Category: English

That night, in that cramped, damp little rental room, I took Audrey like a man losing his mind—trying to use the heat of our bodies to fight off the coldness of the world outside. But before the high had even faded, her mother kicked open the already-flimsy wooden door and brought people in with her. Icy camera flashes. Cutting insults. They tore apart the last shreds of dignity we had left. “A filthy construction worker thinks he’s good enough to sleep with my daughter? You can’t even give her a roof over her head. Tomorrow, I’m marrying her off to Mr. Silas Draven!” For that three hundred thousand dollars, I pushed myself to the breaking point—and as I lay there, barely clinging to life, I watched her toss three years of our hard-earned savings onto the hospital bed and say coldly, “We’re even now.” Three years later, I came back with a fortune worth billions, ready to make her pay for what she’d done. But in a dark basement, I found her—skin and bones—and beside her, a child whose eyes looked exactly like mine… 0

August in the South felt like being sealed inside a pressure cooker with no way out. In this run-down studio apartment in the old part of the city, even the air felt thick and heavy. The ancient ceiling fan overhead let out a slow, dying creak, creak, but it couldn’t push away even a hint of the heat. I had Audrey pinned hard against that iron-frame bed—the kind that rattled violently at the slightest movement—like a desperate, caged animal, taking in every inch of warmth her body had to give. Sweat poured down my dark back and dripped onto her pale collarbones, leaving flushed, raw marks across her skin. “Kyle… easy… the bed’s going to break…” Audrey’s long legs were locked tight around my waist. Her voice was breathless—caught somewhere between moans she couldn’t hold back and sobs she was trying to swallow. Her nails sank deep into the muscles of my back, dragging red lines through my skin. I didn’t stop. I pushed harder. I hated this world. I hated this goddamn poverty. And this—raw, rough, and desperate—was the only way I knew how to claim what little power I had. On her. With her. “You’re mine… Audrey Brooks, you’re mine*!”* I bit down on her earlobe, my voice ground down to something raw, like sandpaper dragged across wood. “I’m yours… always…” She tilted her head back. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes, mixing with sweat, catching the dim light like broken fragments of glass. We rolled across that narrow bed, the sounds of our bodies colliding sharp and unmistakable in the dead silence of the night. There was something destructive about it—we both knew how cold the world outside that door was, so we burned into each other with everything we had, in this tiny room that was all we had left. And then, just as we both reached the edge—minds going completely blank— BANG. One violent crash. The wooden door, which had barely been holding together to begin with, was kicked in from the outside. It slammed hard into the wall, the impact thundering through the room. The hallway’s motion-sensor light snapped on instantly. The harsh white glare cut through the doorway like a blade, slicing into the dark, heat-soaked room. “Ah—!” Audrey let out a terrified scream. She shoved me away and snatched the thin, faded blanket, yanking it around her naked body as she scrambled into the corner of the bed, shaking violently. I froze. Blood rushed to my head. On instinct, I grabbed a pair of pants and pulled them on, spinning around with eyes burning red. Standing in the doorway was Audrey’s mother. Behind her stood two thick-built families. One of them had his phone raised, the camera flash firing in rapid bursts—click, click, click—freezing our most humiliating, most wretched moment in photographs. “Put that down!” I roared, lunging forward like an enraged animal, tearing the phone out of his hand and smashing it against the floor. The crack of the screen shattering rang out sharp and clean in the silent room. SMACK. Before I could even straighten up, Audrey’s mother had already closed the distance. She wound her arm back with full force and slapped me hard across the face. She hit me with everything she had. My eardrum rang. My mouth filled with the taste of blood. “Kyle Hill, you disgusting piece of trash! Have you no shame?!” Gloria Brooks jabbed a finger in my face, her voice sharp enough to cut through the ceiling. “A filthy construction worker who can barely scrape together enough to feed himself—what gives you the right to ruin my daughter?!” I pressed my hand to my burning cheek, jaw clenched so tight it ached. I said nothing. What was there to say? I was shirtless. I reeked of sour sweat and construction dust that cheap soap couldn’t wash out. And Gloria stood there in a silk dress, a designer bag hanging from her wrist. The gap between our worlds had just become a physical thing—a slap across the face—and whatever dignity I had as a man shattered with it. “Mom! What are you doing?! Get out!” Audrey scrambled off the bed, the blanket still wrapped around her, and threw herself in front of me, screaming at her mother through her tears. “Shut your mouth! I have no daughter as shameless as you!” Gloria grabbed Audrey by the hair and dragged her toward the door. “Look at yourself! Living in this pigsty with this broke loser, you can’t even afford decent clothes! Mr. Draven has already made it clear — one word from you, and tomorrow he’ll buy you a Porsche. A luxury penthouse downtown, your pick. Are you out of your mind, putting yourself through this with a deadbeat like him?” “I won’t go! I’d rather die than marry that old man! I love Kyle!” Audrey fought back with everything she had. Her pale arms slammed against the iron bed frame, leaving a wide, dark bruise. “Love? Can love afford food on the table? Can love cover a down payment?” Gloria spun around and looked at me like I was a pile of garbage — her eyes filled with a suffocating contempt. “Kyle, I’m going to say this once. You want to marry my daughter? Fine. One month. Bring me five hundred thousand dollars for a down payment and buy an apartment downtown. If you can’t, get the hell out of her life. And if you ever touch her again, I’ll have your legs broken.” With that, she reached into her purse, pulled out a stack of photos, and hurled them at my face. The photos scattered across the floor. There I was — hauling bags of cement on a construction site, eating a five-dollar meal in the scorching sun, kneeling in front of the foreman just to beg for the wages I was owed. “Look at yourself. What could you possibly give my daughter? Do you really think you deserve her?” Gloria let out a cold laugh, then dragged a screaming, sobbing Audrey out the door. Bang. The door slammed shut. The tiny rented room fell silent again. The air still carried the faint, lingering warmth from the intimacy we’d shared, but my heart had plunged into a bottomless pit of ice. I slowly crouched down and picked up the photo of me kneeling. My fingers trembled, completely out of my control. Five hundred thousand dollars. Those words hit me like a mountain caving in on my spine — crushing me completely. 0

