Category: English

My childhood best friend carried the transfer student to the campus infirmary, leaving bleeding me behind. I won the game, but I lost him. Afterward, he apologized to me, and I just smiled and said it didn’t matter. Because I didn’t love him anymore. If everything went according to plan, he would never see me again in this lifetime. Years later, he hiked seven treacherous mountain trails on foot, but he truly couldn’t find the girl he had carelessly thrown away. 1 The atmosphere at the track and field meet was electric. When Liam ran toward me, my mind went blank for a second, and then my entire heart started to tremble. We had been giving each other the silent treatment for almost two weeks. We were childhood sweethearts who grew up together. We shared the same crib as babies and basically shared the same wardrobe as toddlers. From the moment we could babble, whether we were playing house or getting into fights with other kids on the playground, we were always on the same team. We were inseparable. Our relationship was so intertwined that our parents naturally treated us like an engaged couple. They would get together for drinks and joke that once we got married, they’d hand the family businesses over to us and happily travel the globe. To prepare for this grand retirement, our mothers had already mapped out their cross-country RV routes and European cruises. Everyone thought we would end up together. Even I thought so. So, when we had our huge fight two weeks ago, I expected him to eventually cave and apologize like he always did. I never imagined he would actually ignore me for fourteen straight days. On the sun-baked turf of the football field, I watched the boy running toward me. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his usually calm face was etched with frantic anxiety. It was the first time I had ever seen him look so panicked. The rough rubber of the track dug painfully into my scraped calf. Thinking of our two-week cold war, I felt a surge of grievance. I reached my hands out toward him. “Carry me…” To the nurse. Before I could finish my sentence, Liam bent down, scooped up the transfer student, Maya, who had fallen next to me, and sprinted toward the campus clinic. He didn’t even spare me a single glance. I froze in place, my outstretched hands stiff in the air. The bleachers were roaring with cheering students, but all I could hear was a ringing in my ears. The boy I had loved for over a decade had just carried away another injured girl. 2 Maya was a new transfer student this semester. She was a straight-A student, polite, and universally liked. She aced every AP class she took, and her reputation as a sweet, helpful girl was known by everyone. More importantly, she was beautiful. Her only “flaws” were that she came from a low-income neighborhood and was a bit painfully introverted. When Maya first transferred, Liam and I still shared a desk in homeroom. She was seated directly behind us. I always liked pretty, hardworking girls. I was the one who showed her around campus, introduced her to people, encouraged her to run for student council, and even chased away the creepy guys who tried to harass her at the bus stop. Back then, Liam used to get jealous of how much attention I gave Maya. “People can’t just have zero friends forever, can they?” I would say, poking him in the spine while riding on the back of his bicycle. “When I get my period at school and forget a tampon, I can’t exactly ask you to bring me one, can I? You can’t help me pick out bra sizes either. Relax, you’ll always be my absolute favorite person in the world.” In my heart, Liam was my boyfriend. Maya was just a good friend. And Liam had genuinely cared for me once. When I got my first period, I thought I was dying. He was the one who sprinted to the pharmacy, his face burning red, to buy me pads. I was an extrovert, impulsive and hot-headed, which meant I accidentally offended people a lot. Every single time, he was the one who smoothed things over for me. He used to affectionately ruffle my hair and tease me, saying my temper was so explosive that no guy would ever want to marry me when I grew up. “Chloe, maybe if you beg me, I’ll agree to be your boyfriend.” 3 I don’t know exactly when Liam and Maya became so close. I didn’t even notice when the back of his bicycle stopped being my reserved seat, or when we stopped walking to the parking lot together after the final bell. Maya struggled with her French pronunciation, so he stayed after school to tutor her. Maya’s mom got sick, so he offered to drive them to the hospital. Without me realizing it, the roles reversed. I was no longer the one making him jealous; I became the one quietly staring at his back. No, I was staring at their backs. One day, Maya tapped me on the shoulder and asked timidly, “Chloe, is it okay if we switch seats? You’re a bit too tall, and I can’t see the whiteboard from back here.” I didn’t say a word. I just looked at Liam. His eyes gave away nothing. I noticed his hair was cut a little shorter than usual, and Maya had recently changed her hairstyle too. On the day we swapped seats, Liam was the one who helped Maya move her heavy desk. As I carried my things away from him, he looked at me like he wanted to say something, but he swallowed his words. Liam wasn’t much of a talker, and Maya was quiet too. Yet, whenever Maya asked him a question, he would patiently explain the answer, even handing over his perfectly organized study notes to her. Sometimes, when Maya’s test scores improved, I would catch him secretly smiling. It felt like I was watching a coming-of-age romance movie play out right in front of me, and I wasn’t the female lead. I drifted further and further away from Liam, to the point where my jealousy mutated into a deep dislike for Maya. During a volleyball match in Gym class, Maya’s team happened to play against mine. Maya had transferred from an underfunded public school where they rarely played structured sports. For the first time in my life, a vicious competitiveness flared up inside me. I spiked the ball mercilessly. She couldn’t receive a single one. Her team was getting crushed, and during one dive, she tripped and scraped her knee on the hardwood floor. “Chloe, did I do something to offend you?” With everyone watching, Maya looked at me with tearful, pitiful eyes. “I thought of you as my best friend. I know your family is rich and powerful, but I’ve never asked you for anything. Why are you targeting me?” The other students started whispering, wondering what Maya could have possibly done to earn my wrath. I was the star of the volleyball team, but I had never humiliated an opponent like this before. That was exactly when Liam walked into the gym. He gently guided Maya to the bleachers, then picked up the volleyball. The smirk on his lips was one I knew intimately—it was his calculating, game-on smile. “Maya isn’t great at this. Let me play against you.” And for the rest of the period, he absolutely destroyed me on the court. 4 The track meet was still roaring outside. I limped back to our empty classroom. The only other person there was Asher Hayes, the notorious bad boy of our grade, who was sleeping at his desk because he had injured himself and skipped the events. Hearing me walk in, Asher cracked an eye open. “Ooh, trouble in childhood-sweetheart paradise?” I ignored him, staring at the two desks in the front row. They were perfectly aligned, their textbooks stacked neatly. They looked like a matched set. I had taken off my sneaker. The scrape on my calf ran all the way down to the top of my foot, and blood was smeared everywhere. Because I didn’t want to see Liam and Maya at the clinic, I had refused to go get it treated. I lowered my head and blew on the wound. Without warning, a tear dropped directly onto the raw skin. The boy I had loved for over a decade had abandoned me today. When Liam finally walked into the classroom, I had just finished swabbing my leg with iodine. He stared at my bloody leg, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he was only just now realizing I had been hurt. I saw his lips part several times, but not a single word came out. It wasn’t until I slung my backpack over my shoulder to leave that he reached out and grabbed the strap. “Why didn’t you go to the nurse?” He looked at me, exasperated. “Stop throwing a tantrum. Maya feels incredibly guilty. Because you didn’t go to the clinic, she feels like she did something wrong to you.” “Wow, she’s such a saint.” My smile must have been dripping with sarcasm, because Liam’s face darkened with displeasure. I yanked my backpack strap out of his grip. Suddenly remembering something, I turned back around, reached into my desk, and pulled out a small, gold-stamped box. I thought back to the volleyball match. Because I couldn’t beat him, I had ultimately dove too hard and skinned my own knees. Back then, we hadn’t started our silent treatment yet. He was the one who took me to the nurse. While bandaging me, he had asked why I hated Maya. “I know you. You’ve never been overly competitive,” he had said. “Even if you want your team to win, you never spike the ball so viciously that the other person can’t even touch it.” “Chloe, Maya’s home life is a mess. We should be more forgiving of her.” My heart felt numb. I couldn’t even recall the sting of his words from that day. But in this moment, I suddenly felt the urge to let go. I shoved the gold-stamped box into Liam’s chest. I wanted to smile, but my facial muscles wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m taking next week off. Happy early birthday.” I had never missed Liam’s birthday in my entire life. A flash of genuine panic crossed Liam’s face. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Chloe, what are you doing? You promised…” “Liam, that was in the past.” In the past, he had also promised that if anyone else ever tried to marry me, he would break their legs. 5 I wasn’t a girl with massive, world-changing ambitions. My family was wealthy, my parents were liberal, and they didn’t put a ton of pressure on me. The only real plan I ever had for my life was to study hard, get into Stanford with Liam, take over my parents’ company, and fulfill their dream of traveling the world. I never imagined a future without Liam. When my dad heard I wanted to overhaul my college applications, he was so shocked he thought I had a fever and almost dragged me to the ER. “There’s no deep reason, Dad. I just don’t like the West Coast anymore. I want to apply to the East Coast.” Liam was the one obsessed with staying in California for Bio-Engineering. Not me. As long as I wasn’t breaking the law, my parents let me do whatever I wanted. Changing my college list was a minor blip to them. That night, I was already in bed when someone knocked on my door. Assuming it was my parents, I called out, “Come in.” I turned around to find Liam standing by my bed, his face pale and serious. “You’re still coming to my birthday party, right?” He sounded uncertain. He tried to sit in his usual spot on my favorite armchair, but he clearly felt the icy hostility radiating from me. “Does it matter if I go? It’s just the usual crowd. Nothing special.” I flicked on the bedside lamp, and the light revealed a nasty bruise on Liam’s cheekbone. I wanted to ask what happened, but the words felt stuck in my throat. As he had pulled closer to Maya, I had naturally been pushed away. Liam didn’t expect me to be so cold. “You aren’t going to ask what happened?” “It’s about Maya, isn’t it?” I didn’t need to ask. He nodded. “Her parents’ marriage is toxic. Her dad is an alcoholic with a gambling problem. When I went over to drop something off, they were fighting. I lost my temper and got into a fistfight with her dad.” “And why are you telling me this?” “If possible, I hope you stop targeting her at school. Maya is truly pitiful. Compared to you, she doesn’t even have a safe home to go to…” I picked up the tube of ointment he had tried to hand me and tossed it straight into the trash can. I let out a dry laugh. “Listening to you, it sounds like I’m the cause of all her misery. Don’t forget, when those creeps from the public school harassed her at the bus stop, I was the one who stood up for her.” That incident was the actual catalyst for our cold war. After the volleyball game, I ignored Maya completely. She relentlessly tried to apologize, but I coldly ripped up her apology letter and threw it away. Liam told me I had crossed a line. But I didn’t think I was wrong. I disliked her. I disliked her a lot. Upset over the torn letter, Maya wandered off campus alone and got cornered in an alley by some sketchy dropouts. Without thinking, I sprinted in to help her. Liam was right behind me. But to my shock, I watched him pull Maya into his arms, taking the hit from a baseball bat that was meant for her. And me? Liam grabbed Maya’s hand and bolted, leaving me surrounded by the dropouts. In a panic, I smashed the cash register of a nearby convenience store to trigger the alarm, which ended up getting me hauled into the police station. Just like Liam explained later: I had taken private self-defense classes since I was a kid. I knew how to protect myself better than Maya did. That was how Liam and I fell out. 6 I really didn’t go to Liam’s birthday party. Maya did. She wore the designer dress I had gifted her on her first week of school. In the photos posted by our classmates, Liam stood in the center of the crowd. Maya was leaning softly against his shoulder, her cheeks flushed, smiling gracefully, surrounded by everyone like a princess. Our mutual friends hadn’t yet realized the tectonic shift between Liam and me. Later that night, Liam’s mom came over to my house. “I know you must be sick since you missed the party, sweetie. Are you feeling any better?” My parents were out of town on business, so our housekeeper and I hosted her. Liam’s parents treated me like gold, especially his mom. Every year for Liam’s birthday, she would prepare two gifts: one for him, and one for me. “This year, I bought you two pairs of heels. Our Chloe is a grown woman now; it’s time to start building your stiletto collection.” Liam had been right about one thing. I grew up surrounded by love. Whether it was my parents or his, I was cherished. I wasn’t lacking money, and I wasn’t lacking love. But I also knew clearly that I owed Maya absolutely nothing. Her unfortunate life had nothing to do with me. “Thank you,” I hugged his mom affectionately, just like always. “When I take over the company, I’ll send you and my mom on that round-the-world cruise you’ve always wanted.” No matter what happened between Liam and me, I would always be grateful for his parents. I had always been at the top of my class. When midterms rolled around, my rank jumped up even higher. Liam and Maya still sat in front of me. The only difference was that Liam occasionally turned around to talk to me. “Chloe, want to walk home together after school?” It had been a very, very long time since we walked home together. Before I could answer, Maya chimed in with a sweet smile. “You should, Chloe. The street near the school is under construction, and there have been some muggings lately. It’s too dangerous for you to walk alone. I specifically told Liam to make sure you got home safe.” I never thought the day would come when my childhood best friend offering to walk me home would be a favor granted by another girl. I briskly shoved my books into my bag. “No thanks. My driver is picking me up.” I rejected their “charity,” but when the final bell rang, Liam and Maya were standing by the school gates, looking determined to escort me. I tried to walk past them, but Maya grabbed my arm. “Chloe, I know you’re mad at me. I thought about it a lot, and I realize Liam and I have been too close lately. We neglected you, and that’s why you’re upset. Don’t worry, I’m giving Liam back to you right now.” I honestly didn’t understand why she was crying. I hadn’t done anything, but she was sobbing like her heart was shattered. My mom used to say that because I grew up shielded by money, there was a lot of manipulative malice in the world I didn’t understand. “Liam is a living, breathing human being, not a toy we trade back and forth. He can hang out with whoever he wants. Stop acting like I’m bullying you.” I yanked my arm out of her grip. In her dramatic flailing, she lost her balance and fell to the pavement. 7 Liam and I got into another explosive fight. “Just apologize to her. Please, I’m begging you.” It was the first time I had ever heard Liam speak so low and desperately to anyone. I was a wealthy heiress, but wasn’t he a privileged rich kid too? “Maya has it so hard. After school, she has to work shifts to support her mom. She’s the exact same age as us, but she has to fight just to survive. I’m begging you. You have everything. Just say sorry. She constantly feels guilty around you.” I just stared at him coldly. In that moment, it hit me clearer than ever. Liam and I had never actually spoken the words “I love you.” Everyone just assumed we’d get married, but technically, we weren’t even boyfriend and girlfriend. I kicked Liam out of my house. I stewed in my room for a long time, until I got an email notification. I had been officially accepted into Columbia University’s undergraduate business program for the fall. Getting that definitive answer extinguished a lot of my anger. I realized that because I spent all my time with Liam, I didn’t actually have any other close friends. I drove alone to a local barbecue joint and ordered a massive platter of ribs and brisket to celebrate. “Tsk. Where’s the golden boy?” It was the kid who slept through every class: Asher Hayes. “If you’re trying to pick a fight while I’m alone, I suggest you rethink it.” I took a bite of my ribs, barely glancing at him. “Or I won’t hesitate to complain to your dad.” My family’s backing meant I feared absolutely no one. Including Asher. Asher was the exact opposite of Liam. Liam and I were the obedient golden children. We competed for first place, never caused trouble, and were the pride of our social circles. Asher was a famous delinquent. He skipped class, had terrible grades, and rumor had it he put a guy in the hospital a few years ago. His billionaire father had to pull massive strings just to keep him out of juvie. “You make me sound like a monster.” Asher casually reached over and grabbed one of my ribs. “Princess, can’t you just accept that I saw a classmate sitting alone in a sketchy neighborhood and came over to protect you?” 8 I thought Asher had lost his mind. Out of nowhere, he demanded to be my desk-mate, claiming that sitting next to the valedictorian would miraculously cure his bad grades. It was true that Liam had been so distracted by Maya’s drama that he had dropped out of the top ten, while my grip on first place was ironclad. To his credit, Asher didn’t actually drag me down. He spent every class either sleeping or silently playing games on his phone under the desk. He never participated in group projects. During study hall, I slammed a group worksheet down in front of him. “You better finish your half of this, or you can crawl back to whatever dark corner of the classroom you came from.” I had zero interest in reforming my classmates. The only person I ever cared enough to manage was currently busy managing someone else. Asher definitely didn’t need my pity. Asher looked at me like I had just told a hilarious joke. He propped his head up on his hand and smirked. “Princess, do you think you own the school? You make me move my desk, now you’re forcing me to do homework? Is this your version of bullying?” I rolled my eyes, annoyed. I refused to let my parents see my group project average drag down my GPA. Under my withering glare, Asher rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Fine. It’s just a few questions. I’ll do it.” “Seriously, Princess, you’re the sole heir to a massive company. Why do you work so hard? You’re already going to inherit the earth. Leave some oxygen for the rest of us trust-fund kids.” I ignored him, keeping my head down and focusing on my AP Calculus homework. Suddenly, I felt eyes on me. I looked up and met Liam’s gaze from the front row. Our eyes locked, but neither of us spoke. Strangely enough, I was gradually losing interest in what Liam did. I rarely checked to see what he and Maya were doing during class anymore. “You don’t need to help me anymore.” Maya’s voice broke his stare. “My mom was discharged from the hospital. She’s recovering well, so I don’t need to work as many shifts at the diner. You don’t have to go either.” With Liam’s financial help, Maya’s mom had quit her terrible job and opened a small diner. She had collapsed from exhaustion recently, so Liam and Maya had been working there after school. Liam looked at Maya with that eternal, gentle warmth. “Okay.”

