Category: English

Five years ago, Logan’s tech startup went bankrupt, leaving him drowning in a mountain of debt. At the time, I was pregnant with his child. But I was terrified that if I stayed with him, we would end up starving on the streets. So, without a single word, I packed my bags and ran away, taking our unborn baby with me. The next time I heard his name, it was five years later. Word on the street was that he had become the ruthless, undisputed head of the multi-billion-dollar Sinclair family empire. But there was a catch—a horrific car accident had allegedly left him permanently sterile. As fate would have it, right around the exact same time, my son was diagnosed with a severe illness, and I desperately needed a massive amount of money to save his life. I bit my lip, swallowed my pride, and grabbed my little boy’s hand. “Come on, sweetie. Mommy is going to take you to see your daddy.” 1 Lying in his hospital bed, little Leo rolled his eyes at me with zero hesitation. “Mom, are you losing it? Didn’t you say my dad died a long time ago?” I let out an awkward, dry laugh. “Oh, well, he was really, really sick back then. I thought he was going to die. But, surprise! The doctors fixed him.” Leo’s eyes suddenly lit up like fireworks. “Does that mean I can get fixed by the doctors and go home, just like Daddy?” I nodded firmly. “Of course you can!” Kids are so easy to trick. A few simple words, and he believed me completely. Walking out of his hospital room, I reopened the browser on my phone. The screen displayed a massive headline from a major financial news outlet, reporting that the CEO of Sinclair Enterprises was left infertile following a catastrophic car crash. At first, I honestly thought it was just some guy who happened to share the same name. But when my thumb slipped and I clicked the article, my heart dropped. The man in the high-resolution photo didn’t just share Logan’s name—he had Logan’s exact face. There are no coincidences that massive in this world. There was only one logical explanation: Logan had lied to me, too. He was never the broke, struggling kid from the wrong side of the tracks that I thought he was. He was the heir to an empire. Standing in that sterile hospital corridor, I didn’t know whether to scream or cry. But at the very least, for Leo’s sake, this was a godsend. I immediately booked two first-class plane tickets to New York City for the next morning. When my mom arrived at the hospital to drop off dinner, I was already throwing clothes into a suitcase. “Another business trip? Are you trying to dump the kid on me again?” she grumbled, setting the Tupperware on the table. “I told you exactly what was going to happen five years ago. I told you not to have this baby, but you refused to listen. And now that he’s here, you constantly dump him on me. I am supposed to be enjoying my retirement, but instead, I’m trapped in this house playing nanny.” I glanced nervously at the bed. Leo was awake, watching us. I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “Mom, please. Can you stop saying that in front of him? He’s little, but he understands. It hurts his feelings.” “Oh, whatever. You did it, but I’m not allowed to talk about it…” “Mom. If you have nothing else to do, go give Leo a hug. Tomorrow morning, I am taking him to New York.” I cut her off sharply. She froze. Then, she grabbed my arm and dragged me out into the hallway. “Did you scrape together enough for the surgery?” she demanded, her voice dropping. “No, wait… where did you get that kind of money? You’ve been raising a kid by yourself for five years. You don’t have a dime to spare.” I kept my eyes on the floor. I had zero intention of telling my mother the truth right now. “Just drop it, Mom. Honestly, I have no idea when we’ll be back.” “You can finally go enjoy your peaceful retirement. Leo and I won’t be dragging you down anymore.” My mom’s face instantly hardened into a furious scowl. “You little brat. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You know perfectly well I just talk tough, but I love that kid.” She waved me off dismissively. “Forget it. I’m not wasting my breath on you. I’m going to go see my grandson.” 2 Early the next morning, my mom squeezed Leo so tight she could barely breathe, sobbing hysterically in the hospital lobby. “Leo, my sweet boy, Grandma is going to miss you so much.” “Once the doctors fix you up, you hurry right back to Grandma, okay?” See? People are always like this. They complain when you’re around, but the second you actually try to leave, they act like the world is ending. Just before we stepped into the Uber heading to the airport, my mom shoved a debit card into my coat pocket. “I called around and borrowed some cash. It’s not a fortune, but it’ll help in an emergency. You know the pin. Take good care of my boy.” I waved from the window as the car pulled away, but my stomach was in knots. If my mom knew my actual plan was to hand Leo over to Logan and walk away, she would literally murder me. My own heart felt like it was being run through a meat grinder. But to guarantee Leo got access to the absolute best medical care in the world, this was a trip I had to take. Sitting on the plane, I leaned close to Leo and started laying down the ground rules. “Listen to me, Leo. From now on, whenever there are other people around, you have to call me ‘Auntie.’ Do you understand?” “Why?” Leo tilted his little head, his face entirely scrunched up in confusion. I took a deep breath and patiently fed him a lie. “Think about it. When your dad was super sick, I didn’t stay and take care of him. He is probably incredibly mad at me. If he finds out I came back, who knows how he might try to punish me?” Leo blinked his big eyes, only half understanding. “Mom… are you not going to stay with me at Daddy’s house?” Guilt slammed into me so hard I couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Once the doctors make you all better, Mommy will come right back and pick you up.” “You promise you aren’t tricking me?” “I would never.” “Pinky promise.” “Okay. Pinky promise.” 3 I didn’t go straight to Logan. Instead, I used every resource I could find to track down Logan’s mother, Melora Sinclair. We met at a tiny, obscure coffee shop in Brooklyn that completely clashed with her custom Chanel suit. She kept her oversized designer sunglasses on, sitting rigidly in the cheap wooden booth. “You are claiming you have a child? And that this child belongs to my son?” She spoke first, her sharp gaze slowly dragging from my face down to Leo, who was sitting quietly beside me. The very next second, her entire demeanor shattered. “Oh my dear Lord… is this a carbon copy of Logan?” She practically lunged across the table, grabbing Leo’s small hands, examining his face with frantic excitement. “This… this is exactly what Logan looked like as a little boy! Exactly!” Melora wasn’t exaggerating in the slightest. From the day I found out I was pregnant to the day I gave birth, Logan was entirely absent. But regardless of the angle, Leo was the spitting image of his father. I slid a thick manila folder across the table. It contained Leo’s complete medical history, his birth certificate, and all his identity documents. “Leo was diagnosed with a severe congenital heart defect a year ago. He requires immediate, highly specialized surgery.” “If your family has any doubts whatsoever, I fully support a DNA test.” Melora’s face turned deadly serious. She stared at me intensely. “And you are the boy’s…” “I have no relation to the child. I am simply acting on behalf of someone else.” “If the Sinclair family is willing to claim this boy, I will disappear immediately.” Melora stood up, stepped outside the coffee shop, and made a rapid phone call. Ten minutes later, a sleek black SUV pulled up, and she escorted us to the most elite private hospital in Manhattan. Shortly after we arrived, a man in a sharp suit delivered a sealed plastic bag containing a single strand of dark hair. The moment the rapid DNA results were handed to her, Melora’s eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. While the pediatric specialists whisked Leo away for a preliminary workup, Melora opened her designer handbag, pulled out a massive stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills, and slid them across the waiting room table. “Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “The Sinclair family will ensure this boy has everything he could ever need.” I politely pushed the money back. I had fully intended to raise this boy myself. But clearly, fate had other, much crueler plans for us. As I turned to walk away, Leo suddenly ran out of the examination room and grabbed the hem of my coat. “Auntie… you promise you aren’t tricking me, right?” His big eyes were bloodshot and brimming with tears. He hadn’t forgotten our deal on the plane. I crouched down and gently cupped his cheek. Because of his illness over the last year, he looked so much smaller and more fragile than other boys his age. I was a terrible mother. I had failed him. I fought back the tears burning the back of my throat and forced a smile. “Did you forget? We pinky promised.” 4 I didn’t leave the hospital until I physically saw the Sinclair family’s private security detail escort Leo into the ultra-luxury VIP pediatric suite. When I finally got back to my cheap hotel room, my chest felt like a hollow, echoing cavern. It felt like someone had reached in and violently ripped out the most important piece of my soul. I collapsed onto the stiff mattress and stared blankly at the popcorn ceiling. I have no idea how much time passed. I was violently jolted awake by my cell phone screaming on the nightstand. It was an unknown New York number. I hesitated for a second, then pressed answer. “Where are you?” A low, vibrating male voice filled the speaker. “Who is this?” I asked on pure instinct. It took me a solid five seconds to realize why the voice sent shivers down my spine. How many nights had we spent tangled in the sheets, sweating and breathless, while he whispered exactly how much he loved me right into my ear? “You know exactly who this is. Send me your location.” It wasn’t a request. It was an absolute command. My fingers clamped around the phone in terror. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.” I panicked, hung up the phone, and threw it across the bed. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. After five entire years of absolute radio silence, why the hell was Logan calling me? And how on earth did he get my number? Before I flew to New York, I had done my research. Logan was currently unmarried. He only had one long-term girlfriend who had been by his side for a few years. If the media reports about his accident were true, Leo was going to be the only heir to the Sinclair empire. That was the exact reason I was so dead-set on handing Leo over to them. Growing up in the Sinclair mansion was infinitely better than growing up in a tiny apartment with me. But my situation was different. I was the ex-girlfriend who abandoned him during the absolute darkest, poorest year of his life. I didn’t have the guts to ever cross paths with him again. The next morning, I planned to sneak into the hospital, get one last glimpse of Leo from a distance, and then head straight to JFK to fly home. As I carefully crept down the VIP corridor toward his suite, I peered through the glass. Logan was sitting by the bed, wearing a razor-sharp, custom-tailored suit. He was completely focused on peeling an apple with a small knife. He didn’t look like he had aged a day, but his aura was completely different. The raw, imposing wealth radiating from him was suffocating. Looking back, it was almost comical that I genuinely believed he was just some broke kid struggling to make rent. Sitting up in the hospital bed, Leo was clearly impatient. Before Logan even finished peeling the apple, Leo leaned forward and took a massive bite right out of his hand. The two of them locked eyes and broke into identical, brilliant smiles. Watching them, my vision blurred with hot tears. Maybe… maybe this really was the absolute best ending for everyone. I looked down and aggressively wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. But right at that exact second, Logan’s head snapped up. His eyes locked onto the small window in the door, staring directly at the spot where I was standing. My heart completely stopped. I violently threw myself backward, flattening my spine against the wall. I held my breath, praying to God I moved fast enough. A few seconds later, the bright sound of Leo’s laughter echoed from inside the room again. 5 It was blatantly obvious that Logan adored the boy. That was all I needed to know. I could finally breathe. I pulled out my phone and pulled up the airline app, looking for the earliest flight back to Chicago. I desperately needed to keep my brain occupied. If I stopped moving, the crushing reality of what I had just done would drown me. But as I stared at the screen, walking down the crowded hospital corridor, the words were just a blurry mess. Before I realized what was happening, I slammed hard into someone walking the opposite way. “Oh! Miss, are you alright?” A soft, polite voice asked. I snapped my head up and froze. If my memory of the tabloid articles was correct, the woman standing right in front of me was Chloe, Logan’s long-term girlfriend. I panicked and waved my hands frantically. “I’m fine! I’m so sorry, totally my fault.” I turned to sprint away, but Chloe gently grabbed my arm. “I saw you walking from down the hall. I just wanted to ask, is the pediatric VIP wing in that direction?” I went completely rigid. She was going to the pediatric wing. She was going to see Leo. I couldn’t help but stare at her. Chloe was undeniably stunning. But she had a very soft, gentle, entirely non-threatening beauty. In one hand, she held an absurdly expensive basket of imported fruit. In the other, a massive, limited-edition Lego set. That was why she couldn’t brace herself when I completely bulldozed into her. I opened my mouth, trying to figure out how to answer her, when a chillingly familiar voice echoed from down the hall. “Chloe.” My spine instantly turned to ice. Chloe looked up, her face breaking into a bright smile. She stepped past me, walking toward Logan. “This hospital is an absolute maze! I was walking in circles for ten minutes.” Logan gave a low, noncommittal hum. His eyes darted past her. “Who were you talking to?” I don’t know if I was just being paranoid, but it felt like a sniper’s laser was burning a hole right between my shoulder blades. Chloe brushed it off casually. “Oh, just a stranger. We accidentally bumped into each other.” A wave of relief washed over me. I turned my head down, desperate to escape. But then Logan’s voice cracked through the hallway like a whip. “You. Turn around.” There was zero doubt in my mind. He was talking directly to me. Chloe instantly picked up on the tension. She reached out, lightly touching his arm. “Logan, what are you doing? She’s just a stranger. And she didn’t hurt me, I promise. Just let it go, don’t make a scene.” Ah. So Logan was just being fiercely protective of his girlfriend. I couldn’t help but find my own panic slightly pathetic. It had been five years. No one stays stuck in the past forever. What the hell was I so terrified of? I took a deep breath, slowly turned around, and looked directly at Chloe. “I am so sorry again for bumping into you.” For the entire agonizing ten seconds it took me to apologize, Logan’s eyes were locked onto my face like a predator. He didn’t say a single word. 6 The second I walked out of the hospital sliding doors, I booked it straight to the airport. Sitting in the back of the cab, Logan’s terrifying, dead-eyed stare played on a loop in my head. I remembered back to five years ago. His startup had completely collapsed, and aggressive debt collectors had actually tracked down our apartment. I emptied my savings account, withdrew the last fifteen thousand dollars I had to my name, and shoved it into his hands so he could pay off the worst of the sharks. Logan had looked at me with that exact same intensity. Then, he had pulled me into a crushing hug. “Baby, I can’t take your money. I promise you, I swear to God, I am going to make it.” “The second I make it, I am going to put a ring on your finger.” At the time, I didn’t think he was just feeding me empty promises. When we first met, if you combined both our bank accounts, we wouldn’t even break two hundred bucks. We rented a tiny, miserable one-bedroom apartment in a bad neighborhood. Rent was eight hundred a month. I took the bedroom and paid five hundred. He slept on a thrift store couch in the living room and paid three hundred. We split the utilities right down the middle. In the beginning, neither of us ever imagined we would end up falling in love. Logan had an absolutely relentless drive. He regularly worked on his laptop until three in the morning. One night, I came home late from drinks with some girlfriends and found him still hunched over his glowing screen. I casually held up a styrofoam box. “I brought back some leftover wings. You want them?” Logan practically launched himself out of his chair. “Yes!” We sat on the cheap carpet, eating cold wings, and talked for hours. That was the night I found out he had blown up his relationship with his wealthy family and walked out, swearing he wouldn’t return until he had built an empire with his own two hands. Not wanting to kill his vibe, I offered some generic encouragement. “With how hard you grind, as long as you find the right market, you’re guaranteed to succeed.” Logan looked at me, and I swear there were literal stars in his eyes. Maybe it was because I was the only person who offered him genuine support and a lifeline during the absolute darkest chapter of his life. But as soon as his startup finally gained a little traction, he asked me out. We stayed in that same miserable apartment. Except we weren’t splitting the rooms anymore. We were both sleeping in the bedroom. And Logan quietly took over the entire rent payment. It felt like our lives were slowly, steadily climbing toward the light. And then reality hit us with a baseball bat. Logan spent every waking hour drowning in a sea of toxic debt. He was barely coming home. And right at the absolute peak of the crisis, I found out I was pregnant. At first, I didn’t have the guts to tell him. I just wanted to help him survive the immediate financial bloodbath. But then, one afternoon, I came home early and overheard him on a phone call. “What is going on between me and Serena is none of your damn business. Stop interfering in my life, okay?” “Relax. Dating is one thing. When it comes time to actually pick a wife, I will reconsider my options.” I was Serena. I was so incredibly furious I saw red. I thought to myself, This guy is literally bankrupt and running from loan sharks, and he still has the audacity to act like a billionaire playboy? Did he honestly think every woman on earth was going to orbit around his massive ego? I was genuinely terrified that if I stayed with him, I would end up starving to death in a gutter. So, I made the split-second decision to dump him. Just to twist the knife, I left a handwritten note on the kitchen counter. I look at you and I see absolutely zero future. We’re done. I’m sure you understand. After all, I have the right to chase someone who can actually provide for me. Then, I blocked his number, blocked him on every social media platform, and vanished. It wasn’t until I was sitting on the Amtrak train halfway back to my hometown that I remembered one crucial detail. I was still carrying Logan’s baby. 7 For a brief, insane moment, I considered turning around, marching back to the apartment, screaming in his face, and telling him about the pregnancy. But then I remembered the absolute garbage he spewed on that phone call. I realized going back would just be volunteering for more humiliation. He never, for a single second, envisioned a future with me. As for the baby… Since he was already here, I decided to just let fate run its course. Over the years, I occasionally heard whispers about Logan through the grapevine. Apparently, his company had miraculously risen from the ashes. He paid off all his debt and was expanding aggressively. I immediately blocked the friend who told me. I had zero interest in hearing about his meteoric rise. Later, after I gave birth to Leo alone, my mom was furious. She complained constantly. But the very first time Leo giggled and reached for her face, my mom’s harsh voice melted into absolute honey. Ever since my dad passed away, my mom had been entirely hollow. It felt like Leo finally gave her a reason to wake up in the morning. She took care of the baby, and I worked double shifts. The days bled together. It was exhausting, but it was peaceful. Until Leo caught a “bad cold” that wouldn’t go away, and that peace was entirely obliterated. Sometimes, late at night, I honestly wondered if I had committed some horrific atrocity in a past life. Because every single time I thought my life was finally stabilizing, the universe would violently smash a brick into my face. … Snapping back to reality, I realized my face was completely drenched in tears. Great. How the hell am I going to explain this to my mom when I get home? My flight wasn’t until 2:00 PM. I still had an hour to kill sitting at the gate. Right on cue, my phone vibrated with a FaceTime call from my mom. Every instinct in my body screamed to decline it. But my mom is relentless. If I didn’t answer, she would call the airport police and report me missing. Defeated, I swiped the green button. “Where is my Leo?” The very first words out of her mouth. She didn’t even say hello. I rubbed my nose, trying to sound casual. “He’s right here, playing.” “Show him to me.” I purposefully jerked the camera toward the empty seat next to me. “He’s throwing a fit. He doesn’t want to be on camera.” My mom wasn’t an idiot. “Serena, are you at an airport gate? I thought you were checking him in for surgery! Why are you coming back so fast?” “Point the damn camera at Leo right now. I just want to say hi.” I stared at the screen, entirely frozen. “Serena! What the hell kind of game are you playing?” “Are you completely ignoring your mother now?!” Honestly, I couldn’t even process what my mom was yelling anymore. Because staring back at me on my phone screen, hovering just inches behind my right shoulder, was Logan’s face. He was standing right behind me. My mom was still screaming through the speaker. “Serena! If anything happens to my grandson, I swear to God I will end you!” “Mom, I gotta go!” In a blind panic, I jammed my thumb onto the red end-call button. I forced myself to take a shallow breath, plastered on a neutral face, and slowly turned around. “Can I help you?” Considering he currently had physical custody of my child, I couldn’t exactly pretend I had never met the guy. Logan glared down at me, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth would shatter. “Serena. You are just as completely heartless as you were five years ago. First you abandon me, and now you are throwing your own son in the trash?” What do you mean, I abandoned him?! I shot to my feet, my own anger flaring up. “Get your story straight! I didn’t abandon you, you completely betrayed me first!” And wait—he already knew Leo was my biological son. Well, obviously. Unless he suffered a traumatic brain injury in that car crash, any idiot could do the math. Logan scowled, his dark eyes swirling with something I couldn’t read. I pushed forward. “Look, if you actually feel sorry for Leo, then once he recovers from the surgery, can I please come back and get him?” “Not a chance in hell.” Exactly as I predicted. The absolute second the Sinclair family knew this boy existed, my chances of ever getting him back dropped to zero. “Fine. Then take good care of him. I will make sure I never show my face to him again.” Logan was going to marry a billionaire heiress. Leo was going to have a wealthy, connected stepmother. My presence would only be a toxic, humiliating complication for their perfect family.