I didn’t sleep that night. I sat there shirtless on the cold cement floor and smoked an entire pack of cheap cigarettes. The embers glowed and faded in the dark, like my crumbling self-worth. Just before dawn, I heard the lock turn. My head snapped up. Audrey stood in the doorway. Her hair was tangled, her left cheek badly swollen, her thin T-shirt torn at the collar, revealing a bruised shoulder underneath. She had escaped. The moment she saw me, her tears broke loose. She threw herself into my arms like a wounded animal, clinging to the back of my neck with both hands. “Kyle… Kyle, I’m so sorry… I didn’t know they were following me…” She was shaking as she cried, her tears falling heavy and hot onto my shoulder. I raised my rough, callused hand, held it there in the air for a moment, then finally pulled her close. “Does it hurt?” I touched her swollen cheek, my voice so hoarse it barely sounded like mine. “No.” She shook her head hard and buried her face against my chest. “Kyle, let’s run away together. Let’s leave and go somewhere no one knows us. I don’t need a house. I just need you.” Run away together. Such a romantic, naive idea. But the reality was that my bank account held less than thirty thousand dollars — every cent Audrey and I had scraped together over three years, set aside for a down payment. In a city where even a modest apartment cost two million dollars, thirty thousand couldn’t buy you a bathroom. I looked into Audrey’s eyes, so full of hope, and felt an invisible hand squeeze my heart until I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t run away with her. I couldn’t let her spend her life hiding with me, slowly falling apart in the shadows of this city. She had once been the most radiant girl on campus. It was because of me that she had cut ties with her family and fallen into all of this. “Audrey… give me one month.” I took a deep breath, pushed down the ache rising in my chest, cupped her face in my hands, and said it slowly, word by word: “Five hundred thousand. I’ll figure it out. I promise I’ll buy us our own place downtown.” Audrey went still. She stared at me, a flicker of panic crossing her face. “Kyle, don’t do anything stupid. We can save up slowly. I’m not in a rush…” “I am!” I raised my voice, my eyes red as I held her gaze. “I’m done with the way your mother looks at me. I’m done letting you live somewhere the door won’t even close all the way. I’m a man, Audrey. I won’t let everyone look down on you because of me.” The look in my eyes scared her. She opened her mouth but said nothing. She just held me tighter and cried even harder — with a kind of despair that broke something deep inside me. 0

The next day, I went back to the construction site. The sun was merciless, like it wanted to peel the skin right off you. I was wearing a hard hat, weaving through a jungle of steel and concrete. I’m a civil engineer — sounds like a respectable white-collar job, but on the job site, I was basically a glorified errand boy. “Kyle, this rebar shipment has the wrong grade!” “Kyle, the inspector is holding up the paperwork again!” “Kyle, Mr. Smith wants you in his office!” I spun like a top, never stopping. Sweat dripped into my eyes and burned like hell. But I didn’t even have time to wipe my face. Only one thought was running through my head: make money. At noon, I knocked on the project manager’s office door. A wave of cold air hit me the moment I stepped inside, enough to make me shiver. Mr. Smith was kicked back in his leather executive chair, smoking an expensive cigarette, eyes fixed on the stock charts on his screen. “Kyle.” He didn’t look up. “What do you want?” I swallowed hard and kept my voice low. “Mr. Smith, I’d like to request a six-month advance on my salary.” His fingers stopped on the keyboard. He turned and looked me up and down, then let out a laugh. “Six months in advance? Kyle, you think this company runs a charity? You make $8,000 a month — that’s $48,000. What are you putting up as collateral?” “I… I can work overtime. I can do the work of two people. Mr. Smith, I really need this money, please.” I was sweating through everything I had on, practically ready to get down on my knees. Mr. Smith flicked his ash and gave me a look full of contempt. “Kyle, having ambition is a fine thing in a young man. But you’ve got to crawl before you can walk. You think $500,000 is easy to come by? Don’t think I don’t know about the pressure Audrey’s mother is putting on you. Let me give you some advice — don’t bite off more than you can chew. That girl Audrey is a beautiful woman. She’s wasting her time with you. Mr. Draven drives a Range Rover. How do you even think you compare?” His words were like a dull blade, carving into me piece by piece. I don’t know how I made it out of that office. The heat outside swallowed me whole again. I stood on an unfinished floor dozens of stories up and stared down at the city below me. Traffic flowed endlessly through the streets below, and towers of glass and steel stretched as far as the eye could see. This city held endless wealth and endless opportunity — but not a single inch of it belonged to me, Kyle. After work, I dragged my lead-heavy legs back to our rental apartment. Audrey had already made dinner. Nothing fancy. She was wearing that old faded T-shirt, her hair loosely pulled back, a bandage stuck to her forehead. “You’re home! come on” She