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I spent two years desperately trying to win over Julian—only for him to mistakenly believe I was bullying his precious childhood sweetheart. He smiled as he crushed his cigarette out on the palm of my hand. Later, while I was on my period, he pushed me into the freezing swimming pool, holding my head underwater so I couldn’t breathe. Finally, the System allowed me to change my target. I stopped paying any attention to Julian. But then, like a rabid dog, he cornered me, his eyes bloodshot, desperately trying to kiss me. Only to be grabbed by his collar and yanked away by another man a second later. The man smiled lazily. “Julian, are you really trying to steal your older brother’s girlfriend?” That’s right. My new target was Julian’s older brother. The actual mastermind behind the Sterling family empire. 1 Amidst the roaring laughter of the crowd, I struggled to push myself up on the edge of the pool, trying to climb out. But the moment my upper body broke the surface, the mocking cheers grew louder. I instinctively looked up. The boys standing at the edge of the pool dragged their eyes down my face, staring pointedly at my chest. The summer uniform fabric was thin and semi-transparent when wet… I realized what was happening immediately. But before I could move, a hand reached out, grabbed the back of my head, and forcefully shoved me back underwater. “Get the hell out of here, all of you!” Julian’s hand was still holding me down; his yell was directed at the crowd. When I finally broke the surface again, only Julian was left standing by the pool. “Cough! Cough!” I choked up a few mouthfuls of chlorinated water. Julian stood there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking down at me like I was trash. A cold, sinister smirk hung on his lips. “Are you disgusting or what?” The moment my hands grabbed the edge of the pool again, he kicked them away. He crouched down, gripping my chin tightly and forcing me to look at him. “Everyone knows I like Maya, yet you still follow me around every single day.” His smile widened, turning cruel as he dragged out his words. “How cheap are you, Chloe?” “Do you really like me that much?” I stayed silent, unsure of how to answer. If this were any other day, I would have just said “Yes” to keep pushing the mission forward. But today, the freezing water combined with my terrible period cramps made the pain so agonizing I couldn’t even make a sound. Seeing that I wasn’t answering, the smile slowly faded from Julian’s face. He threw my chin away in disgust. After giving me one last long, dark look, he turned and walked away. I finally managed to drag myself out of the pool. I took two steps before my heavy, freezing body gave out, and I collapsed into unconsciousness. 2 When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed. The school security guard had found me passed out and called an ambulance. The System finally seemed to take pity on me. “Would you like to change your target?” I licked my pale, dry lips. “Yes.” “The mission to capture Julian Sterling has failed. This is your final opportunity,” the System said. I nodded calmly. If I kept tangling with Julian, I wouldn’t even get to use my final opportunity. He would torture me to death first. After a brief pause, the System spoke again, sounding unusually hesitant. “This time, your target is… Silas Sterling.” I didn’t understand why the System sounded so awkward. Silas Sterling. The 27-year-old CEO and absolute dictator of the Sterling Group, the largest conglomerate in the city. It was just a coincidence that he shared a last name with Julian. Maybe the System had watched me get tortured so brutally by Julian that it actually grew a conscience. “The time limit for this mission has been extended. We are giving you enough time to prepare for your college entrance exams. You are allowed to begin the mission after graduation.” I breathed a sigh of relief, smiling a genuine smile for the first time in ages. “Thanks.” In my original world, because of certain circumstances, I never got the chance to take my college entrance exams. At least this would make up for my biggest regret. 3 When school started on Monday, I showed up at the door of Julian’s classroom holding a small cake. Everyone gave me a knowing look. Someone even shouted out, “Hey Julian, your biggest fan is here to deliver cake again!” Through the glass window, I saw Julian slouching lazily in his chair. He let out a contemptuous scoff. “She thinks I want it just because she brought it?” “Tell her to get lost.” I pressed my lips together and walked up to the desk closest to the door. “Could you do me a favor and give this to your class president?” I asked, handing over the cake. Instantly, the entire classroom went dead silent. Then, every single head swiveled toward Julian, whose face had instantly darkened like a thunderstorm. It seemed everyone was shocked to realize I wasn’t there for him. The girl sitting in the front row stammered a “sure” and placed the cake on the empty desk belonging to the class president. The security guard told me a male student had been the first to spot me unconscious. I found out later it was the president of Julian’s class. It was only right that I brought something to thank him today. Ignoring the weird stares from the class and the death glare Julian was shooting me, I thanked the girl and turned to leave. I had barely taken one step when a massive crash echoed behind me. I paused, instinctively looking back. Julian, who had been sitting at his own desk, had somehow already walked over to the class president’s desk. He had kicked the desk over. The cake had hit the floor, completely smashed. Julian stared at me through the crowd, offering a provocative, unapologetic smirk. “Oops. Slipped and dropped your cake. What are you gonna do about it?” I wanted to shove his head into the ruined cake. But Julian was absolutely not someone I could afford to mess with right now. Rumor had it his father was the biggest shareholder of the school board. I turned my head, completely ignoring him, and walked away. Behind me, another crash sounded, even louder than the first. I didn’t look back. 4 Recently, I had become the hottest topic of gossip in the entire school. “It seems like Chloe really doesn’t like Julian anymore.” When people came up to ask me directly, I nodded vigorously to confirm. Who would like a violent, savage psychopath anyway? I stopped following Julian around. I stopped offering him favors. But my actions didn’t seem to convince everyone. They thought I was just playing hard to get. Julian clearly thought the same thing. Until the day graduation finally arrived, and I met Silas Sterling for the very first time. Julian lost his mind. 5 The graduation gala was held the day after our final exams. All the performances had been rehearsed weeks in advance. My class’s final performance was a choir song, and I had been selected to play the piano accompaniment. When I stood in front of the mirror in my formal gown, I genuinely froze for a second. The System chimed in with some rare idle chatter. “That dress really suits you… You look ethereal.” I offered a small smile. “Thanks.” It quickly followed up with: “Silas Sterling was invited to attend today. There’s something you need to know beforehand…” … When I walked out of the dressing room, I distinctly heard a collective gasp from the surrounding students. I felt a bit embarrassed, my ears burning hot. But the smile on my face froze the very next second. Julian was standing a short distance away. He looked like he had just come out of the batting cages. He was holding a baseball bat in one hand, wearing a black baseball cap, casually chewing gum. His eyes drifted toward me coldly. Then, he walked straight over. “Everyone out.” With Julian’s intimidating reputation, no one dared to argue. The room cleared out instantly. 6 The gown was off-the-shoulder. Julian’s eyes locked shamelessly onto my collarbones. I frowned and turned to leave. “Take one more step and see what happens.” The cold voice behind me dripped with obvious warning. “Do you need something?” I didn’t look at him, my voice filled with impatience. “I’ve been hearing some rumors lately. I came to verify them.” Julian casually swung the baseball bat, then lifted it, pressing the tip under my chin to force my head up. He smiled and asked. “They say you don’t like me anymore.” “Is it true?” I couldn’t figure out what he was playing at, so I chose to just tell the truth. “Yes.” The baseball bat shifted, sliding along the side of my face, tapping my cheek lightly. Julian was still smiling, but his eyes were completely dead. “You have a death wish, don’t you, Chloe?” I didn’t get it. I stopped bothering him and Maya. Wasn’t that exactly what he wanted? He stepped closer, lowering his head toward my collarbone. With the bat pressed hard against my side, I couldn’t move an inch. I clenched my fists. Just as I was about to shove him away, my homeroom teacher’s voice rang out from the doorway, calling for me. Julian froze. He slowly lifted his eyes to look at me. “Listen to me. If I ever hear that rumor again, you’ll regret it.” When is this psycho going to die? Without saying a word, I shoved him out of the way and walked out the door. 7 The performance went perfectly. Our class even won an award. But since we had already graduated and the class was officially disbanded, no one really cared about the trophy. So, I volunteered to go on stage to accept it. Because today, the person handing out the awards was Silas Sterling. The man in the immaculately tailored suit walked gracefully toward me. It was a face that could rival any top-tier model. And… it looked vaguely familiar. I took the trophy from his hands. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling.” I offered him my brightest smile, showing off my dimples. He looked at me thoughtfully for a second before offering a polite, distant smile in return. By the time we stepped off the stage, we still hadn’t exchanged a single word. But I wasn’t giving up yet. A few moments later, I checked the time and slowly made my way toward the area near Silas’s seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a heavy steel lighting rig loosening above him. The exact second it snapped and plummeted toward him, I sprinted forward. “Mr. Sterling!” I tackled him to the ground. A blinding, agonizing pain exploded across my back. “Chloe!” Julian’s voice ripped through the air from nearby. I struggled to keep my eyes open. Julian was sprinting toward me. The look on his face was pure, unfiltered panic—something I had never seen on him before. The next second, I collapsed into Silas’s arms, passing out from the pain. 8 A minor hairline fracture in my back, but I got exactly what I wanted: I was moved into Silas Sterling’s mansion. He carried me into the hospital for my x-rays and then brought me straight to his house. When I woke up, it was the middle of the night. Silas was sitting on the sofa across from my bed. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively gentle. “Tell me, who paid you to put on that little performance today? Hmm?” So it was an interrogation. I propped myself up and looked at the man hidden in the shadows. “Nobody.” My brain short-circuited, and the next words just flew out of my mouth. “Mr. Sterling, I like you.” Silas narrowed his eyes at me and let out a low chuckle. “You like me?” I nodded with absolute sincerity. Silas stood up and slowly, deliberately unbuttoned his suit jacket. A sudden chill ran down my spine. He walked over, leaned down, slid an arm under my back, and effortlessly lifted me onto his lap. His fingers casually brushed against the hem of my shirt. His voice was warm and intoxicating. “If you like me, you wouldn’t refuse this, would you?” I knew he was testing me. But I still couldn’t stop myself from shaking. His hand slowly traced its way up to my collarbone, his voice unhurried. “Hmm?” I gripped his shirt tightly, completely at a loss. Silas sat up slightly, cupping my cheek to bring my face closer. His breath hovered just over my lips. “You’re scared.” I snapped out of my daze and pushed him away. “I-I need to use the restroom…” The bedroom had an en-suite bathroom. But I completely ignored it and rushed out of the room. 9 However, when I accidentally pushed open the door to another room down the hall, I froze completely. Hanging on the walls were leather belts, riding crops, and things I couldn’t even name. I gulped dryly and asked the System. “Why does it feel like Silas is an even bigger psycho than Julian?” The System coughed awkwardly. “I forgot to mention, Silas has a secret side to him. He’s…” Before it could finish, someone grabbed my wrist from behind. My entire body went rigid. I slowly turned my head. “Julian?” He was frowning deeply, letting out a cold sneer. “You stopped liking me just so you could throw yourself at this freak, Silas?” What gave one psycho the right to call someone else a psycho? “What are you doing here?” I asked. Julian grabbed my arm and tried to drag me away. “I’m getting you out of here. You need to stay far away from Silas.” “He’s a lunatic,” he said. Before I could respond, a slow, gentle voice floated down the hallway. “Little brother, what do you think you’re doing?” Julian froze instantly, stepping in front to shield me. Little brother? Julian Sterling. Silas Sterling. They were actual brothers. Julian had intentionally hidden his true background and his relationship to Silas at school. I peeked out from behind him, and my blood ran cold. Silas was holding a handgun, aimed directly at Julian. His expression was completely calm. Even if it wasn’t lethal, the intimidation factor was terrifying. “Come here.” His gaze shifted from Julian to me. “Don’t go!” Julian yelled. I stood rooted to the spot, hesitating. Why did this mission make me want to die? Why did I have to conquer two brothers, each one more unhinged than the last? 10 Just then, the System whispered something in my ear. I looked at the man holding the gun. A few seconds later, I pulled my arm out of Julian’s grip and walked toward Silas. “Chloe!” I turned around, meeting Julian’s desperate eyes calmly. “Julian, stop acting like you’re risking your life to save me.” “From the very beginning, the person who has hurt me the most… is you.” He stared at me unblinkingly, his eyes burning. “I already said I was f*cking sorry, didn’t I?!” “Don’t go to him!” I didn’t waver. I just shook my head. When I reached Silas’s side, he lowered the gun. “Good girl,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. He lifted my wrist, bringing it to his lips. He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss against my skin. At first, I was terrified of this man who clearly had some dark, twisted kinks. But because of that simple action, I couldn’t stop my face from burning bright red. … Julian was dragged out the front door by Silas’s bodyguards. I stood by the window, watching Julian standing outside in the pouring rain, staring up at me. “What are you looking at?” Silas locked the door and walked toward me lazily. When I saw what was in his hand, the smile died on my face. It was a thin leather belt. He raised an eyebrow, the belt dangling from his hand to the floor. I swallowed hard. Silas didn’t seem to notice my panic. He easily lifted me with one arm and set me on the wide bay window ledge. “Let’s continue what we were doing before we were interrupted.” He leaned in, rubbing his nose affectionately against mine. My entire body went numb. I blinked rapidly. Silas’s eyes flicked toward the window behind me. It was obvious he could see Julian standing out there. Silas’s hand suggestively traced the shell of my ear. He let out a low chuckle. “Let’s do it right here. What do you think?” Isn’t this moving a bit too fast… “Silas!” Julian’s muffled roar drifted up through the rain. “I swear to God, if you touch her, I’ll kill you!” I looked over my shoulder. The soaking-wet teenager was grabbed by the bodyguards again and dragged off the property. 11 Silas watched the whole scene unfold with cold indifference. Only when Julian’s silhouette completely disappeared did he finally step back, creating space between us. He casually tossed the leather belt onto the windowsill. “Tell me why you’re really here, and I’ll let you go.” Silas unconsciously ran his thumb over his pinky ring, smiling. “Otherwise, you’re never leaving this place.” “You saw what was in that room. I have countless ways to make you wish you were dead.” “Oh.” I blinked at him. “I never planned on leaving anyway.” “As for the stuff in that room… if you really want me to try them, I guess I could agree.” “But can we limit it to one a day?” Because some of that stuff looked like it would really hurt… Silas stared at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. I hopped off the window ledge, walked right up to him, and looked up. The distance between us vanished again. The man’s eyes were pitch-black, as if no light could escape them. “Mr. Sterling, why are you so convinced I have an ulterior motive for approaching you?” “I told you from the start. I like you.” His eyes flickered. I met his gaze without a shred of hesitation, repeating it. “I like you, Silas.” “Love at first sight.” He still didn’t believe me, but he silently permitted me to stay. I figured he just wanted to keep me close to find out what my “real” motive was. 12 “Mr. Sterling, I made dinner just for you today~” — Ding! Affection +5. “I saw the news about your company acquisition tonight! You’re so amazing!” — Ding! Affection +5. That night, leaning against the headboard, I asked the System a question that had been bugging me. “Why does his affection go up just from me complimenting him, even when I literally haven’t done anything?” Back when I was chasing Julian, I would spend weeks preparing the perfect gift, only for him to toss it in the trash without a second glance. How could two brothers be so drastically different? The System didn’t fully grasp complex human emotions. “Isn’t this a good thing? At this rate, you’ll complete the mission and go back to your own world in no time.” “Based on his childhood, he’s extremely starved for affection. When you show up treating him so well, it’s completely normal for him to fall for you, right?” I froze for a second. The System then told me Silas’s backstory. Silas and Julian were half-brothers. Silas’s birth was not a happy accident. Their father had forced himself on Silas’s mother, resulting in pregnancy. Later, the father married Julian’s mother in a wealthy business alliance. He kept Silas’s mother trapped as a mistress. After years of torment, she committed suicide, leaving young Silas behind. Eventually, he was brought into the Sterling household under the title of an “illegitimate son.” Before Julian’s mother passed away, Silas never enjoyed a single day of the privileges that came with being a Sterling. Subjected to constant abuse and suppression, he lived worse than the family’s maids. When their father died, he left almost the entire inheritance to Julian. Silas’s current position and wealth were built entirely from scratch, clawing his way up through unimaginable hardship. … “No one has ever loved him,” the System said. “Even his own mother saw his birth as a disgrace.” “You are the first person to approach him without wanting his money or his power. Of course his heart is going to flutter for you.” I suddenly felt a profound sadness for him. No one had ever loved him. And he thought I was the first. But I was lying to him too. I was only doing this for a mission. 13 That heavy feeling lingered in my chest. The next morning, I kept thinking about what the System had told me, zoning out constantly. Even when Silas finished breakfast and was getting ready to leave for work, I was in a daze. “I’m leaving,” Silas said, buttoning his cuffs. I didn’t react immediately. “Oh. Okay.” He paused and looked over at me. “Is something wrong?” I stared blankly at him. “Did you forget something?” I thought for two seconds, then let out a slow “Huh?” Silas had his suit jacket draped over his arm, clearly ready to walk out the door. Suddenly, a soft chuckle broke the quiet air. Silas tossed his jacket onto a chair and walked slowly toward me. “It’s fine. I’ll help you remember.” He took the spoon out of my hand. Without warning, he scooped me up with one arm. So tall! Sitting on his forearm, I looked down. Terrified he might drop me, I quickly threw my arms around his neck. Silas carried me toward the room filled with all the unspeakable BDSM gear. I grew nervous. “What are you doing?” He smiled gently at me but didn’t answer. That made it even scarier… When he walked in, he reached for that same leather belt. !!!!! A very bad premonition washed over me. This time, Silas actually used it. He bound my hands to the window ledge in the master bedroom, then lightly brushed his thumb against my chin. His tone was warm. “When you remember, I’ll untie you.” “But what if I need to use the bathroom?!” I stared at him in disbelief, picking the most pressing question out of the million screaming in my head. Silas paused for a moment, appearing to genuinely consider the logistics. He found a solution quickly. But I wished he hadn’t. When he had picked me up so abruptly earlier, my slippers had fallen off in the chaos. I was sitting on the ledge, my bare feet dangling. Silas crouched down in front of me, slowly taking one of my feet into his hands. He seemed to be admiring it, almost playing with it. A chill crawled up my spine. After a long time, his eyes fixed on my ankle, and he spoke softly. “How about I have someone custom-make a locked anklet for you?” “So you can walk freely around this room…” His thumb rubbed against my ankle bone, whispering. “And only this room.” His twisted childhood had seriously warped his brain! In a flash of lightning, I finally remembered what I had forgotten. “I like you!” I blurted out frantically. Every morning, right before he left for work, I would run up to him, confess my love, and then smile and ask, “So, do you like me a little bit today?” As his affection meter steadily climbed, his verbal answer was always a flat, “No.” Today, things were different. After I asked my question, he uncharacteristically didn’t answer right away. “Can you untie this now?” I whispered. “It’s chafing.” Silas finally moved, setting down my foot before it completely cramped up, and unbuckled the belt. I swallowed nervously. Once the mission was complete, I was supposed to leave. With Silas’s extreme control issues, if I disappeared, wouldn’t he lose his mind? But when that moment finally came, I realized… I still didn’t understand Silas at all. 14 When Silas came home from work that evening, dark clouds covered the sky, accompanied by the low rumble of thunder. A torrential downpour was coming. The rain started smashing against the windows just as Julian—who I hadn’t seen in over a month—showed up. He brought a crew, took down the bodyguards outside the villa, and kicked the front door open. Julian’s eyes locked immediately onto me. He was chewing gum, a lazy, arrogant smile on his face. “Chloe. I’m taking you with me.” “He can’t stop me this time.” Because of the chaos he had just caused, I had panicked and almost let the soup I was making for Silas boil dry. I glared irritably at the intruder. “I already told you I’m not leaving. Can you please stop bothering me?” Julian rolled his neck, letting out a scoff. His eyes were full of unbridled arrogance. “You’re leaving whether you want to or not.” From the very beginning, Silas had remained seated on the sofa, watching the circus unfold with cold indifference. A booming clap of thunder broke the heavy silence in the room. Silas stood up and walked over to the dining table, acting as if everything was completely normal. “You made soup today?” His tone was casual. I nodded slowly. He clearly wasn’t taking Julian seriously. Julian sneered. “Silas, is pretending you’re not bothered actually fun?” “I came here today to take Chloe, sure. But I also wanted to reminisce about the good old days with you.” He leaned casually against the doorframe, his expression dripping with nostalgia. “You remember, right? Five years ago, when you were absolutely nothing, you were no better than a dog. “Whenever anyone in the house was slightly annoyed, they’d take it out on you. Hey, let me ask you: do you even remember how many times you were slapped across the face or kicked to the ground?” I froze completely. The System had only given me a vague summary, saying Silas had a “rough” childhood. The gruesome details were infinitely more shocking. Julian frowned, asking in a mock-serious tone, “Silas, do you think you were just born with a peasant’s destiny?” His words were laced with unconcealed mockery and triumph. My fingers dug white-knuckled into the edge of the dining table. After his last sentence, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I grabbed the bowl next to me and hurled it directly at him. “What makes you think you have the right to judge anyone?!” “Julian, I always thought you were just a scumbag, but it turns out you’re a complete piece of trash.” Caught off guard, the bowl clipped Julian’s forehead. His face instantly darkened. He glared at me through gritted teeth. “You hit me for this bastard?” Hearing that word, my lingering fury ignited. Just as I picked up another bowl to throw, Silas raised his hand and stopped me. When he looked at Julian, there wasn’t a trace of anger in his eyes. “I heard you care very deeply about your little cousin?” He asked a completely unrelated question. Julian’s eyes narrowed sharply. “What are you talking about?” Silas smiled, picked up the iPad resting on the table, played a video, and slid it toward Julian. The piercing screams of a woman echoed from the speakers. The footage was crystal clear: she had been kidnapped. The second Julian recognized the girl, all the color drained from his face. He forced a strained smile. “She’s not even in the country. If you’re gonna use deepfakes, at least make them convincing.” Silas smiled too. “It’s in Valencia.” The moment the words left his mouth, the arrogant, reckless boy seemed to have all his life force drained from his body. The System had mentioned before that Julian treated his little cousin, Maya, like his own sister.