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After Grayson Cole broke off our engagement, he immediately started pursuing his young secretary. That secretary, however, had a backbone. She repeatedly rebuffed his advances, claiming she would never bow to money. In the end, though, Grayson bought his way into her heart. The real irony? The woman then gloated to the world, proclaiming that what she truly enjoyed was this kind of pure, simple love. Now, only a year later, word is that their fairy tale has devolved into a bitter war. When I heard the news, I pulled up a chair, grabbed some popcorn, and settled in for the show. 1 “Mr. Cole took a woman home last night.” I didn’t pay much attention when my assistant told me. It wasn’t the first time, after all. “To the house at Riverside Manor.” I snapped the file in my hands shut, my brow furrowing. My engagement to Grayson had been a business merger, and the villa at Riverside Manor was meant to be our marital home. The plan had been to move in after the wedding. I could accept that he didn’t love me. I could even accept him having other women. But I could not accept him so blatantly disrespecting me. I rubbed my temples. “Take me to Cole Corp.” The receptionist saw me and was about to call up to Grayson’s office, but I stopped her. “I want it to be a surprise.” She understood immediately, gesturing for me to go ahead. I took the private elevator straight to the 28th floor. Pushing the door open, I was greeted by quite a scene. Grayson had a woman pinned against the wall. Her face was pale, her expression one of defiant resistance. What was this? Some kind of toxic romance novel fantasy? The girl saw me and shoved the man away. She ran over to me, tears streaming down her face, her voice a mix of hurt and warning. “Ms. Shaw, you need to control your fiancé. I’m not just a prop in one of your rich people games.” Well now, that was a spicy little line. But she was threatening the wrong person. “Then why not just quit?” I asked calmly. “Stay far away from us rich people.” She blinked, stunned, then clenched her fists. “I earned this job with my skills. I haven’t done anything wrong. Why should I be the one to leave?” Stubborn, I’ll give her that. I frowned slightly. “Fine. In that case, I’ll have Mr. Cole reassign you. You just can’t be his secretary anymore.” She was still not satisfied. “I’m a good secretary. Why should I be moved? You wealthy people love to abuse your power.” Right. So now being wealthy was our original sin. Grayson had heard enough. He stepped forward, putting himself between us. “Victoria, stop bullying her,” he said, his voice low and protective. “Anna is too pure-hearted to play your games.” So, her name was Anna. Pure-hearted? Or just simple-minded? Grayson used the excuse to dismiss Anna, then turned to me. “What did you want?” I looked at the man before me—tall, handsome, the picture of a perfect catch—and got straight to the point. “Did you take a woman to our house at Riverside?” He didn’t flinch. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook. “Our engagement is off,” he said flatly. “This is your compensation.” I took the check he wrote and glanced at it. A very generous three hundred million. I was a little curious. “Are you sure this woman is what you really want?” Grayson met my gaze, a strange light in his eyes. “I want a wife. A safe harbor. Not someone who comes home after a day of negotiating deals only to start negotiating our personal interests.” “My wife doesn’t need to be strong. I’m strong enough for both of us.” Ah, so that’s where Anna’s strength came in. “Right. I get it.” I pocketed the check and walked away without a second thought. I’d been eyeing the multi-billion South Hill development project, and thanks to Grayson’s friendly contribution, funding was no longer an issue. See? While other women were trapped in some CEO’s twisted power fantasy, I was already soaring. I ran into Anna in the hallway, carrying a tray of coffee. She saw me and immediately stood taller, her chin held high. “Ms. Shaw, I know you look down on love between people like us, who aren’t rich.” “But I’m telling you, if I love someone, it has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not he has money.” Her little speech just left me confused. So… did she like Grayson or not? 2 Fueled by the superpower of cash, Anna was eventually won over. Six months later, they held their wedding of the century at a castle in France. The guest list was a who’s who of high society, and the event dominated the headlines for weeks. Even a year later, people still talked about it with envy. But for those of us on the inside, it was a different story. I ran into Grayson at a birthday gala. He came over with a glass of champagne, trying to make small talk. As he reminisced about our past, I kept my responses polite but distant. He was alone. No Anna in sight. “Trouble in paradise, Mr. Cole? Making you miss your ex?” It was meant as a joke, but his expression turned serious. “What if I said yes? Could we start over?” My face remained a placid lake. I looked at him coolly. “You went to great lengths to win her over. Are you telling me you’re already bored?” A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face. I could smell the gossip, but I had no desire to get tangled up with him again, so I resisted the urge to ask for details. I remembered how Grayson had bought out every billboard in the city to declare his love. Subway stations, office lobbies, building light shows—all broadcasting their “pure” romance. It reeked of money, but when a reporter interviewed Anna, she had bashfully claimed, “I just love this kind of simple, down-to-earth affection. I don’t need fancy cars or mansions, as long as he loves me with all his heart.” Right. My mistake. She was wrong about one thing, though. I wasn’t the one looking down on their love. I was just another prop in their game. After the gala, Grayson tried to add me back on social media. I gave him my assistant’s contact info. “If you need something, contact my assistant. He’ll pass it on.” Just because the marriage was off didn’t mean the business had to be. The next day, in a torrential downpour, Anna threw herself in front of my car. She looked like a drowned rat. I took her to a nearby cafe and had my assistant call Grayson. Anna’s jaw was set stubbornly. “Don’t call him. I don’t want to see him.” So they’d had a fight. “You must be feeling pretty smug right now, huh?” she muttered, staring down at her hands. “What would I have to be smug about?” This was ridiculous. Her head snapped up, and she glared at me. “Why are you trying to seduce him? Don’t tell me you’re still not over him.” I scoffed. “I swear, I haven’t even had his number since we broke up.” She didn’t believe me. She pulled out her phone and showed me a video she’d taken the night before. In it, Grayson was drunk, slouched on a sofa, muttering to himself. “Victoria, I can’t forget you. Let’s start over, please.” “Victoria, I was wrong. You’re the one I really love.” I couldn’t listen to any more of it and reached over to stop the video. “As you can hear, he’s the one who’s not over me. I don’t do leftovers.” Anna pushed her luck. “Then promise me you’ll stay away from him from now on.” I leaned back in my chair and flatly refused. “Can’t promise that. We’ll likely have professional dealings.” Before I could react, she threw her cup of coffee in my face. The warm liquid streamed down my cheeks. The cafe erupted in gasps. Someone was already recording on their phone. I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, already calculating how much I was going to bill Grayson for this. 3 Tonight’s headline: #Ex-Fiancée of Cole Corp CEO Exposed as Homewrecker, Confronted by Wife. #Wedding of the Century a Joke as Grayson Cole Cheats. The accompanying photo was of me, coffee dripping down my face, an infuriatingly defiant smirk on my lips. Grayson showed up at my office uninvited. He sat across from me, radiating guilt and self-loathing. The perfect picture of a cheating husband. “Name your price.” I had to admit, dealing with people who spoke my language was much easier. I played coy. “What do you mean?” He chuckled humorlessly. “I know you, Victoria. You always get your pound of flesh. You didn’t go after Anna yesterday because you knew you could get something better from me.” Fine. No more games. “The Crestfall property development. I want in.” “I can give you half.” “Sixty percent.” “Done.” A moment of silence passed, then his clear, low voice filled the space. “Victoria, did you ever love me?”

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At dinner, my 5-year-old son ate the last fried chicken piece—the one my stepdaughter always claimed. My wife immediately removed me from the family group chat for the 28th time, her voice icy: “Don’t even ask to rejoin until you teach your son to respect his sister.” What stung more was seeing her ex-husband’s sarcastic Instagram story minutes later: “Five years married, still treated like a stray dog. Guess who?” My boy was crying hysterically, fingers down his throat, trying to gag up the piece to give it back. In that moment, I snapped awake. I set my fork down, held my trembling son, and said with certainty, “If there’s no room for us here, we’re leaving.” Weeks earlier, he’d asked if I could divorce Mommy. When I asked why, he said in his small voice, “I don’t think Mommy loves us. She only loves Harper and Harper’s dad.” He went on, recalling how my wife used her Christmas bonus for them instead of his piano lessons, and gave away my birthday watch after Harper threw a fit. “She always kicks you out of the chat. You always have to beg to come back.” Then he broke me: “If you’re staying just for me, I’d rather not be your kid. I just want you happy and free.” Tears fell before he finished. This time, I was truly done. I was walking away. 1 Pamela froze for two seconds, her fork hovering in the air. “What did you just say?” I held my son tight against my chest. My voice was dangerously quiet. “I said, I want a divorce.” My ten-year-old stepdaughter, Harper, lit up. She dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter. “Mom, do it! Let him leave! Then you and Dad can finally get back together.” Pamela shot her a warning glare. “Eat your dinner.” Harper rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide her excited smirk. She muttered under her breath, “It’s true anyway. Once the loser leaves, my real dad can come home.” The loser. I had been married to Pamela for five years. Not once had Harper ever called me “Dad.” She barely even called me by my name. She usually just yelled “Hey” or called me “the loser.” And Pamela never corrected her. She acted completely deaf to it. Pamela leaned back in her dining chair, studying me. Her tone softened into something patronizing. “Owen, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? Is this seriously just because I kicked you out of the group chat?” I didn’t answer. She let out a heavy sigh, looking at me like I was an unreasonable toddler. “Look at the situation and tell me who is in the wrong here.” Finn shrank against my chest, his little fists gripping my shirt tightly. Pamela pointed at him. “He knows Harper loves the fried chicken drumsticks, but he still fought her for it. As a father, you should be teaching him to yield to his older sister, not coddling him.” “All I did was tell you to discipline him, and now you are threatening me with a divorce?” I stared at the single, half-eaten drumstick sitting on Finn’s plate, and my heart turned to lead. Harper liked fried chicken, which meant she was entitled to the entire bucket. Just a few minutes ago, there was exactly one piece left. Harper had pushed her plate away and loudly announced she was stuffed. Only then did Finn dare to reach for it. He had barely taken a single bite before Harper snatched her fork back up and screamed, “I wanted to eat that! Why are you stealing my food?!” Pamela had been scrolling through her phone. She glanced up, didn’t ask a single question, and instantly removed me from the family chat. It was the twenty-eighth time. Seeing my silence, Pamela assumed she had won the argument. Her tone grew sharper. “Harper isn’t your biological daughter, which means you should be going out of your way to treat her better. But what do you do? You encourage Finn to steal food right off her plate.” “If you cared about Harper even half as much as you care about Finn, I wouldn’t have had to do that tonight.” “I am just trying to remind you to be fair. Stop playing favorites.” Playing favorites? My mind flashed back to when we first got married. Harper was five. She suffered from terrible night terrors, waking up screaming and crying for her real dad. I was the one who paced the living room floor, holding her against my shoulder, rocking her back to sleep night after night. When Finn was born, I was terrified Harper would feel left out, so I spoiled her even more. When she spiked a 103-degree fever in the middle of the night and Pamela was out of town on a business trip, her biological father, Trent, refused to answer his phone. I was the one who held her in the emergency room waiting area until dawn. Finn was barely a year old at the time. I had to dump him at a neighbor’s house. When I picked him up the next morning, he had cried so hard he lost his voice. Yet, in their eyes, I was just a biased, toxic stepdad. Pamela looked at me, her voice softening just a fraction. “Alright, enough drama.” “Make Finn apologize to Harper. Have him promise he won’t do it again. I’ll monitor his behavior for a few days, and if he acts right, I’ll add you back to the chat.” I stared into her eyes. These were the same deep, beautiful eyes that made me fall for her on our very first blind date. When I found out she was a divorced mother of one, my own father had grabbed my arm and begged me to walk away. “Owen, what are you doing? She has a kid, and her ex-husband is still hovering around. If you marry her, you’ll just be a punching bag for all their baggage.” I refused to listen. I naively believed that if I was just kind enough, patient enough, and loved them hard enough, I could thaw her heart and become a real part of this family. But five years had passed. I was still just an outsider who could be deleted from the family group chat at the drop of a hat. “Pamela, in your heart, do you even consider me family?” She blinked, clearly caught off guard. I kept going. “If I am your family, why is there no space for me in a stupid text thread?” Her brow furrowed, a flash of genuine confusion crossing her face. “Everything has been perfectly fine. Whenever you fix your attitude, I always invite you back in, don’t I?” Perfectly fine? Yes, perfectly fine because every single time, I swallowed my pride and apologized. I did it because I loved her. I did it because I desperately wanted to belong. And later, I did it because Finn was too young, and I wanted him to grow up in a complete home. But now, I was exhausted down to my bones. “Twenty-eight times. Every time I don’t perfectly cater to Harper’s mood, or whenever I upset your ex-husband, you kick me out without asking a single question.” “But Trent divorced you six years ago, and he has never been kicked out of that chat.” “Pamela, who is actually your husband?” 