of unease in my gut. But the moment ten million dollars officially hit my bank account, all that paranoia completely evaporated. Sitting alone in my cramped rental apartment, I stared at the absurdly long string of zeros on my banking app. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. A house. A luxury car. Traveling the globe. A million different dreams were exploding in my head. My phone buzzed. It was a text message from an unknown number. “Do not open the door for your food delivery.” “Freak,” I muttered under my breath. I furrowed my brows, deleted the obvious prank text, and went back to daydreaming about my new wealth. By the time I finally snapped out of my fantasy, it was late into the night. My stomach growled. I opened up DoorDash. Instead of scrolling through my usual cheap fast food options, I went straight to the most expensive steakhouse in the city. Half an hour later, a heavy knock echoed through the apartment. “Delivery for Jessica.” I pushed myself off the couch, ready to grab my food. But for some inexplicable reason, that bizarre text message flashed in my mind. Those ten words felt like iron nails pinning my feet to the floorboards. Normally, I would have just ignored it. But I was sitting on ten million dollars now. Being a little paranoid couldn’t hurt. I raised my voice and called out toward the door. “Just leave it on the mat!” “Sure thing. Enjoy your meal.” I heard the heavy paper bag hit the floor. The delivery guy’s heavy footsteps slowly echoed down the hall, fading away. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and walked over to unlock the deadbolt. Right as my fingers brushed the cold metal handle, I noticed something terrifying. The light creeping through the crack under my door was still on. My apartment complex had recently installed motion-sensor lights in the hallways to save power. If someone was in the hall, the light stayed on. If it was empty, it turned off in thirty seconds. The delivery guy had walked away minutes ago. Why was the light still on? I held my breath. I pressed my ear flat against the cold wood of the door. A second later, a freezing chill shot straight up from my heels to the top of my skull. I heard a soft, rhythmic breathing sound coming from the other side of the wood. The delivery guy hadn’t left. He was standing right outside my door. 3 I bit down hard on my lip, pulled out my phone, and silently texted 911. Every second felt like an agonizing hour. Twenty minutes later, I finally looked through the peephole and saw two uniformed police officers. Only then did I unlock the door. The lead officer looked at me with deep skepticism. “Ma’am, we checked the entire hallway and the stairwells. There is no one here.” “Are you absolutely certain someone was trying to harm you?” I didn’t even bother putting on my shoes. I led the cops straight down to the building’s security office. But when I demanded to pull the security footage for my floor, the night guard just clicked his tongue. “Sorry, miss. The camera on your floor specifically shorted out this afternoon.” My heart completely dropped. This wasn’t a random creep. This was premeditated. Someone was actively hunting me. Since there was no footage, the cops just told me to lock my doors and call them if anything else happened. Back in my apartment, I buried myself under the thick duvet on my bed. If I hadn’t received that warning text, if I had just opened the door like a normal night, I didn’t even want to imagine what would have happened to me. Suddenly, a realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. The person behind that unknown number knew there was a killer outside my door. And since they warned me, they clearly weren’t the enemy. If I could just get a hold of them, maybe I could figure out who was trying to kill me. My fingers trembled as I dialed the unknown number. The phone rang. And rang. Every single dial tone made my heart stutter. I was terrified they would hang up. I was terrified they just wouldn’t answer. On the fifteenth second, the ringing clicked off. “Congratulations. You’re still alive.” The words completely paralyzed me. But what shocked me even more was the voice on the other end. I knew that voice. I had heard it today. It was the girl from the grocery store. The one who pushed me forward in line. I didn’t care about anything else anymore. I gripped the phone and unleashed every question burning in my mind. “Who the hell are you? How did you know someone was going to kill me?” There was a long, heavy silence on the line. Then, her voice came back, trembling violently. “Because that is exactly how I died in my last life.” 4 The neon lights of the 