Category: English

1 During the awards segment of the annual charity gala, the host suddenly walked onto the stage leading ten young children. “Tonight, we have a very special award recipient,” the host announced, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “She passed away in a tragic accident, but before she took her last breath, she donated all her organs, saving the lives of the ten children standing beside me today.” In the front row, Christian Collier kept his head down, staring at his phone. Hearing the host’s words, he did not even bother to look up. “Who would be stupid enough to chase fame even in death?” Beside him, Gideon Harrison, a man known throughout the city for his philanthropy, let out a soft sneer. “To be buried with an incomplete body means the soul can never rest in peace. Her family must have been incredibly heartless to allow it.” He turned to Christian, half-joking. “Christian, once you marry my sister, you better not let her lose a single hair, or I won’t let you off easily.” Christian offered a faint, dry smile. He turned to his secretary, whispering quietly, “Find out which family this donor belonged to. Cancel all our current and future business contracts with them immediately.” On stage, the host’s voice rang out once more. “Now, let us invite the donor’s fiancé to the stage to accept this honor on her behalf. Mr. Christian Collier, please.” The entire ballroom fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Every guest froze, their eyes turning in absolute disbelief toward the front row. The host, still smiling warmly, urged, “Mr. Collier, please come up to the stage. You are entirely deserving of this beautiful legacy of love.” As the shock wore off, hushed whispers began to ripple through the crowd. “The donor was the Collier heir’s fiancée?” “But isn’t the Collier family engaged to the Harrisons? That would mean the donor is Gideon’s sister, the Harrison heiress.” “I thought Gideon was incredibly traditional. How could he possibly allow his sister’s body to be harvested like that?” Every single word drifted straight into Christian’s ears. The cold indifference on his face shattered, piece by piece. He snapped his head up, his gaze cutting toward the host like a blade. “What absolute nonsense are you babbling?” His voice was cold, practically laced with ice. “My fiancée is alive and well.” Gideon stood up as well, his face pale and furious. “No one in the Harrison family has passed away. Think carefully before you speak another word!” Terrified by their reactions, the host took a step back, quickly looking down at his cue cards. He checked the document three or four times, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice trembling. “Mr. Collier, according to the official records, the donor was indeed your fiancée, the daughter of the Harrison family.” “Shut your mouth!” Gideon’s eyes were already rimmed with red. “My sister is currently in Europe on her graduation trip. She sent me photos just two days ago. How could she possibly…” Christian turned to the host, his eyes dark. “I am giving you one last chance. Tell the truth.” Gideon, growing increasingly frantic, grabbed Christian’s arm. “Christian, call Vivian. Call her right now. What if something actually happened to her?” Christian pulled out his phone and dialed Vivian’s number. The line rang. Once, twice, three times. No one answered. His heart began to sink, heavy and cold. Gideon was also dialing frantically, over and over, only to be met with the same empty ringing. Just as their faces began to drain of all color, the phone suddenly vibrated with an incoming call. Christian answered it instantly. “Vivian!” The screen lit up to reveal a young, pretty face. Vivian was rubbing her sleepy eyes, her hair a messy bird’s nest, clearly having just been woken up. She mumbled sleepily, “Christian? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Did you forget the time difference?” Gideon shoved his face into the camera’s view, his voice thick with panic. “Vivian, are you okay? You scared me to death!” “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Vivian blinked, a soft laugh escaping her. “I told you guys not to worry. It’s just a graduation trip!” Gideon breathed a massive sigh of relief, murmuring a few sweet promises before hanging up the call. Christian turned back to the host, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Did you see that? My fiancée is perfectly fine. You will provide a formal apology to both the Colliers and the Harrisons for this sick joke.” The atmosphere in the room turned incredibly hostile. As the host stood frozen on stage, unsure of what to do, the oldest of the ten children, a young girl, timidly raised her hand. “It wasn’t that lady.” Everyone’s attention snapped to her. The girl bit her lip, whispering softly, “My dad showed me a photo of the lady who saved my life. Her name was Nora Harrison.” 2 The whispers in the room erupted like a sudden storm. “Nora? That name sounds familiar.” “Isn’t she the sister Gideon adopted a year ago?” “I heard a rumor that Nora and Vivian were switched at birth. Nora is actually the biological daughter.” “So Christian’s real fiancée was actually Nora?” I floated quietly behind Christian and Gideon, a bitter, hollow smile gracing my spectral lips. They were right. I was the biological daughter of the Harrison family, and by all rights, I was Christian’s true fiancée. Years ago, Vivian’s parents had intentionally switched us in our cribs. Vivian became the pampered princess of the Harrison family, raised in absolute luxury, while I spent eighteen years living a nightmare. My foster parents were abusive gamblers. Every time they lost, they took their anger out on me, using belts, burning cigarettes, and whatever else was within arm’s reach. I survived by digging through trash cans for scraps of food. Eventually, my foster father trapped me in my room, trying to assault me. I defended myself with a pair of scissors, wounding him, but they turned around and accused me of seduction. They beat me so severely I was nearly dead by the time the neighbors called the police. With the authorities involved, the truth of my birth was finally revealed, and I was brought back to the Harrison estate. I thought my misery had ended. But shortly after my return, both of my biological parents fell ill and passed away. My older brother, Gideon, blamed me entirely, believing I was a curse that had brought death to our parents. When Vivian packed her bags, weeping and saying she should leave now that the real daughter was back, Gideon’s resentment toward me reached its peak. He held her close, comforting her, before turning a cold, disgusted glare on me. “Vivian is my sister. Don’t even think about driving her out.” Gideon even dropped the charges against my abusive foster parents, paying them a massive settlement to secure Vivian’s legal status in the family. He never once asked how I had survived those eighteen years. I still remembered the icy indifference in his voice when he made his decision. “I’ve raised Vivian as my sister for nearly two decades. Revealing the truth now would destroy her. For now, we will tell the public that you are an adopted sister we took in.” Christian was the fiancé my parents had chosen for me in their will. But the first time he met me, I was wearing one of Vivian’s ill-fitting hand-me-downs, trembling as I greeted him. The sheer disappointment in his eyes was impossible to hide. I was consumed by insecurity, desperately throwing myself into learning etiquette, trying to become the perfect lady he wanted. But his gaze remained cool and detached. One afternoon, I overheard him speaking with Gideon. “I don’t know what our parents were thinking, forcing you to marry Nora,” Gideon had grumbled. “Everyone knows the only girl you love is Vivian.” Christian’s calm, level voice followed. “I will call off this engagement with Nora, no matter what it takes.” At that moment, my heart sank into a dark, bottomless ocean. Gideon didn’t want me, and Christian didn’t want me either. Now, hearing my name spoken aloud at the gala, Christian remained silent for a long time before offering a cold, indifferent response. “You have the wrong person. Nora Harrison was never my fiancée.” Gideon’s face went blank, followed quickly by a wave of deep disgust. “How could it possibly be her? She’d do anything to survive. Someone as selfish as her wouldn’t have the courage to die.” I was already a ghost, but my hollow chest still flared with a sharp, ghostly pain. Sensing the curiosity of the crowd, Gideon began to speak, exposing my supposed sins to the entire room. “On Vivian’s birthday, Nora threw a massive fit, demanding that Christian cancel his schedule to take her skiing. Christian had no choice but to go. While they were on the mountain, an avalanche hit. Christian’s leg was crushed, trapping him under the snow. And Nora…” He paused, his voice dripping with venom. “She ran away without looking back.” “If Vivian hadn’t arrived with a rescue team in time, Christian wouldn’t be standing here today.” Gideon’s voice grew even colder. “Nora spent all her time at home bullying Vivian, even though Vivian was always kind to her. She knew Christian loved Vivian, yet she clung to him out of spite. When he rejected her, she abandoned him to die in the snow and vanished. A person like that doesn’t deserve to be called my sister.” The host spoke up, hesitant. “So, you haven’t seen Miss Harrison since that incident?” 3 Gideon let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “She probably fled the country out of guilt. She knows what she did, and she’s too much of a coward to face us.” He added with deep disgust, “That’s just who she is: a coward who runs away when things get tough.” Christian said nothing. He leaned back in his chair, slowly closing his eyes. He remembered the moment the avalanche struck. His first instinct had been to shield Nora with his own body before the world collapsed around them. But when he finally woke up, she was gone. She had left him to die, exactly as Gideon said. All her sweet words, her gentle affection: they were all a lie. A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in Christian’s chest, and he clenched his fist, trying to push the feeling away. When Vivian had finally arrived with the rescue team, throwing herself into his arms and weeping, “Christian, I finally found you,” he had asked her, “Did you find the rescue team?” He had desperately hoped for a different answer. But Vivian had nodded, and the final spark of light in his eyes had gone out. “Never mind,” he had murmured. “It doesn’t matter.” He had looked at her with gentle affection. “Vivian, will you marry me?” The host’s voice broke his train of thought. “But have you ever considered that Miss Harrison didn’t run away? What if she died in that very avalanche?” The ballroom fell into a tense silence. The host continued, “Perhaps she didn’t abandon you. She might have realized that with your crushed leg, staying by your side meant you would both freeze to death. So she went out into the blizzard to find help, but met with an accident before she could return. Mr. Harrison, did you ever bother to investigate?” “What absolute garbage!” Gideon slammed his hand on the table, interrupting him in a fury. Christian merely stared at the host, his eyes cold. Floating above them, I could only manage a bitter laugh. Even a stranger could deduce the truth of my death, yet my own brother and fiancé refused to believe it. Before that ski trip, Christian had demanded to end our engagement. I had agreed, but on one condition: he had to spend Vivian’s birthday skiing with me. They all thought I was being unreasonable. But none of them remembered that Vivian’s birthday was also my birthday. I just wanted to be chosen, just once. When the avalanche buried him, I had clawed at the snow with my bare hands, digging until my fingers were shredded and frozen, completely losing all feeling, before I finally managed to pull him out. He was unconscious. I wrapped him in my coat and all my warm gear, leaving myself in nothing but a thin sweater, and walked out into the freezing storm. I walked for an entire day, collapsing and dragging myself up again and again, until I finally stumbled upon a rescue team. I gave them his coordinates. They told me to wait by the road while they went up. But less than ten minutes after they left, an out-of-control truck plowed into me. By the time I reached the hospital, it was too late. Before I took my last breath, I begged the doctors to harvest my organs, hoping that a piece of me could go on to see the spring I would never experience. The guests in the ballroom looked back and forth between Gideon and Christian, their belief wavering. If the host was right, then they had completely misjudged Nora. Gideon’s lips began to tremble, his confidence slipping. But Christian spoke up, his voice incredibly calm. “She isn’t dead.” Everyone turned to him. Christian raised his chin, his voice steady. “I have proof that Nora is alive.” Gideon turned to him, startled. Christian lowered his gaze, his voice dropping. “After she vanished, I received a letter from her.” 4 “In that letter, Nora explicitly stated she didn’t regret running away,” Christian continued, his voice dripping with cold mockery. “But she knew neither I nor the Harrison family would ever forgive her, so she planned to disappear forever. She promised never to bother me again, on one condition: I had to transfer five million dollars to her account. I sent the money.” Gideon’s face flushed with renewed rage. “We should have never brought her back to our family! She was a parasitic disgrace from start to finish!” Hearing this, the guests immediately turned their sympathy back to Christian, whispering insults about my memory. “This Nora was truly heartless!” “Five million dollars? She didn’t have a shred of shame!” “Honestly, she belongs in prison!” A barrage of ugly words rained down on my spirit. But on stage, the young girl spoke up once more, her voice trembling but fierce. “Don’t you dare speak about Nora like that!” Her eyes were red, her small body shaking with anger. She pointed to her own eyes. “My dad told me my corneas came from Nora. I can see this beautiful world because of her!” The other children began to step forward, their small voices rising in unison. “She gave me her kidney!” “She gave me her liver!” “Nora’s heart is beating right here, in my chest,” a young boy said, placing his small hand over his heart. “The doctor told me this heart belonged to a very, very kind girl. She was not a bad person!” Watching those ten children, seeing them healthy, alive, and full of hope because of my sacrifice, a soft, warm light seemed to wrap around my cold, spectral body. The crowd wavered once more, the children’s testimonies carrying far too much weight. Gideon clenched his fists, his lips shaking. Christian felt a sudden, suffocating pressure in his chest, as if a heavy stone were pressing down on his lungs. He forced himself to dismiss the feeling, his mind racing. Suddenly, a realization struck him. A confident, triumphant smile returned to Christian’s face. “Fine. If you all insist she is dead, then where is her body?” He scanned the room, his voice booming. “She only donated her organs. Her remains must be somewhere, right?” The children on stage looked at one another, their young faces blank with confusion. They didn’t know the answer. Christian let out a cold sneer. “There is no body. This entire story is a fabricated lie.” The room fell quiet, the tension stretching thin. Just then, the host’s phone buzzed with an incoming document. He tapped it open, his eyes widening in horror, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. He held up his phone, his voice shaking violently. “Wait… I know where Nora’s body is.”