2 The color drained from her face. “Are you really going to start being insanely jealous over nothing again? Trent is Harper’s biological father. He stays in the chat so we can easily communicate about our daughter.” Communicate? I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. My eyes burned. “And what about me? Every time you kick me out, I have to completely humiliate myself. I have to suck up to Trent, and I have to beg Harper for forgiveness, just so you’ll bestow the honor of adding me back.” “Pamela, have you ever, for a single second, considered how that makes me feel?” She fell silent. Suddenly, Finn wriggled out of my arms and sprinted to the kitchen trash can. “Mommy, don’t be mad at Daddy! It’s my fault! I’ll give the chicken back to Harper…” As he spoke, he shoved his fingers deep into his mouth, gagging violently over the plastic bin. I lunged forward and grabbed his hands. “Finn! Finn, stop! Do not do that, it’s not your fault!” He collapsed against my chest, sobbing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath, his little face flushed crimson. Harper pointed at him from the dining table and burst out laughing. “Mom, look! I told you he was a manipulative little brat. The loser taught him how to play the victim perfectly.” Pamela didn’t even stand up. She just sat there, her eyebrows pulled together in annoyance. “Look at this. This is because you baby him. He’s five years old and he already knows how to emotionally blackmail adults.” As a mother, she didn’t ask if Finn was choking. She didn’t ask if he was okay. I suddenly remembered last winter. Harper got into a scuffle on the playground and scraped her knee. Pamela got the call at work, burst into tears, abandoned a major client meeting, and drove like a maniac to the school just to carry Harper to urgent care. A month later, Harper purposely tripped Finn in our living room. His forehead slammed into the corner of the glass coffee table. Blood poured down his face, soaking his shirt. Pamela barely glanced up from her laptop. “He’s fine. Kids bump into things all the time.” I was the one who drove a screaming, bleeding Finn to the hospital alone. He needed four stitches. He cried the entire time. When we got home, Pamela didn’t ask how he was. She just accused me of being dramatic and seeking attention. Thinking about that day, I picked Finn up and stood tall. Pamela assumed I was finally backing down. She leaned back in her chair. “Take him to his room and calm him down. When he stops screaming, come back out, clear the table, load the dishwasher, and help Harper with her math homework.” I didn’t say a single word. I just carried Finn to his bedroom. As I shut the door behind us, I heard Harper’s gloating voice echo through the hall. “Mom, he is totally faking it. He’s just waiting for you to go in there and beg him. My dad told me Owen is a manipulative snake.” Pamela sounded irritated. “Let him throw his little fit. Ignore him and he’ll snap out of it.” A few minutes later, I heard the familiar chime of a FaceTime call connecting in the living room. Harper had called her grandparents. She immediately started whining. “Grandma! The loser is acting crazy again.” “His bratty kid stole my food, and when Mom yelled at him, he threw a massive tantrum and locked himself in the bedroom. He won’t even clean the kitchen! He said he wants a divorce.” My father-in-law scoffed loudly through the phone speaker. “That guy is getting more pathetic by the day.” Then, Trent’s voice echoed from the screen. He must have been at their house. “Come on, guys, don’t be too hard on Owen. I’m sure he has his own insecurities. I just feel so terrible for my little Harper…” My mother-in-law immediately chimed in. “What insecurities? The man can’t even cook a decent meal. Harper is our precious angel. She is a growing girl. Why should she have to walk on eggshells just to eat a piece of chicken in her own house?” “He’s completely biased. He only cares about his own blood.” “Things were so much better when you were still around, Trent…” Harper sounded incredibly smug. “Exactly, Grandma! That loser treats me like garbage. He is nothing like my real dad. My dad actually loves me.” “Mom, when are you going to divorce him? Dad is literally waiting to marry you again.” Trent chuckled softly. “Harper, sweetie, don’t say that. Your mom is a married woman.” “He’s not a real husband! I’ll never accept him!” Pamela murmured something low. I couldn’t make out the words. I sat on the edge of the bed, holding Finn against my chest, feeling an absolute, suffocating wasteland inside my soul. Five years. I had bled myself dry trying to take care of every single person in this family. When Pamela’s mother threw out her back, I spent hours every day making homemade bone broth and riding the subway across the city just to deliver it to her while it was hot. When her father had a heart attack and was hospitalized, Pamela was “too stressed” to deal with it. I took all my vacation days and slept in a hard plastic chair beside his hospital bed for a week, so exhausted I was hallucinating. And in return? I didn’t get a single word of gratitude. Meanwhile, Trent had been divorced from Pamela for six years, and her parents still lovingly treated him like a son. I closed my eyes, refusing to listen to the FaceTime call anymore. Finn gently tugged at my collar. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have eaten the chicken…” I looked down at his terrified, tear-streaked face, and my heart physically ached. “Finn, Daddy is going to take you away from here. Is that okay?” He blinked his swollen eyes. “To where?” “To a place where you can eat all the fried chicken you want, and nobody will ever yell at you.” He thought about it for a second, then whispered, “Is Mommy coming?” “Do you want Mommy to come?” He shook his head violently and buried his face in my neck. “Mommy only loves Harper. She doesn’t like me at all.” I hugged him fiercely. “Okay. Then Mommy isn’t coming. It’s just going to be you and me.” 3 That night, Pamela didn’t come into the master bedroom. It was her standard playbook. She was giving me the silent treatment, waiting for me to crack and apologize. But she didn’t realize that after twenty-eight times, I was completely done punishing myself and my son for her ego. The next morning, my alarm went off at 6:00 AM sharp. Normally, I would jump out of bed, cook a full breakfast, iron Pamela’s blouse and Harper’s uniform, and then gently wake them up. I would serve them, clean up their dishes, and then drive Harper to school. Today, I reached over, turned off the alarm, pulled the blanket over Finn, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again, I checked my phone. It was 8:40 AM. The apartment was dead silent. A few minutes later, panicked, heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway. The bedroom door flew open. Pamela stood there, her hair a tangled mess, frantically trying to zip up her pencil skirt. “Why didn’t you wake us up?!” Harper poked her head around Pamela’s hip, her face twisted in fury. “This is all your fault! I’m going to be late for homeroom and my teacher is going to scream at me!” Pamela stormed into the room, her face dark with anger. “You didn’t even make breakfast? Do you have any idea what time it is?” I didn’t get out of bed. I just gently patted Finn’s back as he stirred from the shouting. Ignored, Pamela’s scowl deepened. “Are you seriously still throwing a fit? Over a piece of chicken? Really?” “Fine! I’ll add you back to the chat, okay? Is that what you want?” She snatched her phone from her pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and shoved it in my face. “There. Happy now? Get up and make us something to eat!” I didn’t look at her. I picked up my own phone from the nightstand, opened the family chat, and pressed “Leave Group.” Then, I went to her contact and hit “Block.” Pamela’s face instantly dropped. Harper kept whining loudly. “Mom, I am starving! We have to go right now!” Pamela glared at me, turned on her heel, and slammed the bedroom door so hard the walls shook. A few minutes later, I heard the chaotic clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, followed by Harper complaining about how disgusting the food tasted. A moment later, Pamela shoved the bedroom door open again. “Harper has a parent-teacher showcase at school today. I just got an email from my boss, there’s a crisis at the office and I have to go in. You need to go to her school.” “No,” I replied flatly. “Call her real dad. I have plans today.” Her expression turned venomous. “Plans? What kind of plans could you possibly have?” I threw off the covers and started digging through the dresser for Finn’s clothes. “I have an appointment with a divorce lawyer.” She froze. The anger melted into genuine shock. “Owen, have you lost your mind? You are seriously dragging us toward a divorce over a minor argument?” I completely ignored her and focused on getting Finn dressed. Harper yelled from the front door. Pamela stared at me for three long seconds. “You want to play hardball? Fine. Let’s see how long you can keep this pathetic act up.” She spun around and dragged Harper out the door. I made Finn a quiet breakfast, called into work to use a personal day, and took him straight to a lawyer friend’s office downtown. While Finn played with a box of Lego in the lobby, I sat in the office and had my friend draft an airtight divorce agreement. Just as we walked out of the law firm into the afternoon sun, my phone buzzed. It was Pamela. I had unblocked her just in case of emergencies. I answered, and her voice came through shrill and frantic. “Harper got hurt at school! You need to get to the hospital right now!” “What happened?” “The parent showcase! Because no one was there, she was running around the bleachers by herself, fell, and severely injured her leg! They took her to the ER. I am locked in a conference room and cannot leave. Get over there now!” I didn’t miss a beat. “Tell Trent to go. I am not her father.” Dead silence on the other end of the line. Then, her voice exploded, practically shattering the speaker. “Owen! What the hell is wrong with you?! If you had just gone to the school like I told you to, she never would have fallen! This is your fault, and you won’t even go check on her?!” Standing under the bright sunlight, a cold, empty laugh escaped my throat. “Pamela, you spent five years telling me I don’t care enough about her. Since I am already convicted of the crime, I figured I might as well show you what not caring actually looks like.” I hung up the phone. I looked down at my son. “Finn, you want to go to the amusement park?”

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When I opened my eyes again, I was five years old, on the very day my birth parents brought me back to the Carrington estate. Alistair Carrington, my brother, blocked their path, his finger jabbing toward my face. “Dad, Mom, I made a mistake,” he said, his voice laced with ice. “She isn’t my sister.” Seeing the undisguised disgust on his face, I understood instantly. Like me, he had been reborn with the memories of our past life. Disappointment washed over my parents’ faces. They turned and walked away without a backward glance. Alistair pressed a hard candy into my palm, the cellophane crinkling in the tense silence. “The Carringtons only need one daughter, and that’s Isabelle,” he said, his voice flat. “Your kidney couldn’t even save her life. There’s no reason for you to be here.” Flashes of my previous life seared through my mind: at eighteen, I donated a kidney to the family’s beloved adopted daughter, Isabelle, who was suffering from renal failure. She died from organ rejection anyway. Before I had even fully recovered from the surgery, the Carringtons threw me out. Soon after, my surgical wound became severely infected. I died alone on the streets. … My fist clenched around the candy, its sharp edges digging into my palm. He was right. In our past life, my only purpose to him was as a spare blood bank and organ bank for Isabelle. Since my kidney had failed to save her, and she had died regardless, my useless self had no place in their family this time around. I smiled, but a tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away fiercely, telling myself that the girl from that life, the one who craved their love, was dead. The one living now was me. I turned and walked back to a quiet corner of the orphanage. Not long after, the purr of an expensive engine broke the silence as a sleek black Bentley glided to a stop at the curb. The director scurried out, ushering in an elderly gentleman with silver hair. The orphanage erupted. Children flocked around him like a chattering of sparrows, all vying for his attention. “Hello, Grandpa!” “Grandpa, I can sing for you!” “Grandpa, look at my drawing!” Only I remained in my inconspicuous corner, an outsider to the frenzy. The old man, Mr. Preston, noticed me. He gently moved through the crowd, leaning on his cane as he made his way toward me. “Little one, why are you all by yourself over here? Don’t they like you?” I shook my head and looked up, offering him the candy, now warm from my tight grip. “For you, Grandpa.” I forced a calm maturity into my voice, one far beyond my years. He paused, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He took the candy, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “Mm, it’s very sweet.” He studied me for a long moment. “What’s your name?” “The director calls me Ava.” “Ava…” he repeated, nodding slowly. “Would you like to come home with me? To be my granddaughter?” The orphanage fell silent. Every child’s gaze, sharp with envy, was fixed on me. Without a shred of hesitation, I nodded firmly. “Yes.” He let out a hearty laugh that boomed through the quiet hall. “Good! Excellent! From this day forward, your name is Ava Preston.” He took my hand, his palm warm and dry. “Ava, it means life, a precious thing. I want you, my child, to become a priceless gem.” I understood the weight of his words, the hope he was placing in me. In that moment, I squeezed his hand back, hard. I became the cherished jewel of the Preston family. Mr. Preston, my new grandfather, treated me like a treasure. He taught me to read and write himself, and shared with me his wisdom on life and character. His own children, my new aunts and uncles, though busy, never failed to bring me fascinating gifts and showered me with genuine affection. But the one who doted on me most was my new brother, Noah, who was ten years my senior. The first time he saw me, a gentle smile broke through his cool, handsome features. “This is our little princess,” he’d declared. “No one gets to hurt her.” It became his mantra. Wrapped in so much love, the scars of my past life began to fade. I threw myself into my studies, consistently ranking first from elementary school through high school. My room overflowed with trophies and certificates from countless competitions. When it came time for college, I chose to study medicine without a second thought. I knew Isabelle’s illness was the unending ache in the heart of the Carrington family. It was also the sword that had once hung over my own head. Twenty years later, I had become one of the country’s youngest and most renowned physicians and medical researchers. Life was peaceful and fulfilling. I believed the Carringtons had vanished from my life forever. Until the day my assistant knocked on my office door. “Dr. Preston, there’s a Mr. Alistair Carrington here to see you. He specifically requested our most expensive consultation to have you see his sister.” The name sent an involuntary jolt through my heart. I took a deep breath, pushing down the surge of emotion, and kept my voice perfectly even. “Send him in.” A tall man in a tailored suit walked in. The boyishness of his youth had sharpened into a handsome, brooding intensity. The moment Alistair saw me, he froze. His deep-set eyes were wide with shock and disbelief. He could never have imagined that the medical expert he had gone to such lengths to find was the sister he had cast away twenty years ago. It took him a long moment to find his voice. When he did, it was thick with suspicion. “You’re Dr. Preston?” I simply nodded. “Mr. Carrington, please have a seat. Tell me about your sister’s condition.” He ignored my invitation, his eyes still scanning me critically. “Are you really a doctor? What are the chances you can actually cure my sister?” His tone suggested I was a fraud, a charlatan. My assistant, standing beside me, could barely contain her indignation. “Sir, Dr. Preston is the leading expert at this hospital. Her time is extremely valuable…” I looked at Alistair, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching my lips. “It seems you don’t trust my professional capabilities, Mr. Carrington.” “In that case, let’s cancel this consultation.” “Chloe, show the gentleman out.” Alistair’s face darkened instantly. He clenched his jaw, but in the end, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. My assistant stomped her foot in frustration. “Dr. Preston, that man is so rude! Who does he think he is?” I just gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s fine. He’s just another patient.” To me, it was nothing more than a minor interruption. My life had long since moved on from them. After work, as I was leaving the research building, Alistair appeared, blocking my path. His expression was a dark, complicated storm. My brows furrowed. “Can I help you?” He stared at me, his gaze intense. After a long silence, he finally ground out the words. “I’m warning you.” “I don’t care who you are now. You will not harm Isabelle.” I almost laughed out loud. Twenty years ago, he was the one who cruelly stopped me from being a Carrington, and now here he was, calling me by that name again, warning me not to hurt the very person he chose over me. As if I would waste a single second of my life on her. I looked at him as if he were a raving lunatic. “Mr. Carrington, my last name is Preston. Ava Preston. Please get it right.” “Furthermore, I don’t know you, and I certainly don’t know your sister. As a doctor, my job is to save lives, not to harm them. So why, exactly, would I want to hurt a complete stranger?” Alistair was taken aback, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “You don’t remember me?” He seemed unable to accept it, his voice rising. “Twenty years ago! At the orphanage! I was the one who stopped my parents…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat, as if even he found his past actions shameful. Seeing his discomfort, a chilling coldness settled in my heart. Of course, I remembered. I remembered every look of disgust, every hateful word. I remembered how he personally pushed me away, shattering every fantasy I ever had about family. But I would pretend. I feigned a moment of deep thought, then let my expression clear into one of dawning realization. “Ohhh,” I drew out the sound. “So it was you.”