smiled at me — sweet and warm — but I could see the exhaustion hiding behind her eyes. I sat down, picked up my fork, and dug in. The food wasn’t great, but I ate every bite like it was a feast. “Kyle, I went to look at an apartment today.” Audrey spoke up suddenly, her voice soft and careful. My fork froze mid-air. She pulled a crumpled flyer from her pocket and spread it flat on the table. “Look — it’s out in the west suburbs. Yeah, it’s old and rough, thirty years old, top floor, no elevator. But the price is low — only $600,000! The down payment is just $180,000. We already have $30,000 saved. If I borrow a little from some friends and you pull together a bit more, we can make it work!” Her eyes were shining. She pointed at the blurry floor plan on the flyer, excitedly laying out our future. “It’s only about 430 square feet, I know — but we could enclose the balcony to get more space, paint the walls that soft gray you like, find a nice second-hand couch on eBay…” I watched her go on and on, my vision slowly blurring. A run-down low-rise in the suburbs. This was the bottom of the bottom — what she had settled for, just to make up for my failures. She could have been sipping afternoon tea in a luxury downtown high-rise. Instead, she was ready to go beg and borrow from people, all for a 430-square-foot apartment. “Stop.” I cut her off. “Kyle…” Audrey froze. “I said stop!” I shoved back from the table and stood up, grabbed the flyer, tore it apart, and threw the pieces to the floor. “I’d rather sell my blood, work myself into the ground — but I will never let you live in a dump like that. $500,000, not a cent less. I will buy us a place right in the downtown of this city!” Audrey stared at the scraps of paper scattered across the floor, her eyes turning red. She didn’t argue. She just quietly crouched down and picked up the pieces one by one, her voice breaking: “Kyle, I just don’t want you wearing yourself out… I really don’t care where we live…” “But I do!” I screamed at her like a wild animal. “I care what people think of you! I care what your mom says about me behind her back! Do you get that?!” Audrey went silent. Her tears hit the floor, one drop after another. I watched her shoulders tremble and wanted to slap myself. I slammed the door and walked out into the thick black night. 0

When you have nowhere left to turn, desperation turns you into a monster. I reached out to a contractor I knew from the construction site — a guy named Marcus Stone. Marcus didn’t do legitimate work. He only handles off-the-books dirty work. Things like illegal demolition runs in condemned neighborhoods in the dead of night, or blasting in underground mines with zero safety measures. “Five hundred thousand?” Marcus blew out a long puff of smoke in the hazy pool hall and squinted at me. “Kyle, you’ve got some nerve. A job worth five hundred grand is the kind you pay for with your life.” “As long as I get the money, my life doesn’t matter.” I stared him down, my eyes shot through with red. Marcus smiled, showing a row of yellowed teeth. “Alright, I can see you’re the real deal. There’s an abandoned chemical plant on the south side of town that needs to be torn down. Inside, there are a few large tanks still holding residual toxic gas. Legitimate demolition companies won’t touch it — too risky, not enough profit. The owner is putting up eight hundred thousand, with a three-day deadline. You take a few guys in, cut those tanks open. When it’s done, I’ll give you five hundred thousand.” I knew exactly what that meant. No protective suits. No gas masks. Just a cutting machine, going at iron tanks that once held deadly chemicals. One wrong spark. One explosion. One breath too many of toxic gas — and there’d be nothing left of you to bury. “Fine. I’ll take it.” I didn’t hesitate for a second. For those three days, I told Audrey the construction site was on a tight deadline — strict on-site management, no going home. I took three men who had nothing to lose, and we crept into that chemical plant like rats, into the sharp, stinging smell that hit you the moment you stepped inside. The temperature was over forty degrees. The air was thick with a suffocating yellowish-green haze. Sparks flew from the cutting machine with every pass. Each cut felt like dancing on the edge of Death’s blade. On the first day, one of the workers inhaled too much toxic gas and collapsed inside one of the tanks, foaming at the mouth. We dragged him out. He was already gone. Marcus tossed his family twenty thousand dollars and called it settled. On the second day, my lungs felt like they were on fire. Every breath tasted like blood. My vision started blurring, and my hands shook so badly I could barely hold the cutting machine. But there was only one thought in my head: five hundred thousand dollars. With five hundred thousand, I could throw the down payment right in Gloria’s face. I could let Audrey walk down the aisle with her head held high. On the third night, the last tank finally came crashing down. I collapsed onto the ground, covered in oil and toxic sludge, and stared up at the black sky. Then I started laughing — loud, uncontrollable laughter. I’d made it out alive. I’d earned the five hundred thousand. Marcus tossed a heavy black plastic bag in front of me. “Kyle, you’ve got the luck of the devil. Money’s in there. Count it.” I didn’t count it. I clutched that bag like it was my life. I dragged my wrecked body back to our apartment that same night. When I pushed the door open, Audrey was slumped over the table, fast asleep. There was a bowl of oatmeal on the table, long gone cold. The noise woke her up with a jolt. The moment she saw me, she screamed. I was covered head to toe in black grime. My clothes were in shreds. My face was slashed with cuts. My eyes were so red they looked like they could bleed. My whole body reeked of chemicals that turned your stomach. “Kyle! What happened to you?! Don’t scare me like this!” Audrey rushed at me and threw her arms around me, not caring about the filth covering every inch of my body. I grinned, teeth showing, and shoved the black plastic bag into her arms. “Audrey… I got it… five hundred thousand… we’ve got the down payment…” The moment those words left my mouth, everything went dark. I blacked out.