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My husband, a titan in the field of cardiac surgery, was on the coast with the woman he’d always loved, picking up seashells. I called him, again and again, my voice raw as I begged him to come back and save his own sister. His voice was a blade of ice. “Ivy, how dare you curse my sister? Why don’t you just die, you venomous bitch!” He hung up and blocked my number. His sister, Cassie, died on the operating table. And the entire family blamed me. They surrounded me, their faces twisted with rage. They beat me, broke my arms and legs, and dumped me in the deep woods to die. I screamed for help. Someone came. But he didn’t come to save me. He came to kill me. He stabbed me dozens of times. My last sensation was one of pure agony and despair. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back on the day Cassie was murdered. 1 “Oh my God, someone’s been stabbed! There’s a killer!” The screams of passersby swelled around me, a rising tide of panic. The crowd of gawkers surged toward the scene, a morbid curiosity pulling them forward. Only I remained rooted to the spot, my body trembling uncontrollably. The searing pain of a dozen knives plunging into my flesh felt so real, a phantom echo that served as a brutal reminder: I, Ivy Ross, had been reborn. In my past life, I had followed that same crowd, my heart pounding with a nameless dread. The victim was my sister-in-law, Cassie, lying in a rapidly expanding pool of her own blood. I frantically called 911, rode with her to the hospital, and paced outside the operating room. I did everything I could, but she still died. And her family, my husband’s family, decided her death was my fault. They circled me like wolves, their voices thick with hate. “You evil woman, Ivy! You killed my sister!” Grayson, my husband, had roared. “Beat her! Kill this walking curse!” They threw punches and kicks, dragging me to the floor. They broke my bones and then left me in the wilderness for the animals to find. I screamed for help, but the man who came wasn’t a savior. He was a monster who finished the job, leaving me to die in agony. This time, I wouldn’t get involved. I spun around, pushing against the tide of the crowd, and walked straight to the grocery store. When I got home with the bags, the first thing I saw was the pinched, cruel face of my mother-in-law, Brenda Pierce. “Where the hell have you been? A simple trip for groceries takes you all damn day?” Her eyes, small and sharp, darted to the sink piled high with dirty dishes. “What good is a daughter-in-law like you? Are you just going to stand there like a goddamn statue? Get to the kitchen and wash those dishes! Or do you expect an old woman like me to serve you?” I lowered my head, hiding the inferno of hatred in my eyes. My voice was as gentle as a lamb’s. “I’m sorry, Mom. Don’t be angry. I’ll do them right now.” The moment I stepped into the kitchen, her phone rang. “Yeah? Who is this?” she answered, her voice dripping with annoyance. A second later, that voice shot up, a raw shriek that could have shattered glass. “What did you say?! My daughter is in the ER?!” The phone clattered to the floor. It was as if all the strength had been sucked from her body. A cold smile touched my lips, but I rushed out, my face a mask of perfect ignorance. “Mom, what is it? What happened? You’re scaring me!” Brenda’s face was ashen. Her lips trembled as she grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “Ivy! We have to go! Now! Get me to the hospital! It’s… it’s Cassie!” 2 I drove Brenda to the hospital at a reckless speed. It was Metropolitan General, the very same hospital where my husband, Grayson, was a star surgeon. Outside the operating room, a nurse rushed out. “Are you Cassandra Pierce’s family? The patient has lost a critical amount of blood, and the wound is dangerously close to the heart. We need to operate immediately! I need a signature!” Brenda’s knees buckled. I caught her before she could collapse. Her hand shook violently as she scribbled her name, her voice choked with sobs. “Please, I’m begging you, save my daughter! She’s only in her twenties!” “Mom, don’t panic,” I reminded her, my voice clear and steady. “Isn’t Grayson the best cardiac surgeon in the entire city?” “If he performs this surgery, I know Cassie’s heart will be perfectly fine.” I pulled out my phone, making a show of dialing his number. “Don’t call him!” She lunged for my phone like a cornered cat, her eyes wide with panic. She knew. She knew Grayson wasn’t at the hospital. He was on the coast with his childhood sweetheart, Sophie Hale, living out a romantic fantasy. Before he left, he had made her promise that no one would disturb them. I twisted my wrist, easily dodging her grasp. “Why not?” I asked, my eyes wide with manufactured innocence. “Mom, don’t you want Cassie’s surgery to be a success? This is a matter of life and death!” The accusation hung in the air, and Brenda’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. “Don’t you dare curse Cassie! I… I just… I just think her condition probably isn’t serious enough to need Grayson to personally operate!” She stammered, her eyes darting around, refusing to meet mine. Just then, the OR doors swung open again. A younger nurse rushed out, her face pale with stress. “This is bad! The blade penetrated too deep. Our chief of surgery says this procedure is too complex. Dr. Grayson Pierce is the only one in the entire hospital who can do it!” The nurse’s eyes landed on us, a desperate plea in her gaze. “You’re his family, right? You have to get him to cut his vacation short. He needs to come back and perform this surgery right now!” I feigned utter shock, turning to the nurse with disbelief. “What? On vacation?” “Are you sure you have that right? How could my husband be on vacation without me knowing? He told me just last night that the department was swamped and he’d be working consecutive shifts for days!” The nurse looked confused. “I wouldn’t know the details. The chief approved his leave request. All I know is you need to contact him. The patient is running out of time. Any longer, and it might be too late.” Brenda’s world seemed to implode. The color drained from her face, and she swayed on her feet, about to faint. I grabbed her arm, my voice laced with panic. “Mom, stay calm. I’ll call Grayson right now.” In front of everyone, I dialed his number. Once. Twice. Three times. Ten agonizing calls, and each time, the same cold, robotic voice echoed from the speaker: “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable.” Of course it was unavailable. To ensure his precious time with Sophie was uninterrupted, Grayson had blocked me. I remembered it all too clearly. In my last life, I had called him forty-nine times from my own phone. I finally had to borrow a nurse’s phone to get through. I had wept, begging him to come back and save his own sister. But his reply was a snarl of irritation. “Ivy, just because you hate Sophie and you’re jealous that I’m with her, you’d make up a lie about my sister dying? You’re so fucking evil. Why don’t you just die?” He hung up. After that, it didn’t matter whose phone I used. He never picked up again. And so, Cassie missed the golden window for survival. She died. But her family laid the blame squarely on my shoulders. They claimed my jealousy had clouded Grayson’s judgment, preventing him from returning in time. The person who killed Cassie, they decided, was me. The memory of that suffocating injustice made my hands clench into tight fists. I fought to control the rage boiling inside me. 3 “Grayson, where are you? Please, just pick up the phone!” I cried, forcing tears to well in my eyes. Brenda looked at me, her gaze filled with guilt and avoidance. She tried to defend her son. “Grayson is probably… probably busy with something important. If you can’t get through, just wait a while.” Even now, she was covering for his affair. My heart ached for Cassie, fighting for her life just a few feet away. Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the end of the hall. “Cassie! What’s happened to my precious granddaughter?!” My father-in-law, Robert, was helping the family matriarch, Grandma Pierce, hurry toward us. She was over seventy, but her face was a mask of fierce anxiety. “Where is Grayson? Is he in there saving Cassie right now?” Grandma Pierce adored Cassie, who was the spitting image of her as a young woman. Don’t let her age fool you. In my past life, when they beat me, she had the strength of a demon, breaking two thick wooden canes over my back. I still remembered the bone-deep agony. This time, I would not let them pin this on me. I put on a pained expression, my eyes red-rimmed. “Grandma, Grayson told me he had to work overtime. But I just asked the nurse, and he’s not here. He’s not in the operating room. I… I don’t know where he is.” “What do you mean, you don’t know? What kind of wife are you? If you don’t know, why don’t you call him and ask?” She jabbed her cane toward my face, the tip hovering inches from my eye. “Grandma, I did call.” I looked helplessly at Brenda. “Mom, you saw me, didn’t you? I just called him ten times in a row. He didn’t answer a single one!” Brenda nervously twisted the hem of her blouse and nodded. “Yes… yes, she’s been calling…” The old woman’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Then it’s your fault! You must have done something to piss him off, that’s why he’s not answering your calls. Try your mother-in-law’s phone. Let’s see if he dares to hang up on her!” Now Brenda was truly terrified. Her hand trembled as she gave me her phone. “Dial it!” the old woman commanded. I took a deep breath, pressed the familiar number, and put the call on speaker. After two rings, he answered. “Mom, what’s up? Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency?” Grayson’s voice was lazy, the sound of wind and waves clearly audible in the background. I took another breath and shouted, my voice trembling with fake tears, “Honey, it’s me, Cass—” “Ivy?!” His roar cut me off like a gunshot. “Are you fucking insane?! It wasn’t enough to spam me from your phone, now you’re stealing my mother’s? I told you I’m busy!” “No, honey, please listen! Cassie is dying! She’s been stabbed, and you’re the only one in the hospital who can save her! You have to come back!” My voice cracked with desperation. There was a brief silence on the other end. Then, a sweet, cloying female voice floated through the speaker. “Grayson, honey, I think you should go back. Ivy is obviously just jealous. To get you to leave, she’s actually lying about poor Cassie. It’s okay, I can pick up seashells by myself. You don’t need to stay with me.” It was Sophie. I trembled with fury, my nails digging into my palms. “I am not lying! Sophie, shut your mouth! Cassie is in surgery! Grayson, I’m begging you, please come back. Cassie needs you!” “Ivy, that’s enough!” Grayson’s voice exploded again. “There’s a limit to jealousy! To trick me into coming home, you’d stoop to a lie like this? Cursing my own sister? Aren’t you afraid of karma?” “Stop bothering me! I’m busy! If you screw up my promotion to department head, I’ll make you wish you were never born!” “Beep… beep… beep…” He hung up. I stood there, clutching the phone, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. My eyes swept over the three elder Pierces. Their faces were a mirror of shock, humiliation, and utter disbelief. Just then, the OR doors were thrown open again. The nurse’s voice was more frantic than ever, practically a scream. “Have you reached Dr. Pierce yet?! The patient’s heart rate is dropping, and we can’t stabilize her blood pressure! She can’t wait any longer!” Grandma Pierce looked like she was about to have a stroke. She snatched the phone from Brenda’s hand and shoved it back at her. “You call him! You do it now!” Brenda’s fumbling fingers dialed the number. After several rings, Grayson finally picked up. His voice, colder than ice and more toxic than poison, echoed from the speakerphone once more. “What the hell do you want now, Ivy? If you’re that bored, go kill yourself! Hang yourself, drink poison, there are plenty of ways to do it. Just stop fucking bothering me!” The blood drained from Brenda’s face. Just before he could hang up, she mustered all her strength and shrieked. “Grayson! Don’t hang up! It’s your mother!” “You have to come home! Your sister… a monster stabbed her through the heart! She’s on the operating table! The doctors say you’re the only one who can save her! Please, son, come home!” Dead silence on the other end. It stretched for a full five seconds before Grayson’s voice returned. 4 “Mom… why are you getting involved in this nonsense? “I told you before, Ivy is a jealous psycho. She’ll say anything to get me to come back. Don’t let her fool you.” Tears streamed down Brenda’s face, her voice a desperate wail. “It’s not a lie! It’s real! Cassie is on the operating table right now, and the doctors say only you can save her! Mom is begging you, son, please come home!” The line went quiet for a few seconds. The Pierces stared at the phone, a desperate hope in their eyes. But before that hope could take root, a soft, delicate female voice cooed through the speaker. “Ouch! Grayson, honey, I think a crab just pinched my foot! It’s bleeding! I need you to kiss it and make it better.” Grayson’s tone shifted instantly, filled with alarm. “Sophie, don’t move! I’m coming!” He tossed one last sentence into the phone. “Mom, stop playing along with Ivy’s games. She’s just trying to trick me.” Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he hung up. Brenda stood there, phone in hand, looking like a statue. Her hands trembled so violently she didn’t even notice her nails cutting into her palms. Robert finally lost it. A vein throbbed in his temple as he dialed Grayson’s number on his own phone. He roared into the receiver with all his might, “You bastard! Your sister is dying, didn’t you hear me? Get your ass back here and operate now!” His shout was loud enough to shatter the windows in the hospital corridor. The voice that came back was strained, annoyed, and furious. “Dad, you too? How can you believe Ivy’s bullshit? She’s just bored and needs to be taught a lesson!” I continued my performance, weeping silently and glancing at Grandma Pierce. Her face was ashen, her knuckles white as she gripped her cane, looking like she was about to snap it in two. “My sweet boy!” the old woman wailed into the speakerphone. “Grandma is begging you! I’ll get on my knees for you! Please, just come back and save your sister!” But the voice on the other end remained cold and distant. “Grandma, it’s not that I don’t want to. I’ve been drinking. I can’t drive right now. I promise, as soon as the alcohol is out of my system, I’ll head back.” “That’s all. Sophie hurt her foot. I need to check on her.” “Beep… beep… beep…” The dial tone tore their last shred of hope to pieces. And then came the final blow. The red light above the operating room door went out. The lead surgeon emerged, pulling off his mask. His expression was heavy with exhaustion and regret. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could. The patient was pronounced dead at [Time] on [Date]. Here is the death certificate. Please sign for it.” It was like a lightning strike. Grandma Pierce fainted on the spot, caught by a quick-thinking nurse. Brenda let out a primal scream and threw herself onto the gurney, clutching her daughter’s cold, stiff body and sobbing uncontrollably. Robert staggered backward, collapsing onto a bench, his face pale and his eyes vacant. And me? Of course, I had to keep up the act, my wails louder and more gut-wrenching than anyone else’s.