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Catching up with my best friend over dinner, I slid into the curved leather booth right beside her, just like I always did. Halfway through our appetizers, her silver fork slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the hardwood floor. She immediately turned to me, clearly annoyed. “Jenna, you know I’m a southpaw. Why did you slide in on my left side? Our elbows are going to bump all night.” My hand froze halfway to the floor. Ruby was indeed left-handed. But we had a secret pact. She had sworn to me in private that whenever we shared a meal, she would strictly use her right hand. She once told me that if she ever ate with her left hand, it wouldn’t be the real her. 1 It started a couple of years ago. Ruby saw a post online claiming that true best friends always sit on the same side of a restaurant booth. She immediately declared that we would only sit side-by-side from then on. I laughed and called her an idiot. “You’re left-handed. If you sit next to me, we’ll be playing bumper cars with our elbows.” She thought about it for a second, her eyes lighting up. “Simple. Whenever I eat with you, I’ll just use my right hand!” At the time, I figured she wouldn’t last three days. But she actually pulled it off. For two whole years, every single time we ate together, she stubbornly gripped her silverware with her right hand. Whenever she absentmindedly reached for a glass or a piece of bread with her left, she would instantly snatch her hand back, sticking her tongue out at me like a kid caught stealing cookies. She even made a solemn declaration. “If there ever comes a day where I eat with my left hand around you, then that person definitely isn’t me!” Her expression had been so intensely serious when she said it. That was why the memory stuck with me. Yet right now, she was holding a fresh fork in her left hand, flawlessly twirling her pasta. I stared at that hand for a few heavy seconds before bending down to pick up the dropped fork. My fingers were trembling uncontrollably. Was the person sitting next to me not Ruby? Or was this just some twisted little prank she was playing on me? I sat back up, forcing a stiff smile. “Alright, alright, I’ll move to the other side. Don’t be mad.” I picked up my plate and slid into the opposite side of the booth. Ruby’s expression had already returned to normal. She continued eating, casually complaining about the toxic drama at her corporate office. Her tone, her facial expressions, the unique rhythm of her speech. Everything was exactly the way I knew it. I tried to convince myself I was just overworked. My paranoia was playing tricks on me. But the icy chill settling in my stomach refused to melt. A moment later, her boyfriend, Connor, returned from the restroom and naturally slid into the booth beside her. For the rest of the dinner, they chatted about entirely normal, domestic things. Ruby complained that his mother was pressuring them to get married. Connor just smiled, fed her a bite of his dessert, and promised they would tie the knot by the end of the year. Everything looked perfectly, painfully normal. Until Ruby absentmindedly took a massive bite of a stuffed mushroom from the appetizer platter. My heart violently seized. “Why are you eating the mushrooms?” Connor paused, looking at Ruby in genuine confusion. “Yeah babe, don’t you hate mushrooms?” Ruby blinked, looking slightly flustered before waving it off with a complaining tone. “Well, your mom puts mushroom broth in every roast she makes. I guess I just got used to it.” Connor smiled sheepishly, leaning in to kiss her cheek, completely oblivious to the world around them. But a cold sweat broke out across my skin. Connor always thought Ruby avoided mushrooms because she was a picky eater. But I was the only one who knew she was deathly allergic. Freshman year of college, a dining hall worker had accidentally ladled mushroom gravy onto her mashed potatoes. She didn’t notice and took two bites. I had to ride with her in the back of an ambulance while she went into anaphylactic shock. Since that night, she wouldn’t even touch a plate if a mushroom had been near it. You can mimic someone’s mannerisms. You can memorize their habits. But a biological physical reaction does not lie. I sat there for the rest of the dinner watching her closely. Ruby didn’t show a single sign of an allergic reaction. Her skin remained flawless. Her breathing was perfectly even. She even stole another mushroom off Connor’s plate. The last shred of warmth drained from my body. The woman sitting across from me was absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, not Ruby. Which meant… where was the real Ruby? 2 I practically threw myself onto my bed as soon as I got home, staring blankly at the ceiling while my mind spun out of control. I desperately tried to map out the timeline. When did Ruby change? A week ago, she had been perfectly fine before leaving for a VIP music festival in London. The morning of her flight, she sent me a voice memo. “Jenna, I’m heading to the airport! Let me know if you want anything from the duty-free shops.” Once she landed, she texted me every single day. Videos from the concert floor, pictures of fish and chips, the glittering night view from her hotel window. I rolled over, opened our chat history, and scrolled up to the day of the concert. She had sent a video from the VIP pit. The camera was shaking wildly, drowned out by the screaming crowd. I could hear her screaming over the noise. “Jenna, this is incredible! I’m totally coming back next year!” I watched it over and over again. It was definitely her face in the video. The voice belonged to her. There was absolutely nothing suspicious about it. But the more flawless it looked, the heavier my dread became. It didn’t feel like she was sharing a fun moment with her best friend. It felt like someone was deliberately trying to prove she was still alive. If the Ruby sitting in the restaurant tonight was a fake. Then who was sending me these messages? And what about Connor? Did he know the woman sharing his bed was an imposter? I didn’t sleep a single wink that night. First thing the next morning, I drove straight to the local police precinct. “I need to report a missing person. My best friend is gone.” The officer at the front desk was a man in his thirties named Officer Collins. He told me to sit down and walk him through it slowly. I spilled everything. I told him how Ruby had come back from London acting like a completely different person. How she didn’t know the secret habits only the two of us shared. And how she had eaten an allergen that should have put her in a hospital, yet suffered zero reaction. Officer Collins listened, his expression growing increasingly skeptical. He typed a few things into his computer and sighed. “Ma’am, we just ran a check on Ruby Hensley. She is currently at her registered home address.” “Her phone is active. Her social media is updating normally. She posted a photo of her dinner just last night, correct?” I nodded frantically. “Under these circumstances, we cannot open a missing persons case.” Panic clawed at my throat. “But she isn’t Ruby! The woman in her apartment is a fake!” Officer Collins looked at me like I belonged in a psychiatric ward. “Ms. Sutton, you are claiming this woman is an imposter, yet all her social ties, her legal identification, and her digital footprint match perfectly.” “Do you have a single piece of hard evidence to prove she is fake?” I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat. I only had my intuition. And a secret dining pact between two best friends. None of that held up in a court of law. Officer Collins stood up, his tone shifting into a stern warning. “Ms. Sutton, if you continue to press this, I will have to escort you out for obstructing police business.” I was practically thrown out of the precinct. Standing on the concrete steps, the bright morning sun made my eyes burn with unshed tears. Three years ago, Ruby’s parents were killed in a horrific highway pileup. I was the only family she had left in this world. If she was still alive, she was waiting somewhere in the dark for me to save her. And if she was already… gone, then I was going to find her and bring her home. My phone buzzed with a new text. It was from Ruby’s account. A picture of a sad-looking sandwich with a caption. “The deli downstairs is getting worse every day!” Just her usual, casual complaining about her lunch break. I stared at the screen, my fingers turning numb. The fake Ruby had her phone. If the real Ruby had wanted to contact me, or warn me… A sudden memory hit me like a freight train. I sprinted to my car and sped all the way back to my apartment. Buried in the back of my closet was a clunky, outdated smartphone from our college days. Ruby was a brilliant coder. Back then, she had built a private, encrypted messaging app just for the two of us to gossip on. When we upgraded our phones after graduation, we slowly forgot the app existed. I tore through a shoebox, found the old phone, and frantically plugged it into a charger. The screen flickered to life. I found the greyed-out icon for her custom app. I tapped it. There was one unread message waiting on the screen. Received: Seven days ago, 2:37 PM. It was only three words. “Hide and seek.” 3 I stared at those three words, my pulse pounding violently against my ribs. Seven days ago. 2:37 PM. According to her itinerary, Ruby was supposed to be in the air, halfway to London at that exact time. Her phone should have been in airplane mode. Sending a message over cellular data would have been impossible. Unless… she never got on that plane. I grabbed my current phone and dialed the airline’s customer service hotline. “Hi, could you please check the passenger manifest for a flight to London last week? I need to know if a ‘Ruby Hensley’ actually boarded the plane.” The representative ran the search and delivered the crushing truth. “I can confirm that a passenger named Ruby Hensley checked in her luggage at the kiosk, but she never scanned her boarding pass at the gate.” A freezing shudder violently wracked my body. Ruby never went to London. Yet she had sent me a video from the VIP pit of the concert later that night. Which meant the real Ruby had already been taken before the flight even departed. And “Hide and seek” was the final breadcrumb she managed to drop for me. I stared at the screen, desperately trying to decode the hidden meaning. Hide and seek. It was a game we had played constantly since we were little kids. Back in her childhood backyard, she would always hide behind the giant ceramic water barrel near the flowerbeds, and I would always find her in seconds. But that was too obvious. If she was just referring to an address, she wouldn’t have used a riddle. So what did it mean? I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to mentally catalog every place we had ever been together. The old neighborhood from our childhood had been bulldozed for condos. The diner near our high school was shut down. The arcade we used to skip college classes for was now a strip mall. Eliminating those, I started thinking of places on the outskirts of the city that fit the theme of hiding. Abandoned factories, half-built construction sites, overgrown state parks… Everything felt plausible, yet entirely wrong. I opened the map on my phone, aimlessly zooming in and out of the county borders. And then my eyes snagged on the name of a deeply remote township. High Ash Springs. H, A, S. The exact same initials as “Hide And Seek.” In that split second, every instinct in my body screamed that Ruby was out there. I quickly zoomed in on the map. High Ash Springs was located in the eastern foothills. It was a completely isolated, impoverished mountain community wedged between two jagged peaks, lacking even a properly paved access road. It was eerily familiar. And its isolated geography made it the perfect place to hide a body. I looked up from the glowing screen. I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain this was what her message meant. But even if there was a one-in-a-million chance, I had to take it. Terrified of alerting the imposter, I opened our regular chat and sent a casual text to “Ruby.” “Work just dumped a massive out-of-town project on my lap. Gotta leave for a few days. Let’s grab drinks when I get back!” She replied instantly. “Ugh, the worst! Have a safe trip!” The bubbly, sweet tone was sickeningly accurate. I packed a heavy duffel bag, threw in two portable power banks and a heavy-duty flashlight, and drove my car onto the interstate. High Ash Springs was even more desolate than I had imagined. After leaving the highway, the road degraded from asphalt, to cracked concrete, to nothing but loose gravel and packed yellow dirt. After driving for almost four brutal hours, my headlights finally illuminated the weathered stone sign marking the town limits. The moment I saw it, a cold sweat drenched the back of my shirt. Because I had been here before. Two years ago, Ruby, Connor, and I took a weekend road trip. Our GPS supposedly glitched, and we ended up hopelessly lost in this exact town. Ruby had been sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the decaying cabins. “This place would be perfect for a horror movie,” she had joked. If Ruby was truly trapped out here against her will. Then Connor was absolutely involved. Because on that road trip two years ago, Connor was the one behind the wheel. He was the one who set the GPS. And he was the one who “accidentally” took the wrong exit into this forgotten valley. From the very beginning, he was the only one who knew this place existed. 4 I slumped back against the driver’s seat, completely paralyzed by the realization. Connor and Ruby had been dating for three years. He treated her like royalty. If she worked a late shift, he would sit in his car outside her office until midnight just to walk her out. If it rained, he was standing at the subway exit with an umbrella. When she had horrible cramps, a mug of hot ginger tea was always waiting on her nightstand. They had already booked their wedding venue for December. Their engagement photoshoot was scheduled for next month. Why would he do this? And who was the fake Ruby living in her apartment? I didn’t have time to fall down that rabbit hole. Finding Ruby was the only thing that mattered. I forced myself out of the car, locking the doors behind me. A few elderly locals were sitting on their porches in the fading afternoon light. They watched me approach with openly hostile, guarded eyes. I walked up to each of them, asking if they had seen a strange man and woman pass through town a week ago. But their thick, isolated accents were nearly impossible to decipher. Even with wild hand gestures, I got absolutely nowhere. Just as the sun began to dip behind the tree line, a rugged, middle-aged man finally approached me. “You lookin’ for a guy traveling with a really pretty girl?” My head snapped up. “Yes! You saw them?” I frantically pulled out my phone, showing him a photo of Ruby and Connor. The man squinted at the screen. He didn’t say a word, just casually rubbed his thumb and index finger together. I understood immediately. I dumped out my wallet, shoving all the emergency cash I had on me into his calloused palm. About four hundred dollars. He weighed the cash in his hand, but his greedy eyes dropped to my wrist. I was wearing a solid gold Cartier bracelet. It was a birthday gift from my mother, and I had never taken it off. Without a second of hesitation, I unclasped the gold and pressed it into his hand. The man finally smiled, satisfied. He pointed a dirty finger toward the towering peaks. “They went up the mountain.” According to the local, a torrential downpour had just passed through seven days ago when an expensive sedan rolled into town. “Car was too low to the ground for these dirt roads. Got stuck in the mud on a steep incline.” “I helped the guy push his car out. He threw me a hundred bucks for the trouble.” “There was a woman sitting in the passenger seat…” He paused, scratching his jaw. “Didn’t get a good look at her face. But the hair color and the fancy clothes matched your picture.” My heart plummeted into my stomach. “Which way did they go?” “Up that one.” The man jutted his chin toward the eastern ridge. “Cross over that peak and you hit the neighboring county line. Nothin’ up there but an abandoned logging camp. Trail’s washed out, nobody ever goes up there.” “Did you see them come back down?” The man shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t no cell service up there either. Don’t know why any city folks would wander up there.” I stood completely still, staring at the pitch-black silhouette of the eastern mountain. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. 5 The sky had gone completely dark. Trying to navigate an unfamiliar mountain trail at night was a death sentence. I retreated to my car, reclined the driver’s seat, and forced myself to wait out the night. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. Ruby’s face played on an endless loop behind my eyelids. When we were kids, she used to wear her hair in two messy pigtails, her crooked canine teeth showing whenever she laughed. In middle school, she chopped her hair into a pixie cut and cried for three days when a substitute teacher mistook her for a boy. In college, she got her heart broken by a frat boy. I walked thirty laps around the track with her while she sobbed, swearing she would never trust a man again. Then she met Connor, and she believed in love again. She told me Connor was different. Connor genuinely cared for her soul. I buried my face in my arms, my tears soaking silently into my jacket sleeves. Connor, what the hell did you do to her? The second the sky began to turn a bruised purple, I was awake. I didn’t go back into the village. I drove straight to the nearest county sheriff’s station. “I need to report an emergency.” “My best friend and I were hiking the eastern ridge yesterday and we got separated. She never came down the mountain.” I lied. It was the only way to guarantee they would send a search party into the woods. Just as I hoped, the mention of a missing hiker in a dangerous, unmapped forest triggered an immediate response. Within thirty minutes, they had assembled six deputies and two search-and-rescue dogs. The search team was led by a grizzled veteran named Officer Collins, his skin deeply tanned from decades in the sun. The dogs were pure professionals. The second we hit the tree line, they started barking wildly, dragging their handlers deep into the dense underbrush. The deeper we ventured into the suffocating woods, the heavier my dread became. If Ruby was actually out here, was she even still alive? Suddenly, both dogs stopped dead in their tracks, letting out a synchronized, ferocious howl before sprinting forward. I was stumbling over exposed roots, struggling to keep up. By the time I ripped through the final wall of thorny bushes and spilled into a small clearing, I heard one of the deputies yell. “We’ve got a body!” … Lying in the center of the muddy clearing was a corpse that had been partially unearthed by wild scavengers. It barely looked human anymore. The decomposition was brutal. The skin was mottled black and purple, bloated and grotesquely swollen from the humidity. Her facial features were entirely erased. Maggots writhed inside the empty eye sockets and along the jawline. The air was thick with the suffocating, putrid stench of rotting meat. But I knew it was my Ruby. She was wearing the custom, rhinestone-studded t-shirt I had designed for us to wear to the London concert. And wrapped around her decaying wrist was a braided silk bracelet I had brought back for her from a temple in Kyoto. Three years ago, when I tied it around her wrist, I had told her: “This is for protection. You’re going to live a long, beautiful life.” But my Ruby was only twenty-eight. She loved feeling beautiful. She spent an hour and a half on her makeup every single morning. She would twirl in front of her full-length mirror three times before stepping out the door. And now she was lying in the filthy dirt, being consumed by insects. I collapsed to my knees in the mud, my body violently convulsing with sobs. Officer Collins walked over, placing a heavy, sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you back to the precinct.” I followed him down the mountain in a completely dissociative haze. Ruby’s remains were bagged and transported to the county morgue. He told me they needed to perform an autopsy to determine the cause of death. I don’t remember how I survived the rest of that day. I only remember Officer Collins eventually leading me into a private interrogation room. “We found something inside the victim’s body. Something she left behind for you.” I stared at him blankly. Inside her body? Officer Collins plugged a tiny, blood-stained microchip into a forensic laptop on the table. A sharp burst of static filled the sterile room. First came the frantic rustling of leaves, like someone crawling desperately through thick brush to hide. Then came the sound of ragged, terrified breathing. And then, I heard Ruby’s voice. “Jenna… if you’re hearing this recording, it means I’ve already been murdered.” “I have a terrifying secret to tell you.” 6 The recording continued. Ruby’s voice was broken and breathless, shaking with pure adrenaline. She was running. “Jenna… if there ever comes a day… where you realize someone else has taken my place… you have to be careful…” A burst of heavy static. “Connor. He…” A sudden, sickening thud echoed through the speakers, like someone tripping and smashing into the dirt. Immediately following it was the terrifying crunch of heavy boots closing in fast. Someone was hunting her. “Ruby!” I screamed her name out loud in the sterile room, as if she could somehow hear me across time. In the recording, Ruby didn’t speak another word. There was only the sound of her gasping for air, thorns tearing at her clothes, and the heavy boots getting closer and closer. Then came a violent, scraping noise, like a piece of plastic being crushed and discarded into the grass. Her final words were a barely audible whisper, fragile as glass. “Jenna, you know my most precious thing… you know what it is!” The recording abruptly cut out. The silence in the room was deafening. Officer Collins hit the spacebar on his keyboard, turning to look at me. “We extracted this microchip from the victim’s stomach contents. It appears to be the core memory board of a digital voice recorder.” “Right before she died… she smashed the plastic casing of the recorder and swallowed the chip raw.” I bit down on my lower lip so hard my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. She swallowed it. She knew she was going to die. She knew there was no escape. So she swallowed the evidence. Because she knew that as long as her body wasn’t entirely destroyed, as long as someone eventually found her, her final words wouldn’t be erased. She traded her life to deliver this message to me. “Ms. Sutton,” Officer Collins said softly, sliding a paper cup of water across the table. “Are you alright?” I reached for the cup. My hands were shaking so violently I spilled half the water onto the metal table. “Do you know what she meant by her ‘most precious thing’?” he asked. I didn’t answer. I was desperately trying to figure it out. This was her second clue. “Hide and seek” was the first. “My most precious thing” was the second. I closed my eyes, digging through decades of memories. What did Ruby value above everything else? She used to joke about it all the time. She always said her most precious possession was me—the best friend who had stood by her side for twenty-eight years. But if the answer was that simple, she wouldn’t have used her dying breath to encrypt it. It had to be something tangible. Something hidden. My eyes snapped open. I pushed my chair back violently. “Officer Collins, I need to go somewhere right now.” “Where?” “The cemetery. Where her parents are buried.”