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My boyfriend was found by a billionaire. I jokingly asked him if I was about to become the wife of a CEO. He paused, then said his family was strictly middle-class. 1 Seven days after my boyfriend reunited with his biological parents, he finally returned to our cramped studio apartment. He wore the same faded hoodie, his expression flat, his hair characteristically messy. He didn’t look like a guy who had just struck gold. But the internet told a different story. Trending everywhere: my boyfriend’s father was a real estate tycoon. Mansions, luxury cars, shell companies—you name it. His family had searched for him for twenty years. Now, they were ready to hand him the keys to the kingdom. Ethan was now the luckiest guy in America. I was genuinely happy for him. I nudged him and joked, “So, Ethan, are you here to pick me up in a limo so I can be your CEO wife?” That was the dream he used to paint for me. We were both foster kids. No parents, no safety net. Every step we took was a grueling uphill battle. We met five years ago by my street-side coffee cart in Chicago. He had just finished an 80-hour work week and bought an iced latte from me. For five years, we leaned on each other, surviving in this rundown apartment. Times were hard, but warm. He used to say that if he ever found his real parents, and if they happened to be filthy rich, he’d make sure I lived like royalty. Bodyguards clearing the way, Michelin-star dinners, Birkin bags, and Porsches at my disposal. I’d laugh and promise him right back. “If my real parents are the rich ones, I’ll make you the boss! Private jets, yachts, whatever you want!” We’d huddle in our cheap blankets on freezing nights, giggling at our impossible fantasies. And now, his rich parents actually found him. So I was thrilled. It was my turn to be the billionaire’s wife, right? “Actually, my family is just average. Don’t believe the clickbait online,” Ethan’s voice snapped me back to reality. I froze. He looked away, his tone eerily calm. “The family business is underwater. They owe the banks hundreds of millions. My rich-kid dream is dead.” Is it? I stared at him in silence. He cast a fleeting glance at me, then stood up and walked to the bedroom. “I need to head back there tomorrow. Just packing some clothes.” “Are you coming back?” I asked. He paused, sighing with his back to me. “Depends. I want to spend time with my parents. We just reunited, after all.” His implication was clear: I’m not coming back. What about me? Five years together, just over like that? I opened my mouth, but the question died in my throat. 2 Night fell. We had nothing left to say, but we still laid in the same bed. There was only one bed, so we had no choice. In the past, I’d wickedly slide my freezing feet under his shirt, and he’d gasp, complaining while warming them up with his body heat. Now, an invisible, thick wall stood between us. We were inches apart, yet separated by galaxies. Maybe the silence was too loud. Ethan finally spoke. “Maya, I’m leaving our joint debit card with you. Keep it safe.” That card held our savings from the last five years. Exactly $34,550. We had planned to use it for a down payment on a small house back in my rural hometown in Indiana, ending our endless drifting. For some reason, my nose burned. My eyes welled up. I didn’t answer. “There’s about thirty-something thousand in there,” Ethan continued. “I’ll take fifteen thousand tomorrow. The rest is yours.” “Is your family really struggling that much? You need to take fifteen thousand?” I sniffled. “Yeah. That’s why I don’t want to drag you down.” Ethan looked me dead in the eyes, perfectly sincere. In that split second, I knew he was breaking up with me. A tear slipped out, but I forced it to stop. I forced a smile. “You just want to break up, don’t you? I don’t buy that your family is broke.” He stiffened, then pulled me into his arms. “You’ve been brainwashed by the media. Don’t believe everything online. I would never lie to you.” Would he? Ethan had never lied to me before. He used to love me fiercely. Besides his grueling tech job and DoorDash side hustle, he spent every waking moment with me. Sometimes, when I ran the coffee cart until midnight, he’d run over with a small cupcake. “Cupcake for Maya? If you eat it, you’re mine,” he’d smile brightly. I loved his smile the most. I’d pack up my cart and shake my head. “Not eating it. I’m not yours.” But I’d always end up laughing. We used to be so in love. “Let’s just sleep,” I said, wiping my eyes, unwilling to dig deeper. When a woman is at her most vulnerable, she rarely wants to uncover a truth that might destroy her. “Goodnight, baby,” Ethan stroked my hair. Familiar and gentle. I drifted into a hazy half-sleep, only to feel Ethan roll over a long while later. A faint light pierced the dark. He had checked his phone. My heart dropped. I played dead. He nudged me gently, testing to see if I was asleep. I didn’t move a muscle. Satisfied, he turned his back and opened his messages. I carefully lifted my head and saw walls of text. He was messaging someone saved as “Sweet Tooth.” They had been texting relentlessly. In the seven days since he found his family, they must have exchanged thousands of texts. His last message read: [I’m worth hundreds of millions now. Are you ready to come back to me?] Lightning struck my spine. I started shaking uncontrollably. The truth was a butcher’s knife, and it shredded my heart into pieces. He was lying. He was a millionaire. He could have made me his wife. But instead, he was asking another woman to take the crown. 3 The woman hadn’t replied. Ethan stared at the screen, agonizing over his next move. He was so deeply engrossed he didn’t even notice my trembling. Finally, he sent another text: [Are you worried about Maya? She and I live in totally different worlds now. After tomorrow, I’ll never see her again.] Instant reply: [Really? You’re a viral sensation now. If you dump Maya, won’t I get canceled online for being the homewrecker?] [As long as we’re happy, who cares about the trolls? Besides, Maya is dumb as rocks. We’ll break up peacefully, she’ll go back to Indiana crying, and that’ll be the end of it.] My jaw rattled. My heartbreak violently morphed into sheer rage. Dumb as rocks. That’s how he viewed me? [Okay… Honestly, I’ve always liked you. I wanted to say yes in college, but my parents demanded a guy with a house in the city…] [Don’t worry about that! My dad just bought a mansion in the Gold Coast. We can move right in!] Ethan’s normally stoic face twisted into a grotesque, uncontrollable grin. It was the pure ecstasy of a man who finally won the lottery and his trophy wife in the same breath. I knew exactly who this woman was. Harper. His college crush, a local trust-fund baby whose background completely eclipsed an orphan like me. He once told me about her, sounding entirely indifferent, as if he was totally over it. But he had kept her number. And the moment he struck it rich, she was his first call. Men really never get over their shiny “what-ifs.” I wiped my face. I refused to shed another tear. The movement finally caught Ethan’s attention. He whipped his head around, looking at me like he’d seen a ghost. I sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, and blew my nose with a tissue. Ethan froze, his face draining of color, then flushing red. After a long silence, he asked, “You saw everything?” “Everything,” I nodded, laughing bitterly. His expression twisted again—from embarrassment to anger, before he finally stood up. “I’m sorry. Since you know, there’s nothing left to say.” He started putting on his clothes, completely shutting down. He was the textbook definition of a guilty man: turning guilt into defensive rage, and then converting that rage into cold apathy. All in the span of two seconds. “Not even going to explain?” I stared at him like he was a piece of trash. I had never looked at him like that before. My gaze triggered his defensive rage again. “Explain what? Water flows down, people move up. I finally reached the top of the mountain. Do you expect me to crawl back into the gutter with you?” “I didn’t ask you to come back to the gutter. But you could have taken me to the mountain.” Five years. Didn’t I even deserve a glimpse of the view? Ethan pursed his lips, scoffing coldly. “My parents made it clear. They don’t want a nobody orphan for a daughter-in-law. My hands are tied.” “Your parents literally said on live TV they’d accept anyone you loved.” Cornered by his own lies, Ethan kicked the wardrobe violently. “Enough! You just want my money! You’re a gold digger!” He glared at me with absolute disgust. I was speechless. I’m the gold digger? If I cared about money, I would have left him years ago for the guy with the BMW, leaving Ethan and his beat-up Honda Civic in the dust. I could have married my landlord’s nephew who owned three commercial properties. But I never entertained them. I never even told Ethan, terrified it would hurt his ego. “Nothing to say? Hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?” Ethan sneered, regaining his arrogant high ground. “We both know exactly whose true colors just got exposed,” I mocked. He pointed violently at the door. “Shut up! I wanted to give you a dignified exit, but you had to make a scene. So get out! And don’t forget whose name is on the lease!” 4 Wrapped in my oversized winter coat, beanie pulled low, I walked out of the apartment. The door slammed shut behind me. The noise stung my eardrums. That slam shattered whatever was left of our five-year relationship. It was almost funny. I had carried around a piece of trash for five years, and only today did I finally smell the rot. And the stench was so bad it made me want to vomit. The stairwell was pitch black; the motion-sensor light had been broken for months. I stood in the dark, sniffing, wiping the moisture from my eyes. I didn’t scream or break things. I didn’t want to wake the neighbors’ kids. I thought to myself: I am such a kind person. And because I am kind, I am stupid. I walked down the stairs. Opening the metal security door, the biting winter wind slapped my face. I took two steps, then turned back. Not because it was cold, but because I forgot my lifeline. Under the stairs in the storage area sat my coffee cart, complete with syrups and a dozen glass jars. My baby. I gripped the handle and pushed it out into the unforgiving wind. Out of habit, I headed toward the downtown riverwalk. That was my spot. In the summer, I’d stay there until sunrise. When I arrived, the cold reality set in. What was I doing here in the dead of winter? As I stood there shivering, a delivery truck pulled up. The driver rolled down his window. “Hey kid, got any hot coffee?” I shook my head. No. He looked disappointed and started to roll the window up, but then stopped and waved me over. “Wait, c’mere.” I walked over blankly. He stared at me, pulled a crumpled flyer from his dash, and squinted. “Kid, that mole under your right eye… you’ve had that since you were little?” I nodded. “Where’s your hometown?” “Indiana.” “Holy shit!” The driver practically jumped out of the cab. He shoved the missing person flyer in my face. “Look! This billionaire is looking for his daughter. Went missing from Indiana… mole under the right eye…” My brain was too numb to process it. I didn’t even look at the paper. He was practically vibrating. “You see that viral story about Ethan? Well, it sparked a trend! Now all the billionaires are looking for their lost kids. This guy is the richest man in the city! “He plastered these everywhere. $15,000 for a solid lead, a million bucks if you actually find her!” He was talking too fast, and his accent was thick. I just shook my head. “I don’t know. I need to go.” I pushed my cart toward the east side of the market. There was an awning there that could block the wind. “Wait! Hold on!” The driver tried to chase me, then shrieked, “Oh shit, the parking brake!” His truck was slowly rolling backward. He scrambled back into the cab. I kept walking, blowing warm air into my freezing hands. Under the awning, the dim streetlamp offered a miserable illusion of warmth. 5 I slept fitfully under the awning. I woke up shivering violently, my hands and feet like ice, my neck screaming in pain. The morning vendors were arriving. The smell of fresh bagels and breakfast sandwiches filled the air. An older woman setting up her bagel stand jumped when she saw me huddled on the bench. “Honey, are you okay? What are you doing out here in this cold?” She definitely thought I was homeless. I told her I was fine, just resting. She shook her head and handed me a hot bagel and a coffee. I devoured it. Heat finally spread through my veins. That sliver of warmth made me realize how incredibly stupid I was. Sleeping outside in this weather? A sudden freeze could have killed me! Imagine dying of hypothermia over a trash-bag ex-boyfriend. “Ma’am, let me help you sell these,” I said, forcing myself to stand up. A girl living on the margins like me has to be tough. If I stepped in shit, I needed to scrape it off my shoe and keep walking. The morning rush was brutal, and the lady was grateful for the help. I worked until 10 AM. The winter sun hit my face, and I felt a surge of new life. She paid me 50 bucks and apologized it wasn’t more. I thanked her, restocked my cart, and figured I could afford a cheap motel with heating tonight. Then I remembered the money. I am so stupid. My joint account with Ethan had over 30 grand in it. I was so angry last night I walked away without it. I needed to get my half back. It was my survival money. I pushed my cart all the way back to the apartment, only to find it empty. He had even changed the locks. I banged on the door furiously, but there was no answer. Did he run off with my money? “Scumbag!” I cursed out loud. The memory of our five years together literally made my stomach churn. I turned around, and there she stood on the stairs, looking down at me. Immaculate makeup, an expensive wool coat, clutching a Chanel bag. Next to her, I looked like a stray dog. “Are you Maya?” 6 The woman smiled. She looked polite on the surface. I nodded. She walked down the steps and pulled a debit card from her designer bag. It was my card. This was Harper. I had never seen her before, but her old-money arrogance radiated off her in waves. “Maya, Ethan told me everything. He was way too impulsive kicking you out,” Harper said, not bothering to introduce herself. A sneer flashed in her eyes. “I scolded him. And I brought your card back. He didn’t touch a single dime.” Her lips curled into a condescending smile. “Consider Ethan’s half of the savings your severance package. Take it, go back to Indiana, and live a quiet life. Don’t suffer in the big city anymore.” She was managing my life with effortless cruelty. She stood below me on the stairs, but she was looking at me like an insect. Using a tone of fake pity to dismiss me. To her, I should be on my knees thanking her for bringing me my life savings. It was almost comical. “Am I supposed to say thank you?” I stared at her. She smiled. “No need. You earned it. I looked it up—real estate in your little hometown is dirt cheap. You can buy a nice trailer with this. Your youth wasn’t totally wasted.” I didn’t respond. I just looked at her. “What?” she asked. “Nothing. It’s just rare to meet someone like you.” “Like me?” “Yeah. You’re the other woman, but you stand in front of the victim acting like you’re the Queen of England. How do you manage that mentally?” I asked with genuine curiosity. Her smile vanished. She realized I wasn’t some fragile little girl who was going to collapse and run back to the Midwest in tears. “Looks like our little coffee girl has a big appetite,” Harper sneered. “Tell you what. I’ll add an extra $15,000 if you leave the city today. Deal?” “You could give me ten million, and I’ll still live wherever the hell I want,” I mocked. “You’re actually terrified of me, aren’t you? Afraid I’ll expose Ethan? Afraid it’ll ruin your pristine socialite reputation?” Harper’s face contorted. I hit the bullseye. Ethan was a viral star now. If the internet found out he dumped his ride-or-die for a trust-fund kid, they’d both be crucified. “Ethan underestimated you. You’re not entirely stupid,” she said. “Thanks.” “Don’t thank me. Thank you for saving me fifteen grand.” She regained her composure, her eyes turning cold. “Do you think playing tough gives you leverage? Let me be real with you. You’re a bottom-feeder. You have no power, no connections. All you have is a big mouth.” “What’s your point?” “My point is, I’m done playing nice. You have until sundown to pack up and leave this city. I never want to see your face again.” She stretched her arms casually. “Honestly, I haven’t bullied anyone since high school prep. I forgot how fun it feels.” She wasn’t a gangster. She was just entitled. And that entitlement bred a terrifying kind of cruelty. 7 Harper delivered her ultimatum, clutched her Chanel bag, and walked out elegantly. A black Mercedes S-Class was waiting for her. She got in and sped off. I didn’t care. I went straight to an ATM to check the balance. $34,550. I exhaled. It was all there. My blood, sweat, and tears. I pushed my cart back to the riverwalk, secured my spot, ate a hot meal at a diner, and waited for night to fall. Despite the cold, hot coffee and cider sold well. By 1:30 AM, I was completely sold out. I happily counted my cash, ready to pack up and get that warm motel room. I looked up. Five men on heavy motorcycles pulled up. They yelled at me to make them lattes. I told them I was sold out. They erupted. “You playing with us, bitch? You’re a coffee cart with no coffee?” I jumped, suddenly remembering Harper’s ultimatum. Before I could react, one of the guys kicked my cart. Because it was empty and light, the kick sent it crashing to the pavement. The heavy metal handle slammed into my knee, sending me crashing to the ground. The few remaining vendors nearby watched in stunned silence. “Where’s the coffee? I’m thirsty!” Another guy stepped up, his eyes cold and dead behind his helmet visor. “Help!” I screamed. The man snapped, slapping me hard across the face. “Shut up! You looking to die?” Another biker pulled out a baseball bat and started smashing my glass jars. Glass rained everywhere. “If you’re not selling, get the fuck off the street! Next time we see you, we’re putting you in the ground!” The leader grabbed me by my coat and dragged me up. “Get out of the city, or next time, we won’t just hit you!” He backhanded me again. Blood filled my mouth. My vision went black. Satisfied, they dropped me and sped off into the night, their engines roaring. My cart was destroyed. Everything was ruined. Nobody dared to approach me. I couldn’t stand. I lay on the freezing concrete, gasping for air, blood and tears mixing on my face. Terror and helplessness suffocated me. I wasn’t tough. I had been alone for so long. I gave up college to pay medical bills for my foster grandma. I worked the streets. I met Ethan, got betrayed, and here I was. Still completely alone. Beaten bloody, unable to crawl. It hurt so much. In the distance, I heard footsteps running toward me. “I saw her right around here that night! I knew I shouldn’t have let her walk away… where did she go?” An older man was scratching his head, leading a wealthy, middle-aged couple down the path. It was the truck driver. As my consciousness faded, I heard the driver yell, “Over there! Oh my god!” Before I passed out, warm arms wrapped around me. A woman’s trembling voice whispered urgently, “Don’t be afraid, sweetie… she looks just like me. Oh god, Harrison, she’s identical…” 8 I woke up in a VIP hospital suite. A senior doctor in a white coat was respectfully giving a report to a man by the window. “Mr. Sterling, her condition is stable. We are monitoring her closely. As for the DNA test, it’s being rushed. We’ll have results by tonight.” I blinked, staring at the ceiling, feeling disoriented. The woman sitting by my bed noticed I was awake and burst into tears. “You’re awake! Honey… are you okay?” I looked at her. I didn’t know her. But she radiated an incredible elegance. She looked like old-money royalty. Even her simple cardigan screamed luxury. The man standing beside her had a strong, commanding presence. Even in a casual suit, he looked like a king holding court. “Can you speak, sweetheart?” the man asked gently. My throat was dry and painful. The senior doctor practically sprinted over to pour me a glass of warm water. I took a sip. It felt heavenly. “Thank you… for saving me,” I croaked. The woman covered her mouth, sobbing harder. “I’m Harrison Sterling. And this is my wife, Victoria,” the man said, taking my hand gently. Harrison Sterling? The name clicked. The wealthiest man in the city. The guy who basically owned the skyline. Even the street I sold coffee on belonged to one of his real estate groups. “You know who I am?” Harrison laughed softly, refusing to let go of my hand, his eyes scanning every inch of my face. “Don’t scare her, Harrison,” Victoria gently swatted his arm, then stroked my shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, honey. He’s just… so happy.” “Why?” I asked, confused. Before they could answer, another doctor burst into the room holding a folder. The senior doctor snatched it, read it, and gasped. “Mr. Sterling… it’s a 99.9% match. She’s your daughter!” 9 That single sentence shattered their composure. Victoria wailed, throwing her arms around me, holding me for dear life. Harrison Sterling, the billionaire titan, trembled and turned his face away to wipe his tears. I lay there, completely paralyzed. I am… a billionaire’s daughter? I remembered the truck driver. He must have called them. A heavy, suffocating ache began to swell in my chest. Twenty years of suffering, loneliness, and grinding poverty condensed into a single moment. The tears fell silently. I had parents. I finally had a mom and a dad. Overwhelmed, I turned my face away. They panicked, thinking they had upset me. “Sweetheart… Mom is here. Mom finally found you,” Victoria cried. Harrison steadied himself, his protective instincts kicking in. He pulled out his phone. His voice was laced with pure, terrifying ice. “Did you find the men who put hands on my daughter?” “Mr. Sterling, they fled the state. But we will track them down,” a voice replied. “Do it. I want to know exactly who gave the order. No one touches my blood.” He was hunting down Harper’s biker gang. I tried to speak, but Harrison leaned over. “Rest, sweetheart. I know this is a lot to process. When you’re discharged, we are throwing a massive gala. The whole city will know my daughter has returned.” Victoria kissed my forehead. “Just rest, my love. Whatever you want, Mom will give it to you.” They didn’t interrogate me about the attack. They just wanted me to feel safe. I closed my eyes. The sheer joy of being loved was intoxicating. I wasn’t a nobody anymore.