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It was the final event of my boyfriend’s company gala: the couples’ waltz. The familiar opening notes drifted through the ballroom. It was the “Serenade” waltz, the exact song we had danced to ten years ago at our college dance championship. Standing beside me, my best friend, Becca, gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh my gosh, Summer, this is your song! Ten years later, and Gavin has finally taken the hint. Do you think he’s going to propose tonight?” A soft smile touched my lips as I smoothed down my dress, taking a step toward Gavin. But before I could reach him, I watched him take the hand of a young girl and lead her onto the floor. They moved with seamless grace, perfectly in sync with the music. It was obvious they had practiced this countless times in private. The spotlight followed their elegant silhouettes across the room. I stood frozen in the dim corner, feeling like a dusty, expired relic. Gavin looked alive, his eyes bright with a spark I hadn’t seen in years. But he had no idea that this waltz was the very last chance I was willing to give him. Ten years. The waltz had expired, and so had my love for him. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick reply on my messaging app: Mom, I accept the arrangement with Nolan Sinclair. … “Summer! That little secretary did that on purpose!” Becca hissed, pacing back and forth, practically vibrating with rage. “I saw the way she looked at you during those spins. It was pure provocation!” I gently caught her wrist to stop her. “Let it go, Becca. I’m done waiting for him.” Becca’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, babe. You deserve so much better.” As the music faded, the young girl walked over to us, her hand still tucked comfortably into Gavin’s arm. “Oh, Summer!” she chirped, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “I heard you were the waltz queen back in college! I’m so clumsy. Gavin tried to teach me a hundred times, and I still can’t get the steps right.” Gavin patted her head affectionately, a gesture so tender it belonged to someone coaxing a kitten. “You’re not clumsy at all. Besides, Summer only won back then because the competition was weak.” I swallowed the sudden tightness in my throat. With one casual sentence, he had completely erased years of my hard work. “I don’t dance anymore,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ve forgotten the steps anyway.” Sensing the shift in my tone, Gavin’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’re thirty years old, Summer. Don’t be petty with a kid.” I offered a polite nod. “Of course. You two were wonderful. Would you like me to clap for you?” Amber lowered her head, her lower lip trembling with rehearsed vulnerability. “Summer, I really didn’t mean to take up so much of Gavin’s time. But since you don’t work in the corporate world, you might not realize that social dancing is a necessary skill for networking.” Gavin nodded in agreement. “She’s never set foot in an office, so she wouldn’t understand. Don’t worry about it, Amber.” For the rest of the night, Gavin kept Amber glued to his side. He even intercepted drinks meant for her. “She’s just a kid, guys. Don’t make her drink.” I watched them, my mind drifting back to our early days. During the first year of his startup, I was the one drinking myself to sickness to secure clients for him, pushing through a severe alcohol allergy until my body literally went numb to it. I remembered him holding me by the curb as I threw up, his eyes filled with absolute anguish. Summer, you’ve suffered so much for me, he had cried, clutching me close. I swear I’ll give you the life you deserve. The vows back then were real, and his love was genuine. But just like that college waltz, it had a shelf life. And it had finally expired. “Get in,” Gavin said later, opening the car door. “I called a driver.” I slid into the passenger seat and immediately noticed the tilt of the backrest had been altered. When I flipped down the vanity mirror, a familiar tube of lipstick rolled into my lap: Dior 999, Rogue Red. It was a bold, crimson shade I never wore. The bullet of the lipstick was visibly worn down. In my mind, a vivid picture painted itself: Gavin driving Amber to a business dinner, her sitting in this very seat, applying this red lipstick while chatting away. But it wasn’t just the lipstick. In the glove compartment, there was an eyebrow pencil, a small makeup bag, and even a few personal hygiene pads. Amber was marking her territory, staking her claim piece by piece. Gavin had to have seen them, but he chose to look the other way. The city neon flickered across the window, casting a pale, exhausted shadow over my reflection. I looked drained, empty of the warmth I used to carry. “Gavin,” I murmured, staring at the glass. “Let’s end this.” He was sitting in the back seat, completely absorbed in his phone. He didn’t hear me. “It’s pouring out,” Gavin said into his receiver, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “You won’t find a cab at this hour. Go wait in the hotel lobby. I’ll come back to pick you up in a bit. Don’t catch a cold.” The rearview mirror caught his expression: tender, protective, and warm. It was a look that had once been exclusively mine. “Did you say something, Summer?” he asked, not bothering to look up from his screen. The blue light illuminated the sharp angles of his face, making him look distant. “I said, Gavin, let’s break up.” He finally raised his eyes. He froze for a second, and then a small, patronizing laugh escaped him. “Are you seriously jealous, Summer? Amber is dealing with a lot right now. I’m just trying to help her out where I can.” I remained silent, staring out at the rain. His tone took on a sharp edge of irritation. “Have you forgotten how hard it was for us when we first started? I’m just trying to be a decent person. Stop overthinking everything.” The car pulled up to our villa. The moment I stepped out, the tires screeched as the car reversed and sped off. He was in a rush to get back to Amber. He had worried about another woman getting wet in the rain, but he forgot that our driveway had no awning, and I had no umbrella. Drenched, I walked into the empty house. The first thing I did was turn on the stereo, playing that familiar “Serenade” waltz. I opened my cloud drive and found a video saved from ten years ago: our sophomore year dance competition. In the video, he was vibrant and young; I was radiant and full of life. I watched it to the very last frame, and then, without hesitation, I pressed delete. It was a quiet, final closing of a ten-year chapter. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Gavin. Amber sprained her ankle during the dance but didn’t say anything. I’m at the hospital with her now. It’s going to be late, so go to sleep first. Goodnight. I typed back a single word: Goodnight. In the past, I would have reminded him to drive safely, to hurry home, to text me when he arrived. Starting tonight, there would be none of that. I began sorting through the cabinets, pulling out old keepsakes. Among them was an unfinished oil painting from our days in the damp basement apartment. Gavin had started painting it years ago, trying to capture the two of us dancing. Seven years after graduation, the canvas remained half-blank. It was the perfect metaphor for our relationship. My fingers traced the dry, textured brushstrokes. Beside the canvas lay a half-empty pack of cigarettes. I had begged him to quit so many times, telling him it wasn’t healthy, especially if we wanted to start a family someday. He had always brushed it off. We’re not even married yet. We can worry about kids later. Perhaps he had never envisioned a marriage with me at all. I took a cigarette and lit it. The harsh, bitter smoke flooded my chest for the first time in my life. I ended up in a coughing fit, tears burning my eyes. Gavin was just like this cigarette: toxic, foreign, and never meant for me. Slowly, I pressed the glowing cherry of the cigarette directly onto the oil painting, burning a black hole right through his face. A sudden, intoxicating rush of relief washed over me. At three in the morning, the front door finally clicked open. Gavin walked in, carrying the faint, sweet scent of Givenchy powder: Amber’s signature fragrance. She was supposed to be a struggling intern, yet she was draped in luxury brands. I had chosen not to speak of these things, but it didn’t mean I hadn’t noticed. “Sorry I’m so late,” Gavin said, coming up behind me after his shower and wrapping his arms around my waist. “The ER doctor was a resident and took forever with Amber’s bandages.” I quietly shifted toward the edge of the bed, slipping out of his embrace. “Gavin, let’s break up. I’m not joking.” His body went rigid for a second, but then he pulled me back, locking his arms around me. He buried his face in my hair. “Summer, stop it. I know I shouldn’t have stayed out this late. But she’s my employee, and she has no one else in this city. I couldn’t just abandon her.” Another cheap excuse. But I didn’t care enough to argue. He let out a heavy, weary sigh, his voice softening. “Summer, we’ve been together for ten years. How many ten-year stretches do we get in a lifetime? You know you’re the most important person in my life. There is nothing going on between Amber and me.” “It’s not about her,” I interrupted. “I’m just tired, Gavin. It’s over.” If it wasn’t Amber, it would be someone else. When the love is gone, there is no point in pretending to hold on. Gavin’s patience snapped, and he sat up abruptly. “Summer! Why are you acting like a child over a little girl? I’ve already told you, you’re the only woman I’ll ever marry!” His eyes flashed with annoyance. He was done trying to soothe me; the facade was slipping. When we lived in that basement, he would save the best pieces of meat from his instant noodles for me, promising a beautiful future. Now, his company was public, the basement had been replaced by a sprawling villa, and his old bicycle had turned into a Porsche. And Gavin had become the very type of man we used to despise: arrogant, cold, and drunk on power. Was I supposed to be grateful that he hadn’t discarded me yet? “Gavin, you still don’t get it,” I said quietly. “I have absolutely no interest in being your wife anymore.” He stared at me, stunned for a few seconds, before his anger boiled over. “Summer, I have an exhausting job and massive responsibilities! Don’t try to use these petty threats to control me!” He threw his hands up. “Compared to the other guys in my circle, I’m a saint. At least I haven’t replaced you!” Even though I had already detached myself, his words still cut like a knife. It was proof that in his eyes, I was merely an object: an old appliance past its warranty, kept around out of sheer habit. He took a long, sharp breath. “Amber’s right. A woman who’s never had to survive in the real business world just doesn’t get it. You have nothing better to do than throw tantrums.” He stood up, grabbing his pillow. “Take some time to cool your head. I’m sleeping in the guest room.” I lay in the center of the massive bed, watching the city lights outside slowly fade into the gray light of dawn. The tears on my face had dried, leaving a tight, cold sensation. Did this man, who had lived with me for a decade, actually know me at all? He had no idea that I had built my own art studio and opened a gallery. He honestly believed I was just a kept bird, spending his money and waiting around for his return. It was almost laughable. Legally, his company and this villa had nothing to do with me. Yet he kept insisting he did it all for my sake. The next morning, I began sorting through my things, ready to purge my life of the past. Our college photos, the old dance trophies, the portrait sessions we had done years ago. I realized with a sudden jolt that for the last five years, we hadn’t accumulated a single shared item. Gavin came out of the guest room, dressed for work. He stopped when he saw the boxes scattered across the floor. “What are you doing with all this old junk?” You’re the junk, I wanted to say. But instead, I kept my voice neutral. “They’re just memories of our youth.” But those memories had died years ago. People change. The love we had back then was real, but so was the cold indifference of the present. A smug smile returned to his face. “I’m glad you’re finally being reasonable. See? Ten years of history. We have too much to throw away. Be a good girl, and once this busy season is over, I promise I’ll give you the most beautiful wedding.” He leaned down to press a brief kiss to my cheek. “Don’t worry, Summer. You’ll always be the most important person to me.” His steps were light as he walked toward the door, clearly believing the storm had blown over. “Gavin!” I called out. He turned back, his eyes carrying that familiar, easy smile. Ten years ago, he had looked at me the exact same way, pulling a cheap bouquet of roses from behind his back: a gesture that had cost him his entire week’s food budget. Summer, will you be my girlfriend? I promise to love you forever. I stood up, meeting his gaze with absolute clarity. “Gavin, I’m tired. Let’s break up.” The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, familiar mask of superiority. “It seems you still haven’t cleared your head! I won’t be coming back for the next few days. I’ve clearly spoiled you too much.” The heavy front door slammed shut, the sound vibrating through my chest. It didn’t hurt. My phone lit up with a text from Becca. Summer! Look at what this little snake just posted! She is literally declaring war! A screenshot popped up. It was a selfie of Amber, her collar pulled down slightly to expose her bare shoulder. In the background was our kitchen, where a man wearing my pink apron was busy over a simmering pot of soup. Her caption read: It’s pouring outside, but the boss’s homemade soup keeps me warm. The comments below were nauseating: Amber, you’re so lucky! I had no idea the CEO could cook! She gets all the special treatment because she deserves it! There were dozens of likes. Most of them were people who had been with Gavin since the startup days. They all knew about our ten-year relationship. But in their eyes, I had already become invisible. I replied to Becca: It’s fine. Gavin and I broke up. Becca replied instantly: Good! That trash doesn’t deserve you anyway! It took me less than half a day to pack my life into boxes. A decade of devotion, reduced to a few cardboard cartons. Later that afternoon, I carried the old keepsakes to the backyard incinerator. As the flames took hold, the remnants of my youth turned into ash. Gavin began a silent war of cold shoulder. In the past, he would text me his schedule every day. Now, our chat was a desert of silence. Over the next week, I arranged for my belongings to be shipped to my new place and bought myself a new car: a clean start so I could leave whenever I wanted. The first message I received after a week of silence came from Amber, using Gavin’s phone.

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After I was brought back to my filthy-rich biological family, my adopted sister, the fake heiress, made it her life’s mission to destroy me. She framed me for pushing her down the stairs, accused me of stealing, and tried to snatch every penny of the shares our parents gave me. But I had mastered the art of the innocent facade. With a few perfectly timed tears and a soft voice, I turned the tables on her every single time. Even with my parents’ blatant favoritism toward her, I secured my place in the Wright family. That was until the day Dominic Blackwood, the most feared and respected CEO in Manhattan, suddenly proposed a marriage alliance with the Wrights. For the first time, the fake heiress didn’t fight me tooth and nail. Instead, she played coy, claiming she was too young, and eagerly pushed the engagement onto me. Backed into a corner by my parents’ relentless pressure, I had no way out. I started dating Dominic, and to my surprise, our chemistry was electric. Things were heating up fast. Then came the phone call. Dominic rang me up, his voice casual, saying his ultimate ‘best bro’ was returning from abroad and he wanted me at the welcome party. Serena, my fake sister, finally flashed me a wicked, victorious smirk. “You don’t know, do you?” she taunted softly. “Dominic’s little childhood girl-bro has ruined every single relationship he’s ever had. I can’t wait to watch you choke on this.” I just smiled. A ‘girl-bro’? Let’s see if this pick-me girl could survive a single round against someone who had turned playing the victim into an absolute art form. 1 The VIP lounge was pulsing with heavy bass when I walked in. There, sitting shamelessly on my fiancé’s lap in a plunge-neck dress, was the infamous female bestie. “Dom, baby, I have to spill a massive secret tonight!” she practically purred, ignoring everyone else in the room. “About us.” Dominic looked down at her with genuine fondness. “What secret, Jess?” “We’re actually married!” The room went dead silent. Even the background music somehow seemed to dip. Dominic froze. He shot me an incredibly awkward glance, but Jess grabbed his chin and forced him to look back at her. “Don’t tell me you forgot!” she giggled, slapping his chest. “That wild night in Vegas! The whole crew got trashed, and that little chapel priest legally pronounced us man and wife. On US soil, we are legally hitched, baby!” The air grew thick. Every pair of eyes in the room shifted to me, waiting for the explosion. “Married?!” I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth in a picture-perfect display of shock. The color drained from my face. If I didn’t give them a little drama, Dominic might actually think I didn’t care about him. The tension in the booth spiked to dangerous levels. Jess just looked smug. She leaned her head comfortably against Dominic’s shoulder and shot me a mocking look. “Relax, Penny babe. Dom and I have been bros since we were in diapers. Getting a little piece of paper together is just a funny story. No need to have a total meltdown.” I let out a soft breath, picked up a crystal glass of champagne, and walked over to her with slow, measured steps. “Penny, what are you doing?” Dominic instantly shielded Jess, his voice sharp. It was the first time he had ever snapped at me. “Jess and I just got a little too wild that night. I don’t even remember it happening! Could you please just be the bigger person here?” But the dramatic wine-tossing scene everyone was holding their breath for never happened. Instead, I crouched down slightly, my posture elegant, and raised my glass to Jess with a grateful, teary-eyed smile. “Jess, I honestly have to thank you. Thank God you brought this up tonight.” I turned my wide, worried eyes to Dominic. “Otherwise, Dominic would be committing bigamy! That carries a maximum sentence of up to five years in federal prison!” Dominic’s face cycled through three different shades of pale. It was a spectacular sight. Jess’s body went completely rigid. She awkwardly took the champagne glass from my hand, her smug smile cracking. “You’re overthinking it, Penny. It’s not that serious.” “Of course it’s serious!” I pressed a hand to my chest, my voice trembling with concern. “I double-majored in corporate law and criminal justice in college. I know these statutes inside and out. Unlike you, who just likes to play around without understanding the consequences.” I patted her shoulder gently. “But don’t worry. As long as you guys didn’t file the paperwork properly, the ceremony might be voidable. It won’t stop Dominic and me from getting our actual marriage license.” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a soft, maternal whisper. “Just promise me you won’t drag him into these messy legal gray areas anymore, okay? You could have ruined his entire life.” Hearing that, it was like Dominic had been splashed with ice water. He practically shoved Jess off his lap and moved to a seat on the complete opposite side of the booth, looking at her like she was carrying a contagious disease. 2 I immediately seized the moment, slipping into the empty space next to Dominic and resting my head timidly against his arm. For the rest of the night, no matter how many times Jess tried to initiate her usual touchy-feely games, Dominic kept a strict, polite distance. By the time the party ended, Jess was glaring at me with pure venom. Her eyes promised absolute war. Before she came back to town, Dominic had been the perfect match for me. His patience and gentleness made me feel like I could finally put my guard down. My adoptive parents back in that Ohio trailer park had hated me for being a girl. Then the wealthy Wright family found me, tossed my abusers a massive check, and expected me to just fit into their glittering, toxic world. My life in the Wright mansion was a battlefield. When you live under someone else’s roof, you learn to bend. I couldn’t afford to throw a massive tantrum over Jess just yet. If I pushed too hard and Dominic broke off the engagement, my standing with the Wrights would crumble entirely. But surprisingly, the Vegas incident didn’t ruin things between us. It actually made Dominic more attentive. Over the next two weeks, Jess tried to drag him out to bars and weekend trips, but Dominic mercilessly declined her calls, choosing to stay by my side. He was even secretly preparing an official, extravagant proposal. But a pick-me girl never rests. One afternoon while I was out, Jess actually chopped off her gorgeous long hair, rocking a two-inch buzzcut. She strutted right into Dominic’s office. “Dom! I can’t believe you’re getting tied down so soon. We need to go back to our old prep school and recreate our childhood photos! We’ll never get another chance.” She ran a hand over her shaved head. “I even cut my hair for this. Don’t I look just like the little tomboy you used to run around with?” Dominic had a soft spot for nostalgia. Seeing the lengths she went to, he got emotional and agreed on the spot. By the time the estate housekeeper texted me the gossip, Dominic and Jess were already wearing custom-made vintage prep school uniforms, running around their old campus. Jess wasted no time uploading a perfectly curated photo dump to Instagram. The caption read: “The Best Days. Just two bros against the world.” The pictures were highly intimate. Sharing a single pair of headphones under an oak tree. Him lifting her up to touch a basketball hoop. The two of them lying on the football field turf, heads pressed together. I stared at my phone screen for a solid minute. Before her little army of enablers could flood the comments, I typed out a perfectly innocent response: [Oh my God! Which cute gay influencer couple are you guys recreating? This is giving such pure, youthful romance vibes!] [Drop their handle! I definitely need to follow them!] The moment I dropped the words “gay couple”, the entire comment section froze. Nobody dared to type a single word. Anyone who actually knew Dominic knew he was a fiercely private, traditional guy. He had dealt with stalkers in the past because of his athletic build and absolutely despised having his pictures posted online without strict PR approval. Thirty minutes later, Jess’s photo dump vanished. Three minutes after that, she posted a frantic, angry text update. [Do some people seriously have gender perception issues?! Can you not tell when a girl is a girl?!] I immediately replied with overflowing concern: [Jess honey, what happened? Did someone mistake you for a guy? Tell me who it was, and I’ll have Dominic handle them!] [Everyone else read this carefully: Our Jess is one of the boys! Don’t you dare mistake her for a delicate woman!] She didn’t reply. Five minutes later, she deleted that post too. I found out from Dominic’s assistant later that day that the moment Dominic saw my comments, he realized how inappropriate the shoot looked. He forced Jess to scrub the post and made his assistant permanently delete all the raw files from the photographer’s camera. Those nostalgic school photos were supposed to be played in a montage during my proposal to humiliate me. Jess’s grand plan went up in smoke. When Dominic finally proposed, the weather was perfect. The event was so magnificent it made the front page of every Manhattan socialite blog. Everything was disgustingly beautiful. And the best part? Jess didn’t show her face once. 3 After the glittering confetti settled, I nudged Dominic playfully. “Why didn’t your best bro show up today? Where’s Jess?” His warm smile instantly dissolved into a dark frown. “I told her not to come.” “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, but just looking at her gives me a headache.” I kept my face perfectly neutral, while throwing a massive celebration inside my head. But I also noticed that Serena was suspiciously absent from my family’s VIP table. She had been acting weird all week, definitely brewing some fresh poison. Following high society tradition, I moved back into the Wright estate to prepare for the wedding. Dominic was incredibly clingy. He drove over every single day, lingering in my room, finding every excuse not to leave. I usually told him to visit when the house was empty to avoid any drama with Serena. But collisions are inevitable. One afternoon, Dominic and I were caught up in a sweet goodbye near my bedroom door when Serena barged in without knocking. “Penny, I brought you some fresh water.” She was wearing a scandalously sheer silk nightgown. She took three steps into the room, “tripped” over absolutely nothing, and launched herself directly toward Dominic’s chest. Having survived years of Serena’s cheap tricks, my reflexes were razor-sharp. I lunged forward and physically blocked her path. Realizing she couldn’t land on him, Serena masterfully pivoted, throwing herself hard onto the hardwood floor. “Penny, please don’t hit me! I’m sorry!” She burst into hysterical sobs, curling into a pathetic little ball. She kept shooting me these terrified, trembling glances, looking at me like I was a serial killer holding a chainsaw. Dominic was utterly bewildered. “Penny? I thought you two got along. Everyone says you take great care of your adopted sister. What is happening?” “I…” Before I could form a sentence, Serena crawled across the floor and desperately hugged Dominic’s calf. “Dominic, you have to save me! Ever since Penny came back, she’s been insanely jealous that I had her parents’ love for eighteen years. She beats me behind closed doors!” Sobbing violently, she hiked up her silk gown, exposing her thighs. They were covered in horrifying, dark purple and red bruises. “Please take me away! If you don’t, she’s going to kill me!” Dominic’s expression hardened. He took a subtle step back, firmly pulling his leg free from her grasp. But when he looked at me, there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Penny?” I didn’t waste a single breath. I picked up the glass pitcher of water Serena had brought in, dumped it directly onto her legs, and scrubbed my hand harshly over her “bruises.” The horrifying injuries instantly dissolved into a messy puddle of purple and blue watercolor paint. “Penny, are you insane?!” Serena shrieked, pulling her legs back and glaring at me with pure hatred. “Serena,” I said smoothly, dusting off my hands. “You’ve spent years throwing yourself down stairs, burning your own clothes, and scratching your own arms just to frame me. Have you gotten completely lazy? You couldn’t even bother to give yourself a real bruise this time?” “It looks so fake it’s insulting.” Serena didn’t even flinch. “Dominic, I only painted those on so you could visualize the truth! It doesn’t mean she hasn’t left real marks on me before!” “She only stopped beating me when she realized she could climb the social ladder by marrying you!” “Before that, she abused me so badly my parents had to send me to a recovery clinic in Europe! I only just got back three months ago!” “And when I came back, I found out she stole my marriage! I was the one supposed to marry into the Blackwood family!” She cried beautifully, every word dripping with absolute agony. What a spectacularly twisted tongue. But Dominic didn’t immediately buy her performance. He just looked at me, waiting for my side of the story. I looked down at Serena and let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Those are heavy accusations. Do you have a shred of proof that I ever laid a finger on you?” “And funny you mentioned a European clinic. Weren’t you vacationing in St. Barts six months ago? Your flight records are public, Serena. Anyone can pull them up.” The tight lines around Dominic’s eyes visibly relaxed. I let my shoulders drop just a fraction. “As for the marriage alliance, didn’t you literally push it onto me because you wanted to play the field? Why are you suddenly acting like I held a gun to your head and stole it?” Serena suddenly stopped crying. She stood up smoothly, a dark, victorious gleam in her eyes. “So, Penny, you finally admit it? You never actually wanted to marry Dominic. This entire engagement was just you being forced into it, wasn’t it?” 4 Wow. So this entire, poorly acted circus with the fake bruises wasn’t about making Dominic think I was abusive. It was a convoluted trap to get me to confess on record that I didn’t originally want the marriage. Too bad she was playing checkers while I was playing chess. I smiled warmly and wrapped both my arms around Dominic’s bicep. “When you threw this engagement away because you wanted to stay single, it gave me the chance to meet the most incredible man in the world.” “Love grows the more time you spend together. Dominic knows how much he means to me.” I reached into my blouse and pulled out a delicate, vintage silver locket. “And by the way, Serena. Every single time you’ve tried to frame me over the years, I’ve caught it on tape.” “You know I never take this necklace off. There’s a micro-camera built right into the pendant. Everything you’ve ever done to me is safely stored on a cloud drive. Do you want me to play the highlights for Dominic right now?” “Let’s show him who the real monster in this house is.” Serena’s face went chalk white. She lunged forward, clawing at my neck. I effortlessly stepped out of her reach. “Give it to me, you bitch!” I let out a crisp laugh. “Relax, sister. It’s just a normal locket. I was just testing you. But look how fast your victim act fell apart.” “You! You manipulative psycho! Dominic, you cannot trust a word she says!” But Dominic was already looking at Serena like she was trash on the bottom of his shoe. He wrapped a strong arm around my waist and guided me toward the door without giving her a second glance. “Penny, I shouldn’t have let you stay here. Pack a bag. I want you living in the penthouse I bought for you before the wedding.” “Okay. Thank you, sweetheart,” I murmured, letting my voice go perfectly soft and grateful. As we walked out, Serena’s furious screams echoed down the marble hallway. “You just wait, Penny! I’m going to rip that fake mask right off your face!” With only two weeks left until the wedding, the two women who wanted me dead went completely off the radar. A quiet enemy is a dangerous enemy. I was swamped with wedding dress fittings, and Dominic’s schedule suddenly became incredibly demanding. Sometimes we didn’t see each other for days. Occasionally, he would bring me along to corporate dinners. Surprisingly, Jess was there, but she completely stopped playing the ‘bro’ card with him. Instead, she started aggressively flirting with Arthur Harrington, one of Dominic’s major investors. During a truth-or-dare game at a lounge, Jess ‘lost’ and immediately threw herself onto Arthur’s lap, attempting to take off his suit jacket. Arthur’s wealthy, hot-tempered girlfriend walked right over and slapped Jess hard across the face. Jess didn’t quit. The next night, she tried to corner Arthur at the bar, wrapping her arms around his neck. The girlfriend caught her again, this time smashing a vodka bottle over Jess’s head, sending her straight to the ER. For a second, I thought Jess had realized I was too tough a target and pivoted to ruining someone else’s life. But I could still feel her eyes on me, watching me from the shadows like a venomous snake. I had several dark theories about what she was plotting, but no proof. Until one quiet evening. I was sitting alone in my new penthouse, looking over the gorgeous property deeds Dominic had transferred to me, when my phone buzzed. A video call from Jess. I answered it. The screen was blurry and chaotic. It was aimed at crisp white hotel sheets, showing two naked bodies tangled together. The lighting was terrible. I couldn’t see the man’s face. My heart seized. Could it be… “Jess, what is this?” I demanded. The call abruptly disconnected. Dominic had texted me earlier saying he was having drinks with some investors. Was this it? Was his perfect, protective fiancé act just a lie while he was secretly sleeping with his ‘best bro’ the whole time? If they actually slept together, I wasn’t going to play the pathetic, forgiving wife. I wouldn’t spend my life fighting off his female friends. If Dominic crossed that line, I had my perfect excuse to burn the wedding down and walk away rich. I grabbed my keys, jumped into my sports car, and sped toward the private club to catch them red-handed. When I kicked open the door to the VIP room, Dominic’s tailored jacket was draped over a leather chair. But he was nowhere to be found. Only Jess was sitting there, nursing a drink, a bruise fading on her forehead. She looked up at me with a deeply satisfied smirk. “Looking for Dom, Penny?” “Where is he? Who was in that video? Was it him or Arthur?” “I’m not going to lie to you, Penny babe. Dom and I just hooked up.” She sighed dramatically, playing with the rim of her glass. “You know how it is. We’ve always had this crazy tension. We had a few too many shots, and things just… escalated.”