24-hour gaming lounge were blinding. The sound of keyboards clacking and teenagers yelling at video games was usually annoying, but tonight, it made me feel incredibly safe. I sat in a private booth, staring at the girl sitting across from me. My mind was completely reeling. Her name was Sophie. After the phone call, we decided to meet somewhere public and highly secure. The gaming lounge had dozens of cameras and was packed with people. The very first thing Sophie told me completely shattered my reality. She was a reincarnator. In her previous life, Sophie had kept her place in line. She was the one who won the ten million dollars. The night she won the money, she did exactly what I did. She ordered an outrageously expensive meal to celebrate. But the moment she opened her door to grab the food, a man shoved his way inside and plunged a hunting knife straight into her heart. The killer was dressed entirely in black, wearing a heavy mask and a pulled-down baseball cap. Before her eyes finally closed for good, she never got to see his face. When she woke up back in the grocery store, the sheer, paralyzing terror of her own murder made her step back. She willingly gave up the ten million dollars just to survive. But the guilt of passing the death sentence onto me ate at her. She memorized my phone number at the checkout counter and sent me that warning text. Listening to her story, a massive wave of gratitude washed over me. If she hadn’t been a good person, I would be bleeding out on my apartment floor right now. I reached across the table and grabbed her hands. “Thank you. You literally saved my life.” “I’ll split the money with you. Half of it is yours. It was supposed to be yours anyway.” Sophie’s face instantly contorted in pure terror. “I think the killer is explicitly hunting the winner of the money.” “He failed tonight. Next time, he is going to be far more prepared and far more lethal.” “And I can’t protect you anymore. I have no idea when or how he’s going to strike next.” I furrowed my brows, forcing my brain to work. “Think back to your last life. Did you notice absolutely anything about the killer before you died?” Sophie shook her head slowly. “The moment the knife went into my chest, my vision went blurry.” “The pain was so blinding I couldn’t even formulate a thought before I died.” “Black clothes, black hat, black mask. That’s all I saw.” She fell silent. Then, her eyes suddenly went wide. “Wait. I remember something. I smelled him!” She frantically rubbed her temples, trying to drag the memory out. “It was a really specific smell. I know I’ve smelled it before, I just can’t pinpoint what it was!” I told her not to panic and to just keep thinking. My own brain was spinning in overdrive. “Here is what I don’t understand. How did the killer track us down so fast?” Sophie pulled up her phone. She opened a news app. “I know what you’re thinking.” “The grocery store filmed the entire millionth customer celebration for a PR stunt.” “The video went completely viral on TikTok and Twitter. My face was plastered all over the internet. So I couldn’t tell if the killer was a total stranger who tracked me down, or someone I actually knew.” I stared at the viral video playing on her screen, then slowly shook my head. “But my situation is different.” “When I went to the store today, I didn’t have makeup on. I hadn’t washed my hair. I was wearing a massive hoodie, a baseball cap pulled down low, and a surgical mask because I’ve been getting over a cold.” “Unless someone knew me intimately, they would never be able to recognize me from this video.” “And based on the break-in, the person trying to kill me is the exact same person who killed you.” “That leaves exactly two possibilities.” “One. The killer was physically in the grocery store, followed us home, and memorized our addresses.” “Two. The killer is someone we both personally know.” Sophie bit her lip. She held up two fingers. “I think it has to be the second option.” “I am a deeply paranoid person. I watch way too much true crime. When I won that money, I was terrified of being followed.” “I took three different Ubers. I walked through two separate shopping malls. I took the most convoluted, insane route back to my apartment.” “The odds of someone tailing me through all of that without me noticing are virtually zero.” I nodded. We both pulled out our phones, opened our contacts, and started cross-referencing names. When I saw a very specific profile picture pop up in Sophie’s mutuals, my right eyelid twitched violently. It was my absolute best friend in the world. Fiona. Right at that exact second, a text from Fiona popped up on my screen. “Babe, I’m running a terrible fever. I feel awful.” “Can you come over and keep me company?” 