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After collapsing at my desk from pulling a string of all-nighters, I dragged my exhausted body to the hospital. The doctor wrote me a prescription for an IV drip, and I settled into the hospital bed, hoping to finally catch some sleep while the fluid did its work. I’d just drifted off when a sharp voice jolted me awake. “You can’t just fall asleep while you’re on a drip alone! What if something happens and no one’s watching?” Her tone was pure accusation. I pointed to the IV alarm clipped to my arm. “I bought this,” I explained, my voice raspy. “It’ll beep when the bag is almost empty.” The young nurse just rolled her eyes dismissively and walked away. A few minutes later, she was back, shaking me awake again. “Why isn’t your little gadget beeping? What if it’s broken? It’s a big deal if we miss changing the bag,” she said, her brow furrowed in exaggerated concern. My head was pounding. I fought back a wave of irritation. “The bag isn’t finished yet. It’ll go off when it’s time.” I turned over, desperate for sleep. The second I closed my eyes, a searing pain exploded across my cheek. The nurse had slapped me. The shock of it ripped me back to full consciousness. She was smiling, a smug look on her face. “Since you trust this alarm so much, why don’t you sign this?” “Once you sign,” she said, shoving a piece of paper at me, “anything that happens to you during this drip has nothing to do with me.” 1 I had fainted at my desk after powering through several sleepless nights to finish a project proposal. My boss, panicked, had rushed me to the hospital himself. He even gave me his blessing to go straight home and rest after the drip, knowing I had to face our demanding client tomorrow. The infusion room wasn’t quiet, but I was so sleep-deprived that the low hum of voices was a lullaby. After one last check of the blueprints I’d brought with me, I finally let my eyes close. I was deep in a dream when a piercing voice shattered the peace. “Hey! You can’t sleep while you’re on an IV, not when you’re here alone!” My eyelids felt like they were weighted down with lead. I tried to open them, but they wouldn’t budge. “Hey! What’s wrong with you? Didn’t you hear me talking to you?” “Don’t pretend! I know you’re awake. I saw your eyelids twitch!” The voice was a drill boring into my skull. Even a corpse would have been woken up by now. I finally managed to pry my eyes open. A young nurse was standing over my bed, hands on her hips, looking down at me like I was something she’d stepped in. “I knew you were faking,” she sniffed. “Making me call you all those times. What, you enjoy the feeling of being waited on?” I recognized her. She was the one who had set up my IV. It had taken her five tries to find a vein. I hadn’t said a word, but she’d been the one with tears welling in her eyes, as if I were the one bullying her. I sighed, my throat raw. “Is there a problem?” Honestly, I had no idea how someone with her attitude became a nurse. Even if I wanted to feel “waited on,” a hospital would be the last place I’d choose. Who enjoys being in a hospital? She gave a slight roll of her eyes. “What’s your deal? Coming in for a drip and not even a boyfriend to keep you company? And then you just pass out. What happens if the bag runs out?” Her voice was high and loud. The room fell silent. Everyone turned to stare at me, as if not having a boyfriend here was some kind of capital offense. Being woken up like that after finally finding a moment of peace was starting to piss me off. Still, I kept my anger in check and asked in the calmest voice I could manage, “Don’t you have nurses who make rounds? When the bag is empty, someone will come change it, right?” This wasn’t my first time getting an IV. On previous visits, there were always nurses keeping an eye on things. You didn’t need a chaperone. That’s why I’d told my boss he didn’t need to have a coworker stay with me. At my words, the young nurse’s thin eyebrows shot up. “Easy for you to say. Can’t you see how many people are in here? How am I supposed to take care of everyone by myself?” she snapped. “Just because you paid for the drip doesn’t mean you can act like a queen and expect us to serve you. Nurses are people too. A little consideration would be nice. We’re not your personal maids, you know.” I wanted to tell her that staffing was the hospital’s problem, not mine. And I wasn’t dying; if I needed a personal maid, I wouldn’t be hiring a nurse. But as I opened my mouth, a wave of nausea hit me. I clamped it shut to keep from throwing up. That just seemed to encourage her. “Hey, you look old enough to know better. You’re not considerate at all. No wonder you don’t have a man here with you.” She then muttered under her breath, “No boyfriend, not even any friends? I can tell you’re not a very popular person.” 2 Rage flared in my chest, making my headache even worse. How did getting an IV drip turn into a referendum on my love life and my character? Are single people not allowed to get sick? I wanted to fire back, but I was too dizzy, too drained. All I wanted was to sleep. I gave a weak wave of my hand. “Thanks for your concern,” I said quietly. “I’ll handle it.” She stared at me. “How are you going to handle it? You gonna call your boyfriend to come over?” I had no idea why she was so obsessed with my non-existent boyfriend. My life was just work, work, work. I was so exhausted I couldn’t even stand the sight of my own reflection, let alone have the energy for a relationship. Honestly, if I did have a boyfriend, I’d be starting to suspect this nurse was his side piece. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said wearily, “but that won’t stop me from handling this.” For some reason, that just seemed to make her angrier. I pulled out my phone, opened a delivery app, and ordered an IV alarm from the nearest pharmacy for rush delivery. I used to use one all the time; it would start beeping when the drip was about to finish. But since I’d come straight from the office, I didn’t have it with me. While I waited for the delivery, I sat up, too afraid of being woken up again to lie down. I glanced around the room and saw the young nurse whispering with another nurse. She was laughing, and she pointed in my direction. The other nurse covered her mouth in shock, then started laughing too. Annoyed, I turned away and took a few sips of water. The alarm arrived quickly. The delivery guy was nice enough to help me clip it onto the IV tube and even tested it to make sure it worked before he left. Just then, the nurse returned. She was changing the IV bag for the patient in the bed next to mine, talking to them in a sickly-sweet, passive-aggressive tone. “You know, some women think they can use their looks to flirt with every man they see. Even the delivery guy. It’s just so classless.” I was just about to lie down, but her words stopped me cold. “Who are you calling a flirt?” I demanded. My eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. The constant interruptions had me on a hair trigger. My glare must have been terrifying, because she flinched and her eyes darted away. “I wasn’t talking about anyone in particular,” she muttered, biting her lip before scurrying off. I fell back onto the bed, completely drained. I’ve never seen this nurse before in my life, I thought, bewildered. What did I ever do to her? She butchered my arm five times and I didn’t say a thing, and this is how she repays me? I should have filed a complaint after the second failed attempt. Muttering curses under my breath, it took me a long time to fall back asleep. I dreamed I had wowed the client. My boss gave me a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus and a month-long vacation. I was cheering in my dream when suddenly, someone shoved me, hard. The sensation was like being pushed off a cliff. My eyes flew open. And there she was. The nurse. A persistent, walking nightmare. She pointed at the alarm on my IV line. “This thing hasn’t made a sound. Are you sure it even works? If it’s defective and we miss the bag change, that could be a problem.” I gasped for breath, my heart hammering in my chest. For fuck’s sake, I screamed in my head. “The bag isn’t finished yet, of course it’s not beeping,” I said, my voice trembling. “It will alert me when it’s time.” The sudden shove had left me shaken, my heart pounding like a drum. The nurse eyed me suspiciously. “Why are you shaking? You don’t sound very confident. Are you lying?” I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm down. “I’m shaking because you scared the hell out of me! And why would I lie to you? What could I possibly gain from that? All I want is to sleep. Please, just leave me alone.” The frustration and exhaustion of being repeatedly disturbed finally boiled over, and my voice rose with each word. Her eyes widened, and tears instantly filled them. I had to laugh, a bitter, humorless sound. With acting skills like that, she should be in Hollywood, not here. The girl started crying, waving her hands defensively. “Ma’am, you must have misunderstood! I was just trying to be helpful, looking out for your well-being.” “You can’t blame me for your heart trouble, that’s not fair,” she sobbed. “You came to the hospital because you were already sick. Your health issues are your own problem, they have nothing to do with me.” 3 The nurse was young, probably just out of her teens, with a pale, innocent-looking face. Her tear-streaked performance was apparently very convincing, because it didn’t take long for someone to jump to her defense. A burly guy from a few beds over yelled at me, “Hey, the nurse is just doing her job! What’s with the attitude?” Seeing she had a supporter, the nurse’s sobs grew louder. “Thank you, sir. I’m just an intern… I’m so glad someone understands.” “If she blamed me for this, I could lose my job,” she whimpered. Her little act unleashed a wave of sympathy. “Come on, lady, she’s just a kid. You remember what it was like starting your first job, right? Don’t make things hard for her,” an older woman chimed in. “Yeah, I saw you when your coworker brought you in. You looked awful. You can’t blame the nurse for you being sick.” “I’ve heard about girls who get super catty and competitive over nothing. I guess they’ll even pick a fight with a pretty nurse…” The chorus of accusations completely chased away any hope of sleep. I sat up straight and fixed my gaze on the burly guy. “You saw me raise my voice at her, but you were blind when she was harassing me over and over?” Then I turned to the old woman. “I may be older than her, but when I was starting out, I knew how to respect people. I told her I have an IV alarm. I specifically asked her not to wake me. But she wouldn’t listen. She waited until I was asleep to bother me every single time. I have every reason to believe she’s doing it on purpose!” I scanned the room. “And all of you, you know I’m not well, yet you’re ganging up on me to defend her. If my condition gets worse because of this, every single one of you will be hearing from my lawyer!” It’s easy to be righteous when it’s not your problem. The moment I mentioned their own potential liability, they all shut up. With her backup gone, the nurse’s performance ended. She wiped away her crocodile tears and stalked off. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and looked up at my IV bag. There was still a fair bit left, probably another half hour to go. I lay back down, thinking, Finally, I can get some real rest. But just as I was drifting off, I heard a sharp smack. A searing pain shot across my face. I jerked my eyes open. The nurse was just pulling her hand back. It hit me. She had just slapped me.

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1 A few days after the Christmas holidays, Mason finally returned home from his trip. In the past, I would have already been waiting downstairs in the lobby to greet him with a hot coffee. This time, I didn’t even bother getting off the couch. My phone buzzed. His voice came through the speaker with his usual commanding tone. “Come down and help me with my bags.” I took a slow, leisurely sip of my chamomile tea and casually rejected him. “I’m busy. Bring them up yourself.” A few minutes later, while I was reclining in my lounge chair soaking up the afternoon sun, Mason walked through the front door, panting and dragging his heavy suitcase. The second he walked in, he started complaining about how starving he was and ordered me to make him lunch. If this were the old me, I would have immediately rushed into the kitchen to cater to his every whim. But today, I just gave him a blank look and told him I wasn’t feeling well. I told him to order DoorDash. Mason was clearly irritated. He suppressed his temper and tried to explain himself, assuming I was still throwing a fit over the fact that he spent Christmas Day keeping Stella company instead of me. He told me to grow up and stop causing drama. I sat up, smoothed out my hair, and calmly told him I wasn’t angry at all. He lit a cigarette. He stubbornly insisted that Stella was just a fragile girl living all alone in the city. He claimed it was dangerous for her to be lonely during the holidays, and as her friend, it was his duty to be there for her. I simply nodded and gave a flat reply. “You’re right.” Mason stared deeply into my eyes, desperately trying to find the familiar jealousy and desperation he was used to. Finding nothing, he rubbed his temples, claiming he was exhausted from his trip and demanding that I show some understanding. I looked right back at him. I repeated that I wasn’t causing drama, and he didn’t need to explain himself to me. My utter indifference left Mason completely speechless. He awkwardly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled plastic bag, tossing it onto the coffee table. He said it was my late Christmas present. Inside the bag was a smooth river stone, the cheap acrylic paint on it still slightly sticky. It was a laughable contrast to the diamond tennis bracelet Stella had flaunted on her Instagram story the night before. I thanked him with a completely expressionless face. There was none of the overwhelming joy he had been waiting for. Mason froze. He demanded to know why I wasn’t surprised or happy. I calmly reminded him that this was the twentieth painted rock he had gifted me over the years. His face instantly turned an ugly shade of purple. Changing the subject, he held out his hand and asked where his present was. I shrugged my shoulders and told him I forgot to prepare one. I pulled out my phone, casually offering to just buy him whatever he wanted right now on Amazon. Mason’s pupils constricted. He clearly never expected me to forget. Every single year, picking out his perfect gift was my absolute biggest priority, even though he never once bothered to get me anything of actual value. The air in the living room seemed to freeze solid. We stared at each other in suffocating silence until I picked up my purse and headed for the door. He grabbed my arm, demanding to know where I was going. “Going out with my friends,” I answered flatly. I pulled my arm out of his grip and walked out the door, completely ignoring the string of curses he shouted behind me. Ever since I started dating Mason, his manipulative complaints about wanting to be my “one and only confidant” made me slowly cut off my entire social circle. My friends all thought I had lost my mind. They knew Mason was suffocatingly possessive, so they eventually stopped inviting me out. But now, I was finally reclaiming the freedom and joy that belonged to me. 2 After a few rounds of fruity cocktails, my friends started pouring their hearts out. “We honestly thought you forgot about us the second you got with Mason. If you ever ghost us like that again, we are officially cutting you out of the group chat.” I downed another shot and nodded aggressively, making a solemn vow. “Forget Mason. Forget men. From now on, the girl squad comes first. I promise I’m just a phone call away.” Since getting together with Mason, I had prioritized him above everything else in my life. Whether it was my career or my personal life, he always took the top spot. I abandoned my own support system and drifted completely away from the people who actually cared about me. Looking back on it now, I was unbelievably stupid. I checked my phone screen. Not a single text from him. By the time I finally satisfied my craving for a night out and headed home, it was already three in the morning. I flipped on the living room lights and instantly spotted Mason sitting on the sofa, his face completely black with rage. I rubbed my eyes, genuinely thinking I was hallucinating. Why the hell was Mason awake and waiting for me at this hour? When Mason smelled the heavy scent of alcohol radiating off my clothes, he didn’t even attempt to help me balance. He just looked at me with pure disgust. He covered his nose and sneered. “Harper, why are you letting yourself go like this? I get that you’re jealous, but you shouldn’t trash your own body. Who are you getting blackout drunk for? Do you actually think this makes me feel sorry for you?” The room was spinning. I was seeing stars, and Mason’s angry face was blurring into double vision. Mason frowned as I stumbled against the wall. He muttered under his breath. “You really think you’re so tough, drinking yourself into a state like this.” “Stella and I are completely innocent. We have a pure friendship. There is absolutely no reason for you to be this insanely jealous, turning yourself into a pathetic mess just to prove a point.” I shook my heavy head. “You’re overthinking it. I only drank this much because I finally realized the truth.” Seeing me sway dangerously, Mason’s voice grew harsh and authoritative. “Harper, what more do you want from me? I swallowed my pride and tried to make peace with you, and you’re still not satisfied? When are you going to stop throwing these tantrums? Why can’t you be gentle and understanding like Stella? I have put up with your attitude for way too long. I am not going to spend the rest of my life walking on eggshells to accommodate you.” My head was throbbing. Hearing his voice only made the pounding worse. I leaned against the doorway, exhausted. “Just stop talking. I need to sleep.” Mason finally shut his mouth. He poured a glass of water and stepped forward, trying to help me toward the master bedroom. An image of him and Stella tangled up together flashed through my mind. I violently recoiled, dodging his touch. I blindly navigated my way into the guest bedroom and locked the door behind me. Mason furiously pounded on the wood. I completely ignored him and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. When I woke up the next morning and opened the door, Mason was standing there with his arms crossed, radiating a freezing anger. I knew he was furious. But I looked right through him, treating him like empty air. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and walked right out the door to handle my own business. 3 I went straight to my office and handed in my resignation. The job paid garbage and the workload was miserable. If it weren’t for the fact that the office was located right next to Mason’s building, I would have quit years ago. I was completely done suffering for his convenience. My manager tried begging me to stay, but my mind was made up. A few weeks ago, I finally received an answer to a resume I had sent out on a whim. I was offered a highly lucrative executive position at a globally recognized tech firm. This company had always been my absolute dream. I had actually rejected an initial interview with them a year ago just to stay close to Mason. Thankfully, life gave me a second chance, and it wasn’t too late. After finalizing my two weeks’ notice, I handed off my remaining projects and called my girls to plan a celebration. My friends were thrilled for me. But after a moment of cheering, one of them asked the inevitable question. “What about Mason? Is he relocating with you?” I laughed softly into the receiver. “No. He’s staying here. It’s just going to be me. I’m going to end things with him.” With my work transition handled, I started organizing my visa and immigration documents. I didn’t have any parents. In this country, aside from my small circle of friends, Mason was all I had left. I used to foolishly believe that wherever Mason was, that was my home. But now, Mason had become someone else’s home. I was a stray. A piece of driftwood floating aimlessly, ready to let the current take me wherever I was meant to go. When I returned to the apartment, Mason was right in the middle of getting ready to leave. His hair was perfectly styled. He was wearing brand new designer leather shoes and a tailored suit that highlighted his athletic build perfectly. In his hand, he carefully held an exquisite, custom-made artisan cake. I knew exactly what today was. Today was Stella’s birthday. Mason was heading out to celebrate with her. He was on the phone. When he saw me, he held up a finger, signaling me to stay quiet. Then, his voice melted into absolute adoration. “Be good, okay? I got you everything you wanted. I know exactly what you like. Nothing is too expensive for you, babe.” I didn’t know what the person on the other end of the line said, but Mason let out a rare, genuine laugh. His eyes were overflowing with tenderness. Seeing a smile like that directed at me would have been a miracle. He just kept smiling, acting as if I didn’t even exist. But the second he hung up and locked eyes with me, his brow furrowed, and every trace of joy vanished from his face. He granted Stella’s every single wish. He went above and beyond for her. Yet he couldn’t even spare a basic smile for the woman he lived with. His expression turned dark and gloomy. Without saying a single word, he pushed past me with an aura of total disgust. He refused to stay in the same room as me for even a second longer. The front door slammed shut, loud and aggressive. I knew exactly what this was. Mason was punishing me. He was initiating a cold war. And just like every single time before, it was all because of Stella. In the past, I would have broken down. I would have swallowed my pride, begged for forgiveness, and practically slapped myself in the face to get him to talk to me again. Even when he openly showered Stella with affection right in front of me, I used to brainwash myself into accepting it, convincing myself that to love him meant loving his friends too. But right now, I felt nothing but perfect tranquility. I went to the kitchen and started looking up recipes for authentic pasta. I was moving overseas. I needed to start adapting my palate. 