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Three years of marriage, and Declan Shaw never once looked at me like I was a woman. I danced around a pole in a maid costume right in front of him. All he said was, “Don’t catch a cold.” I told myself he simply had no feelings for me—and handed him the divorce papers. He didn’t even glance up. He just picked up the pen and signed without a moment’s hesitation. But the instant the ink hit the page, I saw it. Golden words—glowing and bold—scrolling across the air above his head: [She’s actually going through with it?!] [This pen is terrible. Can it just run out of ink already?] [Is it too late for me to fake passing out?] My name is Daisy Robinson. Twenty-six years old. Married for three years. Getting divorced today. Declan Shaw and I were sitting across from each other in the VIP conference room of a law firm downtown. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Typhoon Mitag was tearing through the city. Rain lashed the glass, wind howled through the streets—like something was trying to swallow the whole city whole. The atmosphere inside was quieter than the eye of the storm. “Mr. Shaw, Mrs. Robinson—this is the final version of the divorce agreement. If there are no objections, please sign on the last page.” The attorney slid a copy in front of each of us. I looked down at those few thin sheets of paper. My fingertips were cold. Three years ago, I married Declan. When the Robinson family and Shaw Group announced the union, all of Hollywood said I was punching well above my weight. Declan was the head of Shaw Group out of Los Angeles—ruthless, unreadable, never letting a flicker of emotion cross his face. He was the kind of man no one dared to dream of. And I was just the overlooked eldest daughter of the Robinson family. My mother died when I was young. My father eventually brought home his new wife, Veronica Croft, and her daughter. After that, I became invisible in my own home. The only person I truly cared about was my younger brother, Leo Robinson. Three years ago, Leo got caught up in a hit-and-run. The evidence was overwhelming. He was looking at ten years or more behind bars. I had nowhere to turn—and my father pushed me right in front of Declan. “Daisy,” he said, “you marry into Shaw Group, and Leo walks free.” I didn’t have a choice. But on my wedding day, I’d let myself hope, just a little. Declan stepped in when people kept pushing drinks on me. He reached down and straightened my dress. When Veronica tried to remind me to show her proper respect as an elder, he cut her off with a single cold look and said, “She’s Mrs. Shaw now. I’d like to see anyone try to give her a hard time?” I thought—at the very least—he must have had some feelings for me. Then came our wedding night. His phone rang. He answered it, didn’t even change out of his suit, and walked out the door. At five in the morning, he came back reeking of cold air and something metallic, like blood. I was still sitting on the bed waiting for him. I looked up and asked, “Where did you go? Are you hurt?” He glanced at me—just once—and said two words: “Something came up.” Two words. Like a bucket of ice water poured over every foolish hope I’d let myself hold. For the next three years, we were the most perfectly civil strangers who ever shared a last name. We lived under the same roof but slept in separate rooms. We went back to the family estate together for holidays and played the part of a happy couple in front of his family. When people asked about me, he’d say flatly, “She’s fine.” But in private—he never held me. Never kissed me. Never explained anything. Never crossed the line. Once, I looked at him with tears burning in my eyes and asked, “Declan, do you hate me?” He didn’t look up from the papers in his hand. “Stop overthinking it.” After that, I stopped asking. Some people are just stone cold. You can press your hands against them until you’re numb and they’ll never warm up. I was done trying. A week ago, I left the divorce agreement on his desk. Declan stared at it for a long time. Long enough that I started to think he might actually ask me why. But in the end, he just picked up a pen and said one word: “Fine.” Three years of marriage. And that’s all it was worth in the end—one word. Now the attorney set the pen down in front of him. Declan picked it up, expression blank, like he’d just wrapped up some unremarkable business acquisition. He uncapped it, gripped the barrel between steady, long-fingered hands, and signed his name in one clean, unhesitating stroke. I watched him finish. Took a slow breath. Reached for my own pen. The moment the tip was about to touch the paper— Golden words burst into the air above Declan’s head, bold and glowing: [She’s actually signing?!] My hand jerked. The pen dragged a long black line across the page. I froze. More words came scrolling through: [This pen is terrible—can it just run out of ink already?] [Is it too late for me to fake passing out?] [Declan. Pull it together. You’re the ex-husband here. Don’t make it weird.] I stared wide-eyed at the top of his head. I figured I must be hallucinating — I hadn’t slept well these past few days, not with the divorce weighing on me. I closed my eyes. Three seconds later, I opened them. The floating messages above Declan’s head were still there, scrolling even faster than before. 【Why does she keep staring at me?】 【Does she regret it?】 【No way. The way she grabbed that pen was more decisive than me signing billion-dollar contracts.】 【Is she really not even a little sad? Three years — you’d still get attached to a dog after three years!】 