5 The video of me winning ten million dollars was sitting at the number one spot on the trending page. If Fiona had seen it, she would have recognized me instantly, mask or no mask. Knowing her personality, the second she realized it was me, she would have called me screaming with excitement. But she didn’t. I stared at her text message. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but I couldn’t bring myself to reply. Still, it was just a theory. Fiona and I were as close as sisters. I refused to believe she would ever try to murder me. Taking a deep breath, Sophie and I kept scrolling. The second suspect was Gary. My landlord. He managed the building Sophie and I both lived in. He had come over to fix my radiator once when I was wearing that exact same oversized hoodie. The third suspect was Luke. The maintenance guy who delivered the heavy five-gallon water jugs to our apartments. Just like Gary, he could have recognized me in the video. Both of these men fit the profile perfectly. They knew what we looked like, they knew where we lived, and they had access to our buildings. But when I pictured their faces, my suspicion completely wavered. Gary was a sweet old man who was always smiling. When I was tight on cash and needed an extension on rent, he always agreed without a second thought. Luke was a shy, hardworking guy who blushed every time I said thank you. Last week he carried a heavy massage chair all the way up three flights of stairs for me, and he refused to take a single dollar for a tip. I just couldn’t picture either of them plunging a knife into someone’s chest. We had our suspect list, but how the hell were we supposed to prove anything? While I was racking my brain, Sophie suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream. She kicked her legs violently against the underside of the table, shoving her chair backward. Her head slammed hard against the wall of the booth, but she didn’t even seem to feel it. I jumped out of my seat in a panic. Sophie’s eyes were wide open, locked onto me with absolute terror. She lunged forward, gripping my hands so tightly her nails dug into my skin. “I just reincarnated again!” “In five minutes, the power in this lounge is going to cut out. The door to this booth is going to swing open, and the killer is going to chop your head clean off!” “It was so warm. The smell of iron. Blood was everywhere!” Sophie clutched her own throat. Sweat poured down her forehead. “It hurt so much!” “He walked over and slashed my throat. I couldn’t even scream.” She took a few ragged breaths, then leaned in close. Her eyes were practically glowing with manic adrenaline. “But before I died, I managed to hit the power button on my phone.” “The screen lit up. And in the glow, I finally saw the killer’s face!” 6 I swallowed hard. My voice was a terrified whisper. “Who was it?” Sophie stared right into my eyes and slowly spoke the name. “Fiona.” My brain completely flatlined. My knees went weak, and I had to grab the edge of the table just to stay standing. For a split second, I desperately wanted to accuse Sophie of lying to me. But the brutal reality was that Sophie had absolutely zero motive to lie. Then, a chilling memory hit me. Because we were two women living alone in a big city, Fiona and I had installed a location-tracking app on our phones for safety. If she could see exactly where I was, why the hell did she just text me asking where I was? My hands were shaking so violently I almost dropped my phone. I opened the location app I hadn’t checked in months. The next second, my heart completely stopped. On the digital map, the red dot representing Fiona’s phone was almost perfectly overlapping with my green dot. Fiona was right outside the lounge. I snapped my head up, locking eyes with Sophie. We grabbed our bags and sprinted out of the building. Bursting through the front doors, we threw ourselves into the back of a taxi idling on the curb. “The Grand Plaza Hotel. Step on it!” The Grand Plaza was a luxury five-star hotel with incredibly strict security. It was the safest place I could think of right now. The locks clicked into place. The engine purred. Watching the neon sign of the gaming lounge shrink in the rearview mirror, I closed my eyes and let out a massive, shaky exhale. The next second, the engine roared. The car violently swerved off the main road and down a pitch-black alleyway. The driver looked in the rearview mirror. He smiled, exposing a row of yellowing teeth. “Where are you rushing off to so late at night, Jessica?”

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