4 Just as I finished eating my homemade dinner, I scrolled past Stella’s new post on Instagram. The caption read: “To be loved is to never go to sleep crying.” The comments section was flooded by Mason’s entire friend group. “Damn, Mason! Sneaking off to spoil your girl again!” I scrolled through the replies. Every single one of his guys was hyping her up. Mason’s friends had always looked down on me. They genuinely believed I was the toxic third wheel standing in the way of Mason and Stella’s epic romance. They firmly believed that if I weren’t in the picture, Mason’s life would be flawless. I looked at Mason’s reply to the thread. His friends were absolutely right. Without me, he really would be happier. Mason had replied: “True love conquers all. The right person will always be standing in your future.” I watched them flirt back and forth like a pair of dramatic high schoolers. The comments were flooded with heart emojis. Then, Zack, one of Mason’s closest friends, chimed in with a teasing comment. “You guys better tone it down. Aren’t you worried Harper will see this? She’s obsessively in love with you, bro. Aren’t you scared she’ll throw a massive fit?” I had politely reminded Mason on countless occasions to establish some boundaries with Stella. It was just basic respect to prevent exactly this kind of humiliating gossip. But his friends always called me a classless, uncultured nag. They told me I acted like his mother, and if I was so desperate to control a man, I should just go birth a son of my own instead of treating Mason like a child. Mason never defended me. He silently endorsed their insults, turning around to verbally abuse me himself, claiming my petty jealousy would ruin his reputation. I didn’t fly into a hysterical rage. I didn’t call him to scream. I just kept casually scrolling through TikTok, listening to music until I naturally drifted off to sleep. When Mason finally came home, I was deep in a pleasant dream. He grabbed my shoulders and violently shook me awake. He glared down at me, his voice dripping with venom. “Harper, do you honestly not give a damn about me anymore?! I was out in the city the entire night. Zack’s fiancée was blowing up his phone every ten minutes checking on him. And you? Radio silence! What the hell is your problem? You never used to act like this!” 5 I rubbed my sleepy eyes, completely baffled by his unhinged temper tantrum. Whenever I used to text him asking when he would be home, he would completely lose his mind. He used to scream at me, “Can you rein in your psychotic control issues?! I am a grown man! I need freedom! Don’t you think you’re suffocating me?!” Now that I was giving him exactly what he asked for, he was claiming I was the villain. I honestly couldn’t comprehend his twisted logic. I didn’t bother dragging up the past. I just gave him a cold, flat response. “You’re out drinking, networking, and providing for us. Wouldn’t you be annoyed if I was constantly breathing down your neck? Plus, you said it yourself. You and Stella are strictly platonic. What could I possibly have to be suspicious or worried about?” Mason looked visibly stunned by my sudden display of “maturity.” Or maybe he was just shocked that I could say Stella’s name without descending into hysterics. He gave a slow nod, awkwardly trying to justify himself. “That Instagram comment was just to make Stella feel better on her birthday. Don’t take what my friends say to heart.” I stared blankly at the edge of the blanket, about to speak, but Mason cut me off. “What is with your attitude? Are you still holding a grudge because I went to her birthday dinner? She has a pure heart. She’s incredibly innocent. Yes, we’ve shared a bed before, and yes, we share drinks, but we have never done anything to betray you. We are best friends. If I didn’t show up for my best friend’s birthday, wouldn’t that make me garbage?” I closed my eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. “I understand. You did the right thing. It’s incredibly late. You should get some sleep.” Mason fell completely silent. His dark, glittering eyes locked onto my face, desperately trying to test if I was secretly holding back a volcanic rage. After thirty seconds, he gave up. He reached out, trying to pull me into a hug. I immediately took a step back, dodging his hands. “We should sleep in separate rooms,” I said evenly. “You must be exhausted from partying all night. I don’t want to disturb your rest.” 6 Mason looked completely lost for a second. Was I actively rejecting him? I had never done anything like this before. Frustrated and deeply annoyed, he slammed the bedroom door and stormed out, leaving me alone in the master suite. The moment the door clicked shut, I went straight back to sleep. Ever since I killed every last ounce of hope I had for Mason, the quality of my sleep had skyrocketed. At six o’clock the next evening, I received a surprise call from my old college mentor, Professor Davis. He had somehow found out I was relocating overseas. He insisted on taking me out to dinner to see me off. I tried to politely decline, not wanting to inconvenience him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wanted to organize a farewell dinner with a bunch of my old classmates. Faced with his overwhelming generosity, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. But what I entirely failed to anticipate was that Mason would be sitting at the restaurant table when I arrived. I lowered my eyes, a self-deprecating smile touching my lips. I had completely forgotten that Mason was also one of Professor Davis’s former students. And sitting right next to Mason, with a radiant, victorious smile on her face, was Stella. He actually brought her to my college reunion. They truly couldn’t stand to be apart for a single second. When Mason caught sight of me, he started aggressively gesturing with his eyes, signaling me to take the empty seat beside him. I looked right through him. They looked like the perfect, sickeningly sweet couple. It was better for me not to interrupt their little fantasy and make a nuisance of myself. Stella made eye contact with me from across the table, offering a fake, plastic smile. Then, she stood up, smoothed out her dress, and walked over to me, putting on a sickeningly sweet, innocent voice. “Harper, you don’t mind that I crashed your little reunion, do you? If my presence makes you unhappy, I can leave right now. I was just so bored at home, and Mason insisted on bringing me along so I wouldn’t be lonely.” Mason looked at Stella with profound admiration, clearly incredibly satisfied with her polite little speech. When he looked at me, his eyes were brimming with smug superiority. I smoothed down the edge of my skirt and stood up. “Professor Davis organized this dinner. Naturally, I don’t mind at all.” I sat back down and focused entirely on my food. During the appetizers, my phone started vibrating relentlessly in my purse. I pulled it out. It was a flood of texts from Mason. “I only brought her out of the goodness of my heart. There are absolutely no romantic feelings involved.” “If you’re upset, I apologize.” I scrolled down to the very last message. “When dinner is over, I’m driving you home. Wait for me.” I took a slow sip of my orange juice, typed out a reply, and hit send. “You should drive Stella. I took my own car. It’s not safe for a fragile girl like her to go home alone in the dark.” I switched my phone to silent, shoved it back into my bag, and devoted my full attention to the garlic butter crab and roasted chicken, completely tuning Mason out of existence. The dinner was a massive success. The table was full of laughter and nostalgic stories. Professor Davis’s face was flushed red from the wine. He stood up at the head of the table, raising his glass high in my direction. “Harper, you were always my most promising student. When you first asked me to be your advisor, you told me your ultimate dream was to work overseas. But after graduation, you lost your drive and chose to stay anchored here.” He paused, a deeply emotional smile spreading across his face. “But thankfully, you found your way back to the path! You’re finally moving! You are finally chasing your dream, and I couldn’t be more proud of you! Here’s to a brilliant, shining future!” Tears welled up in my eyes. I was so incredibly moved that he still remembered my ambitions and was cheering me on. Meanwhile, Mason was staring at me with a look of pure, devastated shock. He had absolutely no idea I was leaving the country.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “424977”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The System bound my fate to my wife a long time ago. If we ever got a divorce, I would be entirely wiped from this world, never to see her again. She, of course, had absolutely no idea. That morning, my wife’s young personal assistant threw a tantrum online. He posted a cryptic story on Instagram, whining about how he could no longer stand being a secret, how he hated their vague relationship. Winona, a woman who built her empire on being completely cold and calculating, panicked. I had never seen her look so desperate. She rushed into our penthouse, her heels clicking frantically against the marble floor. She looked me dead in the eye and said, “Toby is making a massive scene this time. Let us just file for a fake divorce to calm him down. You can go stay at your parents’ old cabin for a few days until this blows over.” She grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. “Ian, please trust me. This is just a temporary fix to keep him quiet. You are my only real husband, I promise.” Watching her sweat over another man’s feelings, I just silently nodded. After I agreed, Winona wasted no time. She drove us straight to City Hall. I sat in the passenger seat, remembering a time when I asked her to grab a snack from the pantry for me, and she complained that I was wasting her time. Now, she was breaking speed limits for him. Standing in the lobby of City Hall, she held my hands, her eyes wide and pleading. “Ian, just give me seven days. I just need a week to coax him out of this mood, and then we will file the paperwork to remarry, okay?” She forced a bright smile, pulling out a velvet box. “Once I smooth things over with him, I will buy you whatever you want. Anything.” I gave her a numb, mechanical nod. She lined up the expensive watches and designer cufflinks she bought me as a “divorce gift” on the waiting room table. I did not even glance at them. These shiny little trinkets were just tools. Bribes to clear her conscience so she could go sleep with her assistant. I left them on the table and quietly walked out the glass doors. Winona always had a string of young, pretty boys around her. Even after we got married, her “assistants” had a suspiciously high turnover rate. They were always gorgeous, fresh out of college, and desperate for her attention. In the early years, I fought with her. I screamed, I begged, I threatened to leave. She would always cry, apologize, shower me with affection, and then go right back to her old habits. Eventually, I just stopped caring. I accepted that this was her nature. As long as she still came home to me and called me her husband, I swallowed the pain. But this new boy was different. She had genuinely fallen for this kid. She blew hundreds of thousands of dollars just to make him smile. She left me alone on holidays to take him on secret trips to Europe. She ignored my emergency phone calls just because Toby got jealous when her phone rang. And now, just to stroke his ego, she dragged me here to terminate our marriage. She was even planning to throw him a massive, multimillion-dollar fake wedding just to prove her devotion. Her heart had packed its bags and left me a long time ago. We walked out of the double doors together. Toby was already waiting by the curb, leaning against her sleek black Porsche. The second he saw us, his eyes lit up. He jogged right past me and practically threw himself at Winona. “Winona! You are finally done. I missed you so much, let us get out of here!” He completely ignored the dark, warning look on Winona’s face. He turned to me, plastering on a fake, overly sweet smile, and offered a dramatic little bow. “Thank you so much, Ian. Your exit finally gave me a real chance. Do not worry about Winona, I am going to take amazing care of her!” He opened his mouth to gloat some more, but Winona stepped forward and slapped him hard across the cheek. The crack echoed in the street. “Shut your mouth!” she hissed. “Did I not tell you to stay hidden in the car? If you pull a stunt like this again, you are fired. Do you hear me?” Toby clutched his red cheek, his eyes filling with dramatic, calculated tears. “But you guys are divorced now! Why are you still protecting him?” Winona shoved him hard against the car door. “I warned you about crossing the line. Do not make me repeat myself.” Sensing that Winona was genuinely furious, Toby finally backed down. He ducked into the passenger seat, letting out a pathetic little whimper. Winona watched him get in. Her hand twitched, reaching out as if she wanted to comfort him, but she forced herself to pull it back. She turned to block my view of the car, playing the role of the fiercely protective wife. Years ago, Winona swore to me that no matter how much she messed around, she would never let her dirt touch my shoes. She promised I would never have to face her mistakes. That was why she was panicking now. She looked at me, her face pale and frantic. “Ian, I am so sorry. I swear I did not know he was going to ambush us like this. I have been spoiling him too much lately, he forgot his place. I will deal with him.” I slowly shook my head. I signaled that it was fine. I had seen her do much worse things behind closed doors. A little public gloating from her sugar baby did not even register on my radar anymore. “Since he is already here, you should go be with him,” I said, my voice completely flat. “I do not need your help. I will call an Uber, pack my bags, and disappear.” Winona froze, clearly thrown off by how calm I was. She swallowed hard. “Ian, wherever you want to go, just send me the bills. Take a nice vacation. Spend whatever you want.” I nodded, saying nothing, and started walking down the block. The moment I stepped off the curb, a cold, mechanical voice chimed inside my skull. “Ian Pendelton. The System has confirmed your legal divorce and separation from Winona Croft. The companion mission is officially terminated.” “In exactly seven days, you will contract a terminal illness and pass away, permanently exiting this world.” Eight years ago, I fell asleep on my couch reading a fantasy novel and woke up in this universe. I was bound to the Companionship System and dropped right into Winona’s life. The System gave me a choice. I had to either stay by her side for eight full years, or help her achieve massive wealth and happiness to complete the game. With my guidance, Winona’s tiny startup exploded into a tech empire worth hundreds of millions. Her happiness meter maxed out years ago. I could have left then. But I chose to stay. Over those eight years, I made the fatal mistake of actually falling in love with her. I could not bear the thought of leaving. The System told me that if I simply stayed married to her until the eight-year mark, I would be granted permanent residency in this world. I truly thought I was going to grow old with her. But I was exactly seven days short of the finish line when she demanded this divorce. And because the mission failed, my punishment was death and a forced eviction from this reality. With nowhere else to go, I booked a quiet hotel room downtown. On the cab ride over, I stared out the window. Every digital billboard, every bus stop poster was plastered with leaked paparazzi photos of Winona and Toby. The media was going absolutely crazy over the billionaire CEO preparing a “secret fairy-tale wedding” for her young lover. Seeing the photos of them trying on designer tuxedos and custom gowns, it finally clicked. No wonder she was in such a frantic rush to sign the divorce papers. She needed the legal freedom to give her little pet the ultimate romantic surprise. My mind drifted back to my very first day in this world. The System had pointed me toward a struggling, exhausted Winona. The second her eyes met mine, she looked at me like I was the only light in a pitch-black room. From that day forward, she swore I was the love of her life. She promised she would burn the world down just to keep me safe. And for a long time, she actually proved it. She remembered my coffee order, the exact temperature I liked my shower, the way I folded my shirts. I felt like the absolute center of her universe. When her wealthy, old-money parents refused to let her marry a nobody like me, she stood in the freezing rain outside their estate for two whole days. She caught a terrible fever, practically starving herself until they finally caved. At our modest little wedding, she held my hands, looked up at the sky, and screamed her vows. “I, Winona, swear to love Ian Pendelton for the rest of my life! Forever and ever!” She lied. I walked into my hotel room and lay down on the crisp white sheets. Before I could even kick off my shoes, a violent tickle erupted in my chest. I coughed, and a mouthful of dark crimson blood splattered all over the pillows. I stared at the red stains, wiped my mouth, and hailed another cab to the hospital. It seemed the System was not going to let these final seven days be peaceful. The doctors ran every scan in the building. They stared at the charts, completely baffled. Physically, my organs were just shutting down for absolutely no scientific reason. They handed me a bottle of heavy painkillers and sent me away. Sitting in the hospital lobby, I chuckled bitterly. I wondered what kind of face Winona would make when she found out I was actually dead. But before I expired, I had one last errand to run. I needed to say goodbye to her parents. They were the only people in this foreign universe who treated me like actual family. Since my days were numbered, it was only right to give them a quiet warning. I took a cab to their sprawling suburban estate. As I walked up the driveway, I heard shouting through the open living room window. Winona was standing in the center of the room, shielding Toby behind her back. “Mom, Dad, please! Ian is busy. I brought Toby here to drop off some gifts. There is no need to smash the crystal!” Her father was red in the face, pointing a shaking finger at the door. “You ungrateful brat! Let me make this crystal clear. Ian is my only son-in-law!” “Tell this little parasite to get the hell out of my house! Get out!” Her mother was clutching her chest, looking pale and furious. “Listen to your father, Winona! Take him and leave! Ian has never done a single thing to hurt you. How can you be so cruel?” Hearing them defend me, a tiny sliver of warmth cracked through the ice in my chest. Back then, I spent years trying to win them over. I cooked for them every Sunday, drove them to their doctor appointments, and fixed up their garden. Eventually, they loved me like their own flesh and blood. Winona gritted her teeth, her pride wounded. “I already talked to Ian. He signed the papers. He agreed to this.” “I am not asking you to adopt Toby. I just brought him to say hello. Do you really have to be this incredibly toxic and disrespectful? Come on, Toby. We are leaving.” Winona grabbed Toby’s wrist, her face burning with anger, and stormed toward the front door. It was a spitting image of the day she dragged me out of this exact house, screaming that she would choose me over her family. Only this time, I was the one being replaced. I quickly set my sealed medical report on the porch, intending to slip away into the garden. But the front door swung open violently. Winona froze on the welcome mat, locking eyes with me. “Ian?” Pure, unfiltered panic flashed across her face. She clearly had not expected me to catch her playing playing house with her new boy. I did not say a word. I just pointed to the envelope on the mat, turned around, and walked down the long driveway. I was almost back to my hotel when my phone buzzed. A barrage of texts from Winona. “Ian, I swear I only brought him there because he was throwing a fit. He was crying about wanting a real wedding, so I took him to meet my parents to shut him up.” “I promise you, the wedding is just a massive theatrical production. It is completely fake. You are my actual husband.” She typed incredibly fast. She had clearly rehearsed this exact lie in her head a million times. I did not know how many months she had been secretly planning this extravagant wedding. I did not know how long I had been completely erased from her heart. All I knew was that in exactly five days, I would never have to look at her face again. I wandered aimlessly through the downtown streets. My feet carried me entirely on autopilot, stopping in front of the rustic little coffee shop where Winona and I had our first date. The bells on the door jingled. The smell of roasted beans was painfully familiar. But the two people sitting at our favorite corner booth were Winona and Toby. Toby was holding a cocktail glass, wrapping his arm tightly around Winona’s neck. They were both flushed, their eyes heavy with alcohol and pure lust. “Come on, Winona,” Toby purred, holding up his glass. “Let us link arms and take a shot. Like a real married couple.” A couple’s toast. My memory violently ripped me back to our wedding night. She looked angelic in her cheap, rented white dress, her eyes shining with tears as we linked our arms and drank champagne. But for the last three years, she refused to drink with me. Every time I poured us a glass, she claimed she was too tired or had an early meeting. Yet here she was, linking arms with Toby, throwing back shot after shot. The shop owner, who knew me well, noticed me standing by the door. His eyes darted between me and the couple in the corner, his jaw dropping in pure shock. To the outside world, Winona and I were the ultimate power couple. Only I knew the rotting, hollow reality of my marriage. Following the owner’s awkward stare, Toby turned around. The moment he saw me, his smug grin vanished into a deep frown. He put his drink down and marched over to me, putting on his best puppy-dog victim face. “Ian, seriously? I told you I just needed her for a few days. Do you have to stalk us?