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1 Rumor had it my sugar daddy was tired of me and wanted to break up. Helpful and civic-minded as always, I immediately hopped onto a popular gossip forum to recruit his next replacement. In-network referral for my ex. Great performance, low maintenance. 30% finder’s fee. Serious inquiries only. Within a day, two thousand candidates had signed up. Left with no other choice, I created a massive group chat and auctioned off his private itinerary, letting them battle it out and compete for the position. Hounded and cornered on all sides by eager bachelorettes, my sugar daddy, Barrett, finally snapped. When he got home, his face was blacker than coal. “My darling, I gave you my primary black card. Was that not enough?” “Do you seriously have to monetize every single breath I take…?” … I had been with Barrett for three years, and he had finally grown tired of me. According to my undercover informant, Barrett had been sitting in a VIP lounge, casually playing with his lighter, when he tossed a dismissive remark to his friends. “Marry her?” “Where did that ridiculous rumor come from?” “I guess it’s time to break it off…” Hearing this tragic news, I didn’t waste a single second crying. I immediately logged onto my socials, determined to squeeze every last drop of value out of him before my eviction. In-network referral for my sugar daddy. Great performance, low maintenance. The man is a local billionaire, handsome, generous, mentally stable, drives million-dollar cars, and owns real estate worldwide. I am resigning from my post due to force majeure. Now selling his contact. Only charging a 30% finder’s fee. Serious inquiries only. Perhaps the title was a bit too blunt, but the post immediately drew a massive crowd of onlookers. Within half a day, two thousand people had applied. The comment section was pure chaos. Me! Me! Pick me! Give him to me!!! I have the least self-respect! Let me go first! With so many applicants, I had to create a giant group chat. After a quick preliminary screening, I gathered all the interested candidates. I’ve uploaded some of my soon-to-be-ex’s private files to the group folder. Please review @everyone. The chat erupted like a bomb. Holy shit, the admin’s boyfriend is Barrett?! Who? Who is Barrett?! A massive tycoon. Third-generation old money. I can’t say much more or my account will get banned… ????! Is everyone eating this good nowadays?! I’m currently serving a sugar daddy who is eighty and has terrible gas. I can’t take it anymore. Can I get priority, please… No way, first come, first served! I’ll put down a five-thousand-dollar deposit right now! Ten thousand! Fifty thousand! I just want a meeting. I’ll handle the rest myself @admin @admin. Let’s just auction off his itinerary! Everyone gets a fair, competitive shot!!! I stared at the screen, blinking. Sigh. This kind of money seemed significantly easier to make than a finder’s fee. As for Barrett’s itinerary, I didn’t even have to dig for it. Lately, he had been taking his “doting boyfriend” role far too seriously, sending me daily play-by-plays of his business trips, down to the exact hotel room numbers. All I had to do was copy, paste, and watch the cash flow into my account. This was brilliant! I immediately took action and posted in the group. We are now holding a bid for Barrett’s current hotel location. Highest bidder wins. If the winner defaults, it goes to the next runner-up. None of the women in this group were short on cash. The bidding war kept driving the price up until it reached nearly six figures. In the end, a girl with the handle PeachBunny claimed the prize, transferring several hundred thousand dollars without even blinking. Looking at her profile, she was an absolute stunner. Her skin practically glowed, and her feed was filled with yachts, private jets, and luxury galas. A high-class socialite. She was a world apart from someone like me, who took her sugar daddy’s allowance and spent hours debating which brand of cheap chips was the best value. Barrett was a lucky bastard. But that was none of my business. I was just a middleman making a tidy commission. The moment the funds cleared, I packed up Barrett’s location details and sent them over without a single ounce of hesitation. Once I made enough from this, I was going to retire back to my hometown and buy a farm. That night, to verify if my information was legit, the losing bidders camped out in the chat, waiting for PeachBunny’s live updates. Under the watchful eyes of thousands, she finally logged on at eight. I saw him. That single sentence sent shockwaves through the group. !!!!! It’s actually real! The admin is a goddess! Ahhh! If I’d known, I would have bid another ten thousand! How was he? Is he handsome? Did you talk to him?! Give us the details, please! Faced with the onslaught of questions, PeachBunny was happy to share. He’s incredibly handsome, way better-looking than any movie star. But he’s freezing cold. I pretended my heel broke and fell toward him, but he literally stepped out of the way, letting me slam onto the floor without even reaching out to help. Then he turned to his assistant and said, “The quality of this brand is garbage. Tell them to stop sending their seasonal collections to my girlfriend. I don’t want her twisting her ankle.” … The highly active group chat went dead silent. Oh no. This was directed at me! Barrett was taking his doting boyfriend act way too far! How was I supposed to run a business like this?! Since when did he ever pay attention to my shoes?! As my anxiety began to peak, PeachBunny posted again, offering some comfort. It’s fine. He probably just didn’t like me. We all still have a chance. This just proves how incredibly well he treats his woman. Once one of us succeeds, we’ll get the same treatment. It’s definitely worth investing in. I stared at my phone. Aww, Penelope was such a sweetheart! The atmosphere in the group warmed up again, and everyone began talking at once. Damn, my competitive spirit is fully ignited now. I want seasonal luxury collections delivered to my door too! Who doesn’t, sister! But he’s so hard to crack… Honestly, getting into Harvard sounds easier than getting into Barrett’s bed. True! Since the admin is resigning anyway, can you share some of your success secrets? Give us a roadmap. Great idea! We need a guide! Please! Agree! Please!!! Success secrets? I scratched my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. On the day I met Barrett, I had just been screamed at by my horrible boss. Fuming with rage, I had vowed for the two-hundred-and-fiftieth time to marry a rich man. Then, I turned around and saw Barrett. It wasn’t because of his expensive suit. He was just too handsome, practically glowing among a crowd of balding executives. In a fit of reckless courage, I grabbed a glass of champagne, chased him down, and splashed it all over his chest. When he finally lost his patience, he glared at me. “Are you trying to give me a bath?” I raised my hands, my eyes shining. “Hehe, can I?” Barrett was speechless. Perhaps he had never met anyone so utterly shameless. I ended up beating out a sea of models, actresses, and socialites to become his official “girlfriend.” Of course, in reality, I was just a kept canary. Looking back at Barrett’s family tree, not a single male heir had ever married a commoner, and I knew I wouldn’t be the exception. So… I really didn’t have any real secrets to share. But as the demands in the chat grew louder, and the girls began referring to themselves as the Billionaire Capture Alliance, I reluctantly typed out a reply. He seems to prefer classic drama plots. Like… throwing drinks on him. The good news: Thanks to Penelope’s glowing review, the alliance trusted me implicitly, and my business was booming. The bad news: Barrett was back from his business trip. Embodying the perfect spirit of a kept canary, I ran downstairs to greet him. The carved wooden doors swung open, the golden twilight spilling into the grand foyer, outlining his tall, aristocratic frame. But as he stepped into the light… His collar was torn, his shirt was wrinkled, and his coat was soaked with a mixture of wine, tea, coffee, and several unidentifiable stains. The entire man smelled like… a trash bin. I froze. Usually, the moment he walked through the door, I would throw myself into his arms. But right now, even my professional work ethic couldn’t bridge the gap. I took a step back, horrified. Seeing my hesitant expression, Barrett closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and surrendered to his fate. “I’m going to take a shower first.” I watched his retreating back, feeling a wave of silent awe. My clients were far too aggressive. I had to tell them to tone it down. If they drove my cash cow to his grave, who was going to pay my bills? After a shower, Barrett dragged me onto the bed. He was incredibly passionate, barely letting me catch my breath. But my mind was entirely focused on my thriving business. I wanted to check my messages. My phone on the nightstand was buzzing constantly. It had to be the girls clamoring for more information. My heart was in the chat room even though my body was in his bed. I reached out toward the nightstand. Slap! A large hand pinned mine to the mattress, completely cutting off my escape. “Maisie, focus.” Barrett frowned, his fingers tightening slightly on my chin as he pulled my face toward him. “I’ve been gone for days. Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

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After being locked away in an asylum for two years, I finally learned my lesson. When my brother got into another bloody fistfight with a trust-fund billionaire over his unrequited love, I turned around and walked away. I didn’t interfere. When my sister insisted on marrying an abusive monster, I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t utter a single word. When my father risked our entire family estate on a high-stakes corporate betting agreement, I pretended not to see. When my mother embezzled company funds to bail out her deadbeat brother, I minded my own business. The perk of cutting ties with them? My bank account is overflowing, and I actually smile now. But they? They’ve completely lost their minds. 1 On my very first day out of the asylum, I stumbled upon my brother, Rory, in a brutal alley brawl with a group of trust-fund elites. He was throwing wild, desperate punches, burying his fists into one of the rich heirs like a rabid dog. I stood a few yards away, a look of simulated terror plastered on my face. I trembled, feigning cowardice, and didn’t take a single step forward. One of the main reasons they locked me away in that hellhole was because I had tried to stop him from picking a fight with a prominent high-society heir two years ago. Back then, Rory was obsessed with Isla, the girl of his dreams. But Isla only had eyes for Barrett, a prominent billionaire heir. Out of sheer, blinding jealousy, Rory looked for any excuse to pick a fight with Barrett. I had been there. I held Rory back with everything I had, taking two heavy blows to my back from his wild fists, but I didn’t let go. Seeing how desperately I was trying to prevent a tragedy, Barrett took his security team and walked away, avoiding a bloodbath. But afterward, Rory blamed me entirely. He claimed I ruined his big moment, that I prevented Isla from seeing his raw masculinity. When Isla eventually rejected him and moved to Europe, Rory directed all his burning hatred toward me. This time? I turned on my heel and walked away. No way was I getting involved. I didn’t go home either. After my entire family conspired to throw me into a psychiatric ward, leaving me to rot for two painful years under the guise of doing what was best for me, I learned one absolute truth. Stay as far away from the Whitmores as possible. Every ounce of misery in my first twenty years of life came from them. From now on, I only live for myself. That night, a phone call dragged me back to the Whitmore estate. I didn’t want to start an open war with them, there was no benefit in that, so I decided to see what they wanted. The moment I stepped through the door, my father roared at me, “Your brother was in a street fight this afternoon! Why didn’t you stop him?!” Just as I figured. No matter what choice I made, the blame would always land on my shoulders. When you’re the unloved child, even your breathing is an offense. I replied coolly, “I was terrified. I didn’t even realize it was Rory.” My mother glared at me with pure venom. “You did it on purpose! Rory said you were standing less than ten feet away! How could you not recognize your own brother? You wanted him to get hurt, didn’t you? How did you become so utterly malicious?!” They hadn’t visited me once during my two years in the asylum. Now that I was finally out, their only concern was that I hadn’t played meat shield for my golden-boy brother. Rory was the one who went looking for trouble, and the fight was basically over by the time I walked past. My intervention would have changed nothing. But in their eyes, my lack of self-sacrifice was a crime. In the past, I had taken his punches to keep him safe, only to be rewarded with his eternal hatred. Why would I ever play the savior again? Ignorance is bliss. “If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do,” I said. I had no energy to argue with them. Just then, my father’s phone rang. It was the police department. Rory had been arrested. 2 He had broken three of Barrett’s ribs and slashed his face. The Whitmores were moderately wealthy, but we were nothing compared to the true, untouchable elite. Offending a billionaire’s son meant our family could be crushed overnight. Hearing that her precious son was locked up, my mother wept hysterically, insisting that the rich kid was using dirty political connections to suppress them. She threatened to go to the media to expose the corruption. My father, possessing a shred of sanity, immediately hired a top lawyer and began looking for mediators. They were willing to pay any amount of hush money as long as Barrett dropped the charges. Watching them scramble and panic for Rory, a bitter smile tugged at my lips. I had never once experienced that kind of parental devotion. When I lay in bed for three days and nights with a scorching fever, their only reaction was to ask why I hadn’t gone to school. When I was harassed by a boy at school and begged them for help, they told me to tell him to stop and reflection on my own behavior. When I earned my advanced classical piano credentials, they accused me of showing off because my sister, Jenny, couldn’t even read sheet music. When I got accepted into an Ivy League university, they frowned and asked if I had cheated on the SATs. The list of micro-cruelties was endless. For years, I kept testing them, hoping for a shred of affection. I had been pathetic. But those days were over. “I remember that rich boy was your high school classmate,” my mother suddenly said, grabbing my wrist tightly. “Go to the hospital right now. Find him and beg him to drop the charges against your brother!” Her nails dug into my skin, her eyes wide with desperation. I looked down at her phone screen, which was playing the security footage of the fight. The boy Rory had brutally beaten was indeed my former classmate, Barrett. But Barrett had ruthlessly bullied me in high school. I despised him, and the thought of seeing him made my stomach churn. I shook my head. “He bullied me in high school. He dragged me by my hair across the courtyard. I’m not going.” My mother gripped my wrist even harder, her eyes bloodshot. “Perfect! If he bullied you, he definitely remembers you! Use that to make him feel guilty so he’ll let your brother off! Go now!” Her tone was entirely transactional. I simply nodded. “Fine.” Fine, my ass. Once I walked out that door, she would have no idea where I went. I had absolutely no intention of begging my bully to save my abusive brother. If they could be this monstrously biased, I could match their coldness. I turned and walked away. But before I could reach the car, my mother caught up with me. “I’m coming with you.” She didn’t trust me. I let out a dry laugh. “Suit yourself.” On the drive over, she uncharacteristically asked if I had been comfortable at the facility. “It wasn’t a facility, Mother. It was an asylum,” I corrected her. She offered a tight, awkward smile. “I just remember the grounds were lovely. It seemed like a good place for you to rest…” “Was it? Is why you explicitly instructed the doctors to give me monthly electroshock therapy sessions to teach me how to be obedient?” I asked, my voice flat. During my first year, I was subjected to monthly ECT sessions, the agony so intense it made me lose control of my bladder. During the second year, because I started playing along, they let me off the shocks and made me memorize books on family morality instead, slapping me across the face whenever I missed a word. My mother’s fake smile vanished. “I… I only did it for your own good…” “Of course,” I murmured. The atmosphere in the car turned dead silent. When we arrived at the hospital, my mother explained our purpose to the receptionist. Barrett refused to see her, but he agreed to let me in alone. He still remembered me. He sat in his luxury suite, his bruised face twisting into a cruel smirk. His terms were simple: become his kept mistress for two years, and Rory goes free. I gave him a direct answer: “In your dreams.” He seemed entirely confident I would bend to his will, telling me I had one night to think it over. I didn’t even give him a second glance as I walked out. My mother was waiting in the corridor. Seeing the cold fury on my face, she assumed I had failed. She immediately began screaming at me, right there in the hallway. “You useless, worthless disappointment! You can’t do a single thing right! I don’t even know why I bothered raising you!” 3 I looked at her with total detachment. “Then let’s sever ties. Officially.” She hadn’t expected me to say those words. Her furious expression froze, but before she could utter another sound, I turned and walked out of the hospital, leaving her behind. The following morning, my phone rang. Somehow, they had found out about Barrett’s disgusting proposal. Their tone was suddenly incredibly gentle, practically begging me to sacrifice myself for Rory. They wanted me to sell my body to my high school bully. I refused immediately. My father tried playing the good cop. “Gemma, the Whitmores need this. Barrett comes from an incredibly powerful family. Countless women would kill to be in his bed. You’re not just saving your brother; you’re elevating yourself. If you play your cards right and bear his child, you’ll secure a spot in high society.” My mother took the bad cop approach. “If you don’t save your brother, you are no longer a Whitmore. We will disown you.” Since the gloves were entirely off, I didn’t hold back. I let out a sharp laugh and fired back through the speakerphone: “I have never met parents as repulsive and depraved as you. You’re actually encouraging your own daughter to become a rich man’s whore. If your precious son is too stupid to keep his fists to himself, he should face the consequences. He is a brainless idiot!” I slammed the phone down and blocked their numbers. To prevent them from trying to kidnap me again, I immediately packed my bags and moved out of my apartment. Two years ago, the four of them had physically forced me into a car with the asylum staff, claiming my depression and mild anxiety made me unfit for society. I wasn’t going to give them a second chance to lock me up. I went completely off the grid. They had no way of tracking me down, so they eventually had to give up. A week later, Rory was released. My parents had to pay nearly three million dollars in medical expenses and settlements to resolve the issue. Barrett’s family eventually dropped it to avoid a public scandal. The moment Rory was freed, he went straight to find Isla, who had recently returned from Europe. Instead of a romantic reunion, he found her kneeling by Barrett’s feet, gently massaging the rich heir’s legs. Assuming Isla had degraded herself to save him, Rory lost his mind. He charged in like a heroic idiot, screaming about how a real man takes responsibility for his own actions and telling Barrett to leave Isla alone. But Barrett had brought a full security detail this time. Rory’s pathetic display of chivalry earned him a brutal beating in a back alley. The entire incident was filmed and sent directly to my parents. My father nearly had a heart attack. He had just spent millions to bail the idiot out, only for Rory to immediately pick another fight. My mother wept for her darling boy but didn’t dare retaliate against an untouchable dynasty. Ultimately, they locked Rory inside the estate to keep him out of trouble. It was useless. In a desperate bid to escape and see Isla, Rory jumped from his second-story bedroom window. He broke his leg in three places.