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Life has a cruel way of pulling the rug out from under you just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom. When the doctor handed me the biopsy results—a cold, clinical death sentence labeled Stage IV Cancer—I thought that was the worst it could get. I was wrong. Before I could even process the word terminal, I was dragged into the shadows of a vacant lot by a group of drunken men. I spent the night enduring a nightmare that no words in the English language are equipped to describe. By the time a passerby found me and called the police, I was more ghost than woman. At the precinct, the officers told me to call my family. My parents sounded frantic over the phone, claiming they were in the next state visiting old friends and would head back immediately. My two older brothers swore they were on their way, their voices thick with a protective rage I almost believed. But I sat on that hard, plastic bench in the empty waiting room for an entire day. When someone finally showed up, it was only my eldest brother, David. He looked devastated, shedding his designer coat to wrap it around my shivering frame. “God, Lauren, I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “It’s all my fault. If Brianna hadn’t been feeling unwell, I never would have sent you to meet that client alone. I never would have let this happen… I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Just then, his phone buzzed. His face went pale, and he ducked into the hallway to take the call. He didn’t realize I had quietly followed him. “Mom,” he whispered, his tone hesitant and strained. “We did this to her just so she wouldn’t ruin Brianna’s welcome-to-the-family gala. Don’t you think this went way too far?” The words hit me like a physical blow. At that exact moment, a notification popped up in the family group chat. A photo. It was deleted almost instantly, but the image was already seared into my retinas: Brianna, dressed in a gown that probably cost more than a mid-sized sedan, was beaming, her arm linked tightly with my fiancé’s. Standing beside them were my parents and my other brother, Michael. They looked like the picture of a perfect American dynasty. The ice in my veins turned to absolute zero. Because I had dared to oppose my parents’ decision to “adopt” Brianna as their goddaughter, they had orchestrated my destruction. I looked out at the grey, smoggy city sky and started to laugh. I laughed until the tears carved tracks through the dirt and dried blood on my face. Fine. I didn’t have much time left anyway. I wasn’t going to spend it playing a part in their sick little play. 1 David hung up on my mother and dialed another number. His voice was no longer trembling with grief; it was sharp with fury. “Who told you to actually go through with the rape? You’re not getting another dime of the balance!” “What? You want more money? You’re dreaming! I should hand you over to the cops myself!” Whatever the person on the other end said made David punch the doorframe in a fit of silent rage. I watched his reddened eyes for a moment before turning back into the station. A few minutes later, he walked in and approached the officer taking my statement. “Is there security footage from where my sister was attacked?” The officer looked up, confused. “Your sister just dropped the charges. Do you want to refile?” David spun around to look at me, but all he found was a faint, hollow smile. “Let it go, David,” I said softly. “I don’t want this getting out. I’m still supposed to get married, remember?” His eyes welled up instantly. He pulled me into a sob-wracked embrace. “Lauren, I am so, so sorry.” At this point, I didn’t care about my reputation. I just knew that if those men were caught, the trail would lead straight back to my brother. And despite everything, David was the only one who had ever shown me a semblance of warmth. Before Brianna entered the picture, my brothers and my father had treated me like the center of their universe. Whenever my mother—cold, perfectionist Katherine—sharpened her tongue against me, they were my shield. But everything changed when Brianna arrived. David drove me back to the estate. When we walked in, the whole family was gathered in the living room. They had already changed out of their gala attire, masquerading as a family worried sick. Katherine was the first to rush forward. She grabbed my hands and began to weep. If I hadn’t spent years watching her calculated moves, I might have believed she actually cared about her biological daughter. “Lauren, my heart is breaking for you,” she sobbed. Michael, the doctor of the family, stepped forward next. “Lauren, I heard you dropped the case. Are you sure about that? You’re really not going to pursue it?” I caught the subtle note of relief in his voice. The bitter realization deepened: they all knew. Every single one of them. I simply nodded. Then my father, Robert, stepped out from behind my mother. He looked small, his eyes darting nervously. “Honey, it’s been a long night. You must be starving. Let me go make you a bowl of pasta.” I hadn’t shed a single tear since learning the truth, but my father’s simple, genuine offer of comfort broke something inside me. The dam burst, and I started to sob. I moved to hug him, but my mother’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Food? Is that all you think about? You’re useless!” Robert flinched, shrinking back into himself. “I… I’ll just warm up some milk for her then. So she can sleep.” He hurried into the kitchen. My father was a man who had married into my mother’s old-money family and had been stepped on for forty years. I knew he must have hated their plan, but he was too weak to ever stop her. I gestured for everyone to sit. I was ready to tell them about the cancer. “I won’t be able to handle the firm’s accounts anymore. I’ve been diagnosed with—” “Lauren, honey,” Brianna interrupted, sliding over to wrap her arm around mine in a show of faux-intimacy. “I just graduated, and Mom said I should start helping out at the office. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of the company. You just focus on resting.” I pulled my arm away without looking at her. I tried to continue, but Katherine cut me off. “Brianna’s right. And don’t look too much into her calling me ‘Mom’—she just got caught up in the moment. Given what you’ve been through, Lauren, you need a long break. David will help Brianna find her footing. The company will be fine.” There it was. I couldn’t even finish a sentence in my own home. What was I even hoping for? “Fine,” I said. 2 I turned to go upstairs. Just as I reached my door, Brianna called out, “Oh, Lauren? Chris was so upset when he heard about the… assault. He left in a rage. You should probably call him and smooth things over.” My heart cramped. Tears fell silently as I shut the door. In the shower, the hot water hit my bruised skin, and I began to shake uncontrollably. I let out a jagged, silent scream into the tiles. Chris and I had a pact. We were waiting until our wedding night. I had wanted to give him that one thing, that one pure moment. And now, that choice had been stolen from me by my own blood. When I stepped out, I saw the glass of warm milk on my nightstand. My father had been here. I opened the door to go find him, to just be near the one person who wasn’t a monster. But as I cracked the door, a burst of laughter drifted up from the living room. Brianna was curled up next to Katherine, telling some funny story. My brothers were both laughing along. Only my father sat apart, glancing toward the stairs with a face full of sorrow. I closed the door. The silence of my room felt like a tomb. I picked up my phone and scrolled aimlessly until I hit Brianna’s Instagram. It was a gallery of the gala. The perfect family. There was Katherine, looking at Brianna with the kind of maternal pride she’d never once shown me. And there was Chris, looking dapper in his tuxedo, with Brianna’s hand possessively on his arm. She had set her profile so I could see everything. She wanted me to see. When Katherine first brought her home, I had treated her like a sister. But I quickly saw through the act—how she flirted with my brothers, how she played the victim to get my mother’s sympathy. I had warned them, and for my trouble, I had been branded as “jealous” and “spiteful.” I opened my chat with Chris. I typed three words: We’re breaking up. He replied almost instantly. Lauren, they’re saying you made up this whole rape story just to ruin Brianna’s night. Is that true? I didn’t lie, I typed back. Then why did you drop the charges? Why are you acting like this? Lauren, just tell me the truth for once! How could I explain it? How could I tell him that my entire family had conspired to have me violated? No one would believe that. And Chris had been best friends with David since they were kids. I didn’t have the energy to fight for a life that was already ending. We’re over, I sent. Then I turned off the phone and buried myself under the covers, trying to find some warmth in the dark. 3 The next morning, the house was empty. A quick check of social media confirmed that Katherine had taken the whole “family” out for an upscale brunch at the Heights. Brianna posted a photo of them all clinking mimosas with the caption: Family is everything. Blessed. It was as if I didn’t exist. As if the girl who had been broken on a dirt lot forty-eight hours ago was just a bad memory they’d already scrubbed away. The front door opened. It was Chris, carrying a massive bouquet of tulips. “Lauren, you look terrible.” I didn’t offer a greeting. “We broke up, Chris. Why are you here?” He stared at me, his voice trembling. “Did it… did it really happen? Were you really hurt?” I thought I was prepared for this. I thought I had hardened my heart. But hearing him ask made the grief crash over me all over again. Suddenly, the front door swung open again. The “family” was back, Brianna’s laughter ringing through the foyer. She marched over and snatched the flowers out of Chris’s hand. “Oh, Chris! You’re so sweet! How did you know tulips were my favorite?” Chris stood there, frozen, his eyes never leaving mine. I forced a thin smile. “Yeah, Chris. They’re perfect for her.” I turned to go upstairs, but my father stopped me. He held out a white paper bag. “Lauren, I brought you some dim sum from the restaurant.” As I reached for it, Katherine’s voice whipped across the room. “Bringing leftovers home from a place like that? How embarrassing! You have no class, Robert. None!” My father flinched. The bag slipped from his hand, and a container of shrimp dumplings hit the floor, rolling across the hardwood. Brianna chimed in, “Yeah, Dad, you’re really making Mom look bad.” I looked at my father, who was staring at the floor in shame. I did something I never thought I’d do. I knelt down, picked up a dumpling that had rolled through the dust, and popped it into my mouth. I looked at my father and smiled. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Dad.” Chris’s expression turned thunderous. He stepped toward David. “You all went out for brunch and left Lauren here starving? Alone?” He grabbed the tulips back from Brianna and shoved them into my hands. “These are for you, Lauren. I’m sorry about last night. I stayed up all night thinking. I don’t care if you’re as petty as they say, or if… if it really happened. I’m not leaving you.” Brianna immediately dissolved into theatrical tears, burying her face in Katherine’s shoulder. Katherine glared at Chris. “That was incredibly rude. You don’t take back a gift.” “It’s okay, Mom,” Brianna sobbed. “I’m just… I’m just so moved. Lauren was ruined by all those men last night, and Chris is still willing to take her back. He’s a saint.” Chris’s face went white. “What do you mean, ‘all those men’?” He turned to David, grabbing him by the collar. “You told me she was making it up!” David looked at the floor, his face a mask of guilt. “At first, we thought… we didn’t realize it was that many.” Brianna added fuel to the fire. “It was horrible. I heard there were five or six of them. They said she was… torn up.” “ENOUGH!” I screamed. “Shut up! All of you! Do you enjoy digging into my skin over and over again?” I turned to Chris, my voice cold and sharp. “Chris, I’ve wanted to break up with you for months. Being with you is like staring at a blank wall. It’s boring. I’m bored of you.” “I’m the CEO of a multi-million dollar firm, and what are you? A starving artist with no ambition? You’re not in my league. Get out. I never want to see you again.” I bolted for my room before the sob could escape my throat. Once the door was locked, I collapsed. The words I’d just said felt like knives in my own chest. I wanted to run into his arms. I wanted to tell him everything. But I was dying. I didn’t have a future to give him. 4 I didn’t see Chris for a week. Word was he’d taken a flight to Europe. I dragged my failing body to the office and spent the week systematically transferring every bit of my authority to David and Brianna. I tied up every loose end. Then, I bought a small cottage on the coast, three hours away. A place to disappear. Before I left, I asked the family to dinner one last time. I raised a glass. “Mom, Dad—thank you for raising me. David, Michael—thanks for being my brothers. To the memories.” I downed the wine in one go. “One more thing. I’m moving out tomorrow. I won’t be coming back.” Brianna started her usual whimpering. “Lauren, I know you hate me. You’re doing this to make Mom and Dad feel guilty for adopting me, aren’t you? What do I have to do to make you happy?” “It has nothing to do with you,” I said, my voice dead. “I have terminal cancer. I’m going away because I don’t want my family to watch me rot.” Katherine slammed her hand on the table. “Enough! I am officially adopting Brianna, and no amount of lies or ‘terminal’ drama is going to change that!” David sighed. “Lauren, don’t curse yourself just to get attention. We’re just adding a sister. We still love you.” Michael, the doctor, narrowed his eyes. “Give it a rest, Lauren. I’m a surgeon. Do you really think you can lie about a diagnosis to me?” I turned to my father. “Dad? Do you believe me?” Katherine shot him a warning look. He looked at his plate and said nothing. I laughed, the sound wet with tears. I finished the bottle of wine. Whatever debt I owed them for my life was paid in full tonight. From this moment on, I had no family. The next day, by the time Michael came home with the actual pathology report he’d pulled from the hospital’s system, I was already gone.

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To get back at me for refusing to buy him a limited-edition gaming skin, my ten-year-old son went behind my back, took my phone, and “tipped” a TikTok influencer a staggering fifteen thousand dollars. By the time I realized something was wrong, my wife, Ella, was already red-eyed and shaking, her fury boiling over until she slammed my phone onto the hardwood floor. “You’ve been throwing money at these girls behind my back? Fifteen thousand dollars in one go!” she screamed at me. “I can’t do this anymore, David! I want a divorce!” Our son, Toby, stood on the sofa, watching the chaos with a look of pure, smug triumph. “That’s what you get for always bossing me around! Now you know who’s really in charge. See if you ever try to stop me again!” What he didn’t realize was that those fifteen thousand dollars were the tuition for the elite private academy he’d been begging to attend. Since he’d decided to blow that money on a stranger’s livestream, he was going to have to find a way to earn it back himself. 1 I stared at the phone on the floor, the screen a spiderweb of shattered glass. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I picked it up, managed to bypass the cracks, and opened my banking app. The notification for the $15,000 withdrawal felt like a physical blow to the gut. The transaction history was clear: a massive top-up of “coins” for a popular short-video platform. Before I could even process the loss, Ella’s hand connected with my cheek. The sting was sharp, hot, and humiliating. “Have you lost your mind? Fifteen thousand!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “That was Toby’s future! That was his tuition!” “You really spent it on some girl online? Do you even care about this family? I’m done. I’m packing my bags.” Ella turned toward the bedroom, her shoulders heaving. “It wasn’t me!” I caught her arm, my voice desperate. “Ella, listen to me. I was in the shower. The phone was right here on the coffee table. It had to be Toby!” Ella’s eyes flared with even more rage. She shoved my hand away. “You’re going to frame a ten-year-old to cover your own tracks? Have you no shame, David?” “Toby is a child! He doesn’t even know how to navigate a payment gateway like that! You’ve probably been watching these streams for months, just waiting for a chance to throw our life savings away. And now that I’ve caught you, you’re blaming your own son?” I looked at her—bluntly protective, shielding a child who didn’t deserve it—and then I looked at Toby. He was still on the couch, swinging his legs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. I forced the fire in my chest down. Arguing with Ella while she was this hysterical was useless. Instead, I grabbed the broken phone and pulled up the footage from the Nest camera in the living room. I dragged the timeline back thirty minutes. The video was crystal clear. Three minutes after I walked into the bathroom, Toby crept over to the sofa. He fished my phone out of my jacket pocket, glancing nervously at the bathroom door. He bypassed the lock screen—he’d clearly memorized my passcode—and within seconds, the faint tinny sound of a livestream echoed from the speakers. His thumbs moved with practiced, lightning speed. I pulled up the digital receipt and the timestamp on the app logs. They matched the video down to the second. When I shoved the evidence in front of Ella, the color drained from her face. She began to tremble, her gaze darting between the screen and Toby. “Did you… did you really do this?” she whispered. Toby tilted his chin up, showing zero remorse. “So what if I did? He wouldn’t buy me the expansion pack! He deserved it!” He paused, then added a malicious little lie. “Besides, I see Dad watching those girls all the time anyway! He’s the bad guy, not me!” My hands were shaking with pure, unadulterated rage. I walked to the entryway drawer, pulled out the acceptance letter and the tuition invoice from St. Jude’s Academy that had arrived two days ago, and slapped them onto the coffee table. That money was a year’s worth of my overtime pay plus a generous gift from my parents. It was the total for the first year’s tuition, due the day after tomorrow. I had planned to surprise them tonight—to tell Toby he didn’t have to go to the failing public school in our district, that he’d been accepted into the best private school in the state. “That fifteen thousand you just threw away?” I said, my voice terrifyingly cold. “That was your tuition for St. Jude’s.” The smug look finally faltered. “The money is gone,” I continued. “Which means you either don’t go, or you find a way to earn that tuition back yourself.” Ella blinked, reaching for my arm. “David, stop. He’s ten. How is he supposed to earn fifteen thousand dollars? I’ll call the platform… they have policies for unauthorized spending by minors. We can get a refund…” “No.” I cut her off, looking directly at Toby, whose face was finally beginning to pale. I let out a sharp, joyless laugh. “I’ve already called Mark, who runs the local landscaping and flyer-delivery service. I’ve also checked with the diner down the street. Toby is going to be handing out flyers and doing neighborhood clean-ups.” “Fifteen thousand dollars. At his age, working part-time, it’ll take him forever. But until he earns it back, we aren’t talking about private school. We aren’t even talking about a new pair of sneakers.” Toby finally processed the reality. He let out a loud, theatrical wail and began thumping his fists against the sofa cushions. “I’m not doing it! You can’t make me! You’re a mean, horrible father!” 2 I ignored the tantrum. Right in front of them, I called the platform’s customer service. I submitted the account info, the security footage, and Toby’s ID as requested to apply for a “Minor Unauthorized Purchase” refund. Twenty minutes later, the agent called back with an apologetic tone. “Sir, I’m very sorry. Because the account is verified in an adult’s name and the payment was authorized via a known device and passcode, 70% of the funds have already been disbursed to the creator and the management agency. We can only offer a courtesy refund of $9,000. The remaining $6,000 is non-recoverable.” When I hung up, the living room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Toby, hearing that the “debt” had dropped to six thousand, sat up straighter. There was still no guilt on his face; if anything, he looked annoyed, as if $6,000 was just pocket change he could wait out. Ella, however, finally grasped the gravity of it. She grabbed Toby’s arm and swatted his backside—hard—her voice thick with tears. “You little monster! That was your education! Tell your father you’re sorry! Tell him you’ll never touch his things again!” Toby started to wail again, but then he saw Ella’s bloodshot eyes. He immediately switched tactics, drooping his head and looking like a kicked puppy. “Dad, I’m sorry. I won’t take your phone again. Please just forgive me this once?” I watched his eyes darting around. I knew that look. It wasn’t repentance; it was calculation. He’d done this before—when he broke my vintage watch, when he “borrowed” Ella’s credit card for App Store purchases. He’d play the victim, wait for us to soften, and then go right back to his old ways. “Apologies don’t pay the bills,” I said, leaning back against the wall. “The six-thousand-dollar gap stays. He has to earn it. If he’s bold enough to steal fifteen thousand today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow if there are no consequences? This ends now.” “Are you insane?” Ella snapped, pulling Toby behind her. “He’s ten! How is a ten-year-old supposed to make six thousand dollars? Is your heart made of stone, David? He’s your son!” “He said he was sorry! Just give him a stern talk and move on!” I didn’t engage. I pulled up a list of local chore-for-hire and community service opportunities on my phone and held it out to her. “I’ve already checked. The local cafe needs flyers distributed. The neighborhood association pays for litter pick-up. It’s manual labor, but it’s safe, and it’s work. It won’t kill him.” Ella’s face turned several shades of red and white. She refused to agree, accusing me of being “vindictive.” Toby joined in, howling that he wouldn’t go. Eventually, Ella ushered him into his room, whispering that she’d find a way to cover the $6,000 herself and that I should just leave it alone. The next morning, I took a personal day. At 7:00 AM, I knocked on his door to take him to his first flyer route. Toby burrowed under his duvet, his voice muffled but defiant. “I’m not going! Give me a week, I’ll have the money! Just leave me alone!” I was about to ask what he meant when I heard Ella scream from the hallway. “David! Have you seen my gold anniversary necklace? The one you gave me last year?” “And my vintage Louis Vuitton bag—the one from the top shelf of the closet? It’s gone!” My stomach dropped. I turned to Toby. He was shrinking into his covers, his eyes shifting frantically. I strode over, ripped the duvet back, and grabbed the iPad he was hiding under his pillow. The screen was open to a popular reselling app. The $5,000 necklace was listed for $3,500. The $2,000 bag was listed for $1,200. There were already comments from buyers asking if they could pick them up today. Toby had even replied: “Available today. Can do $200 off if you’re fast.” “Were you seriously going to sell your mother’s things?” I hissed. Finding himself cornered, Toby’s “sad puppy” act evaporated. He glared at me, his lip curling. “So what? They’re just sitting there! If I sell them and give you the six thousand, I don’t have to go work. Why are you even mad? You’re getting your money back!” Ella walked into the room just in time to hear him. She looked at the iPad, then at her son, and her knees gave out. She slumped against the doorframe, her hand over her mouth, unable to say a single word. 3 Seeing the cold, mercenary logic in her son’s eyes finally broke Ella’s resolve. She lunged forward and gave Toby two sharp slaps on the arm—the first time she’d ever truly disciplined him physically. “Is this how I raised you?” she choked out, her voice breaking. “To steal from your own mother?” “That necklace was three months of your father’s salary! It was a symbol of our marriage! And you treated it like junk to be pawned?” Toby was stunned into silence. He clutched his arm, his face crumpling. When he realized Ella wasn’t going to swoop in and save him this time, he finally went quiet. Ella turned to me, her eyes red and hard. “Do it. Do whatever you said. He needs to learn. If we keep making excuses for him, he’s going to end up in a jail cell.” The next morning, I dragged Toby to the commercial district. I’d arranged a job with a friend who owned a local bistro. Toby had to hand out a thousand coupons for $60. I told the owner not to take any nonsense—if Toby slacked off, he didn’t get paid. I pretended to drive away, but instead, I circled back and sat in a second-floor window at the Starbucks across the street. Thirty minutes in, Toby looked around to make sure no one was watching. He walked over to a trash can, dumped the entire stack of coupons inside, and then pulled out his Gizmo watch. He connected to the cafe’s Wi-Fi and hunkered down in the shade to play games, his head buried in the screen. I recorded the whole thing on my phone and went home. That evening, Ella went to pick him up. The moment Toby saw her, he turned on the waterworks. He slumped his shoulders, looking exhausted. “Mom, I’ve been standing all day. My legs hurt so much. The boss said I was the fastest worker he’d ever seen.” Ella’s heart melted instantly. She reached out to ruffle his hair, promising to take him for ice cream to celebrate his “hard work.” I didn’t say a word. I just walked over and handed her my phone. The video showed him dumping the flyers and gaming for three hours straight. Toby’s face went white. He shot me a look of pure venom, his fists clenched tight. “The owner called me,” I said calmly. “He checked the bins. No pay today.” “At this rate, Toby, you’ll be sixty before you pay us back.” Toby didn’t dare talk back. He bolted into the house and slammed his bedroom door so hard the frames on the wall rattled. For the next two weeks, Toby seemed to have turned a corner. He got up at 7:00 AM without being told. On weekends, he went to the cafe or did neighborhood litter picks. Every now and then he’d sit down for a break, but he didn’t dump the work. Ella started whispering to me at night, “See? It worked. He’s finally growing up. He’s learning.” I didn’t want to ruin her hope, but something felt off. The change was too sudden, too perfect. On Saturday, while Ella went to pick him up, I followed in a different car, wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. I watched from a distance as Toby ran up to Ella, his voice sweet and high. “Mom, I made fifty bucks today! I’m so hungry. Can I use your phone to order a burger on the app while you go grab that free smoothie the manager said I could have?” Ella, seeing his tanned face and “tired” eyes, handed over her unlocked phone without a second thought and headed into the shop. I watched Toby. He didn’t open a food app. He ducked behind a bus stop and opened a mobile game. He navigated straight to the in-game store. A limited-edition “God-tier” bundle was glowing on the screen: $1,999. His thumb was hovering over the FaceID/Apple Pay confirmation. I sprinted across the street and snatched the phone out of his hand just as the payment window popped up. Toby looked up. The “sweet boy” mask shattered. For a split second, his eyes held a look of calculated malice that sent a shiver down my spine. It was a look no ten-year-old should have. I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him toward the shop. Ella was coming out with a smoothie, smiling. I handed her the phone, the screen still showing the $2,000 pending purchase. She stared at the screen, then at her son, who was now trembling with caught-out rage. “I thought you were changing,” she whispered, the smoothie cup slipping from her hand and splashing onto the pavement. As I marched him toward the car, Toby leaned back and hissed under his breath so only I could hear: “Just you wait. I’m going to make you regret this. Both of you.” 4 The sheer venom in that “Just you wait” hit Ella like a physical blow. She stopped dead in her tracks, the last remnants of her maternal pity evaporating. She stepped in front of him, her voice trembling but cold. “Your father and I work ourselves to the bone to give you a life we never had. You stole fifteen thousand dollars. You tried to sell my jewelry. And we still tried to be fair. We tried to teach you.” “Do you honestly think we’re afraid of you?” Toby flinched, the darkness in his eyes flickering into a momentary fear. He didn’t say another word. That night, the house went into lockdown. Every electronic device—the iPad, the Nintendo Switch, the spare phones—was locked in the gun safe in my office. Ella stood over Toby in his room, her eyes red. “From now on, you don’t touch a screen. If I catch you stealing a phone or trying to scam a neighbor, we are done. I will send you to that military boarding school in the desert, and I won’t look back. Do you understand?” Toby burst into tears, clutching her legs. “Mom, I’m sorry! I was just mad! I won’t do it again, please don’t leave me!” Ella’s heart softened slightly—she was always the more forgiving one—but she stood her ground. “This is your last chance, Toby. One more lie, and no one will save you.” For the next month, Toby was a model citizen. He worked, he studied, he was polite. Ella began to relax. Even the bistro owner told me Toby was becoming a “pro” at the flyer routes. Then came Toby’s eleventh birthday. I figured he’d earned a break. We decided to take him to a high-end steakhouse he’d always loved. When we sat down, I smiled and nudged him. “It’s your birthday, bud. Get whatever you want. Dad’s treat.” Toby didn’t smile. He stared at the menu with a flat, hollow expression. “I don’t want anything. I still owe the family four thousand dollars. I shouldn’t be wasting money.” The words sounded responsible, but the tone was chilling. It wasn’t humility; it was a sharp, jagged irony. He was throwing our own lesson back in our faces like a weapon. “Toby…” Ella started, her voice thick. He just looked down at his lap, ignoring us. The cheerful birthday music in the background felt like a mockery. I felt that old knot of unease tightening in my stomach. Suddenly, Ella’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and her face went ghostly white. She turned the screen toward me, her fingers shaking. “David, look at this.”