Chapter 2### “Mrs. Robinson?” The lawyer looked puzzled when I still hadn’t signed. I snapped back to the present and glanced at Declan. He sat perfectly composed — suit crisp, jaw tight, eyes cold and unreadable. But the floating messages above his head were already crawling all the way up to the ceiling. 【Don’t sign it.】 【Please. Don’t sign it.】 【Who gets divorced during a typhoon? That’s terrible luck.】 【If she just puts the pen down, I’ll hand over every share I own. All of it.】 I fought to keep the corners of my mouth from twitching and deliberately slowed my hand, writing “Daisy Robinson” in careful, deliberate strokes. The moment the last stroke landed, the messages above Declan’s head erupted into a wall of gray static. Like a system crash. The lawyer collected the agreement and smiled. “Well, the paperwork is all signed. However, there’s a red typhoon warning in effect outside, and the entire building has been locked down. I’m afraid neither of you will be able to leave for now — we’ll need to ask you to spend the night in our firm’s lounge. We apologize for the inconvenience.” I nodded. “That’s fine.” Declan gave a composed nod as well. “Understood.” The next second, massive red text erupted above his head: 【THANK GOD!!!】 【Bless this typhoon. Bless the universe.】 【Mitag, you’re my hero. I love you!!!】 I nearly burst out laughing right there. The lawyer led us up to the VIP lounge on the top floor. The room was spacious, with a large leather sofa. Just one sofa. The lawyer gave an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Mr. Robinson — we have more guests staying over than expected tonight, and this is the only lounge we have left.” Declan said coolly, “It’s fine.” The door clicked shut, leaving the two of us alone. The silence turned awkward immediately. I walked to the window and watched the wind howl outside. “Once the typhoon passes, I’ll move out.” I spoke to the window, keeping my voice steady. Declan’s low, flat voice came from behind me. “Do whatever you want.” Those words again. I’d heard them countless times over the past three years. I said I wanted to visit my family. Do whatever you want. I said I wouldn’t be home for dinner. Do whatever you want. I said I wanted a divorce. Do whatever you want. He never tried to stop me. Never lost his composure. Never let a single thing I did get under his skin. But right at that moment, I used to think he would never hold me back, never lose control, never show any emotion because of me. But at that exact moment, a line of black text suddenly appeared above his head. 【Whatever the hell you want.】 I turned around and looked at him. He was sitting on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine, not even sparing me a glance. But the words above his head kept coming. 【She’s really leaving?】 【Where’s she even going? Does she think she can go back to that mess of a Robinson family? Veronica and her mother would eat her alive.】 【No, I can’t ask where she’s moving.】 【If I ask, it’ll look like I care.】 【I do care.】 【But she wants a divorce. What right do I even have to say anything?】 I stared at those words, and something indescribable twisted in my chest. For three years, I had always thought he was cold and indifferent, that I meant nothing to him. Turns out, there was a whole storm raging inside his head. I walked over and stood in front of him, looking down at him. “I don’t have much stuff. I’ll go back tomorrow, pack it up — should be done in half a day.” Declan’s fingers paused for just a moment as he turned a page, his voice as flat as ever. “Do you need me to send someone to help?” He said it like he was asking if I needed a housekeeping  service. But the words above his head were going crazy. 【Yes.】 【I need to.】 【Why send someone else — I’ll help her myself.】 【No, wait. I can’t help. If I help, she’ll be gone even faster.】 【Can I get someone to change the locks on the house? Or just burn all her luggage?】 I looked up at him and deliberately drew out my words. “No need. I’ll manage on my own. After all, we’re basically exes now — better to keep things at a distance.” Declan’s eyes darkened slightly. “Suit yourself.” 【Nothing about this is fine.】 【Not even a little.】 【Who said I want to be your ex?】 I moved to the other end of the couch and pulled out my phone, deliberately opening a dating site right in front of him. I wasn’t actually planning to use it — I just wanted to see how long he could keep up the act. “Oh, by the way,” I said, keeping my tone light, “now that we’re getting divorced, I should probably start thinking about my next chapter. Mr. Shaw, you’ve seen a lot of the world — do you think blind dates are worth a shot?” The air went completely still. Declan snapped the magazine shut and looked up. Those dark eyes locked onto me. His expression didn’t change. But the feed above his head exploded — exclamation marks flooding in from every direction. 【A blind date?】 【She just signed the divorce papers ten minutes ago and she’s already thinking about dating?】 【Am I dead to her? Does she think I no longer exist?】 【Which guy dares to go on a blind date with her? I’ll ruin him before the night is over.】 Chapter 3### I pretended not to notice, scrolling through my phone at my own unhurried pace. “This one looks nice,” I murmured to myself. “He’s a doctor. Gentle, refined.” Declan put the magazine down. His voice was ice-cold: “Daisy.” “Hmm?” I looked up. “We signed the divorce agreement, but we haven’t filed at City Hall yet. Legally, you’re still my wife.” He stared at me, every word deliberate. “Going on dates while still legally married makes you the at-fault party.” I raised an eyebrow. “Is that legal advice, Mr. Shaw?” His tone stayed level. “I’m just reminding you. Watch how this looks.” The feed: 【Because I’ll lose my mind.】 