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1 When I woke up from the car crash, six years had vanished. I was married to my childhood sweetheart, and we even had a son. Our little boy was the spitting image of his father—quiet, guarded, and painfully adorable. I couldn’t help myself. I scooped him up and covered his chubby cheeks in kisses. Just then, my phone rang. It was an unrecognized number. I pressed answer, and a man’s drunken voice slurred through the speaker: “She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?” My five-year-old son immediately gripped my hand, his knuckles turning white. “Mom… are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again?” “Dad will be so sad.” He lowered his head, his voice cracking. “And so will I.” … When I first opened my eyes, a beautifully dressed little boy was standing at my bedside, staring at me with wide, anxious eyes. “Mom, you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?” Why was he calling me Mom? I blinked, taking in his features. He was incredibly handsome, a perfect, miniature version of Jasper. Then, my eyes drifted to the wall. Hanging above the headboard was a massive, elegant wedding portrait of Jasper and me. I had only been in a car accident. How did I wake up married to him with a child? But looking at the sweet little boy, logic went out the window. My hands moved faster than my brain, pulling him into my chest. I hugged him tight, kissing him repeatedly until his face was damp. That was when the phone on the nightstand buzzed. The caller ID read: Beckett. I answered, and the heavy scent of alcohol seemed to bleed through the line as a man groaned. “She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?” I was completely bewildered. “Who is this?” The voice on the other end grew cold and exhausted. “Hazel, stop playing games. You know I’m in no mood for your drama right now.” “I’m at our usual bar. Old place. I’m waiting.” With a sharp click, the line went dead. I checked the time. It was two in the morning. Who was this lunatic, demanding my presence in the middle of the night? Did he think I was some cheap, desperate girl? My five-year-old son squeezed my fingers, his chest heaving. “Mom, are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again? Dad will be so sad.” He looked down. “And so will I.” I stared at him, a deep sense of unease settling in my chest. Why did this little boy look so incredibly insecure? Seeing my silence, his grip slowly loosened. His shoulders slumped, a look of profound disappointment crossing his small face. “If you have to go, Mom… I’ll get your coat.” “It’s cold outside. You shouldn’t catch a chill. Remember your scarf, too.” He was so heartbreakingly sweet that my heart melted. I quickly grabbed his tiny hands, my voice softening. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. How could I leave you all by yourself in the middle of the night?” “Come here. Let’s cuddle and go back to sleep.” The boy froze, staring at me with a hesitant, shy, almost overwhelmed expression. “Is that… is that really okay, Mom?” “Of course it’s okay! A mother sleeping with her baby is the most natural thing in the world.” I pulled him under the warm duvet, wrapping my arms around him. “By the way, what’s your name, sweetie?” He reached up, placing a cool hand against my forehead. “Mom, do you have a fever? I’m Tristan. You were the one who chose my name.” “Tristan? Like the knight?” He shook his head, his voice dropping. “No. You said it meant sorrow. Because you hated us.” I went completely numb. Tristan? Sorrow? Why on earth would I give such a beautiful, innocent child a name like that? The next morning, I woke up late to find Tristan already dressed. He was sitting quietly on a small chair, reading a book without making a single sound. My god, I had given birth to an angel. I adored him instantly. I wanted to call his name, but “Tristan” felt too heavy, too thick with a past I couldn’t remember. So, I called out softly, “Sweetheart.” “Where is your father?” Hearing the endearment, Tristan’s ears flushed a bright red. “Dad… he was working late at the office last night.” “Oh. I see.” I thought about the six-year blank in my memory since the car crash. I offered him a warm smile. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me test you. How is the relationship between your dad and me?” Tristan hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again. “Not very good, Mom. You seemed to really hate us.” “Dad said you lost your memory after the accident. Since you didn’t have any other family left, he brought you home to care for you, and you two got married shortly after.” “But after I was born, you were unhappy every single day. Dad said it was postpartum depression, that you didn’t hate me, you were just sick.” “But then you met Uncle Beckett, and you started smiling again. You told Dad that Beckett was your medicine.” A bitter, old-beyond-his-years look crossed his face. “And then, you didn’t want us anymore.” I searched my brain, but the name Beckett conjured absolutely nothing. “Who is this Beckett? Why would I care about him so much?” Tristan shook his head. “I don’t know.” “But on your anniversary with Dad, Uncle Beckett called Dad from your phone on purpose.” “Dad thought it was you calling, and he was so happy when he answered.” “But you didn’t know the call was connected. You were busy talking to Uncle Beckett. He told you he didn’t love you, that he was in love with his brother’s fiancée, even though they could never be together.” “You asked him why, if it was so painful, he couldn’t just consider you instead.” “Uncle Beckett said that if you got a divorce, he would consider it.” “And then, Mom… you said, ‘Okay, I’ll divorce him.’” “Dad… Dad was so heartbroken that day.” His voice trembled. “And so was I.” I sat there, utterly stunned. In my son’s eyes, I was nothing but a desperate, pathetic simp. I was throwing away my family for a man who was pining after his own brother’s fiancée. It was the plot of a cheap, trashy soap opera. I reached out, gently covering Tristan’s ears. “A child shouldn’t have to carry these heavy things.” Tristan blinked, looking at me with confusion. I let out a long, heavy sigh. Jasper was my childhood sweetheart. When I was seven, my father worked as a driver for the Lu family. Because my mother was gone and my father was always busy with work, he would often leave me at Jasper’s estate. My classmates had warned me, telling me that rich kids were cruel to their bones. They said Jasper would treat me like a toy, bullying and tormenting me every day. But the moment I met him, those fears vanished. Jasper had no sense of superiority. He looked at me and said I looked like a delicate porcelain doll. I was fragile and sickly back then. But despite being the pampered heir of the wealthy Lu family, Jasper would kneel on the frozen ground to put on my socks in the winter. He carried my backpack to school every day. When I was sick in bed, he would sit by my side, holding my hand and refusing to leave. Later, when my father died in a tragic accident, none of my relatives wanted to take in a penniless orphan. It was Jasper who took my hand and led me into his home. The Lu family was one of the most powerful dynasties in the city, but he never let me feel like an outsider. To me, he wasn’t just a lover. He was my family. Before the car crash, we had been planning our wedding. We had already picked out our future home. I had teasingly told him the bathroom needed a double tub, a massive mirror, and floor-to-ceiling windows so we could play around. Jasper had smiled and promised me everything. And yet, during the six years I had lost to amnesia, I had treated him like garbage. The guilt tore at my chest. “Sweetheart, let me ask you one more thing. When is our wedding anniversary?” “November twenty-first, Mom.” That was just two days ago. I couldn’t let my husband suffer like this any longer. When Jasper came home, I was going to make things right. That evening, Jasper returned from the office. The house was dark, quiet, and cold. As usual, there was no one waiting for him. He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and reached for the light switch. The moment the light flared, I stepped into his path, a brilliant smile on my face. “Surprise!” The living room had been beautifully decorated, and a warm, steaming dinner sat on the dining table. Jasper froze, his briefcase slipping slightly in his grip. “Hazel? What is this?” “I know we missed our anniversary, so I wanted to make it up to you tonight.” Tristan was already fast asleep, leaving just the two of us in the quiet room. “Just an anniversary dinner?” “Of course. What else? I made everything myself. Come, try some.” I pulled him toward the table, making him sit. I stared at him, taking in his features. He was breathtakingly handsome, like a painting of a modern prince. I wanted nothing more than to drag him to bed and ruin that perfect, neat composure. I tilted my head, offering a soft smile. “Does it taste good, honey?” Jasper’s fork paused mid-air. He looked at me as if I were a ghost. “It’s been a long time since you called me that.” He took a slow bite. “The food is excellent.” I winked. “If you like it, I’ll cook for you every single day.” But there was no joy in his eyes. “Is that so? That must be incredibly exhausting for you.” “How much money do you need this time, Hazel?” “After all, you worked so hard to learn how to cook healthy meals for Beckett’s sensitive stomach. You wouldn’t waste those skills on me without a price.” I went entirely rigid. Just then, my phone began to blare. It was Beckett. I immediately swiped decline. But a second later, the screen lit up again. Jasper placed his fork down, his eyes dark and empty. “Why don’t you answer? Are you afraid I’ll hear something?” “You don’t have to hide it from me. Just do what you want.” His voice was a hollow whisper. “I already know everything anyway.” Left with no choice, I swiped accept and pressed the speakerphone button, laying the phone flat on the table. Beckett’s irritated voice snarled through the speaker. “Hazel, you actually dare to hang up on me now?” “You had quite a spine last night, actually refusing to show up. Is this a new game? Playing hard to get?” “I have to admit, you’re slightly more interesting than before.” He let out a patronizing chuckle. “I have some good news for you.” “My brother is marrying his girlfriend next week. I’m going to plan the wedding myself. Maybe once I hear her say ‘I do’ to him with my own ears, I can finally let her go.” “And then, I’ll give us a try.” “As for you, make sure you clean up your mess and cut off whatever ties you need to on your end.” Jasper listened to the entire speech, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. “How touching. You gave him your heart, and now you’re going to give him your official status too.” “Should I start packing my bags to make room for him?” Before he could say another word, I reached out and pressed my fingers against his lips. “Husband, shut up for a second and let me handle this.” I cleared my throat, speaking into the phone with cold precision. “Beckett, right? I am a married woman with a family. Please have some self-respect.” “Stop trying to insert yourself into my marriage. My husband and I are deeply in love, and we don’t need a third wheel.” “We’ve just finished our romantic candlelight dinner and are about to go to bed. I need to warm his sheets now. Goodbye.” With a swift tap, I disconnected the call. Then, right in front of Jasper’s stunned eyes, I blocked the number and deleted the contact permanently. Surely he would believe me now. But Jasper only stared at me, his shoulders slumped. “You don’t have to force yourself to play these humiliating games for his sake.” “How am I forcing myself?” He looked away. “We’ve been sleeping in separate rooms for a very long time.” I blinked, thoroughly confused. “Why on earth would we do that?” My eyes slowly drifted down to his lap, my voice dropping to a cautious whisper. “Is it because… you can’t perform?” That didn’t make sense. Before the accident, Jasper had been insatiable, going through an entire box of ultra-thin condoms every night until I was begging for mercy. Jasper’s face flushed a deep crimson, a mix of embarrassment and anger flashing in his eyes. “You were the one who demanded it!” “Because you said the mere thought of me touching you made you sick.” I wanted to punch my past self. How could I have kept such a masterpiece of a man out of my bed? Was I out of my mind? “Well, tonight, we’re touching.” “Husband, I’ve missed you so much. Let me feel you.” I slid my hand beneath his shirt, pressing my palm against the firm, defined muscles of his chest, gently teasing his skin. It had been years since I had touched him like this. His body went rigid, a low, ragged groan escaping his throat as he grit his teeth. “Enough, Hazel.” “Beckett’s company just secured its funding. You don’t have to disgust yourself by seducing me anymore.” He pushed my hand away, stood up, and walked out of the room. Looking at the back of the man who used to look at me with nothing but warmth and adoration, my heart shattered into a million pieces. I tangled my fingers in my hair, staring at the empty doorway. What had I done? Could a man as proud and dignified as Jasper ever forgive me?

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1 For our first anniversary, my boyfriend gave me a twenty-dollar scratch-off card. When I scratched off a five-million-dollar jackpot, I screamed, ready to throw my arms around his neck. But my best friend, Vivian, grabbed my wrist. “Valerie, look closely! This card is fake. He’s running a loyalty test on you! To put it bluntly, the guy doesn’t trust you for a second!” She urged me to dump him. Who wants to be with a cheap, broke guy who uses fake junk to test real feelings? Honestly, for a split second, it made perfect sense. But just as I was about to march downstairs and slap that stupid ticket right into Tristan’s face, a tiny, furious voice echoed in my head. “Are you kidding me? Is my idiot mother really about to break up with my dad again?” “Does she have any idea that my dad is the sole heir of the Mercer dynasty? Literally the crown prince of New York’s elite?” “All she has to do is pass this stupid test and she gets a fifty-million-dollar reward. Instead, she’s going to listen to that toxic snake and end up dying in misery.” What? Tristan is the heir to a hundred-billion-dollar empire? Why didn’t you say so earlier! When I first realized the ticket was fake, Vivian’s words had sunk into my mind like a poisoned needle. “A man with actual capability would never run a messed-up test like this,” she whispered, her face tight with mock concern. “Deep down, he thinks you’re just some gold-digger! Why do you think he’s still waiting down there under the streetlamp? He’s waiting to see how you react. If you tell him you won, he’ll just shrug it off as a joke, feeding on your disappointment. If you don’t tell him, he’ll look down on you from his moral high ground, watching you embarrass yourself trying to cash a fake ticket!” Down on the street, Tristan stood quietly beneath the flickering yellow glow of the lamppost. His head was bowed, his face shadowed, making his expression impossible to read. For the past year, he had never bought me anything expensive, and I had never minded. I loved him for who he was. But if this was all a twisted game… Seeing me hesitate, Vivian pressed harder. “A relationship without trust is just a house of cards, Val. A guy with a mind this dark isn’t going to stop at one test. Do you want to spend the rest of your life walking on eggshells? Can you really tolerate being played like a fool? You need to go down there, expose him, and slap some sense into him!” Taking a deep breath, I gripped the scratch-off and walked toward Tristan. “Tristan, you…” Before I could finish, that squeaky, immature voice rang out again in my mind. “Are you kidding me? Is my idiot mother really about to break up with my dad again?” I whipped my head around, but the street was empty. The voice was coming from inside my own stomach. “Does she seriously not know my dad is the Mercer family heir, worth a hundred billion dollars?” “In her past life, she listened to that toxic witch Vivian. She threw the card in my dad’s face, screamed that he was a cheap hypocrite, and broke up with him on the spot after a massive fight. Then Vivian swooped in. She played the gentle, caring angel, married into the empire, and became the billionaire’s wife. And what happened to my idiot mom? Vivian ruined her career, dragged her name through the mud, and had her baby taken away. My mom ended up committing suicide in a dingy, rented room.” “I got reborn just to end up with a mother who doesn’t learn her lesson!” I froze, ice water running through my veins. The idiot mother was me? I was pregnant? And Tristan was a billionaire prince? The little guy in my belly let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Mom, get your act together! It wasn’t easy getting reincarnated. Don’t ruin it this time!” “Right now, right this second, go hug my dad. Pretend you’re ecstatic and tell him you won the jackpot!” “As long as you pass this test, my dad has a fifty-million-dollar bonus and a massive luxury penthouse waiting for you. If you don’t pull it together, that toxic bitch gets it all…” I looked up at Tristan. Suddenly, the streetlamp wasn’t the only thing shining. He practically glowed with the light of a golden god. He wasn’t just a hidden heir: he was my personal ticket to paradise. 2 Tristan watched my face fluctuate between tears and a hysterical grin, his brows knitting together. “Val? What did you want to say?” I took a deep breath, threw my arms around him, and buried my face in his chest. “Tristan, you won’t believe how lucky we are! That scratch-off you gave me? We won! It’s a five-million-dollar jackpot!” His body stiffened instantly. “You… actually told me?” “Of course I did! You’re the love of my life, and you bought the ticket. With this money, we can finally build our future together.” Up on the steps, Vivian’s face practically shattered. She marched down, her voice sharp. “Valerie, stop being so brainless! I told you, that card is fake! Tristan is just playing you!” So what if my golden goose wanted to run a little security check before raining cash on me? I was more than happy to play along. Inside my belly, the little guy gasped. “Wait, my mom actually used her brain? But now that the toxic snake exposed it, how is she going to save this?” Just sit back and watch your mother’s award-winning performance, I thought back. “Wait… you can hear me?” the baby wondered. I ignored him, focusing instead on the ticket. My eyes welled up with tears right on cue. “It… it’s a fake?” “Val, let me explain,” Tristan pleaded, his composure slipping. “I thought we finally made it,” I choked out, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, letting a single tear roll down my cheek. “I thought you wouldn’t have to work three jobs anymore just to save up for our future.” I let out a shaky breath, wrapping my arms tighter around his waist. “But it’s okay. I know you were just trying to make me happy. It was nice to dream for a second. It just means you’ll have to keep working hard, and I’ll be right there beside you.” I buried my face back into his chest, letting out soft, muffled sobs. Tristan cupped my face, gently wiping away my tears. “You sweet, silly girl. The ticket is fake.” “But you passed the test. This is your real reward.” He slid something into my palm. I looked down. An Amex Black Card, and a key fob to a penthouse overlooking Central Park. I swallowed hard. “What… what does this mean? Tristan, where did you get this?” “My family is actually the Mercers of New York,” he admitted softly. “I had to hide my identity while dating. I want to bring you home, but my family required a test first. You have no idea how terrified I was that you’d leave me for five million dollars. Thank you, Val. I promise to love you with everything I have.” Vivian turned deathly pale. “Valerie, did you not hear him? He’s been lying to you from day one! He’s just playing with you. Men like him never marry girls like us! Throw that trash back at him! Don’t sell your soul for money!” The little guy in my belly snorted. “My dad is the sole heir of the Mercer line. The old patriarch is dying for a great-grandchild. If my mom spills the pregnancy news right now, the family gates will swing wide open for her.” Seeing Vivian reach out to snatch the card and keys, I quickly shoved them into my pocket, covering my stomach. “But I’m already pregnant with his child. I don’t want my baby growing up without a father.” Vivian froze. Tristan looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “Val… what did you say? You’re pregnant?” When I nodded, he immediately pulled out his phone, made a rapid-fire call, and scooped me up in his arms, walking toward a sleek black Maybach that had quietly pulled up to the curb. “I’ll have the wedding planned immediately. First, we go to the hospital.” The baby purred happily. “Not bad, Dad. But don’t celebrate too early. That toxic snake Vivian isn’t going to give up easily. She already knew your true identity and has been plotting to tear you two apart so she can take my mom’s place.” Resting in Tristan’s arms, I gently caressed my stomach. But I have you now, don’t I, my sweet reborn baby? After the hospital confirmed the pregnancy, the Mercer patriarch immediately gifted us a sprawling estate in the Hamptons as a welcoming present. Everything was picture-perfect. Except for Vivian. And my baby was about to give me a very grim warning about what she had planned next. 3 After the scratch-off incident, I moved out of my cramped apartment and into the estate. Vivian pretended to be happy for me, but she bombarded my phone with toxic texts daily. “Val, do you really know Tristan? Families that rich have crazy rules. Can you actually survive in that world?” “They only care about pedigree. You think you can secure your place just with a baby? Watch out, they might just take the kid and kick you to the curb!” “Men born with silver spoons don’t stick to one woman. High-society guys are all players.” Every time she tried to plant seeds of doubt, my little guardian angel chimed in. “She’s just trying to make you paranoid, Mom. My dad is completely devoted to you, and the Mercer family has strict moral codes.” “In the last life, my dad only ended up with her to make you jealous. He loved you to death. In fact, after you died, he took his own life.” “Don’t play into some tragic romance trope. Tell Vivian that even if the Mercers only want the baby, you’ll still be set for life on child support alone!” Grinning, I picked up my phone, switched on the video call, and slowly panned around my massive, thousand-square-foot master bedroom. “Vivian, look at this place. Just for being pregnant, they gave me this estate and an unlimited allowance.” “Even if they kick me out after the birth, they’ll have to pay me millions in child support. I’m set for life either way.” “And if I have a boy, he’ll inherit the entire Mercer empire. Who cares if I marry into the family? As long as I have the money, I’m happy.” “You shouldn’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. I heard your deadbeat, gambling father is looking for you again?” Vivian’s face flushed with a mixture of rage and humiliation. She slammed the phone down, hanging up on me. Why didn’t I block her? Because my sweet baby told me that villains like Vivian are like roaches. If you don’t face them head-on, they just skulk in the dark. It was much more satisfying to keep her close and drive her insane with my success. A few weeks later, Tristan took me to a high-society charity gala. It was my official debut as his wife. Since Tristan didn’t want a rushed wedding and wanted to spare me the stress while pregnant, we had quietly registered our marriage and planned a grand ceremony for the following year. Before we left, my little guy gave me a stern warning. “Be careful tonight, Mom. In our last life, Vivian set you up at this very gala, causing a massive public scandal that ruined your reputation.” What did she do? I asked mentally. “In the past life, you snuck in as a waitress to see my dad after finding out you were pregnant. Vivian spilled red wine all over your dress and led you to a private changing room.” “She had hired a man to wait for you there. When my dad walked in, you were disheveled and caught in a compromising position. He was blinded by rage. With Vivian whispering poison in his ear, he didn’t even believe the baby was his.” “You were thrown out into a torrential downpour, got hit by a car, lost me, and ended up with a crippled leg. Vivian is definitely going to sneak in tonight to pull something similar.” I shuddered, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. At the gala, sure enough, I spotted Vivian. She was dressed in a server’s uniform, holding a tray. When she saw me, she marched straight over. “Oh, Valerie, that dress is stunning. Your new man must be incredibly generous. How much did you have to do to get it?” “I wish I could find a sugar daddy like that. Some of us actually have to work for a living.” She spoke just loudly enough for the surrounding socialites to hear. Several wealthy women exchanged mocking glances, instantly branding me as a gold-digging interloper. I remained perfectly calm. “Oh, this dress? It was a gift from my mother-in-law, Beatrice Mercer. She actually designed it herself when she was pregnant with Tristan.” My response delivered a double blow: it confirmed my marriage to the heir and showed I had the mother’s full backing. The socialites’ snickers instantly vanished, replaced by polite, flattering smiles.