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Ten years ago, a staged hit-and-run didn’t just ruin my reputation—it erased my life. I was the “Golden Girl” of the tri-state business circles, a rising tech mogul with a Midas touch. Overnight, I became a pariah, a monster, a convict. Ten years in a maximum-security cell changes a woman. I walked in soft, a girl who believed in the inherent goodness of the men she loved. I walked out iron-clad. By the time my sentence was up, even the most hardened women in the yard—women who had done things that would make a hitman shudder—called me “Boss.” They didn’t do it out of fear; they did it out of a terrifying kind of respect. When the heavy iron gates finally buzzed open, I expected the air to taste like freedom. Instead, it tasted like ash. My husband, Elliott, stood by his sleek black sedan, looking every bit the high-powered defense attorney he’d become on the back of my initial success. His face was a mask of cold indifference as he dropped the bomb that had been ticking for a decade. “It was Mandy who hit those people, Brooke,” he said, his voice as flat as a dial tone. “I spent weeks scrubbing the digital trail and tampering with the surveillance footage. I needed a fall guy. I chose you.” Before I could even process the scream building in my lungs, my brother, Samuel—a man who had taken a Hippocratic Oath to save lives—added his own casual betrayal. “I handled the autopsy reports, Brooke. I falsified the forensic evidence myself. It wasn’t hard.” The world tilted. I felt the phantom weight of the handcuffs I’d just shed. “Why?” I managed to choke out. My voice sounded like it had been dragged over broken glass. “I was your wife. I was your sister. Why would you do this to me?” Elliott looked past me, refusing to meet my eyes. “Mandy is the foster daughter of the Langley family. She’s… fragile. Sensitive. She was young, Brooke. She had her whole life ahead of her. She couldn’t have a stain like that on her record. It would have destroyed her.” He paused, adjusting his silk tie as if he were being remarkably generous. “But don’t worry. I’ve worked it all out. I’ll provide for you. I’m going to maintain two households. I’ll split my time. I won’t play favorites anymore.” I closed my eyes, listening to the absurdity of his words. Family? Love? Those things had been ground into dust during my years of manual labor and cold nights on a thin mattress. I didn’t want his “generosity.” I wanted his blood. …….. Elliott sat in the back of the car, his voice a blade of ice. “I’m telling you this now so you understand the reality of the situation. Don’t make a scene. Don’t struggle. You’re going to learn to live in peace with Mandy.” A white-hot rage flickered in my chest. Ten years. They stole ten years of my youth, my career, my fertility—all to protect “delicate” Mandy. They wanted me to be “well-behaved.” Elliott leaned back against the leather seat, looking utterly unbothered. “Mandy has been the one taking care of me while you were away. We have three children now. Our youngest, Nico, is still in diapers.” He handed me a small, wrapped box. “When we get to the house, give this toy to Nico. Make an effort to bond with him.” The rage turned into a physical nausea. When we were together, Elliott had always claimed he wasn’t ready for kids. He said he wanted to focus on his career, on our future. But while I was rotting in a cell, he was playing house and fathering a brood with my foster sister. “Taking care of you?” I let out a jagged, hollow laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Which ‘fragile’ little girl decides the best way to help her brother-in-law is by sliding into his bed?” Elliott’s face darkened instantly. “Watch your mouth, Brooke!” “You were gone for a decade. Did you expect me to live like a monk? I needed a partner. A real woman who supported me.” He glared at me. “And don’t forget—we’re divorced. I filed the papers the month after your sentencing.” My head spun. I remembered that day. I was fresh in prison, terrified and broken. Elliott had come to me with a stack of papers, claiming he couldn’t be married to a “convicted felon” because it would ruin his legal standing. I had loved him so much back then. I didn’t want to drag him down with my “shame.” I had signed them without a second thought. It had all been a play. A long, orchestrated con. My brother, Samuel, leaned over from the front seat, his voice rising. “Mandy has been more than gracious. She’s agreed to this arrangement—Elliott will spend half the week with you and half with her. Sundays are for the kids. If you can’t be grateful for that, I have no problem finding a reason to send you back to that cell.” I stared at them, truly seeing them for the first time. They weren’t just betrayers; they were delusional. I remembered the boy Elliott used to be—poor, bullied, desperate. I was the one who fought his battles in high school, coming home with bloody knuckles to keep him safe. I remembered the night Samuel’s gambling debts almost got him killed—I was the one who stood in front of the debt collectors, taking a beating that left me unconscious for two days. I had built an empire for them. And they had given it to the foster girl who had never worked a day in her life. “I don’t want his leftovers,” I said, my voice cold and steady. I pushed past them and walked into the house—my house. Or it used to be. The foyer was dominated by a massive, gold-framed wedding portrait. Mandy, draped in Vera Wang, was curled into Elliott’s arms, looking like a triumphant queen. Mandy appeared at the top of the stairs, a winner’s smirk playing on her lips. “Brooke? Gosh, I almost thought you’d never get out.” She drifted down the stairs, her silk robe fluttering. “Listen, we turned your old bedroom into a nursery for the boys. There’s a guest room in the basement. Maybe you could—” “The only person leaving is you,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through her fake sweetness. “This is my house. I bought it. I paid the mortgage. You have no right to be here.” When the family business went bankrupt after our father’s suicide, I was the one who started from zero. I worked twenty-hour days, paid off the creditors, and built Langley Tech into a multi-billion-dollar entity. Elliott’s face turned the color of a bruise. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you dare speak to her like that!” “And just so we’re clear, Brooke—before you went in, you signed the transfer agreements. You thought they were insurance papers, remember? Every asset you owned, the house, the stocks, the patents… they all belong to Mandy now.” I went numb. Ten years ago, Elliott had come to me with “insurance” forms, saying he wanted to make sure I was protected while I was incarcerated. I had trusted him with my life. I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood from my palms. “I built that company with my own sweat and blood. You had no right!” Elliott flickered with a moment of guilt, but it was quickly replaced by arrogance. “The company needed a leader while you were ‘away.’ And Mandy is family. She’s a Langley. What does it matter whose name is on the deed?” I laughed, a sound so bitter it felt like poison. “You gave my life’s work to my enemy and called it ‘management’?” Mandy stepped closer, her eyes glittering with malice. “We’re all family here, Brooke. Don’t be so dramatic.” She whistled, and two young boys ran into the room. “Look, boys! Say hello to your ‘Big Auntie’!” The boys looked just like her. Small, entitled, and cruel. “Get away from me,” I hissed. Mandy suddenly lurched forward, pushing one of the boys toward me. The child tripped, letting out a piercing wail as he scrambled back into her arms. “Brooke! I know you’ve always hated me, but the children are innocent!” she sobbed, though her eyes were dry and full of triumph. CRACK. Elliott’s hand caught me across the face so hard I hit the floor. His eyes were red with fury. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Ten years of ‘rehabilitation’ and you’re still a sociopath!” Before I could even look up, Samuel grabbed a heavy crystal decanter from the side table and smashed it against the back of my head. “Enough!” my brother roared. “Ten years ago you tried to ruin Mandy’s life, and now you’re attacking her kids? Get out! Go to the basement and stay there until you learn how to be a human being!” Blood trickled down my neck. My cheek was already swelling, going numb. Memories flashed behind my eyes like a car crash. I remembered how Samuel had stolen my patents to give Mandy “credibility” at the firm. I remembered when Mandy had cost the company a hundred-million-dollar merger because she couldn’t be bothered to read a contract, and Elliott had made me take the blame for it. Every time I fought back, they labeled me the aggressor. Because she was “sweet.” Because she was “fragile.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain. I had learned in the yard that you don’t explain things to people who are committed to misunderstanding you. The servants, seeing which way the wind was blowing, brought me bowls of spoiled food and mildewed blankets in the damp basement room. I pulled out a burner phone I’d managed to smuggle out. I turned it on, and a string of messages from an unknown number popped up. It was from the “crew” I’d taken under my wing inside. I didn’t reply yet. I wanted to see if I could reclaim my world on my own first. I lay on the hard wooden slats of the bed and sent a text to my former head of R&D. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, I went straight to the Langley Tech headquarters. I might not have the shares anymore, but the founders were still there. The connections were mine. The technology was something I had designed in my own head. I wasn’t going to let them have it. As I walked through the lobby, the whispers started—vicious little snakes biting at my heels. “Is that her? The original CEO?” “CEO? She’s a convict. A murderer.” “I heard she only got ten years because Mandy spent millions on her legal defense. Talk about ungrateful.” “She killed three people in that hit-and-run. She’s a monster.” My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my chin up. I headed for the top floor, for the executive suite. But my keycard didn’t work. I was blocked from my own office by two security guards who used to call me “Ma’am.” “Oh, look who it is! My big sister!” Mandy’s voice dripped with mock sympathy. She was wearing a five-thousand-dollar custom suit, looking every bit the corporate shark. “What? Did you come here looking for a job?” she sneered, scanning my cheap, thrift-store clothes. “I don’t know what we could offer a felon. Do we need someone to work the industrial sewing machines? Or maybe the cafeteria?” The humiliation was a physical weight. “Mandy, don’t forget who built this. Without the core encryption codes I developed, you’re just a puppet on a failing stage.” She laughed, a bright, ugly sound. She snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the doors opened. My former partner, my lead engineers, my hand-picked board members… they all stepped out. They didn’t look at me. They bowed their heads to her. “Good morning, Director Langley,” they chimed in unison. Mandy turned to me, her grin widening. “I have everything, Brooke. Your research, your client lists, your financial data. I even knew you tried to contact them yesterday. They work for me now.” “You’re a loser, Brooke. You always have been.” I felt the world going dark at the edges. When I went to prison, I had shared my secret encryptions with these men, trusting them to keep the company afloat until I returned. They had sworn they believed in my innocence. And the second I was gone, she had bought them. “Mark!” I screamed at my old partner. “Your mother was dying of cancer and I paid for her surgery when we were broke! How can you do this?” “Simon! You were being blacklisted by every firm in the city until I gave you a chance!” One by one, I called them out. Some looked away in shame. But Mark, my oldest friend, just looked at me with cold eyes. “The world moves on, Brooke. And nobody wants to be associated with a killer.” At Mandy’s signal, they surged forward, grabbing my arms and dragging me toward the elevators. Mandy leaned in close, tapping my cheek with her high-end smartphone. “Brooke, it’s been ten years. Even the iPhone has changed ten times since you’ve been relevant. You’re nothing. You’re a broke, pathetic ex-con.” She leaned in closer, whispering in my ear so only I could hear. “But I should thank you. For ten years, I’ve lived in your house, spent your money, and fucked your husband. And let me tell you, Elliott has some very impressive skills in the bedroom.” She licked her lips provocatively. “You bitch!” The prison-honed instincts took over. I broke free from the guards and lunged, my palm connecting with her face in a strike that echoed through the lobby. “BROOKE! STOP!” Elliott’s roar came from behind us. He rushed forward, cradling Mandy like she was made of glass. The guards tackled me, pinning me to the cold marble floor. Samuel appeared out of nowhere, his face a mask of rage. He didn’t hesitate—he delivered a brutal kick to my ribs. “You never learn!” he screamed. “Security! Throw this trash out! If she ever sets foot on this property again, call the police!” Mark, my old friend, grabbed a taser from a guard and pressed it into the base of my skull. The world exploded into white light and agony. As they dragged me out like a dead dog, Mark leaned down and whispered, “The Director knew you were coming, Brooke. She prepared a little homecoming gift for you.” They tossed me onto the sidewalk. Immediately, a mob swarmed. It was the families of the victims from ten years ago, flanked by a dozen news crews. Before I could even stand, a carton of rotten eggs pelted my face. A woman—the mother of one of the deceased—stepped forward with a bucket of industrial red paint. She dumped it over my head. It felt like cold, sticky blood. “Why are you out?” she shrieked. “You’re a murderer! You should have died in there!” The crowd surged. Punches and kicks rained down on me. Cameras flashed, capturing my every moment of degradation. Five minutes later, Mandy “stumbled” out of the building, looking like a saint. “Please! Everyone, stop!” she cried, her voice amplified by a megaphone. “My sister has served her time! Please, give her a chance to move on! If you have demands, come to me! I am her sister—I will pay for her sins!” The crowd fell silent, looking at her with adoration. “Director Langley is so brave,” a reporter whispered. “Taking care of a monster like that.” “She’s a saint. Did you hear she built thirty libraries this year?” “The contrast is unbelievable. One sister is a killer, the other is a philanthropist.” Mandy looked down at me, a tiny, satisfied smile hidden from the cameras. She reached down to “help” me up, trying to force me to apologize to the grieving mother. I spat a mouthful of blood and red paint at her designer shoes. “Rot in hell, Mandy. You’re the one who killed them.” Samuel stepped forward, shielding her. He turned to the cameras. “As of today, I am officially disowning Brooke. She is no longer a member of the Langley family. We have no sister.” Elliott stepped up next, his voice booming for the evening news. “And let it be known—Langley Tech does not employ criminals. We stand with the victims.” The crowd cheered. The reporters scribbled. The victims’ families, emboldened by the lack of protection, dragged me back down. A man slammed my head against the concrete. “Three lives! You owe us three lives!” My ribs were screaming. My vision was fading. I felt the darkness coming for me. And then, a sound like a thunderclap. The roar of engines. A fleet of fifteen black Rolls-Royces tore around the corner, screeching to a halt in a perfect, intimidating line in front of the building. The crowd froze. “Is that… is that Frankie ‘The Fixer’ Moretti?” someone whispered. “The man who runs the docks? What is he doing here?” “He must be here to see Director Langley,” another suggested. “The company is booming. He probably wants a piece of the action.” Mandy wiped her face, smoothed her hair, and forced a flattering smile. She stepped toward the lead car as a massive man in a tailored charcoal suit stepped out. “Mr. Moretti!” she gushed, bowing slightly. “What an unexpected honor—” The man didn’t even look at her. In one fluid motion, he drew a suppressed Glock and pressed the cold barrel directly against her temple. His voice was a low, terrifying growl that carried over the silent street. “You put a hand on my Mentor? You must have a death wish, you little rat.”