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I am not going to steal her from you forever. Please, just let us have this week. Just give me these last few days, and I swear I will never bother you guys again!” Winona finally noticed me. The drunken, lustful flush drained from her face instantly, leaving her completely pale. “Toby, back off,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “Do not talk to Ian like that. Watch your mouth.” Toby flinched, biting his lip. He slowly backed away, sinking into a bar stool and staring at the floor. Winona rushed over to me. She grabbed my arm, her grip painfully tight. Her brow was deeply furrowed. “Ian! I told you, he is not a threat to you. You are my husband, and you always will be!” She lowered her voice, her tone turning frantic. “Once this stupid fake wedding is over, we will sign the papers and go back to normal. But please, you cannot keep showing up like this. Do not ruin this for me. Just stay away until it is done, okay?” By the end of her sentence, she was practically raising her voice, a harsh, desperate edge bleeding into her tone. I did not scream. I did not beg. Just like the day she asked me for a divorce, I simply gave her a quiet, dead nod, pulled my arm free, and walked out the door. Winona reached out to grab me again, her mouth opening to say something, but no words came out. The greatest tragedy of a broken heart is dead silence. When you finally give up on someone, even the desire to be angry completely vanishes. For the next few days, I did not leave the hotel room. The System’s illness was ravaging my body, turning my muscles to jelly. I lay in bed, waiting for the clock to run out. On the final morning, my phone lit up with a text from Toby. “Hey Ian. Today is my wedding day with Winona. You coming?” My legs were incredibly weak. I had to buy a heavy wooden cane from the hotel lobby just to keep myself upright. I honestly could not explain why I wanted to go to their wedding. Maybe a dark, twisted part of me just thought it would be incredibly funny to drop dead right in the middle of their perfect fairy tale. The venue was crawling with Winona’s high-society friends and corporate partners. I was an alien in this world. I had no friends, no family, no one to talk to. Winona was my entire universe. The guests noticed me limping through the garden. They shot me looks of pity, mockery, and pure disgust. I had seen those exact looks a million times during her previous affairs. I was totally immune to it. The internet was already blowing up with live streams of the event. Everyone was talking about the billionaire’s ex-husband showing up to crash the party. I hobbled over the manicured grass, taking in the scenery. The stage was set up right against a stunning, crystal-blue lake. Fluffy white clouds reflected perfectly in the water. The aisles were lined with thousands of imported white roses, Toby’s absolute favorite flower. When Winona and I got married, we were dead broke. We signed a piece of paper at a dingy courthouse. She always told me her dream was to have a massive outdoor wedding by the water, drowning in white flowers. I promised her I would give it to her. I promised that the second we made our first million, I would rent out a lake and give her the dress of her dreams. But the moment we finally had the money, before I could even book the venue, she decided to wear the dress for another man. Everything here was bought with the blood, sweat, and tears I poured into her company. And she used it to build a shrine for Toby. The string quartet started playing. Winona walked down the aisle in a custom, diamond-encrusted gown. She looked at Toby with a smile so bright it actually hurt my eyes. “Toby,” she whispered, tears of pure joy spilling over her lashes. “You have no idea how many nights I dreamed of this exact moment.” She reached out, gently cupping his face. “Marrying you has been my ultimate fantasy. And today, I finally get to make it real. My true love.” Toby squeezed out a few tears of his own, but his eyes were gleaming with pure, unfiltered greed and victory. “Winona, the very first day I walked into your office, I fell madly in love with you. Being yours forever is all I ever wanted.” They leaned in and shared a deep, passionate kiss. The crowd erupted. Billionaires and socialites stood up, clapping, cheering, and whistling for the happy couple. Eleven years ago, a much smaller crowd gave me that exact same applause. Everyone was screaming, celebrating the triumph of true love. I just sat in a folding chair in the very back row, leaning heavily on my cane, watching the beautiful nightmare unfold as tears quietly slipped down my cheeks. Toby pulled away from the kiss and immediately scanned the crowd. He spotted me in the back. A nasty, venomous smirk spread across his lips. He tapped the microphone, signaling the crowd to quiet down. He looked directly at me. “I really need to take a second to thank someone very special for making this marriage possible.” Every single head in the venue whipped around to stare at me. Everyone knew who I was. The tragic, discarded ex-husband. They were all holding their breath, waiting for me to cause a scene so they could laugh at me. I looked past the crowd, locking eyes with my wife. Winona looked utterly terrified. She ripped the microphone out of Toby’s hand, leaning in to whisper furiously in his ear. But she forgot to mute it. Her frantic voice echoed over the massive speakers. “What the hell are you doing? I told you not to provoke him today!” She turned to look at me, her eyes practically begging. After spending a decade with her, I knew exactly what that look meant. She was begging me to swallow my pride and stay quiet so I would not ruin her perfect aesthetic. I let out a dry, rattling laugh. I spent eight years giving her my actual soul, and she could not even grant me an ounce of human decency at the very end. She knew Toby was going to publicly execute my dignity, and she just wanted me to take it quietly. I ignored the whispers. I ignored the mocking stares. I leaned on my cane and slowly, agonizingly, dragged myself down the aisle and up the steps onto the stage. I took the microphone from Winona’s trembling hand. I did not care what she had to say anymore. Her heart belonged to Toby, and my time was up. I looked at the two of them standing there in their expensive wedding clothes. I started laughing. The laughter bubbled up from my chest, mixing with thick, hot tears. “System,” I whispered into the cold air. “Let me leave.”

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I used visiting out-of-town family as an excuse to dodge our ten-year high school reunion. As fate would have it, I had dinner plans with an old friend that same night. I never expected to crash right into my former classmates at the exact same upscale hotel restaurant. Right in the center of the crowd stood Tristan. He was the golden boy I had secretly crushed on for three years in high school, currently laughing and holding court. Our eyes locked across the room. He visibly stiffened. The woman clinging to his arm narrowed her eyes, her voice dripping with venom. “It’s been a decade. Why is she still haunting you like a ghost?” A heavy sigh caught in my throat. I turned on my heel to leave, but several voices called out, pinning me in place. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Swine Queen. Did visiting your relatives somehow lead you to a five-star hotel?” “She probably found out Tristan was here. Even the pig farmer learned how to put on some makeup for the occasion.” Someone pointed at the roasted pork belly appetizer on their table, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “You’re late, sweetheart. Your livestock relatives are already being served.” Looking at their sneering, bitter faces, a genuine laugh escaped my lips. Ten years had passed, and they were still hopelessly clueless about modern, multi-million-dollar agricultural enterprises. 1 “Sally, the gorgeous. Long time no see. Aren’t you going to say hello?” Derek lit a cigarette, his eyes doing a slow, greasy crawl up and down my body. I took a good look at him. It took me a second to remember that this was the same guy who had shoved two desperate love letters into my locker back in the day, both of which I had rejected. The scrawny, awkward kid from my memory had ballooned into a balding middle-aged man whose belt was fighting a losing battle against his gut. The isolated boy who used to blush when spoken to had morphed into a slick, overconfident creep. The whole table looked different from the kids I remembered. Seeing my silence, they exchanged knowing glances and chuckled. “We practically begged her to come and she said no. But the second she hears Tristan is attending, she magically shows up to stage a little ‘accidental’ run-in.” “Guess we just weren’t important enough to grace with her presence.” I lowered my gaze to my best friend, Sophie, who was standing right behind me. So this was her grand plan. She had dragged me to this specific restaurant just to trick me into attending the reunion. Seeing the pleading look in her eyes, I offered a soft smile and pulled out a chair. “Since we bumped into each other, you don’t mind squeezing in two more chairs, right?” A former classmate laughed, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “Of course you’re welcome! It’s been forever since we saw you and Sophie. We all assumed you two moved out of state.” “No.” Sophie smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m a pediatric nurse at the city hospital. And Sally… she…” “Oh, we know.” Derek cut Sophie off, blowing a ring of smoke. “She went back to the pigs.” He gave a condescending snort. “Her old man paid for her tuition by shoveling manure, and now she’s doing the exact same thing. A real family legacy, isn’t it?” The entire table erupted into laughter. Sophie frowned, her protective instincts flaring. “That’s not true! Sally isn’t just doing what her dad did. She runs a highly successful corporate…” “Sophie, please. Don’t embarrass yourself by making up lies just because she’s your friend.” A girl whose name I couldn’t even recall suddenly chimed in. “Victoria ran into her just last week. Said Sally was still driving her dad’s beat-up old pickup truck, delivering raw meat to people.” Sophie’s face burned crimson. She opened her mouth to argue, but I grabbed her wrist and gave my head a slight shake. This toxic, suffocating atmosphere was exactly why I had declined the invitation in the first place. I had zero desire to explain myself to these people. Once the check was paid tonight, I would never see them again. Explaining my life to them was a total waste of breath. Victoria finally unhooked her arm from Tristan’s and offered me a sickly sweet smile. “Sally, I am so sorry. Was I not supposed to tell everyone I saw you? I just recognized that awful truck and wanted to ask the group if it was really you.” I nodded coolly. “It was me. My dad is getting older. When his back flares up, I help him run deliveries to his legacy clients.” Bless her heart. After ten whole years, she still remembered exactly what my father’s old truck looked like. Seeing that I didn’t deny it, Derek scoffed. “Corporate? You need a corporation to slop pigs? My bad, I shouldn’t call you a dirty farm girl. I should call you…” He dragged out the syllables, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The Chief Executive Swineherd.” “That is enough.” The sharp voice cut through the giggles. It was Tristan. He had been completely silent since I walked in. He scanned the room, his jaw tight. “It’s a rare night for all of us to be together. What is the point of obsessing over pig farming?” 2 The moment the golden boy spoke, the private dining room shifted gears, pivoting instantly to flattery and brown-nosing. “Honestly, out of all of us, Tristan is the one who really made it.” “He was the valedictorian, graduated from an Ivy League business school, and came straight back to a Senior VP role at a top-tier investment bank. The guy is unstoppable.” “Not to mention he’s paying the entire tab for tonight! I say we raise a glass to the boss!” The tension in Tristan’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “It is just nice to see everyone. The bill is nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Someone else chimed in, eager to score points. “A killer career is one thing, but look at his lady! Victoria’s parents are old money, both corporate executives. Talk about a power couple!” “Seriously, it is so rare for high school sweethearts to make it. When is the wedding?” Victoria beamed, wrapping her arms around Tristan’s bicep again. “Stop it, you guys. Tristan and I just got lucky with our careers, that’s all. As for a wedding…” She cast a coy, blushing look at the man beside her. “That is entirely up to him.” Listening to the clinking glasses and the hollow praises, I felt a bone-deep wave of boredom. I kept my head down, eating a piece of roasted duck in silence. Suddenly, a guy who had clearly downed too many shots pointed a sloppy finger at me. “Hey, wait a second. Wasn’t Sally your girlfriend back in the day, Tristan?” He slurred his words, swaying in his seat. “When did… when did you swap her out?” Glasses froze halfway to people’s mouths. The air in the room turned to lead. Tristan’s polite smile shattered. “You are remembering things wrong,” he said, every word clipped and tight. The drunk guy frowned, confused. “No way, man. You bought her breakfast every morning. You tutored her after class. Literally everyone knew.” “She used to show up early just to wipe down your desk because you were a germaphobe. She brought you iced water after every gym class. You don’t remember?” My fingers tightened around my fork. I suddenly lost my appetite. I had buried those memories a long time ago. In high school, Tristan and I shared a desk. He was the handsome, brilliant kid who always knew exactly what to say to make people feel special. I was young, foolish, and fell for him effortlessly. Whenever he looked at me, the tips of his ears would turn pink. I thought those shy, stolen glances meant something real. I thought promising to apply to the same college was our unspoken vow. I genuinely believed that when the time was right, we would be together. Then came the senior year family background forms. It ruined everything. Victoria had been helping the teacher collect the paperwork. When she grabbed my sheet, she let out a theatrical gasp, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Heartland Farms? Sally, your family raises pigs?!” Heads snapped toward us. Victoria batted her eyelashes, feigning innocent disgust. “My parents work in high-rise offices. I’ve never even seen a live farm animal. I heard they are absolutely filthy. Doesn’t the manure smell horrible? Does your dad actually have to slaughter them?” She pinched her nose, looking at me like I was a walking biohazard. I honestly didn’t understand the big deal. My mother passed away from a severe illness when I was young. My father bought a house in the city and sent me to the best public school purely through the sweat, blood, and tears of running that farm. I felt nothing but overwhelming pride for him. “You don’t seem to mind the smell when you’re eating bacon,” I shot back immediately. “What is wrong with farming? My dad is an incredible man.” The room erupted into laughter. The eyes watching me were suddenly filled with mockery and disdain. Later that afternoon, I went to fill Tristan’s water bottle like I always did. When I handed it back to him, he took it, sniffed the rim, and then pulled out a packet of antibacterial wipes, scrubbing the plastic violently. Remembering the sheer disgust in his eyes ignited a cold fury in my chest. I looked dead at the drunk classmate. “He is right. Nothing happened. Tristan and I were never anything to each other.” Victoria let out a loud scoff. “Obviously. Like he would ever let a girl who reeks of livestock touch him.” “The only people reeking right now are you guys.” Sophie had finally had enough. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a heavy set of keys bearing the iconic Porsche crest, and slammed them onto the table right in front of me. “Sally. Your keys.” 3 Before I could even react, Sophie snatched my limited-edition Hermès Birkin from the back of my chair and shoved the keys inside. “Almost forgot to give those back to you.” “Wow.” A sharp-eyed girl across the table let out a loud gasp. “Does cleaning out pig pens really pay that well? Just getting the purchase history to buy that bag costs hundreds of thousands of dollars.” “Are you an idiot?” Victoria hissed, her manicured nails digging into the tablecloth. “Half the people on the internet rent luxury cars and buy knock-off bags just to flex at high school reunions.” She tilted her chin, a nasty smirk on her face. “Of course, I am not saying you are that kind of person, Sally.” Derek snorted. “You guys just don’t know her. She was always trying to be something she wasn’t. Coming from a literal barn, but begging her dad to buy her name-brand sneakers just to look rich.” Sophie’s eyes blazed. “You little…” “Are you all quite finished?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. “You don’t need to keep trashing the agricultural industry. My father and I work hard, we earn honest money, and I will spend that money on whatever the hell I want.” I locked eyes with the balding man. “Derek, I rejected you back then because I found you repulsive. Listening to your pathetic, insecure remarks tonight just confirms I was right.” I didn’t spare a single feeling, stripping away their shallow facades one by one. “And Victoria. If you have a vendetta against me because I had a crush on your boyfriend a decade ago, let me clear the air for you. I forgot about him the second I graduated. You don’t need to bare your fangs at me. Just eat your dinner.” I pushed my chair back and stood up. “I am going to get some fresh air. The stench of jealousy in this room is making me sick.” Ignoring their dropped jaws, I walked out. Even through the heavy oak door, I heard the sharp clatter of Victoria throwing her silverware onto her plate. “Who does she think she is?! She’s a filthy farm girl! I’m the one who’s disgusted by her! Did she even wash those gross hands before she came here?” Derek immediately echoed her. “I must have been blind to ever like her. The day I found out she lived with pigs, I almost threw up my breakfast. She spends her life with animals, and she has the nerve to act superior.” A heavy wave of disappointment washed over me as I walked down the plush corridor. Whatever childish bonds we once shared were completely rotten. Sophie jogged out of the room, twisting her fingers together guiltily. “Sally, I am so, so sorry. I was just so angry about how they treated you back then. I thought dragging you here would be a victory lap. You are so successful now! Why didn’t you just tell them?” I pushed open the restroom door and turned on the gilded faucet. The cool water washed over my hands. “Because they don’t matter to me anymore, Sophie.” I looked at our reflections in the ornate mirror and offered a gentle smile. Two days before graduation, we had to clean out our lockers. Tristan had taken a massive stack of love letters he had received over the years and dumped them in the trash. Some cruel kids dug through the pile, found the letters Sophie and I had written, and taped them to the front chalkboard. Look at the golden boy’s fan club! Braces-face and the Pig-girl! Tristan had snapped. He completely lost his temper, screaming at us to leave him alone. He had looked right at me and said, Sally, your letter literally smells like pig shit. Don’t you realize how disgusting you are? The innocent, fragile heart of a teenage girl had been shattered into a million pieces on that sweltering summer afternoon. “I grew up. I became successful,” I told Sophie, drying my hands. “I thought seeing them again would feel like some grand revenge, but honestly? It is just boring.” Sophie’s voice snapped me out of the past. I tossed the paper towel into the bin and linked my arm through hers. “Come on. Let’s go back, grab the bag, and get out of here. The food here is terrible anyway.” We walked shoulder to shoulder back toward the private dining rooms. Just as we rounded the corner, a hand shot out and gripped my arm hard. 4 It was Tristan. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark. “Sally. We haven’t seen each other in ten years, and you seriously don’t have a single thing to say to me?” I stared at him, utterly baffled by his audacity. I gave Sophie a look, silently asking her to go grab my purse from the room. I yanked my arm, tearing it out of his grip. “You’ve had too much to drink.” He stared down at me, his gaze intense and slightly unfocused. “You never used to be like this.” I took a step back, putting distance between us. “That is none of your business.” “How is it none of my business?” He aggressively loosened his silk tie. The alcohol had flushed his skin and entirely stripped away his polished, gentlemanly mask. “Sally, who exactly are you trying to fool with this little act?” He let out a low, breathy laugh and stepped into my space. The sharp scent of expensive cologne mixed with stale whiskey hit my nose. “How much money can you seriously make shoveling dirt? Working outside in the sun, getting filthy, breaking your back?” He paused, his eyes doing a slow, evaluating sweep of my silk blouse and tailored trousers. “If you were with me, you wouldn’t have to buy fake bags.” “Twenty grand a month. How about it?” “Excuse me?” I blinked, convinced I had misheard him. “Stop playing dumb.” He frowned, looking irritated that I wasn’t immediately grateful. “Victoria’s family has massive connections in my industry. I am never going to leave her. But I can take care of you on the side. You’ll never have to do manual labor again. Isn’t that what you want?” So that was it. A laugh bubbled up in my throat, sharp and utterly devoid of humor. In what delusional universe did he think he could buy me as his little secret? Even though I already knew my high school crush was a mistake, the sheer, unadulterated sleaze radiating from him right now was sickening. I opened my mouth to tear him apart, but a piercing, hysterical shriek echoed down the hallway. “Sally, you absolute home-wrecking bitch!” Victoria was sprinting toward us, her expensive heels clicking violently against the marble floor. “You filthy tramp! You act so innocent inside, but you’re out here trying to seduce my fiancé! I can smell the desperation on you. You’re repulsive!” Her screaming drew the attention of the waitstaff, who peeked out from the corners. The heavy oak door of our dining room swung open, and the rest of the class spilled out into the hallway to watch the drama. Derek was the first to jump in, his face lighting up with malicious joy. “Whoa, Sally! Trying to rekindle the old flame by becoming a mistress? Tristan and Victoria are practically at the altar. Trying to wedge yourself in there is pathetic.” Emboldened by her audience, Victoria lunged at me, raising her hand to slap me across the face. “You shameless whore!” I didn’t flinch. I reached out, clamped my hand around her descending wrist, and twisted it hard. She let out a high-pitched wail of pain. “Enough!” Tristan’s face was chalk-white. “Everyone, stop it! We were just having a conversation. Why is everyone screaming?” “Tristan!” Victoria sobbed, huge tears ruining her mascara. “I saw everything! This dirty farm girl is harassing you! I am going to destroy her!” “Then let’s get the story straight,” I said. I didn’t shout, but my voice echoed with absolute, icy authority. “Tristan just offered to pay me twenty grand a month to be his mistress. If you don’t believe me, we can pull the security footage from the hallway cameras right now.” Tristan’s face went from pale to ash. A collective, stunned gasp rippled through the crowd of classmates. Their eyes darted wildly between the golden boy and his hysterical fiancée. Victoria looked like someone had just stolen the air from her lungs. Her jaw dropped, completely speechless. Sophie came running down the hall, clutching my Birkin. She glared at the frozen couple with absolute disgust. “Let’s go, Sally. Breathing the same air as these people is a biohazard.” “Hold on! Did I say you could leave?” Victoria suddenly snapped out of her shock. She threw her body in front of us, blocking our path. “Sally, you lying bitch! Don’t you dare try to ruin my relationship!” “Ms. Lockwood!” A breathless voice called out. The owner of the restaurant came rushing down the corridor.