【Because I can’t stand the thought of you smiling at another man.】 【Because I haven’t learned how to lose you yet.】 【Please. Don’t look at anyone else.】 The last line appeared slowly. Like it was rising from somewhere deep inside him, surfacing bit by bit — carrying a barely perceptible trace of desperation. I found I couldn’t smile anymore. I set my phone down and looked at him steadily. “Declan, do you not want the divorce?” He went rigid. The feed went blank. Three full seconds. Then a flood of scrambled text. 【She asked.】 【Say you don’t want it.】 【Say something, Declan — what’s your mouth for, just breathing?】 【But… if I say it, will she even believe me? She’ll just think I feel sorry for her.】 Declan’s throat shifted as he swallowed. He finally spoke. “If you’ve already made your decision, I respect it.” The feed: 【Pathetic.】 【Declan, you’re absolutely pathetic.】 I lowered my gaze. That small, fragile softness that had just begun to stir inside me was pushed back down — hard — by those words. I respect that. Always, always I respect that. But what I’d always wanted from him was never his dignity or his respect. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” I got up, walked to the far end of the couch, and lay down with my back to him. The couch was wide, but two people was still a tight fit. Declan didn’t move. After a long while, I heard him get up. He took off his suit jacket and draped it quietly over me. The jacket carried his scent — that cool, crisp cedar-and-fir fragrance — wrapping around me all at once. I kept my eyes shut and stayed still. A faint sigh drifted down from above. The feed flickered with a dim glow in the dark: 【I’m sorry.】 【But Dais, I really don’t know how to love you.】 By the next morning, the typhoon had finally passed. We left the law office and drove back to the Shaw Group estate. The moment I walked through the door, I started packing. There wasn’t much to pack, honestly. Three years, and I’d always lived like someone who might leave at any moment — never letting myself treat this place as home. Declan stood in the bedroom doorway, watching as I folded my clothes into the suitcase, one piece at a time. He didn’t say anything. But the feed was nearly swallowing the whole room. 【She’s really leaving.】 【Three years — why does she have so little?】 【All the jewelry I bought her, all the haute couture — why isn’t she taking any of it?】 【Has she never once thought of this place as home?】 That last line made my hands stop for just a moment. Right. Because I’d never once felt loved here. How could I have called it home? I pulled the zipper closed on my suitcase. The sound tore through the quiet bedroom like a blade. “All done.” I turned and looked at him. Declan’s expression shifted — a subtle darkness crossing his face. His lips moved. In the end, he only said: “I’ll have the driver take you.” The feed: 【Don’t go.】 【Please.】 Chapter 4### I took a slow breath and pulled a black card from the drawer. I held it out to him. “Here — this is yours. I never touched the money.” Declan looked at the card. His expression sank, slowly. “Why?” “It’s not mine.” His voice went slightly cold. “It’s marital property. You have every right to use it.” I smiled faintly. “Declan, we’ve been married three years and we barely even felt like a real couple. Doesn’t talking about marital property feel a little ridiculous?” He went silent. But the feed kept coming, line after line. 【She doesn’t even want the money.】 【She really left herself no way back at all.】 【For these three years, just how insecure have I made her feel?】 Declan didn’t take the card. Instead, he reached out and grabbed my wrist. His palm was burning hot — so hot I flinched. “Keep it.” His voice was low and rough. “Even after the divorce, you’re still a daughter of the Robinson family. Don’t put yourself through hardship.” [Feed:] 【Just take it.】 【At least don’t let me worry about you suffering.】 I looked at him, about to pull free, when I suddenly felt something rough and uneven against my skin. I grabbed his hand and flipped it over. There was a deep, old scar carved across his palm. And it didn’t stop there — the scar stretched up his wrist and disappeared beneath his sleeve. I froze. “What is this?” Declan’s expression shifted instantly. He yanked his hand back. “Nothing. I cut myself by accident a long time ago.” He moved his hand behind his back. I kept staring at him. His feed erupted in blinding red. 【Don’t look.】 【She can’t know.】 【That knife wound from the underground market three years ago — it went too deep. What if it scares her?】 【If she finds out I nearly died in that underground parking garage trying to get Leo’s dashcam back, what would she think?】 【She’d feel guilty.】 【I don’t want her guilt.】 My mind went blank. Something detonated inside my skull. Three years ago? The underground market? Leo’s dashcam? My whole body was shaking. I stared at Declan. “You’re lying. On our wedding night three years ago — where did you really go?” Declan’s face was stone cold. “I told you. I went to handle something for the company.” “You lied to me!” I lunged forward and grabbed his collar, tearing it open. Buttons snapped off and scattered across the floor. Declan didn’t move. Across his broad chest was a massive scar — stretching from his left shoulder all the way down to his right side. It looked like something monstrous had been carved into him. Grotesque. Terrifying. I gasped, and tears burst from my eyes before I could stop them. How brutal had that blow been, to leave a scar like this? “This is from handling company business?” My voice shook. The tears wouldn’t stop. Declan panicked. He fumbled forward, desperate to wipe my tears away — but couldn’t bring himself to touch me. The red feed flashed wildly: 【Don’t cry.】 