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I lay immobilized on the sterile mattress, a prisoner in my own body, stripped of even the simple dignity of rolling onto my side. My father was an internet-famous animal rescue influencer. His videos, always stamped with the heartwarming catchphrase “Every Life Deserves Saving,” had amassed an audience of over ten million followers. Until the day he brought his old army buddy’s twin boys into our house, claiming he wanted to give these orphaned children a home overflowing with love. While I was fast asleep, those two boys took my sweet, gentle golden retriever of five years and swapped him with two rabid, aggressive mutts they had spray-painted in neon colors. I was savagely mauled. There wasn’t a single patch of intact skin left on my body. A chunk of muscle was brutally torn from my calf, and I had to endure a grueling regimen of rabies shots in the aftermath. My mother, weeping, pulled my hand away from my phone when I tried to call the police. “Just apologize to your brothers, Bertha,” she pleaded. “They were just curious to see what the dogs would look like in color. How were they supposed to know the dogs were sick?” The twins stood there, sticking their tongues out at me with bright, unrepentant smiles. “Sorry, Bertha. We just thought colorful dogs matched your vibe better.” The attack left me with a permanent disability, forcing me to drag myself around on crutches. Then, they announced they wanted to help me with “holistic acupuncture rehab.” While I was lying face-down on my bed, they took dozens of rusted sewing needles and drove them straight into the gaps of my vertebrae. The result was permanent paralysis from the waist down. The doctors said the bacteria on the rusted needles triggered a severe case of osteomyelitis. The twins’ defense? “We saw a holistic healing channel on YouTube that said dry needling cures leg problems. We genuinely just wanted Bertha to walk again.” Outside the operating room, my father wept until he passed out. He even dropped to his knees, begging the surgeons to save me. A bystander filmed it, the video went viral, and millions of viewers cried alongside him, crowning him “The Internet’s Ultimate Dad.” But when we got home and the front door clicked shut, his only punishment for the boys was: No screen time for a week. And now, right in front of my eyes, they were pouring an entire bottle of highly concentrated, industrial-grade insecticide into my room’s humidifier. 01 “Breathe deep, Bertha. Dad’s videos always say humidifiers are great for your skin.” Jace shook the empty plastic bottle. A few residual drops of amber liquid clung to the bottom, the skull-and-crossbones warning label tilted off-axis, glaring right at me. Thick white mist surged from the humidifier’s nozzle, wrapping around me with a chemical heat that felt like it could burn a hole straight through my throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but my vocal cords felt like they’d been force-fed crushed glass. All I managed was a dry, rasping hiss. I couldn’t feel anything below my waist, and my upper half felt like it had been encased in wet cement. Gritting my teeth, I forced my arm out from under the duvet, my fingertips barely grazing the edge of the nightstand. Connor walked over. “Don’t move around so much, Bertha. If you fall, you’ll just have to get more needles.” He casually swiped my cell phone off the table and shoved it into the pocket of his school uniform. Then he crouched down and clicked the humidifier’s dial from low to high. The white mist thickened instantly. It swallowed me whole, stinging my eyes so fiercely I couldn’t keep them open. “Bertha, why are you crying? Are you moved to tears?” Jace pulled out his phone and started recording me, the beauty filter already turned on. “Look, Connor. When she cries, she looks just like that abandoned poodle at Dad’s shelter.” My chest felt like it was being crushed beneath a sheet of red-hot iron. Every breath I took was like inhaling pure fire. Then, the sound of a key turning in the front door. With a speed I had never witnessed, Jace pocketed his phone, and Connor twisted the humidifier dial to off. Jace shoved the empty poison bottle under my pillow. Connor pulled a small vial of lavender essential oil from his backpack and tipped a few generous drops into the water tank. Less than ten seconds. By the time my mother pushed the bedroom door open, they were each holding one of my hands, looking exactly like the perfect, angelic children from a catalog. “Mom, Bertha’s been coughing so much today. We’re really worried.” Connor looked up, his eyes already brimming with perfectly timed, unshed tears. My mother wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?” “Essential oils!” Jace held up the little purple vial. “The internet said lavender helps you sleep. We added a little bit for Bertha, but maybe we put in too much?” She took the vial, sniffed it, and lightly tapped Jace on the back of the head. “Of course it’s choking her if you put this much in. Go open a window.” She didn’t look at me. “Mom…” The sound that left my lips didn’t belong to a human anymore. It was a shredded, reedy wheeze, like a cat being strangled. “Shh, don’t try to talk. Just rest.” She tucked the edges of my blanket in tighter. “I’m taking you in for a spinal check-up tomorrow. The doctor said you need to stay flat on your back.” She unplugged the humidifier and cracked the window open a few inches. “David, come look at this. Bertha doesn’t look so good.” My father strolled in from the hallway. His eyes were glued to his phone screen, scrolling through his backend analytics dashboard. He threw a passing glance my way. “She does look a little pale.” His eyes darted back to the screen. “Probably just caught a chill from the window. Close it a bit, Helen. By the way, that mastiff rescue video just crossed a million views. We’ve got three new sponsors asking for brand integrations.” “Dad…” “Hm?” He didn’t look up. “I… I can’t… breathe…” That finally made him frown. He lowered the phone. Stepped closer. He leaned his ear down near my mouth and listened for a few seconds. The color drained from his face. “Something’s wrong. Call 911.” The fluorescent lights in the ER trauma bay were as blindingly white as an interrogation room. “Severe organophosphate poisoning. Her blood cholinesterase levels are at thirty percent of normal. If you had brought her in an hour later, she’d be dead.” The doctor’s words came down like a hammer. My mother clapped a hand over her mouth and stumbled back a step, her eyes welling up. “How… how could she have organophosphate poisoning?” My father’s knuckles turned stark white as he gripped my medical chart. He crouched down, getting eye-level with the two boys standing in the hospital corridor. “What exactly did you pour into that humidifier?” Connor’s bottom lip jutted out in a picture-perfect pout. “Just essential oils, Dad. The purple bottle.” Jace tugged at my mother’s cardigan. “Do you think Bertha’s skincare stuff has poison in it? Girls have all those weird bottles and jars. It was probably something she put on herself.” My father stared at them in total silence for a long time. Then, he stood up. “Clear out every single cosmetic bottle in Bertha’s room. I don’t want her using any of that unregulated garbage ever again.” He walked to the end of the hallway and pulled out his phone. “Hey, is this the producer? Push the livestream back a day. Yeah, my daughter is in the ICU. Chemical poisoning. It’s bad. Give me some time to figure out how we’re going to spin this to the followers.” 02 “Bertha, look at all these tubes. What do you think would happen if one accidentally fell out?” Jace pointed at the oxygen cannula taped to my nose, his eyes gleaming with a sick, unnamable thrill. The ICU heart monitor beeped rhythmically in the background. A heavy oxygen mask was strapped over my face, and every inhalation tasted of sterile hospital air and the searing agony of chemically burned alveoli. I couldn’t move. Not just because of the paralysis. I was tethered by a web of IV lines and sensor wires, pinned down like a butterfly on a mounting board. Connor stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes locked on the monitor screen. “Heart rate 78. O2 stat 94. Are you nervous, Bertha? If you’re nervous, the numbers jump. Let me see.” He reached a hand toward the oxygen valve connection. Footsteps echoed from the hallway. He instantly yanked his hand back, his face snapping back into default innocence. A nurse pushed the door open to swap out an IV bag. “How did you two sneak back in here? Kids aren’t allowed in the ICU.” “We’re just so worried about our big sister. Please, can’t we stay just a little longer?” Connor tugged at the hem of the nurse’s scrubs, his eyes rimmed with perfect, desperate red. The nurse sighed, her expression softening. “Five minutes. Do not touch any of the machines.” The moment the door swung shut behind her, Jace fished a hard candy from his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. “Hospital food sucks, Bertha. Good thing you can’t eat anyway.” He mumbled around the candy, the sugar clicking against his teeth. “Connor, you want to give her one?” “She’s on a liquid diet.” Connor’s tone was clinical, like he was reciting lab results. “But that’s okay. Once she’s in a regular room, we can just add a little something to her liquid food—” The door opened again. Dad. He had his phone held up high, the red recording light of the front-facing camera glowing steadily. He was live. “Hey guys, this is what my daughter looks like right now.” He panned the camera down to my face, his voice breaking with masterfully crafted grief. “Chemical poisoning. Both lungs severely burned. The doctors said it’s an absolute miracle she survived.” The chat on his screen was scrolling at warp speed. Stay strong, David! Every life matters! We’re praying for Bertha! Who pours a whole bottle of essential oil into a humidifier? That kid has zero common sense. I stared into that glowing red lens. He told his followers it was essential oils. Not insecticide. “And these two boys—” He swept the camera over to Connor and Jace. They immediately flanked my bed, each grabbing one of my hands. Connor looked dead into the lens. “Don’t worry, everyone. We promise we’re gonna take really good care of our sister.” Jace wiped furiously at his dry eyes, his voice trembling with a flawless sob. “Bertha is the bravest person I know. I had a dream last night that she could walk again.” The chat exploded. Actual angels. My heart is breaking for this family. David, can you pin a Venmo link? I want to chip in for her medical bills. My father let a thick, tragic silence hang in the air for exactly two seconds. “Guys, you don’t need to donate money. If you really want to help, just head over to the David’s Haven Foundation page. Every single dollar goes toward saving lives.” He paused, lowering the phone slightly. “Whether it’s the life of a helpless animal, or the life of my little girl.” The screen was instantly flooded with donation animations, drowning out the video feed. The second he tapped “End Live,” the profound sorrow washed off his face like cheap stage makeup. “Helen, we had triple our usual concurrent viewership today.” My mother walked in from the corridor, carrying an insulated soup thermos. “You shouldn’t keep using Bertha for content.” Her voice carried a trace of hesitation, but she lacked the spine to actually stop him. “I’m not using her.” My father’s tone was entirely detached. “Do you have any idea what a day in the ICU costs? Ten grand. The shelter’s funds alone won’t cover this for two months. Higher engagement means stronger leverage for brand deals. I’m doing all of this for her.” My mother didn’t say another word. She set the thermos down on the bedside table. “Bertha, I made you pear soup. It’s supposed to be soothing for your lungs. I’ll save it for when you can swallow.” She gently touched my forehead. Then, she looked down and froze. There was a fresh, angry red crescent mark on my wrist—where Connor had dug his fingernail in while forcing my hand open for the camera. “What happened here?” Jace leaned in closely. “Must be from the IV tape being too tight. Bertha’s skin is so sensitive.” Beneath the oxygen mask, my mouth moved frantically. My eyes begged her to look closer. “Yeah, I’ll ask the nurse to loosen the tape a bit.” My mother patted Jace on the head. “You boys were so good today. What do you want for dinner?” Jace tilted his head, pretending to think hard. “No screen-time is over, right? Can we get pizza?” My mother smiled, a tired, relieved thing. “Yes. You can.” She walked to the door, pausing for one final glance over her shoulder. “Get some rest, Bertha. When you’re out of the ICU, I’ll get them to move you to a big room with a window.” The heavy door clicked shut. Harsh white light bouncing off a harsh white ceiling. The heart monitor beeped on, and on, and on, like a countdown clock ticking down to zero. And resting right on the edge of my pillow was the bright pink smiley-face candy wrapper Jace had discarded. 03 “Do you know why Dad never actually punishes us, Bertha?” Connor sat cross-legged on the window sill of my new room, the late afternoon sun stretching his shadow across the floorboards. I had been stepped down from the ICU. The heavy oxygen mask had been replaced by a nasal cannula. I could speak now, though my voice sounded like it was scraping against sandpaper. The chemical burns in my lungs turned every breath into an inhalation of hot ash. Jace was sitting on the floor, ripping open care packages sent by my father’s followers, breaking the contents and tossing them aside. “Because he has cameras,” Connor said softly, like he was sharing a ghost story. “Smart home cameras. In every single room. He uses them to capture ‘candid’ rescue moments.” “There’s one in your room, too.” The blood in my veins turned to ice water, starting from my fingertips. “He saw it.” Connor looked right at me, his mouth curving upward. “He checked the playback. He knows we poured the poison.” “Then why…” “He deleted it.” Jace ripped the head off a plush teddy bear a fan had sent. White stuffing spilled out from the severed neck. “Dad said if anyone found out, his channel would be dead. Ten million followers, gone overnight. The sponsors would bail.” He gathered the loose stuffing into a ball and dropped it into the trash can. “So, it doesn’t matter who you tell, Bertha. Dad will just say you did it to yourself in a depressive episode. And he’ll cry on camera. He looks so sad when he cries. The whole internet believes him.” I stared blankly at the ceiling. A single tear slid down the corner of my eye, pooling in my ear. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe my father would— The door swung open. My father walked in carrying a basket of fruit, trailed closely by a young guy balancing a professional DSLR camera on his shoulder. “Hey sweetie, feeling a little brighter today?” He sat on the edge of my bed, smoothing down my hair with infinite tenderness. The red recording light on the camera was on. “Look guys, our girl is getting some color back.” He picked up an apple and a paring knife, peeling the skin in one long, continuous ribbon, looking like the most patient, devoted father in the world. “Dad…” “Yeah, honey?” “The camera in the house…” The knife stopped. “What camera?” “The one in my room.” He offered me a slice of the apple, the gentle smile practically glued to his face. “That’s just the air quality monitor your mother bought.” He turned and made a swift, subtle cutting motion across his throat to the cameraman. The guy immediately powered down the rig and walked out, closing the door behind him. The instant the latch clicked, the warmth vanished from my father’s face. He leaned in low, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Some things are better left unsaid. For your own good.” My heart violently seized. “You can’t say a word about this.” His eyes rimmed with red. He looked like a man in genuine, unspeakable agony. “Do you have any idea what would happen if this got out? I would go to prison. Your mother can’t afford to keep you alive on her own. Every day you spend in this bed, every pill you take, is paid for by the attention of my followers. Do you really think they’ll care whether you live or die once the illusion is shattered?” He grabbed my hand, squeezing it so hard I felt the bones in my fingers grind together. “Bertha. I am begging you.” He slid off the edge of the mattress and dropped to his knees. The internet’s ultimate dad, the saint of animal rescue, kneeling on the linoleum floor, pressing his forehead against the metal railing of my hospital bed. “Just give me some time. I will keep them under control.” Connor and Jace were hovering by the door, peeking in. The corner of Connor’s mouth twitched upward. The door opened wider, bumping into the twins as my mother walked in with her soup thermos. “What’s going on?” My father scrambled to his feet, quickly swiping a hand over his face. “Nothing. Just having a heart-to-heart with Bertha.” My mother unscrewed the lid of the thermos. Steam curled into the air. “Pork rib and lotus root. Good for rebuilding your strength.” She brought a spoonful to her lips and blew on it. “Perfect. Here.” She fed it to me, spoon by spoon. The broth was deeply savory. I didn’t cry. I realized I didn’t know who was left in the world to cry to. When the bowl was empty, my mother packed up the thermos and walked out with my father. Through the thin drywall, I caught fragments of their conversation in the hallway. “David, a reporter reached out to me. She wants an interview. About Bertha’s poisoning.” A beat of dead silence. “From where?” “A local investigative outlet. She said a reader tipped them off. They think the poisoning wasn’t an accident.” Another three seconds of silence. “Decline it. If she reaches out again, tell legal to send a cease and desist.” Their footsteps faded down the corridor. The room was left with nothing but the rhythmic hum of the EKG monitor and the faint, distant sound of traffic. At some point, Jace had crept back to the side of my bed. He was loudly crunching on the apple my father had peeled. “Bertha, if that reporter actually finds out…” He took another massive bite, chewing with his mouth open. “Would you rather Dad go to jail—or would you rather be out on the street with no one to pay for your meds?”