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When I finally said “divorce,” the room fell silent. Carter, my husband, kept a half-naked goddess statue in his art studio, a room I was forbidden to enter. Two months after I gave birth, he became obsessed with drawing that statue, locking himself in there 29 days a month. He never flinched when our newborn cried. I had had enough. I wanted out. My father-in-law, Richard, seemed confused, asking if I was divorcing over Carter spending a little too much time on art. I stared back: it was about that statue. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, sneered, defending her hardworking son. If I could not handle the baby, she said, we could hire a nanny. I did not argue. I just repeated: divorce. Carter stared, eyes red with rage. He shouted that he had not cheated, that he had not touched another woman, that he just needed space to paint. Was emotional distance really grounds to break our family? People called me controlling, a suffocating wife. I laughed dryly, pointing toward his studio. Since only that carved stone seemed to satisfy him, I said, I would step aside and let them be happy together. I slammed the freshly printed divorce papers flat onto the dining table. “Sign it.” Carter stared at me, his face pale with shock. “Audrey, what the hell is wrong with you?” His voice was tight, dripping with forced patience but hiding genuine annoyance. “I already admitted I messed up by hiding in the studio this month. I know I neglected you. I said I was sorry. I will make it up to you, okay? Do you really have to pull this stunt in front of everyone?” I slowly let my gaze drift around the room. Today was our fifth wedding anniversary. Carter had organized an intimate dinner party to celebrate, inviting our closest friends and family. A chance for everyone to get together and be merry, he had said. Yet from the moment the appetizers were served, his eyes had not landed on me once. He even did the traditional anniversary champagne toast with Brooke, his childhood best friend. Dragging this farce out any longer felt completely pointless. “Since you do not want to make a massive scene in front of our guests, just do the smart thing and sign the paper.” I dropped the words like ice and crossed my arms, refusing to say another syllable. A suffocating quiet swallowed the dining room. Guests exchanged nervous, wide-eyed glances. For the past five years, we were the golden couple of our social circle. Everyone thought we were practically glowing with marital bliss. The color drained from Carter’s face. He furrowed his brows, stepping into my personal space. “I am begging you,” he whispered, his voice cracking with a pathetic edge. “Audrey, let us just go home and talk about this. Please stop making a scene. You are stressing my parents out.” I yanked my arm away from his reaching hand. “Do not touch me.” Seeing my completely merciless attitude, the mood in the room shifted. Friendly faces morphed into cold, judgmental glares. Richard slammed his crystal whiskey glass onto the table. Eleanor’s expression darkened into a nasty scowl. Because I pushed him away, Carter stumbled backward. He conveniently lost his footing and landed squarely in Brooke’s waiting arms. “Are you even human, Audrey?” Brooke exploded, stepping around Carter to get in my face. “Did you conveniently forget how he treated you when you were pregnant? When your stomach was covered in stretch marks, Carter came home from the office exhausted every single night and massaged oil into your skin. He did that for a year!” She raised her voice, making sure the entire room heard her crusade. “Did you forget he drove five hours across state lines just to buy you those specific organic white peaches you were craving? Now that the baby is here, he spends a few weeks in his studio to breathe, and you lose your mind. Why are you so damn suffocating?” She took a breath, practically vibrating with righteous anger. “So what if he did not help rock the baby to sleep lately? You are the mother, you are right there! The man just wanted a break. And over this tiny little bump in the road, you want a divorce? Have you no shame?” Standing on her high horse, Brooke painted me as the ultimate ungrateful, wicked wife. The room murmured in agreement, the verbal slaps hitting me from all sides. Brooke lunged forward, raising her hand to physically slap me. Before she could even make contact, I smoothly stepped out of her strike zone. I locked eyes with her, my lips curving into a mocking sneer. “My husband rubbed stretch mark oil on my naked stomach late at night behind closed doors. Tell me, Brooke, how exactly do you know those intimate details? Do you two share absolutely everything?” Brooke panicked, her face flushing bright red. “It is common knowledge! Ask anyone in this room, everybody knows!” A few guests awkwardly nodded, trying to back her up. Richard cleared his throat, putting on his stern patriarch voice. “Audrey, marriage is not a game you quit when you get mad. We all saw how devoted my son was during your pregnancy. He is flesh and blood, not a machine. He needs downtime. The newborn phase is the ultimate test for a young couple. You cannot just abandon ship when things get tough.” Eleanor crossed her arms, letting out a sharp, suspicious scoff. “I always knew there was something off about you. Demanding a divorce out of nowhere? I bet my life you have a side piece hiding out there.” She rolled up her designer sleeves, looking ready for a brawl. “Spill it. Who is the guy? Is your little toy boy pressuring you to leave my son?” She patted Carter’s shoulder. “Do not worry, honey. I will personally chase off whatever trash she is sleeping with. I will save your marriage and my granddaughter.” I laughed out loud. It was entirely devoid of warmth. “The problem is not me, and it never was. You can all talk until you are blue in the face, but I am leaving him today.” Carter’s eyes were so swollen they looked bruised. He took a shaky breath, stepping forward to gently grab my hand. “Baby, please just tell me what is really going on. This is not you. Do you remember our vows? For better or for worse, in sickness and in health…” Looking at his flawless mask of devotion, bile rose in my throat. “Cut the crap. Stop acting.” I spat. “Get away from me.” I shoved him away with all my strength. He let out a dramatic groan, falling to the floor and perfectly scraping his elbow on the hardwood. “I have had enough of you, Audrey!” Brooke shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “If you try to divorce him today, I swear to God I will beat you half to death!” She bared her teeth like a feral dog. “You ungrateful bitch. I would rather Carter be a widower than let you drag his name through the mud in a divorce!” Brooke totally lost her mind. She charged at me, grabbing my shoulders to tackle me to the floor, fully intending to do some real damage. Instead of panicking, I just smiled. “What are you so panicked about? This is between a husband and wife. Who gave you the right to open your mouth?” “We grew up together! I am practically his sister!” Brooke screamed. I tilted my head. “The kind of sister he takes to bed?” “You are sick!” “Your mind is filthy, so you think everyone else is too.” While she was screaming, I took advantage of her distraction and threw a hard, calculated punch right at her jaw. Fast, precise, ruthless. Brooke loved to brag about taking kickboxing classes at her fancy gym, but it was all fake cardio nonsense. She had no idea I had spent years actually training. Seeing his precious friend take a hit, Carter completely lost his composure. “Audrey, stop it right now!” he shrieked. “Do not hurt her!” I had my hand firmly gripped around Brooke’s collar, cutting off her air supply. Her face was rapidly turning an ugly shade of purple. In a sheer panic, Carter grabbed a heavy antique ceramic vase off the hallway console table. Without a second of hesitation, he swung it directly at my head. The dining room erupted into pure chaos. Deafening screams bounced off the walls. “Oh my god, so much blood!” “Call an ambulance, right now!” Thick, warm liquid poured down the side of my face, stinging my eye. The elegant dining room blurred into smeared colors, and the screaming faded into a dull, echoing hum. I could hear Carter’s voice shaking violently above me. “Baby, I am so sorry, I did not mean to. I just thought you were going to kill her, you were squeezing so hard. I dialed 911!” As my knees buckled and the darkness pulled me under, I knew exactly what my final expression was. A bitter, hollow smile. Look at the man I married. Just to protect his sweet childhood friend, he cracked my skull open with a heavy piece of pottery. When I finally forced my heavy eyelids open, the blinding fluorescent lights of a hospital room assaulted my vision. My head throbbed with a sickening, explosive rhythm. “Do not move, Audrey.” Carter’s voice hovered near my ear. “They just gave you over a dozen stitches…” I closed my eyes, letting out a weak, raspy laugh. “Did you sign the papers?” I mumbled. “The second they discharge me, we are going straight to the courthouse to file.” Carter’s quiet sobbing stopped instantly. “How can you still be talking about divorce?” he gasped, completely appalled. Hot tears dripped off his chin and splattered onto the back of my bruised hand. “I love you so much, Audrey. The second you went down, I called the paramedics. What kind of demon possessed you tonight?” I could not hold back a cold sneer. “You love me? Is that why you smashed ceramic over my skull?” If that was his version of love, I would gladly let him give it to someone else. Carter choked on his own words, desperately scrambling for an excuse. “It was pure instinct, Audrey! You looked possessed. You were strangling Brooke, you terrified all of us.” He wiped his nose, his voice taking on a whining, pleading tone. “You know our families have lived next door to each other for decades. Brooke and I were in diapers together. She just wanted to help us fix our marriage. How could you say those disgusting things to her?” “Stop talking.” I cut him off, my voice devoid of any emotion. “I do not care about your excuses. I am done listening to you. I only have one word for you. Divorce.” Even Richard and Eleanor, who had been eavesdropping out in the hallway, looked completely stunned. They clearly had not expected me to be this ruthless. They barged right into the hospital room. “Audrey, you have never been this cold-hearted. Tell me the truth. Did Carter do something unforgivable? Tell me, and I will set him straight myself.” It was Richard playing the good cop. But the mask slipped almost immediately. Before I could even open my mouth, he flipped the script. “Or is Eleanor right? Did you find a new lover?” He crossed his arms, looking down at me from the foot of the bed. “Listen to me, girl. You just had a baby. You finally built a real family. Do not let some smooth-talking stranger ruin your life and make you do something you will regret forever.” Eleanor rolled her eyes, chiming in with zero sympathy. “Exactly. Couples fight. You scream in the living room and make up in the bedroom. Stop acting like a spoiled brat.” She pointed a manicured finger at me. “A real woman knows how to swallow her pride. If you threaten divorce every time you throw a tantrum, how do you expect to survive in the real world?” Carter knelt by the bed, playing the patient, battered husband. He gripped my fingers tightly. “Whatever is going on in your head, just tell me. We will fix it together. Are you… suspecting me of something?” There was a frantic, terrified flicker in his eyes. He was sweating. More fake tears spilled down his cheeks. “No matter what crazy things you are thinking, I am not giving up on us. I will stay by your side forever.” I stared blankly at his weeping face. For years, his tears were my ultimate weakness. The second he cried, I surrendered. Whatever he wanted, I gave it to him. He wanted an entire master bedroom converted into his private art sanctuary? I paid the contractors. He slapped a ridiculous sign on the studio door that read No Dogs or Audrey Allowed? I just laughed it off as a quirky artist joke. But I was entirely done being the punchline. “Save your breath, Carter. I just do not love you anymore.” Carter reacted like I had shot him in the chest. His eyelashes trembled violently. “What did you just say?” His breathing turned erratic, his chest heaving. “We literally just had a child together. Do you have no conscience at all?” Seeing Carter absolutely shatter, Richard finally dropped the supportive father-in-law act. He let out a vicious scoff. “Fine, Audrey. You want to play hardball?” He pointed a stiff finger at me. “If you walk out that door, you leave with absolutely nothing. I will make sure you are tossed out on the street without a dime.” I ignored him and simply closed my eyes. My utter indifference pushed them over the edge. They cursed me out, hauled a violently sobbing Carter off the floor, and dragged him toward the door. “Stand up straight, son!” Richard barked. “With your money and looks, you can have any woman you want. She is not worth your tears. We are leaving!” They stormed out, furious and fundamentally confused. In their minds, we were a perfect couple. They could not fathom how things escalated to a brutal, bloody point of no return. My best friend Zoe came to the hospital the next morning after hearing about the bloodbath. “Okay, seriously, how did your life turn into a true crime podcast?” she asked, pulling up a chair. She had already seen the local gossip blogs. Carter smashing a vase over his wife’s head to protect his childhood best friend was trending locally. I was officially the neighborhood joke. Zoe winced at the heavy bandages wrapped around my forehead. She took a deep breath. “I thought you guys were the ultimate couple goals. How did you go from that to a literal crime scene?” I stared at the stark white ceiling for a long time before my voice finally cracked the silence. “Have you ever seen that famous half-naked goddess statue?” Zoe blinked, thrown off. “You mean the classic European one? The masterpiece without clothes?” “Yes.” Zoe leaned back, waiting for me to connect the dots. “Carter has one locked inside his art studio.” Zoe paused, then let out a confused chuckle. “No way. It has to be a cheap replica.” “Exactly,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “It is a fake.” I turned my head to look her dead in the eyes. “And Zoe… it moves.” Zoe’s mouth dropped open. The realization hit her like a freight train. “Are you saying…” She did not even finish the sentence. Her face went through five different shades of disgust and shock.

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