【Daisy, don’t cry.】 【I can’t stand it when you cry.】 【I never should have let her see.】 I shoved his hand away, sobbing. “Declan, how much have you been hiding from me? Leo’s case back then — was it you who—” “No.” He cut me off, sharp and final. “He got lucky. The police found new evidence on their own.” [Feed:] 【It was me.】 【Ryder Sinclair paid people on the underground market to destroy that dashcam footage.】 【I had no choice but to go get it back myself.】 【That knife nearly hit my spine. But I got it.】 【Not that it matters. I don’t want her staying with me out of gratitude.】

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In my past life, I spent ten years turning Alexander from a broke nobody into a billionaire. In return, he teamed up with my adopted sister, drove my parents to their deaths, and threw me into the fire with his own hands. As I lay dying, a cold mechanical voice echoed in my mind: “Congratulations, Host, on completing the early angst arc. After rebirth, please use a gentler love to redeem him.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back — back to the day Alexander was pinned down in an underground casino, about to lose a hand. The system told me to step in and take the blade for him. I smiled and said yes. I grabbed the knife right out of the man’s hand — and brought it down myself. Alexander’s blood splattered all over my face. The underground casino reeked of cheap cigarettes and blood. “Hold him down! You think you can cheat at my table and walk away with both hands?!” The scarred man’s roar shook the walls. I stood in a dim corner, watching Alexander get slammed onto the gambling table with cold, detached eyes. That sharp, arrogant face of his was smeared with dust and cold sweat. His eyes — wild, like a cornered animal — were locked straight onto me. Beneath the surface churned desperation, humiliation, and the faintest flicker of a plea for help. This exact moment, in my past life, was when those eyes fooled me. I had thrown myself forward like a madwoman, taking that rusted cleaver for him. The tendon in my right hand was severed. I never held a paintbrush again. And he — he gave me one cold glance, then calmly reached over and took the check I’d brought to pay off his debt. 【Host! Step forward immediately and take the blade for the male lead!】 【Current blackening level: 90%. Redemption progress: 0%.】 【Please follow the original script and warm his cold heart with your selfless love!】 The sharp mechanical voice screeched inside my head. I picked up a half-finished glass of red wine from the bar and gave it a slow swirl. The deep crimson liquid spun inside the glass — just like the blood pooling around my parents when they died. My dear little sister Chloe had been curled up in Alexander’s arms at the time, smiling — sweet and cruel all at once. A tearing pain radiated from somewhere deep in my chest. I lowered my eyes, buried every emotion, and swallowed down the bitterness and hatred rising in my throat. Then I took a quiet sip of wine. 【Warning! Host behavior has critically deviated from the main storyline!】 The system blared an alarm. I ignored it. “Victoria! What are you doing standing all the way over there?! You here to watch me suffer?!” Alexander finally snapped. He ground his teeth, his voice rough and low as he snarled at me. He was always like this — demanding things from me like it was his birthright. As if I had been put on this earth to give him everything. I let out a soft laugh and drained the rest of my wine. “Yeah,” I said. My voice was quiet, but it carried clearly to his ears. “I’m here to watch you lose that hand.” Alexander’s pupils shrank. He stared at me like he didn’t recognize me anymore. “You think playing hard to get is going to make me grateful?” He let out a cold laugh. “Victoria, you’re disgusting.” I looked at his smug, superior expression — even now, with a blade about to come down on him — and thought: the version of me from my past life was a complete and utter fool. “What are you waiting for?” I glanced over at the scarred man. “Looks like he doesn’t want that hand anyway.” The scarred man blinked — then broke into a vicious grin. The blade came down. “AAAGH—!” A raw, agonized scream tore through the entire underground casino. Blood splattered across the green felt of the gambling table. It was a brutal sight. Alexander crumpled to the floor, clutching his bleeding right hand, his eyes burning into me — filled with hatred. I set the empty wine glass back on the bar and walked out. This time, I was going to watch him — every step of the way — as he fell into the abyss. The early autumn night breeze carried a faint chill. I pushed open the front door of the Astor family villa. The living room was bright and warm. Mom was arranging flowers. Dad sat in his reading glasses, watching the financial news. When they saw me walk in, Mom immediately set down her scissors and came toward me. “Vicky, why are you home so late? It’s windy out — are you cold?” Dad looked up too. He didn’t say anything, but the worry in his eyes was impossible to hide. The moment I saw their faces — alive, real, right in front of me — my eyes filled with tears. I stepped forward and pulled Mom into a tight hug. “Mom… Dad…” I breathed them in, almost desperately, like I was trying to hold onto the feeling forever.