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I was just shooting the breeze with my buddy that day, completely unaware until I happened to glance back and saw Viola standing there. Her face was dark as a thunderhead, practically vibrating with rage. We had been venting about the exhausting, messy realities of dating. I was mid-sentence, casually saying that she was just a placeholder—someone to pass the time with, because compared to Mona, everyone else was just static on the radio. I even brought up her best friend. I said that with the lights off, there wasn’t a damn bit of difference between them anyway, and that faking my way through that little performance had been a total waste of my energy. The truth was, sleeping with her best friend had originally been a desperate, clawing attempt to get back at Viola. But the morning after, I overheard the two of them laughing about it. Viola actually told her friend that it was a calculated move. She said it was just a way to teach me a lesson—that once I felt dirty, once I was terrified she’d throw me away for being tainted, I’d finally stop throwing tantrums and fall in line. Her friend even chimed in to compliment my body, laughing that I was just a little too inhibited, and if I’d let loose a bit more, she would have had the time of her life. But what Viola didn’t see coming was this: I truly, fundamentally, did not give a single damn. 1 The day after I slept with Shirley, Viola showed up at her door. She sank into an armchair, her posture painfully languid, her tone entirely too casual. “Don’t look so tense. I’m not here to read you the riot act. I know Holden came to your place last night.” “I let it happen.” Shirley let out a low whistle. Viola lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating the sharp angles of her face. “How was he?” “Pretty damn good,” Shirley said, sinking back into the opposite sofa, a reminiscent gleam in her eyes. “I see why you keep him around. The boy’s got fire. Built perfectly, firm everywhere it counts.” “He’s just wound a little tight. If he leaned into it, he’d be lethal.” “And that look on his face—like he was right on the edge of crying? Jesus, it was so pure it almost hurt. Thinking about it now makes me…” Viola kept smiling, but the expression was entirely localized to her mouth. It never reached her eyes. “Still,” Shirley mused, “you knew he was only crawling into my bed to get back at you. Why give him the green light?” “Because now he’ll learn his place,” Viola said, her voice completely flat. “He’s been acting out lately. Throwing fits, testing my patience. It was getting exhausting. Once he realizes that throwing a tantrum gets him absolutely nowhere, he’ll stop.” Shirley looked thoroughly entertained. “Aren’t you worried that giving him a taste of the buffet will turn your house cat into a stray? What if he decides he likes sneaking out?” Viola let out a dismissive scoff. “He won’t.” “Holden grew up in the foster system. He’s been starved of affection his entire life. You give a guy like that a single drop of warmth, and he treats you like a life raft. He loves me down to the marrow of his bones. Last night was just a blind, impulsive lashing out because he was hurt. He doesn’t have the spine to make a habit of it.” She tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, the words spilling out with a cloud of grey smoke. “I know how he ticks. Once the anger burns off, the guilt is going to eat him alive. He’s going to feel filthy. He’s going to be terrified that I’ll look at him and see something used. After this, he’ll be perfectly docile. No more shouting, no more crying. Low maintenance.” “Let him cross the line once, and I buy myself a lifetime of absolute obedience.” “It’s a good return on investment.” Shirley clicked her tongue, giving a slow, mocking round of applause. “Spoken like a true CEO. You train your men the way people train dogs.” “But from what I remember, Holden is practically a saint. The guy doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. What the hell did you do to push him over the edge? Was it… because of Hayden?” “Don’t tell me he walked in on you two—” Shirley made an explicit gesture with her hands, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Viola shot her a dead-eyed glare. “Keep your mind out of the gutter. He just saw us kissing.” Shirley whistled again. “Seriously though, what’s the endgame here? Hayden is back in the States. Who are you picking? He’s the ghost you’ve been chasing for a decade.” “You only keep Holden around because their names sound the same, and they have the same jawline.” “Hayden isn’t going to share you.” The cigarette smoke veiled Viola’s face, blurring the hard lines of her expression. She let the silence stretch out. “I’ll deal with it when I have to,” she finally said. “Holden can’t survive without me. Worst case scenario, I keep him set up somewhere quiet.” “He’s naïve. If I don’t protect him, this city will chew him up.” Then, remembering something, she shot Shirley an ice-cold look. “You made him use protection, right?” Shirley froze, taking a fraction of a second too long to recover. “Obviously.” Viola crushed her cigarette into the glass tray. She pulled her trench coat tight around her shoulders and stood up, her voice dropping to a glacial chill. “I let you take a bite out of my property last night. But hear me clearly.” “There won’t be a next time.” 2 It was high noon, and the California sun was relentless and bright. I had thrown on a fresh outfit and was in remarkably good spirits as I walked into the diner to meet Cam. The second I slid into the booth, Cam grabbed my shoulders, checking me over like I’d just survived a car wreck. “Are you okay? Seriously, man, what’s going on?” I laughed, batting his hands away. “I’m fine. Never better.” Cam wasn’t buying it. “Are you sure? When you called me last night, you were barely making sense. I kept asking what was wrong, and you just went dead silent and hung up. Then it went straight to voicemail. I was losing my mind, thinking you were in a ditch somewhere.” “Level with me. Did Viola do something to you again?” I pulled him down into his seat, leaning back with effortless ease. “I’m genuinely fine. I just dropped my phone and shattered the screen last night. Nobody did anything to me. Viola is being Viola. She pays the bills, keeps the lights on.” I paused for a second, swirling the straw in my iced water before adding casually, “Though, her old flame did just move back from Europe. She hired him as her personal assistant. And yesterday, I just happened to walk in on them swapping spit in her office.” Cam just stared at me. “Dude, you call that fine?!” He looked like he wanted to tear his hair out. “Are you not losing your goddamn mind? She’s cheating on you!” “I told you from day one that woman was toxic, but you treat her like she hangs the moon.” “It’s whatever,” I said, my tone feather-light. “I slept with her best friend anyway.” Dead silence. Cam stared at me. He didn’t even blink. Then, he let out a whispered, earth-shattering, “Holy shit,” so intense that the little girl at the next table jumped. Realizing he was causing a scene, he slapped a hand over his mouth, looking around like we were plotting a heist, before sliding across the vinyl booth to get closer to me. “…Who?” “You don’t know her.” “What the hell were you thinking? Was it a revenge lay?” “Not really.” I pushed my sparkling water toward him with a smile. “I just noticed Shirley has this crescent-moon scar on her shoulder. It looks exactly like Mona’s birthmark. I had a few drinks in me, and for a second… my mind just played a trick on me.” Cam looked at me like I had grown a second head. “You are insane…” “To be honest, it wasn’t even a good time,” I continued smoothly. “Lights off, she’s exactly the same as anyone else. Nothing special to touch. Faking my way through it felt like an acting exercise.” “Viola is slightly better, I guess. She knows what she’s doing, and she’s got a decent face. When she smiles, there’s maybe a twenty percent resemblance. But even that gets old.” “Whatever. If it’s not Mona, they’re all just placeholders.” “Just passing the time. Nobody needs to take it so seriously.” Cam sat there like a statue. He was so stunned he’d forgotten how to breathe. Eventually, entirely out of shock, he slowly raised his hand and gave me a thumbs-up. I clinked my glass against his. “Just one question,” Cam started, his voice a little hoarse. “Who exactly is Mona—” His voice hitched. I followed his frozen, terrified gaze over my shoulder, and found myself staring directly into Viola’s face. It was so dark and stormy you could almost hear the thunder. A ragged, guttural sound tore its way out of her throat. “Holden. Who the hell is Mona?” 3 “You better start talking. What the fuck did you just tell Cam?” After the disaster at the diner, Viola had practically dragged me back to her penthouse by the collar. The air in the room was suffocating. She was practically vibrating with a desperate, furious need to interrogate me. I didn’t feel an ounce of the shame you’re supposed to feel when you’re caught red-handed. Instead, I let my body go completely boneless, sinking deep into the velvet sofa, looking up at her with a highly amused smile. “You heard every word, didn’t you?” I lifted a single finger and pointed it lazily at her chest. “You. Are. A stand-in.” I admitted it with devastating ease. Viola’s eyes were bloodshot. Her arms were visibly shaking. She stared at me with a look so violently intense I thought she might try to peel my skin off. “So all this time you’ve been with me… you were pretending I was someone else?” “Yep.” The answer dropped without a fraction of hesitation. The air in the room smelled like gunpowder. I met her burning, furious gaze without flinching. Right then, her phone buzzed against the marble coffee table. She snatched it up frantically, her eyes darting away from me for just a second to read the screen. A long moment passed. Slowly, the tight, agonizing knot between Viola’s eyebrows began to smooth out. She let out a scoffing laugh, her shoulders dropping as relief washed over her. “Holden, you don’t have to invent these pathetic lies just to get a rise out of me. I’ve had my people run background checks on everyone you know. There is no one named Mona.” “Who put you up to this?” “Was it Cam?” …God, the sheer, staggering arrogance of this woman. I clicked my tongue. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Believe what you want.” I stood up, planning to walk right past her to the bedroom, but her hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice. “Where were you last night? Why didn’t you come home?” I looked at her, genuinely perplexed. “I was at Shirley’s. You knew that.” Hadn’t she heard that part at the diner? Or did her ego completely block out my critique of her best friend in bed the second she heard the word ‘placeholder’? Maybe this was so far off the script she had written in her head that Viola actually froze, a deep crease forming between her brows. “You slept with her?” Still playing dumb. I didn’t hold back. “You sleep with Hayden, I sleep with your best friend. Seems like a perfectly balanced ledger to me.” She choked on her next breath. She searched my face, her frown deepening into something resembling horror. “Do you not feel completely sick with yourself?” “No? Actually, I feel fantastic. Shirley was literally on her knees, begging for my attention like a stray dog.” The only thing dirty here was the absolute trash-fire of her own ego. Watching the sheer bewilderment crack across her flawless face, it suddenly clicked. I let out a sharp laugh. “Wait. You didn’t actually think I was going to sit around crying because I touched another woman, did you? Did you think I was going to hate myself, beg for your forgiveness, and cling to your legs promising to be a good little boy who does whatever you say?” Her silence was a rigid, paralyzed confirmation. I had hit the bullseye. I let my eyes drag slowly up and down her frame, my expression dripping with open mockery. “Viola, please don’t flatter yourself. I’m not that pathetic, and you’re not that special. Frankly, you’re pretty thoroughly average.” “You aren’t the center of the universe. I’ll survive perfectly fine without you.” My reaction had completely short-circuited the narrative she was trying to control. This time, Viola was genuinely, truly furious. Her jaw locked tight, her expression twisting into something ugly and dark. I sat back and watched her unravel. It was a beautiful view. The veins at her temples and along the back of her hands bulged. She let out a cold, venomous laugh. “Fine. Let’s play it your way, Holden.” “You don’t care, right? You don’t need me? Let’s test that theory.” “Let’s see how many days it takes for you to crawl back.” With that, she spun on her heel, radiating absolute fury, and slammed the front door so hard the walls shook. 4 Here’s the thing: I’m not Holden. I only arrived in this world last night. According to the System, the original owner of this body lost his parents when he was little. He grew up in crushing poverty, was rejected by extended family, and eventually got dumped into the foster system. In a world that decays and rots, being devastatingly beautiful is a curse. Growing up, Holden was constantly harassed by girls who didn’t understand the word ‘no,’ and brutalized by boys who couldn’t stand the sight of him. He never had a single good day in foster care. It forged him into someone deeply insecure, hyper-vigilant, and painfully fragile. In a way, Viola was the first person to ever look at him with something resembling kindness. She was the first person to say, Don’t be afraid. I’m here. When a kid who has been starved of love his entire life finally feels a flicker of warmth, he will throw himself into the fire just to stay close to it. He fell entirely, hopelessly in love with her. And Viola fed the addiction perfectly. She bought him expensive clothes, checked in on him, smothered him with financial security. She gave him everything—except loyalty. Not too long ago, Holden realized his entire life was a pathetic joke. Viola claimed she loved him, but she was still deeply, obsessively in love with her college ex, the golden boy who just flew back from Paris. Not only did Hayden and Holden share a striking physical resemblance, especially in the sharp curve of their profiles. What completely broke him was discovering the mole. Holden had a small, reddish mole on his chest—the exact spot Viola was obsessed with biting and kissing when they were in bed. He realized Hayden had the exact same mark. In the exact same place. He noticed it when he accidentally walked in on them kissing in her office. Though ‘kissing’ was a generous term; half their clothes were already off. It was obvious where things were heading. The tightrope his sanity had been walking for weeks finally snapped. Holden lost his mind. He wanted to hurt Viola with everything he had. So, he went and slept with her best friend, Shirley. And Viola had been entirely right about him. Halfway through the act, the blistering need for revenge was drowned out by a tidal wave of crushing regret. He started shaking. He started hating his own skin, sobbing and begging Shirley to let him go. But nobody listens to the desperate prayers of the powerless. Holden felt like his life was over. Afterward, he dragged his half-dressed body out into the torrential rain, wandering aimlessly across a bridge, weeping, seriously debating just throwing himself over the edge to make it all stop. Right before the end, he just wanted to hear his best friend’s voice. He called Cam. But before he could even get the words out, a speeding Maybach that couldn’t hit the brakes in time threw him twenty feet into the air. As his broken body hit the asphalt, his consciousness went completely dark. And that’s when I woke up inside him. Honestly, when the System downloaded his memories into my brain, I didn’t feel pity. I felt pure, unadulterated rage. Yes, rage. What Holden did wasn’t revenge; it was self-mutilation. He took his own boundaries, his dignity, his very soul, and tried to use them as a weapon against someone who didn’t care. He didn’t hurt anyone but himself. He dragged his own spirit through the mud and turned into the exact thing he despised. But here is the universal truth: if you don’t cherish yourself, how can you expect anyone else to treat you like you’re worth something? Real revenge doesn’t look like that. You can use people as tools. You can use them as stepping stones. But you never sacrifice yourself in the process. You stay impeccably clean. You stand high above them. And you wait until the people who wronged you are crawling through the filth. Until they are kneeling at your feet. 5 I know exactly how people like Viola operate. Arrogant. Playing the savior while acting like the god of their own little universe. On the surface, she convinced herself she was just keeping a pet, a stand-in for her real love. But in her blind stupidity, she didn’t realize she had actually fallen for him. She took his unconditional devotion for granted, treating him like garbage because she assumed he would never, ever leave. I have a lot of experience dealing with people exactly like her. For three straight days, Viola didn’t set foot in the apartment. And I didn’t send a single text. In the past, whenever they fought, Viola would deploy the silent treatment. Within an hour, Holden would be practically crawling to her, apologizing profusely, over-analyzing everything he did wrong, and taking the blame even when he was entirely innocent. She was completely conditioned to wait for him to cave first. So this time, the absolute, ringing silence was guaranteed to make her lose her mind. Sure enough, at ten o’clock tonight, the front door clicked open. Viola walked in, physically supporting a heavily intoxicated man. I stepped into the hallway, blocking her path. “What do you think you’re doing?” She gave me a cool, dismissive look, deliberately pulling the man closer against her hip. “Hayden had too much to drink. I’m putting him in the guest room for the night.” “If he’s drunk, get him a hotel. He’s not sleeping in the guest room.” My rejection was cold and absolute. Viola feigned annoyance, but I could see the poorly concealed thrill of victory in her eyes. She thought she had predicted my exact reaction. Viola owned several properties across the city. She brought him here entirely on purpose, dragging him right past my face. She wanted to see me crack. She wanted to watch me fight for her. Viola hardened her jaw. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for someone this drunk to sleep alone? He could choke on his own vomit. I need to keep an eye on him.” “Stop being childish. Move.” I didn’t budge. “I said, he’s not sleeping in the guest room.” She tilted her chin up, looking every inch the victor, a smug smile finally breaking through her cold facade. “Holden, and you said you didn’t care about me anymore. Look at you, absolutely sick with jealou—” Viola’s entire body went rigid. The words died in her throat. Her eyes locked onto something directly behind me, the color draining from her face in an instant. “Holden. Who the hell is she?!” I glanced back. The woman had just finished showering. Her dark hair hung damp over her shoulders, and she was wearing a silver silk slip dress that clung to a devastatingly perfect hourglass figure. She was wearing the brand-new designer slippers Viola had just bought. She possessed the kind of face and body that instinctively felt like a threat to any woman in the room. I smiled and walked back toward her. “Let me introduce you. This is Mona. The ‘Mona’ I was telling you about. She just flew in from Switzerland today.” “The reason I said no to him staying in the guest room is because…” I dragged the words out, looking at Viola out of the corner of my eye. “…the guest room is currently occupied.”

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I came from the foster system. Ever since the Lancaster family took me in, I had been tethered to Tristan’s side. When we were children, I was his designated study partner. As we grew older, I became his kept woman, a bird in a gilded cage who lived with the constant, humming fear of being discarded. There was a time, though, when Tristan truly adored me. He gave up the underground clubs and the reckless street racing, all for me. He used to shadow my every step, calling me “baby” in a voice so thick with sweetness it felt like drowning. That was until he found the love letter I had written to his older brother, the golden heir of the Lancaster family. In a single heartbeat, every ounce of his tenderness vanished. Now, the nights are different. He pins my wrists to the mattress, bruising my skin, using my body to exorcise his demons. He forces me to look into his eyes, his voice tearing at the edges as he snarls, “Look at me, Margot! Look at me and tell me who the hell I am!” 1 1:00 AM. I was lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, sleep entirely out of reach. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was one of Tristan’s friends. “Hey, Margot. Tristan’s trashed and refusing to leave. Any chance you could come collect him?” Not this again. Third time this month. I let out a heavy, ragged sigh into the quiet room and murmured an agreement. But when I arrived at the VIP lounge, the heavy bass thumping against my ribs, I immediately realized the truth. Tristan wasn’t drunk at all. His friends smirked, nudging each other as I walked in. “Look at that. Good girl Margot, right on cue.” “At his beck and call.” “Well, they don’t call her the most obedient girlfriend in our circle for nothing.” That title—the good, obedient girlfriend—was a recent invention. It only started six months ago, right after Tristan found that letter. Since then, his moods had become a pendulum swinging between cold indifference and volatile cruelty. I had tried to run. Seven times I ran; seven times I was dragged back. The last time was the worst. He locked me down so thoroughly that the household staff had to bring my meals to the edge of the bed. That was when I learned how to play the good girl. No matter who he paraded around, no matter what he did, I remained quiet, docile, invisible. Just like tonight. His childhood friend, Gemma, was clinging to his arm, batting her eyelashes and pouting. I didn’t interrupt. I just found a quiet corner in the leather booth and let their voices wash over me. “Tristan, I really want to go to New Zealand for my birthday,” Gemma whined, pressing herself against him. “Come with me. Please?” Tristan took a slow sip of his bourbon. “Busy.” Gemma’s pout deepened. “But your assistant told me you had a clear schedule next month!” Damn it. I had told her that out of common courtesy, and here she was, throwing me right under the bus. Tristan’s grip on his glass tightened. His gaze flicked toward my corner, dark and unreadable. “My assistant,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “is incredibly dedicated to her job.” “Since she’s so dedicated, maybe she can book our flights?” I lowered my eyes, swallowing the humiliation. Gemma, emboldened, slid across the booth until she was sitting right beside me. She leaned in, her perfume cloying and sweet. “Margot, look, I’ve saved all these travel itineraries. Tell me what you think.” When she doesn’t need me, I’m the assistant. When she does, I’m her best friend. Gemma’s ability to pivot was almost impressive. She shoved her phone screen into my face. “This one is eight days, seven nights. But this one is nine days. Oh, wait, what about the twelve-day package?” I couldn’t fight the sheer force of her feigned enthusiasm. I turned my head and methodically, quietly, began analyzing the pros and cons of each luxury package for her. From across the table, one of Tristan’s friends elbowed him. “Gotta hand it to you, man. You’ve got her trained well. You’re planning a romantic getaway with Gemma, and Margot isn’t even flinching. She’s literally planning the trip for you.” He laughed. “She must be crazy about you.” That was the wrong thing to say. The air in the room suddenly turned to ice. Tristan’s aura darkened, radiating a heavy, suffocating hostility. Crack. He hurled his crystal glass at the floor. Shards of glass exploded outward, raining against the toes of my boots. I looked up. His face was a mask of absolute fury. “Get out,” he snarled. One word. The music seemed to mute. The room froze. Playing my part, I stood up quietly, ready to make myself scarce. Because I knew the signs. The storm was about to break. 2 Ever since the love letter incident, certain words were absolute landmines. Love. Affection. And worst of all: His brother. His friend had just danced on all of them. I was secretly relieved to have an excuse to leave, but before I could reach the door, his voice cracked like a whip. “Margot!” Apparently, I wasn’t the one being told to leave. The rest of the room caught on immediately. They scrambled for the exit, dragging a protesting Gemma with them, and shoved me back inside as they pulled the heavy mahogany doors shut. The silence left behind was deafening. I stood rooted to the spot. Unsure if I should sit. Unsure if I should speak. Finally, he reached out, gripping my waist, and yanked me hard against his chest. He stared down at me for a long, agonizing moment. The fury on his face slowly morphed into a mocking, twisted smirk. “They say you’re crazy about me, Margot,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “What do you think?” A chill raced down my spine. My hands curled into tight fists. I went for deflection. “Tristan, you’ve had too much to drink.” He let out a low hum. “Yeah. I have.” Then his mouth crashed down on mine. It was a bruising, breathless kiss, punishing in its intensity. I didn’t fight back. I just endured it, perfectly pliant. But then his hands moved, slipping under the hem of my blouse, pushing the fabric up aggressively. My eyes flew open in shock. No matter how erratic he had been lately, he had never crossed this line in a public place. 3 I started to struggle, pressing my hands against his chest. His fingers dug into my waist. His tone was dangerously light. “What’s wrong? Tired of playing the good girl?” “Let’s talk about this,” I pleaded softly, my voice trembling. “Let me go.” “Let you go?” He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “But in that pathetic little letter you wrote to my brother, didn’t you promise him you’d stay by my side and take care of me? It’s bad enough you fake being the perfect girlfriend to my face. But you’re lying to a dead man, too?” Holden had been dead for two years. How could he use his own brother’s ghost as a weapon like this? Before I could process the sting of his words, he caught my hand. He brought my fingers to his lips, kissing my knuckles with a mocking, wicked smile. “Your hands are so talented at writing love letters, Margot,” he murmured against my skin. “I wonder if they’re just as talented at other things.” He dragged my hand down his jaw, tracing his neck, over the rigid muscles of his stomach, moving lower… Tears of panic pricked my eyes. “Tristan, stop! We’re in a club!” Anyone could walk through that door at any second. He arched an eyebrow, entirely unfazed. “Scared?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “When you wrote him that letter, when you decided to use me as a convenient stand-in for a ghost, you should have known this day would come.” He noticed the wetness on my lashes. “Crying?” His thumb brushed away a tear, mockingly gentle. “Shh, don’t cry. I just want you to look at me. Look closely. Inside and out.” He pressed me harder against the wall. “Tell me, where do I resemble him? Is it here? Or here?” “…” 4 I didn’t wake up until noon the next day. Panic flared in my chest as I scrambled out of bed, but the familiar surroundings grounded me. I was in my own apartment. Tristan was here, too. He was slouched on my cheap sofa, completely relaxed. His back was bare, the muscles shifting smoothly, revealing the red scratches I had left on him the night before. He glanced up at me, his expression unreadable. “Go put some clothes on. Helen will be here soon.” Helen had been the Lancaster family’s head housekeeper for twenty years. Why on earth was she coming to my tiny apartment? Seeing my confusion, he clarified, “She’s taking over your meals and daily routine from now on.” I actually laughed. A dry, humorless sound. He obviously thought he had pushed me too far last night and that I was gearing up for run number eight. So, he was bringing in the warden. The obedient facade cracked. I was too exhausted to pretend. “I already told you, I’m done running. Even if I wanted to, I can’t outrun you, and I certainly can’t outrun the Lancasters. You don’t need to put a spy in my house.” He completely ignored my anger. He casually reached for a cigarette from the coffee table and lit it. Within seconds, the acrid scent of tobacco filled my small living room. I hated the smell of smoke. He knew I hated it. But he sat there, taking a long drag, watching me through the haze. My brows knit together. I walked over and snatched the cigarette from his fingers, crushing it into an ashtray. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “My brother didn’t smoke. So now you’re going to ban me from doing it too?” I stared at him, utterly speechless. How did he twist everything back to Holden? His mental gymnastics were exhausting. When I didn’t reply, he stood up. He grabbed the back of my neck, tilting my head up, and crushed his mouth to mine. The bitter taste of ash and nicotine invaded my mouth, burning my throat until my eyes watered. When he finally pulled back, he stared down at me. “You’ve been with me long enough to know, Margot. I am not my brother. Stop pushing me.” Holden again. The ghost of his brother was becoming my personal nightmare. I wiped my mouth, my temper flaring. “You’re right, you’re nothing like him. Holden was a thousand times kinder than you’ll ever be.” Tristan let out a dark, hollow laugh. “If he was so kind, why didn’t you just climb into his bed?” “I would have,” I snapped back, reckless. “I just didn’t get the chance before he died.” “You—!” Tristan looked like he might actually tear the room apart. 5 He didn’t contact me after that day. Even matters regarding Lancaster Enterprises were relayed strictly through his executive assistant, Bennett. I enjoyed the peace and quiet. The only reason I saw him again was because Vicky—the Lancaster matriarch, my adoptive mother in name only—called me. “Margot, Tristan isn’t answering his phone again,” her crisp, aristocratic voice echoed through the speaker. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of Holden’s passing. Be a dear and make sure he comes back to the estate.” I had no power to refuse Vicky. I never did. I dialed Tristan’s number. Gemma answered. “Tristan is at my place,” she said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “He’s decided to take me to New Zealand after all. So, I moved my birthday party up to today. Oh, I totally forgot to invite the assistant. My deepest apologies.” Her petty high school games barely registered. I just felt tired. “When Mr. Lancaster has a moment, please ask him to return my call,” I replied flatly. Gemma gave a dismissive hum and hung up. I waited. From 1:00 PM until 8:00 PM, my phone sat completely silent. When I finally called again, it went straight to voicemail. His phone was off. Left with no choice, I grabbed my coat and headed to Gemma’s estate. 6 Gemma’s pool party was chaotic, loud, and blindingly bright. The place was crawling with trust-fund kids and old money heirs. Most of them knew exactly who I was. Walking through a sea of designer bikinis and tailored swim trunks while wearing a modest button-down shirt and long slacks made me stick out like a sore thumb. I could hear the whispers trailing in my wake. “What is she doing here?” “Chasing after Tristan, obviously. What else does she do?” “I honestly don’t get it. She’s not even that pretty. How did she manage to wrap both Lancaster brothers around her finger?” “She’s a manipulator. I heard that when she was trying to trap the older brother, she actually got his name tattooed on her ankle.” “No way. Really?” “Seriously. Think about it—when was the last time you ever saw her wear a skirt or shorts? She always covers her ankles.” “Damn. Now I kind of want to see it.” I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead, letting the gossip slide off me like water. I was just here to find Tristan. I finally spotted him on the patio, playing poker with Gemma and her inner circle. He didn’t look up, but he felt my presence. He dealt a card, his voice frigid. “What do you want?” “Your mother wants you home,” I said evenly. “Another blind date?” “No. It’s the anniversary.” At the mention of Holden, Tristan went completely rigid. He threw his cards face down on the table, a dark, stormy look washing over his features. “I’m busy. I’m not going.” 7 I had anticipated his refusal. That was why I made sure my phone was fully charged before I left. I calmly pulled out a patio chair, sat down a few feet away, and prepared to wait him out. I hadn’t been sitting for ten minutes when someone suddenly shrieked. “Oh my god! My bracelet is gone!” It was one of Gemma’s best friends. I barely looked up. If you lost your bracelet, go look for it. Why scream about it? But then the whispers started again, growing louder, more pointed. They were circling me. And when they suggested—with fake, breathless concern—that everyone needed to be searched, I understood the play. They wanted to see my ankles. Gemma looked at Tristan, playing the distressed hostess perfectly. “Margot, I know this is awkward. But I’m hosting this, and… well, for my peace of mind, would you just let them check?” I looked down at the hem of my slacks. My voice was deadpan. “I didn’t steal it.” The girls immediately bristled. “Oh, so we just take your word for it?” “If you’re innocent, take off the clothes and prove it.” “Exactly. It’s a pool party. What are you hiding?” I kept my posture rigid. “I didn’t steal it.” Sighing dramatically, Gemma turned to Tristan, silently pleading for him to intervene. Tristan didn’t look at her. He looked at me. He sat back in his chair, swirling his drink, his expression arrogant and detached. He was waiting. Beg me, Margot. Just ask for my help, and I’ll make them stop. I refused to give him the satisfaction. I met Gemma’s eyes, my voice ice-cold. “Call the police.” Gemma’s face flushed with real anger. “Excuse me? I am giving you face because of your history with Tristan. You want to bring the cops to my birthday party? Over a misunderstanding?” She stepped closer, dropping her voice so only I could hear the venom. “Besides, you’re a stray from the foster system. You were raised with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time trash took something that didn’t belong to them.” The crowd had gathered now, forming a tight, suffocating ring around me. Seeing that Tristan was remaining completely silent, sipping his drink like a bored spectator, Gemma’s friends grew bolder. They lunged. Fingers grabbed at my shirt, pulling and tearing. I fought back, shoving their hands away, but there were too many of them. The buttons of my blouse popped. They yanked it off my shoulders. But that wasn’t what they were looking for. “What about the pants?” one of them sneered. “That’s where she’d hide it. Are you going to take them off, or do we have to do it for you?” I stood there in my bra, my fists clenched so hard my fingernails bit into my palms. My entire body was trembling with absolute, blinding rage. I looked at Tristan. He was still watching. Cold. Unmoved. That indifference hurt more than the tearing of my clothes. It broke something fundamental inside me. “Fine,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I’ll take them off.” With trembling fingers, I reached for the zipper of my slacks. Tristan swore violently. He finally threw his glass onto the table and stalked over, shoving his way through the circle of girls to stand between me and the crowd. “Enough!” he roared, the sheer volume of his voice making everyone flinch. “It’s a cheap piece of metal. Give me a number, and I’ll wire you the money right now.” I froze, staring at his broad back. He’ll wire the money. Did he think I took it too? Did he honestly believe I was a thief? A terrifying, hollow calm washed over me. I stepped out from behind him, my face entirely blank. “I didn’t steal it,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension like glass. “And I’ll take them off.” Tristan whipped around, his eyes wide. “Margot, are you deaf? I said it’s enough!” He reached out to grab my hands, but I took a sharp step back, putting distance between us. I unzipped my pants and let them drop to the pool deck. I kicked off my shoes, leaving my legs and my ankles completely bare. I looked straight into Gemma’s horrified face. “Are you satisfied?” Then I turned to Tristan. “Are you satisfied?” Gemma was speechless. Tristan looked like he had been struck by lightning. Nobody was looking at a tattoo. The entire crowd was staring at my left ankle, an unsettling silence falling over the patio as they realized what they were looking at. “What… what is that?” someone whispered. “Is that some kind of new jewelry?” “Some weird kink thing?” “Are you blind? Look at the blinking light.” “Is that… a GPS tracker?”