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1 I spent five years trying to become the leading lady in Nolan’s life. The floating comments in my head had warned me from the very beginning. Doesn’t she realize there isn’t a shred of love in his eyes? Don’t be stupid. He only tolerates her because his son needs a mother. Once his first love returns from abroad, all her years of devotion will mean absolutely nothing. But I refused to believe them. Every story had a past, didn’t it? Nolan was attentive, respectful, and always kept clear boundaries. His personal life was as clean as a blank sheet of paper. How could I throw away everything we built just because of a few cynical remarks from unseen onlookers? Later, when he got down on one knee and proposed, the comments finally began to shift in my favor. Yet, that was the exact moment I decided to let go. … I opened the custom wedding invitation Nolan had designed. The gold-embossed font was elegant, bold, and striking. My smile slowly froze on my face. “Who is Giselle?” Nolan went rigid for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away. “Oh. The designer must have made a mistake.” “I’ll have them reprint a new batch immediately.” If I hadn’t seen that exact name on the list of newly hired instructors at my school, his smooth explanation might have actually convinced me. I picked up the remote and casually switched on the television. “…World-renowned ballerina Giselle has returned to the country to continue her studies. In an exclusive interview, she stated she is currently focusing on her career and has no plans for marriage…” The reporter’s crisp voice filled the quiet living room. The arm Nolan had wrapped tightly around my waist suddenly went limp and slipped away. The floating comments flared up again. Nolan, what are you doing?! Just hearing her name makes you pull away from Gemma? My heart breaks for her. Don’t forget Gemma basically raised your kid and coddled your demanding mother for five years. If you still want Giselle, you are completely heartless! Am I the only one who pities the designer? The male lead gave the wrong name but blamed it on the working class. Was it really a designer’s mistake? Or was it that, in his subconscious, his bride had always been Giselle? I took a deep, quiet breath, forcing a playful smile onto my face as I turned to look at him. “What a coincidence. She shares the same name.” He didn’t answer. His eyes were glued to the television screen. The woman on the screen was elegant, her movements light and ethereal. When the reporter asked her about her college days, a deep, unshakeable sorrow clouded her eyes. “Gemma, should we move the wedding up?” “Next year is going to be incredibly busy at the winery. We have several major international contracts to negotiate, and I might not have the energy to plan a proper wedding then.” There was an intense, pleading look in his eyes, mixed with a complex emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. The chat feed began placing bets. Half of them say he’s doing this just to spite the female lead. The other half say he’s terrified of regretting his choice, so he’s burning his own bridges. Not a single soul believed he actually wanted to marry me. But what if? What if there was a tiny chance? His excuse was perfectly logical, after all. If only he hadn’t deliberately avoided eye contact the moment Giselle’s name came up. I wanted to speak, but a sudden mist blurred my vision. Seeing my silence, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He quickly reached out, grasping my hand to reassure me. “Don’t worry. I promise the wedding will be grand. I won’t let you feel rushed or slighted just because we’re moving the date up.” “Toby already calls you Mom, and my mother gave you the family heirloom emerald bracelet. You are the destined daughter-in-law of this family. Having the wedding a bit earlier is a happy occasion for everyone, isn’t it?” “Are you still upset about the name on the invite? It really was just an accident. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” The more he spoke, the more defensive he sounded. I almost felt embarrassed for him. One of the comments had put it beautifully: He was never a good liar. I gently pulled my hand from his grip, my expression as sweet and calm as ever. “Whatever you prefer.” The next afternoon, Nolan picked me up after work to try on wedding dresses. “A few new arrivals from Milan just came in. I had them set aside the best ones so you can have first pick.” The moment I slid into the passenger seat, he leaned over naturally to pull my seatbelt across me, clicking it into place. For five long years, he had been this meticulously attentive. The comments always claimed he was like a cold, emotionless robot. I had spent years arguing with them, defending his quiet care. But the moment of truth was finally here. As we neared the boutique, my phone rang. “I’m just one intersection away,” I said into the receiver. “Take your time, don’t rush.” Nolan reached over, taking my hand in his. “Did you invite a friend?” I nodded. “A new colleague from work. She just got back from abroad and has an incredible eye for fashion. I figured she could help me choose.” The floating comments were practically screaming with excitement. The legendary reunion is finally here! The female lead left twelve years ago to pursue her career after having his baby, and now they’re finally going to stand in the same room! I’ll always support Gemma, but for just one second, I really want to see this tragic couple reunite. Does the second female lead know something? Is she testing him on purpose? When Giselle arrived, Nolan was holding my handbag and my discarded coat, looking every bit the devoted, doting fiancé. I smiled warmly as I introduced them. “Nolan, this is Giselle. She just joined our faculty as a ballet instructor. She used to be the principal dancer for an international company.” “And Giselle, this is my fiancé, Nolan. He runs a private winery.” 2 I clenched my fists in my pockets, watching their faces intently, searching for even a flicker of recognition. But there was nothing. They exchanged polite, professional handshakes, greeting each other like complete strangers. My heart made a clean, sharp cracking sound and died. I forced myself behind the heavy velvet curtain to change, pulling the fabric back just a fraction of an inch to peer out. The moment they thought I was out of sight, their polite masks shattered instantly. “I thought you were allergic to caffeine.” “I went through desensitization therapy while I was abroad.” “Ha. Did you approach us on purpose today?” Nolan’s tone was biting, but it couldn’t hide the raw panic bleeding through his voice. “I had no idea you were her fiancé.” “Save it. I will never believe another word that comes out of your mouth.” “If you find this too awkward, tell her I had to leave when she comes out.” “Who do you think you are? Coming and going whenever you please?” Through the gap, I watched as Nolan reached out and grabbed Giselle’s wrist, squeezing it tightly. The veins in his neck were bulging with rage. All of his usual calm, composed dignity had vanished into thin air. “Gemma and I are getting married next month. Don’t you dare try any of your games again.” Giselle began to weep, turning and running out of the boutique. Nolan hesitated for two agonizing seconds before rushing out after her. Almost immediately, my phone buzzed with a text. An emergency came up at the winery. Take a cab home, okay? I looked down at the glowing screen, a bitter smile touching my lips. The harsh, warning words he had hurled at Giselle weren’t a rejection of his old flame. They were the desperate, defensive lashes of a man trying to score a point against the only woman who had ever truly broken him. The comments floated across my vision. Don’t cry, Gemma. You’re beautiful, and you’ll find someone who actually cherishes you. I’m starting to hate the male lead. Both Giselle and Gemma are completely innocent here. This is a total trainwreck. I’m finally old enough to understand both sides of this mess. In the beginning, the comments had been brutal to me. Before Nolan, I had never been in a relationship. A strict upbringing and a demanding academic schedule had molded me into the classic quiet, obedient girl. Even after entering the workforce as a piano teacher, my life remained sheltered and simple. Toby was the student who gave me the most headaches. He couldn’t sit still, had a terrible memory, and his parents were always late to pick him up. The third time I found him sitting alone in the dark corner of the classroom, his stomach rumbling loudly, I decided to take him home with me. I cooked him sweet-and-sour chicken, braised beef, and tomato eggs. He ate like he hadn’t seen food in days. The following week, a tall, elegant man accompanied Toby to class. “Hello, I’m Toby’s father. Thank you for looking after him the other day.” And just like that, Nolan entered my life. Over time, I learned he was thirty-five, a single father, ran a successful wine business, and had been raised by a single mother. He was physically fit, impeccably dressed, and carried himself with a quiet, mature dignity. Falling for him was as natural as breathing. At first, I wasn’t sure if he felt the same way. Until one day, the floating comments appeared before my eyes. Stop dreaming, second female lead. You are not the heroine of this story. Once his first love returns, all your years of devotion will mean absolutely nothing. If the male lead’s mother hadn’t hated the first love so much, they’d have three kids by now. Gemma, listen to me. Don’t rush in just because he seems to like you right now. You’re just a placeholder. Amidst the sea of warnings, I realized one thing: He liked me. If he liked me, what was there to hesitate about? A young girl’s feelings shouldn’t just remain a quiet secret. I began to pursue him, putting myself in his orbit as much as possible. “I found an incredible bakery nearby. We should take Toby there sometime.” “Toby’s piano needs tuning. If you aren’t sure which brand to buy, I can come with you.” “Your mother picked up Toby today and invited me over for dinner. I didn’t say yes immediately because I didn’t want you to feel awkward. Haha.” It was a simple, transparent strategy, and the comments hated me for it. One afternoon, when we took Toby to the amusement park, the insults nearly blinded me. Doesn’t she realize there’s no love in his eyes? What a manipulative woman, using the kid to force the male lead to spend time with her! The second female lead is just a glorified, free nanny. Learn your place. Nolan, reject her already! The female lead is living a lonely, miserable life across the ocean while you’re playing house with another woman! But the tides turned completely after I stood up for Toby at school. Toby had gotten into a fight, and Nolan was away on a business trip in Europe, so I stepped in. I had never been a mother, but I believed a mother should trust her child. I shielded Toby, spent hours track down the school’s security footage, and stood my ground against the aggressive parents of the other kids. She stood up for him in front of the principal without hesitating. That was so cool! I wish I had a mother like her. The other parents kept calling her a stepmother who didn’t care about the kid. She took so much abuse for him! The bullies had nothing left to say, so they teased Toby for not having a mom. Gemma literally brought him lunch to show them he had someone. I’m crying, this is so sweet. It was after that incident, as Nolan drove me home, that he spoke a sentence that changed everything. “Do you want to give us a try?” After a long, breathless pause, I heard my heart hammering against my ribs. “Yes.” 3 So, when I saw Giselle’s name on the new hire list, I decided to take a gamble. She was stunning, elegant, and carried herself with an effortless confidence. She was everything the comments had warned me about—the legendary, unshakeable first love. She actually existed. But then I thought, so what? I had been by Nolan’s side for five years. I went from his son’s piano teacher to his mother’s favorite shopping companion, and finally, a permanent fixture at the family dinner table. We were just one signature away from making it official. Most importantly, Nolan, who was notoriously cold toward women, had been the one to ask me to give us a try. On the day we officially made our relationship public, even the comments that had hated me from the start conceded that my devotion had finally paid off. They said my sincere heart had finally touched him, and that a man as responsible as Nolan would never look back once he made a commitment. I had let those words fill me with a quiet, secret joy for a very long time. When Nolan finally came home that evening, I was in the living room, gently correcting Toby’s finger placement on the piano keys. Nolan held a bouquet of white lilies, a quiet apology on his lips. I didn’t reach out to take them. “Are you still angry?” He leaned down, trying to coax a smile out of me. Toby, sensing the tension, quietly slipped back into his bedroom. My smile felt incredibly stiff and cold. “I’m allergic to lilies.” Nolan rubbed the back of his neck, dismissive. “I just remembered you liked the color. I forgot about the allergy.” “On our anniversary last year, the restaurant you booked was decorated with white lilies. I broke out in hives and had to spend the night in the ER.” “Last month, when I asked you to buy an air purifier, you brought home a lily-scented one. I spent weeks struggling to breathe before I finally had to move back to my own apartment.” Twelve years had passed, yet he remembered with absolute clarity that Giselle was allergic to caffeine. I had been by his side for five years, and he couldn’t even remember the flower that sent me to the hospital. The difference between love and tolerance was staggering. I didn’t acknowledge his empty apology. I quietly packed my things into my bag and walked toward the front door. “Don’t be mad, Gemma. I promise I won’t buy the wrong flowers next time.” “And about today… leaving you at the bridal shop was my fault. Next time, even if you try on a hundred dresses, I’ll sit right there and watch you. Okay?” He took me by the shoulders, his eyes wide and seemingly sincere. It was always the same script. I had spent years waiting for those “next times,” watching my hope slowly curdle into complete numbness. “There won’t be a next time, Nolan. Here are your keys.” I kicked off my slippers, slipped into my heels, and placed the house keys gently on the shoe cabinet. His polished composure finally cracked, a flash of irritation breaking through. “Gemma, is this really necessary? You’ve always been so reasonable. Are you really going to pick a massive fight over such a trivial thing?” Missing my high school reunion because he didn’t want to socialize was a trivial thing. Skipping our wedding photos because he hated the hassle of hair and makeup was a trivial thing. And now, putting his first love’s name on our invitations and abandoning his bride-to-be to chase her down was also a trivial thing. What, then, was a significant thing? As the comments had so brutally pointed out: When a man doesn’t love you, you could hang yourself from the ceiling and he’d just think you were playing on a swing. I looked up, locking eyes with him. “I heard you two in the dressing room.” “What?” “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Giselle? The bride’s name on our invitation belonged to your first love.” His entire body went rigid, and he slowly lowered his head, unable to speak. The cards were finally on the table. And he had absolutely nothing to play. Even though I was the official fiancé, in the grand narrative of his life, the first love was an invincible force. My logical mind told me to run from a man who couldn’t choose, but a small, desperate part of me wanted to wait just a little longer. What if? That was why I had set up their meeting today. I needed to see it with my own eyes so I could finally kill the hope inside me. Otherwise, I would have walked away looking graceful, only to torture myself with endless “what-ifs” later. I walked out of the apartment and pressed the button for the elevator. The numbers ticked up slowly. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… It would take a while to reach the twenty-third floor. But the door behind me remained firmly shut. No one ran out to stop me. For a single, fleeting second, I had thought that if he ran out and gave me even a half-decent explanation, I would have forced myself to believe it. The comment feed erupted into a frenzy. Gemma, don’t cry! We’ll find someone a million times better! Nolan is just prideful and slow to open up. He doesn’t want you to leave, but chasing you down would look desperate, and that’s just not who he is. You’ve held on for so long, why not give it one more shot? In a choice between two women, the one who stays is always the one who ends up suffering. I cleared out every single one of my belongings from Nolan’s apartment. During the day, I went to work and taught my classes as if nothing had happened. At night, I sat in my empty apartment, reading through our old text messages and crying until my chest ached. When I finally decided to pour myself a glass of wine to dull the pain, I realized my rack was filled entirely with bottles Nolan had gifted me over the years. The sight only made the tears flow faster. From now on, if I wanted a drink, I would have to buy it myself. Ironically, Nolan, who had always been so distant, began texting me every single day. It’s raining today. Remember to bring an umbrella. I ordered your favorite hot pot. It should arrive at your place soon. Gemma, those are all things of the past. You haven’t visited in days, and Toby really misses you. That last text struck a nerve with the comments. He’s just using the kid as leverage because he’s losing his free nanny! Block him! Delete his number! True moving on starts with physical boundaries. Cut him off! But I didn’t block him.

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1 While taking a quiet walk around our residential neighborhood, I ran straight into my ex-husband, Tristan. For a second, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. No one knew better than I did how much Tristan detested this town, and how much he despised this exact neighborhood. I stopped in my tracks, offering a polite but distant greeting. “Are you back to visit your grandmother’s grave?” He stood there, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his eyes locked onto mine without so much as a blink. “I bought a house here. I stay here whenever I’m in town on business.” A wave of disgust washed over me, instantly killing any desire to be polite. I looked down, already mentally calculating the cost of moving somewhere else, and stepped aside to walk away. But Tristan stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Brooke, I regret it.” I pretended not to hear him, my eyes lighting up as I waved to someone behind him. “Jasper!” Jasper walked over, naturally taking my hand in his. When I first met Tristan, he wasn’t the powerful tech CEO he is today. Back then, in the eyes of our classmates and neighbors, he was just a lonely, impoverished seven-year-old boy. He had no parents and no friends. His divorced parents had tossed him back and forth like a hot potato before finally dumping him on his grandmother. Winters in Seattle were wet and bone-chilling, filled with endless drizzle. While the neighborhood kids played together, Tristan could always be seen trailing behind his grandmother, collecting cardboard and plastic bottles from recycle bins. He wore thin, worn-out clothes, constantly shivering with his head tucked into his collar. Some of the kids from our block spread the story at school, and soon, everyone started calling him “the garbage boy.” Since we lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same school, I constantly witnessed him being bullied and mocked. Eventually, I couldn’t bear to watch it anymore. I began taking care of him in secret. I would pack an extra breakfast to share with him, and I gave him my spare gloves and insulated thermos. When my dad discovered why my things kept going missing, he let out a soft sigh and brought Tristan into our home. From that day on, Tristan played at our house, ate at our table, showered in our bathroom, and did his homework beside me. My mother started buying everything in pairs: one blue, one pink. On Tristan’s tenth birthday, my father bought him a computer. That was the day we discovered his terrifying talent for programming. After that, his life changed completely. He swept every local and national coding competition, his room filling up with trophies and cash prizes. At fourteen, he traveled abroad as the youngest competitor in the World Programming Championship and took first place. I still remember the video of him holding the trophy on a bustling European street, his eyes shining brightly as he smiled into the camera. “I want to thank Mr. and Mrs. Su. Without them, I wouldn’t be standing here today. And thank you, Brooke.” We were only fourteen, but watching that broadcast, my face burned crimson. During our senior year of high school, the day he received his early admission letter to Boston Tech, he wrapped his arms around me. “Brooke, please apply to a school in Boston,” he whispered softly in my ear. For that single sentence, I left Seattle and enrolled in a mediocre local college in Boston. I had always been ordinary: ordinary grades, an ordinary life, an ordinary degree. I was nothing like Tristan. He was a man of extremes. When he loved something, he loved it to the point of obsession. He loved programming, and he worked himself to exhaustion to launch his startup. He loved me, too, often running across campus just to eat breakfast with me after pulling an all-nighter at his office. But when he hated, he hated with equal intensity. During our freshman year, Tristan used his hacking skills to break into his biological father’s small logistics firm, systematically ruining his most lucrative contracts. During our junior year, while his startup was in its most critical phase, he took a night off to throw a lavish party, celebrating the day his mother’s second marriage collapsed. Looking back, the way he treated me after he fell out of love was entirely consistent with who he had always been. 2 At twenty-three, the moment I graduated, Tristan and I got married. By then, his company was valued at millions, and he had purchased a luxury penthouse in one of Boston’s most expensive districts. Because we had no financial worries, I took a quiet, low-stress job earning about three thousand dollars a month. In a city like Boston, it wasn’t a high salary, but the hours were strictly nine-to-five, and the office was incredibly close to Tristan’s headquarters and our home. Tristan was consumed by his work, and I had no grand career ambitions. I preferred coming home to cook dinner and tend to our pets. In the beginning, everything was perfect. Tristan’s company grew rapidly, and he was hailed as one of the youngest, most promising tech executives in the country. He was sharp, confident, and deeply devoted to me. He would sit at our table, drinking the soup I had simmered for hours, and tell me how incredibly lucky he felt. But gradually, his nights out grew longer, and the distance between us stretched into a chasm. The breaking point arrived on Tristan’s twenty-seventh birthday. I stayed up waiting for him all night. When he finally walked through the door at dawn, I spotted a clear smear of red lipstick on his collar. In that instant, something inside me snapped. I hurled his birthday cake at him, lunging forward to tear at his shirt. I smashed everything within reach: the dishes, the decorations, our framed wedding portraits. Tristan watched my hysteria with cold, detached eyes. He calmly reached behind him to close the front door. “Brooke, if you’re going to scream, at least close the door. If you don’t care about your reputation, I care about mine.” He looked at me, his brow furrowed with deep irritation. “You’re still my wife, and as long as you don’t cross the line, nothing will change. No one is going to take your place. Be reasonable. It’s better for everyone.” He didn’t even bother to deny it. He just stood there and admitted it. My mind shattered. I lunged at him again, but he pushed me away with enough force to send me stumbling. He looked down at me, his words cutting like glass. “Look at yourself. Do you look like a CEO’s wife? You look like a screaming street vendor.” He turned and walked out of the apartment. He didn’t return for weeks. I was twenty-seven, proud, and entirely unprepared for that level of humiliation. I began showing up at his office, demanding a confrontation. It didn’t take me long to find out who the other woman was: Vivian, his corporate partner. Tristan hadn’t even tried to hide her. They were already behaving like a married couple in front of the staff, attending meetings and dinners together. His assistants, his executives, everyone knew. I was the only one kept in the dark. The betrayal kept me awake for days. Eventually, I lost control and lunged at Vivian in the office lobby, grabbing her hair as we tumbled to the floor. She was thin and lacked my physical strength, but even as I pinned her down, she glared up at me with tears in her eyes. “I know I’m wrong, Brooke! But I was there coding with Tristan when we were still in college! We pulled seventy-hour weeks, drank cheap coffee, and survived on instant noodles! Where were you? What were you doing?” “Tristan would finish a twenty-hour shift and still have to run to your campus to walk you to your morning classes! You sat back and enjoyed his success while he nearly worked himself to death! You don’t deserve him!” My hands went limp, and I stumbled back, staring at her in disbelief. How could she speak with such self-righteous fury? Was she actually accusing me of failing him? Tristan rushed into the lobby. He didn’t look at me once. He helped Vivian up, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and led her away. I walked back to our empty penthouse like a ghost, sitting in the dark for days, her words echoing in my mind. Where was I while they were building his dream? What was I doing? I was in Seattle. 3 I was taking care of Tristan’s grandmother. She was a gentle, kind-hearted woman who had always treated me like her own family. During our senior year of college, she fell gravely ill. Tristan’s startup was at its most critical point, and he was working himself to the bone. Meanwhile, I was trying to finish my thesis and secure an internship. Tristan had collapsed into my arms one evening, weeping as he talked about his company and his grandmother’s failing health. I remembered exactly what I told him. I told him I would return to Seattle to care for her. Tristan had held me so tight I could barely breathe, whispering endless promises of gratitude. He told me he had decided to marry me when he was fourteen, and that he would spend the rest of his life making me happy. His tears had soaked my shoulder, and I comforted him, telling him I needed a break from the academic pressure anyway. I claimed it would be good to spend some time with my own parents. I had gaslit myself into believing I was the one who needed a break, all to ease his guilt. And so, I spent over a year in Seattle, working with my parents to nurse his grandmother through her final days. I didn’t return to Boston until after her funeral. Tristan had kept his promise. The moment I got back, he proposed with a diamond ring, and we married shortly after. But now, his mistress was standing in his office lobby, demanding to know what I had done to deserve him. It was a sick joke. I locked myself in the apartment, weeping through the nights, slowly destroying myself. I obsessed over our history, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. Sometimes I hated Tristan with a burning passion; other times, I blamed myself. I had married an extraordinary man, but I had failed to keep pace with him. After two weeks of silence, Tristan came home. He held a bouquet of crimson roses, handing them to me as if nothing had happened. “Vivian agreed not to press charges for the assault.” “Brooke, think about your parents. Your father is a high school teacher. If you keep making these scenes, do you think his reputation will survive the scandal?” He actually had the nerve to bring up my parents. “We have a lifetime of history together. Vivian isn’t going to take your status. You have wealth, position, and everyone in this city calls you Mrs. Lu. I’ve given you everything a woman could want. You need to be content.” “Be sensible, Brooke. Let’s just go back to the way things were.” Mrs. Lu. What a sickening title. Looking at the man standing in front of me, a wave of physical nausea hit me. I rushed into the bathroom and threw up until my stomach was empty. A week later, I found out I was pregnant. The news thrilled Tristan, and he seemed to commit himself to our family. He took my hand, his eyes filled with apparent remorse. “I made a mistake, Brooke. I’m sorry. Now that we have a baby on the way, I’m done playing around. I promise I’ll cut things off with Vivian. Let’s raise this child and build a real home.” I wept, but eventually, I chose to believe him. I convinced myself that I shared some of the blame, that his years of hard work had taken a toll on him. He was back now, and that was all that mattered. But the human heart is a fragile thing. I felt as though my soul had been hollowed out. I had lost my job after missing so much work, so I spent my days sleeping, staring at the walls, and waiting. Tristan kept his word, coming home every night to cook dinner and read stories to my belly. And I might have actually believed he had changed, if Vivian hadn’t started sending me video clips every single day. 4 He spent his nights with me, but his days were still spent with Vivian. In the videos Vivian sent, the staff called me “the primary boss’s wife” and referred to Vivian as “the little boss’s lady.” They joked about Tristan’s ability to keep both of us happy. On Vivian’s birthday, Tristan announced to the entire office that anyone who wished her a happy birthday would receive a double bonus. He certainly knew how to make a woman feel special. Watching those videos, I realized Tristan’s love was like a firework: brilliant, loud, and easily given to anyone. All I had left was the ash. I didn’t know why I was still clinging to the ruins of our marriage. But looking down at my six-month pregnant belly, I couldn’t bring myself to give up on the life growing inside me. I decided to block Vivian’s number, put my head in the sand, and just focus on bringing my baby into the world. But Vivian had no intention of letting me find peace. On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, she showed up at my door carrying a large cardboard box. She didn’t come inside; she simply dumped the contents onto the floor of my entryway. Out spilled my old college notebooks, a framed photo from our wedding, and a small horse sculpture I had bought Tristan when he started his company. “Brooke,” Vivian said, her smile sweet but her eyes cold as ice. “Tristan said these things were taking up too much space in his office. He wanted me to throw them away, but I thought it would be a shame to lose such precious memories. I brought them here so you could keep them.” Staring at the mess on the floor, I didn’t even feel angry. “Get out,” I said quietly. I was done fighting with her. It wasn’t worth the energy. “Oh, are we sensitive today? I haven’t even started,” Vivian sneered, stepping closer and intentionally shoving her shoulder into mine. “Tristan told me you look like a bloated pig these days, and that you smell like baby formula. He says looking at you makes him sick.” She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you know we bought a new, larger sofa for his office lounge?” My vision blurred. The fragile peace I had built shattered into a thousand pieces. I don’t remember how I lunged at her, or how we ended up on the floor. I don’t even remember when Tristan arrived. There was only chaos, screaming, and then a sharp, tearing pain in my abdomen. When I woke up, the storm had passed. I was lying in a hospital bed, and my baby was gone. Tristan sat beside me, clutching my hand as tears streamed down his face. “Brooke, we’re still young. We’re only twenty-eight. We can try again. I swear, I’ll cut Vivian out of my life permanently this time…” Without a word, I grabbed the paring knife from the fruit basket on my bedside table and plunged it toward his chest. He flinched, and the blade buried itself in his shoulder. But even as blood soaked his shirt, he didn’t let go of me. He held me tight, weeping into my shoulder. His tears felt like grease on my skin. The moment I was discharged, I filed for divorce. Tristan refused to sign the papers. In response, I picked up another knife and drew it across my wrist, slicing deep into the flesh. The sight of the blood terrified him, and he finally signed the papers. In the settlement, he transferred ten million dollars to my account. I didn’t refuse the money; I knew I would need it to pay for my medical treatment. My mind was broken. I was diagnosed with severe, clinical depression.

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