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I realized I could hear people’s darkest thoughts the moment I woke up from a dead faint. I’d been working three jobs back-to-back, surviving on caffeine and the desperate need to save my family. I thought my parents and my sister were dying. I thought the crushing weight of their medical bills was my cross to bear. Then I heard my mother, who had been coughing up blood just an hour ago, complaining in her head about how “low-quality” the theatrical blood tasted. She was already mentally spending my next paycheck on a vintage Chanel bag. I heard my father, the man with the “shattered leg,” grumbling that his muscles were cramping from pretending to be a cripple. He was dreaming of the high-end massage parlor he’d visit once I “cleared the family debt.” Even my “frail” younger sister was mentally drafting a breakup text to her “loser” boyfriend, eager to toss him aside so she could hunt for a richer mark. I watched them perform. I listened to their rehearsed whimpers. I didn’t say a word. I simply reached out and took back the envelope of “surgery money” I’d laid on the table. Later, I went to see my sister’s boyfriend to deliver her message. That’s when I heard his voice. He knew she was dumping him. But his inner monologue wasn’t full of heartbreak—it was full of cold, calculating amusement. He was the sole heir to a tech empire, playing a game of “poverty tourism” to test her love. He was waiting for the moment we’d all regret underestimating him. A sharp, jagged idea took root in my mind. I didn’t deliver the breakup speech. Instead, I feigned a dizzy spell, let my knees buckle, and collapsed straight into his arms. 1 The world spun with practiced precision. I calculated the angle perfectly, letting my body go limp as I fell toward Gideon. “Oh…” I let out a soft, breathless gasp, my forehead landing right in the crook of his neck. Instantly, I was wrapped in a scent that didn’t belong in a dive apartment—it wasn’t the smell of cheap soap or hospital antiseptic. It was expensive cedarwood and cold rain. I smirked inwardly, but kept my face a mask of fragile exhaustion. My hands gripped his shoulders for support, shifting just enough to ensure I couldn’t “quite” find my footing. As I moved, I heard a low, rough groan vibrate in his chest. Wait. Something was wrong. He was supposed to be… paralyzed from the waist down, wasn’t he? A man in a wheelchair shouldn’t have a reaction that visceral, that present. Heat crawled up my neck, but before I could pull away, a large, searing palm clamped onto my waist. The grip was terrifyingly strong—nothing like the weak hold of a chronic patient. I looked up, startled, and collided with a pair of dark, bottomless eyes. The gentle concern he usually wore was gone, replaced by a turbulent, predatory current. On the surface, he looked devastated by the news of the “breakup.” But his mind was a different story: [Tsk. This ‘damsel in distress’ routine is almost painful to watch.] [Though… her waist is surprisingly small.] I didn’t have time to process his hypocrisy. In the next heartbeat, Gideon’s mouth was on mine. The night that followed was a blur of reckless, feverish mistakes. When I finally drifted back to consciousness, my body felt like it had been pulverized. Sunlight stabbed through the gaps in the curtains. I bolted upright, realizing the space beside me was cold. The tangled sheets and the mess on the sofa were the only evidence of last night’s madness. The culprit was sitting across the room, perfectly composed in his wheelchair. He was watching me with an unreadable expression. He had slipped back into his “fragile” persona, making the dominant, fierce man from the night before feel like a fever dream. “I’m sorry,” he said first. His voice was gravelly, thick with rehearsed guilt. “I heard that Judy wanted to leave me, and I… I lost control. I couldn’t handle the rejection.” He paused, looking pained. “I did something unforgivable to you. You can hate me, hit me—I’ll accept whatever you decide.” He looked like a man seeking penance. His mind, however, was a cold machinery: [Ugh, what a hassle. It was one night; why does she look like she’s about to burst into tears? Still… she tasted better than I expected.] A surge of white-hot fury crested in my chest. They were all the same. My sister faked illness for bags; this man faked poverty to play God with people’s emotions. They deserved each other. But I forced my features into a mask of devastation. I pulled the duvet up to my chin, my eyes brimming with tears as my voice trembled. “You… how could we do this? How can I ever look my sister in the eye again?” Gideon blinked, seemingly taken aback by my tears. He looked ashamed. In his head, he sneered: [She really is the dumbest of the lot, isn’t she?] [Can’t see her family is playing her for a fool, and now she’s playing the martyr. Pathetic. We spent hours together last night—how has she not realized my legs work perfectly fine?] I clenched my jaw under the covers. Dumb? Maybe I was, once. I’d nearly worked myself into an early grave to buy medicine that was never needed. If I hadn’t developed this “glitch” in my hearing, I’d still be their slave. But now? Now I was going to play the game. If my sister didn’t want this “poor, broken man,” I’d take him. I’d take him and everything he was hiding. I was going to make sure they all learned exactly what happens when you push a “saint” too far. 2 Over the next few days, life settled into a suffocating rhythm. I still got up before dawn. I still brewed herbal teas and made breakfast. But I quietly quit the three soul-crushing side hustles that had been killing me. My parents and Judy seemed to sense my “idleness.” Their performances grew more dramatic to compensate. One evening, while I was peeling an apple for my father, he let out a heavy, theatrical sigh. “I heard from a friend today,” he started, staring wistfully out the window. “There’s a clinic in Switzerland. They’ve had incredible success with cases like ours.” My mother’s eyes lit up on cue before she slumped back, feigning weakness. “Switzerland? George, we can barely afford the electricity bill. Let’s not burden the girl.” “She’s right, Dad,” Judy added, her voice a fragile whisper. “The care is better there, but the cost… it’s impossible.” I watched this perfectly choreographed play, feeling a cold stone where my heart used to be. The old Caitlin would have been scouring the internet for loans within the hour. They knew exactly which buttons to press. I set the knife down and pinched my own arm hard, forcing the blood to rush to my face. I let my voice shake with “determined” devotion. “Dad, Mom… what are you saying?” I stood up, looking at each of them with wide, shimmering eyes. “As long as there’s a chance, I’m not giving up! Money can be replaced. You can’t.” “But honey… the cost…” my mother whimpered. I gritted my teeth, looking like a woman ready to jump off a cliff for her family. “Don’t worry! If I have to sell my soul, or take out a thousand loans, I’ll get you to that clinic! If it means you’ll get better, I’ll do anything!” The room went silent. And then, I heard it. The synchronized, deafening thrum of three hearts leaping with greedy joy. [Got her! The little idiot actually fell for it!] [Loans? Selling her soul? Haha, she’s so easy to manipulate!] [Finally! Europe! Shopping in Zurich, here I come!] Their faces, however, were masks of heartbreaking gratitude. My mother reached out to squeeze my hand. “Oh, sweetheart, we don’t deserve you.” “I’m a failure as a father,” my dad sobbed, wiping dry eyes. “It’s okay,” I whispered, pulling my hand back gently. “I’ll go look into the costs. Just rest.” The moment the door clicked shut behind me, my smile vanished. Sell my soul? No. If you want money so badly, I’ll “help” you get it. Over the next week, under the guise of “processing international medical visas,” I gathered their ID cards, their passports, and even the forged medical records they’d used to trick me. I didn’t go to a bank. I went to the darkest corners of the city—to the predatory, high-interest “private lenders” who don’t ask questions as long as there’s collateral. An hour later, a massive sum of money—with an interest rate designed to swallow a person whole—was deposited into three brand-new accounts I’d opened in their names. I stepped out into the blinding sunlight and dialed my sister. “Judy?” My voice was sweet enough to cause cavities. “Tell Mom and Dad the good news. I got the money. All of it. You’re going to Switzerland.” I listened to their muffled cheers on the other end, my lips curling into a jagged smile. I hope you’re just as happy when you come back and find the mountain of debt waiting for you. 3 As I left the lender’s office, I spotted a familiar figure at an outdoor cafe across the street. Gideon. He was sipping an espresso, looking entirely too relaxed. I wiped the cold calculation from my face and replaced it with frantic worry. I hurried over to him. “Gideon? Where’s your wheelchair? It’s dangerous for you to be out here alone!” He froze, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his eyes before he smoothed it over. [This woman… is she actually serious? Does she still think I’m a cripple?] I pretended not to notice his confusion. He set his cup down, his voice dropping into that husky, vulnerable register. “The chair is being serviced. I just needed some air. I felt… trapped.” His eyes flickered to the thick envelope in my hand. “What are you doing in this neighborhood?” I looked away, biting my lip. He reached for the envelope, and I let him “accidentally” see the loan documents. “I… I was trying to secure some funds,” I whispered, my eyes turning red. “But please, don’t tell Judy. I don’t want her to worry about how I’m paying for her treatment.” Gideon stared at me like I was a specimen in a jar. [Is she a saint or just a moron? She’s taking out shark loans for those three parasites?] We sat in a heavy silence for a moment. Then, I stood up and offered my hand. “It’s going to rain. Let me get you home.” Gideon hesitated. I looked at him with pure, unadulterated “kindness.” “I forgot—your legs. I’ll call an Uber, but let me carry you to the curb so you don’t have to struggle.” [Carry me? Has she lost her mind?] Despite his internal mocking, something in my persistence made him yield. He let me hoist his arm over my shoulder. He was heavy—solid muscle—and I buckled slightly, gritting my teeth as I maneuvered him toward a taxi. By the time we reached his cramped “studio apartment,” the sky had broken. A torrential downpour washed over us. I fumbled with the door, and as we crossed the threshold, I purposely tripped, sending both of us sprawling onto the floor. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I ignored my own scraped knees and scrambled to my feet, kneeling beside him. I cupped his face with trembling hands, my tears mixing with the rain dripping from my hair. Gideon lay there, soaked through, looking weary and defeated. “It’s fine. I’m just… a burden.” I held his face tighter, my eyes burning with a feigned intensity. “Don’t you ever say that. You are not a burden. You’re going to get better. I’ll make sure of it.” He opened his eyes wide. The mockery was gone, replaced by a dark, complex confusion. [She…] Looking at his lips, so close to mine, I leaned down in the middle of the storm and kissed him. I woke up the next morning to an empty bed. Voices drifted from the balcony. Gideon was on the phone, his tone low and authoritative. “I know. I’ll be back within the week. Prepare the board.” I stayed still, heart hammering, as he ended the call and walked back into the room. He stopped by the bed, his gaze burning into me. His thoughts were crystal clear: [My father is breathing down my neck to take over the company. This ‘undercover’ game is over. Judy was a bore, but this sister… she’s fascinating in her stupidity. Maybe I’ll fake a relapse, see how far her ‘martyr’ complex actually goes.] I kept my eyes shut, my mind racing. The next morning, I showed up at his door with a thermal flask and a bright smile. “Judy and my parents left for Switzerland this morning. They think they found a cure. I’m going to take care of you while she’s gone.” Gideon looked stunned, then masked it with “gratitude.” For the next few days, I was the perfect housewife. I cleaned his dingy apartment, cooked for him, and organized his life. Then, during dinner, Gideon suddenly clutched his nose. Blood dripped onto his plate. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “Just a bit of stress.” I insisted on taking him to the hospital. The results came back an hour later. Cancer. Stage four. Gideon played the part of the broken man perfectly. He turned his face away, his voice cold. “Go away. Don’t come back. You shouldn’t waste your life on a dead man.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I simply turned and walked out without a second glance. Behind the closed door, I heard his mental chuckle: [I thought she’d make a scene. At least she knows when to quit.] I paused in the hallway, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. You think you’re the only one playing a game, Gideon? My move hasn’t even started yet. Two days later, I went to a shady clinic and sold 400ml of my rare blood type. Then, I walked to Gideon’s door, waited for the exact moment I felt the lightheadedness peak, and collapsed. 4 The smell of hospital grade disinfectant greeted me as I drifted back. A doctor’s voice was muffled in the distance: “She’s pregnant. Between the malnutrition and the blood loss, she’s lucky she didn’t lose the baby. She needs absolute rest.” I felt a heavy, burning gaze on me. I waited until the doctor left before opening my eyes. Gideon was sitting by the bed, his expression a chaotic mess of guilt and shock. “How are you feeling?” I didn’t answer. I reached into my pocket with a trembling hand and pulled out a debit card. “This is everything I’ve saved,” I whispered, my voice cracked. “Take it for your treatment. Don’t worry about me. I… I’m going to terminate the pregnancy. I can’t bring a child into this.” Gideon’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Where did you get this much money? And why would you get rid of the baby?” I let out a hollow, jagged laugh. “Our ‘mistake’ was never supposed to happen. I want this baby more than anything, Gideon, but I’m broke and you’re dying. I won’t bring a child into the world just to watch them suffer like I have.” Gideon stared at his phone. He’d clearly been doing some digging. “You fainted because you sold your blood? You sold your blood to give me this card?” I didn’t say a word. I just forced the card into his hand. He gripped it, his face twisting in a way I’d never seen. He sat in silence for a long time before handing the card back. “I’m going to marry you,” he said. “Keep the baby. I’ll provide for both of you.” “But your illness—” “The hospital made a mistake,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “It’s not cancer. I’m going to be fine.” I pretended to be overwhelmed by the “miracle,” while my heart hammered with triumph. Gideon pulled out his phone and, right then and there, transferred five million dollars into my account. The zeros on the screen were dazzling. “I have money, Caitlin. You never have to worry again.” I forced a look of pure, wide-eyed shock, while internally I was screaming. Five million. Goodbye, poverty. Hello, luxury. I was moved to a VIP suite. I ate food I couldn’t pronounce. Two months later, we had a small, private wedding. But as I smoothed down my silk gown, ready to walk into the reception hall, a familiar screech echoed from the entrance. “Caitlin! You backstabbing bitch! You took out loans in our names!” It was my mother. I turned to see my parents and Judy standing there, looking bedraggled and furious. Judy’s eyes landed on my designer dress and the diamond-encrusted venue. She grabbed my mother’s arm, her voice dripping with sudden, venomous greed. “So, you’re getting married to a rich guy, huh, Sis?” Judy smirked. “How much is the dowry? Because whatever it is, it’s going toward our debt. Consider it his way of proving he’s worthy of our family.” I saw Gideon walking toward us, his tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow. I smiled. “Sure. Your brother-in-law is right there. Why don’t you ask him for the money yourselves?”

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