In my past life, this house had burned to ash. And my parents — they had been driven to jump from the rooftop. “Hey, what’s all this? Who upset my little princess?” Mom rubbed my back gently, her voice full of tenderness. I shook my head and forced the tears back down. “Nothing. I just missed you guys.” I made a silent vow: in this life, anyone who dared to touch the Astor family — even slightly — I would make them pay with everything they had. I had barely steadied myself when hurried footsteps sounded just outside the door. Chloe walked in supporting Alexander, whose face was deathly pale and whose right hand was wrapped in thick bandages. Chloe’s eyes were red and swollen, looking utterly pitiful. “Victoria, you’re back,” she said, glancing at me timidly. “I was passing by that off-the-books clinic on the south side of town and found Alexander badly hurt.” “I always thought you cared about him more than anyone. How could you just leave him there alone?” “I couldn’t bear to, so I brought him home. Please don’t be upset with me for taking matters into my own hands.” In just a few sentences, she’d painted me as a cold-blooded, heartless woman who’d let someone die without lifting a finger. And she was the kind, pure-hearted savior. In my previous life, I fell for that fake-innocent act of hers. I thought she was a sweet, well-behaved little sister. I had no idea she’d already been secretly involved with Alexander, the two of them plotting to strip the Astor family of everything. Alexander leaned weakly against the doorframe, cold sweat soaking through his shirt. He looked past Chloe, his gaze cutting straight toward me. There was a hidden challenge in his eyes. He was waiting for me to lose it — waiting for me to rush over and fuss over him with worried questions. After all, in the past, even if he got the tiniest scratch, I’d be too anxious to sleep for the entire night. Dad frowned. “Chloe, why are you bringing strangers home? What happened to his hand?” Chloe’s tears came tumbling down. “Dad, Alexander is in such a bad way — someone slashed his hand. If I hadn’t helped him, he could’ve bled out.” As she cried, she snuck glances at me, watching my reaction. I sat on the sofa, picked up the cup of black tea the housekeeper had just brewed, and blew on it gently. Alexander’s brow furrowed deeply. My calm was making him inexplicably irritated. “Victoria.” He finally couldn’t hold back anymore. His voice was weak but laced with suppressed anger. “Are you done with your little tantrum?” I set down my teacup and looked up at him. “Alexander, who the hell do you think you are? You’re not worth throwing a tantrum over.” My tone was completely flat, without a single ripple of emotion. “If Chloe likes picking up strays, let her. The Astor estate is big enough — we can afford to feed one more.” Alexander’s face turned ashen instantly. He stared at me, his chest heaving violently. The movement pulled at his wound, and he sucked in a sharp breath from the pain. Chloe was stunned too. “Victoria, how could you say something like that about Alexander…” “Shut up.” I cut her off coldly. “You brought him here, so you pay his medical bills. Don’t expect the Astor family to spend a single dime. And don’t let him stain the Persian rugs — they’re expensive.” With that, I stood up and walked straight toward the stairs. As I passed Alexander, he suddenly shot out his left hand and tried to grab my wrist. “Victoria, what the hell is wrong with you today!” he growled through gritted teeth. I stepped aside and brushed off my sleeve with distaste. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy.” In the days that followed, Alexander naturally settled into one of the Astor family’s guest rooms. Chloe used looking after him as an excuse to hover around him all day long. The two of them went everywhere together, exchanging glances and secret smiles.

At dinner, Chloe even made a show of coyly serving food onto Alexander’s plate right in front of me. Dad couldn’t stand it. He dropped hints more than once that Alexander should move out. Each time, Chloe threw a massive fit — crying, screaming, threatening that if they kicked Alexander out while his hand wasn’t healed, it was the same as sending him to his death. Everyone expected me to be jealous. Everyone expected me to snap. But I didn’t. Every day, I followed Dad to the office, learning the core business operations, and handled several important documents with swift, decisive action. When I came home, I didn’t spare either of them a single glance. That total indifference sent Alexander into a panic. He was used to me chasing after him. He was used to me making him the center of my entire world. Now that his prey had suddenly slipped out of his control, his pathetic ego took a massive hit. On Saturday evening, I had just stepped out of the shower when there was a knock at my door. Alexander pushed it open and walked in. He was wearing a clean shirt. The bandages on his right hand were already gone, leaving behind a jagged scar. He was holding a neatly packaged dessert box. “Vicky.” He softened his voice and walked toward me. “Chloe’s been working so hard taking care of me these past few days. I spent a little extra time with her — don’t give me the silent treatment anymore.” He set the box on the table, his tone carrying the air of someone bestowing a favor. “These are the mango mille crepe cakes from your favorite place. I stood in line for two hours to get them.” This is Alexander. Every time he hurts me, he tries to make it up to me with some cheap gesture like this. In my past life, the tiniest bit of sweetness from him was enough to move me to tears. Even though I’m severely allergic to mangoes. To avoid putting a damper on his mood, I’d force myself to swallow every bite, endure the agony of my swollen throat in silence, then sneak antihistamines in the middle of the night. I stared at the beautifully wrapped box and let out a cold laugh. “Take it away.” I didn’t even glance at him. I went back to flipping through the proposal in my hands. Alexander’s expression darkened. “Victoria, how long are you going to keep this up?” His patience had run out. “I already swallowed my pride to come and smooth things over, and you’re still going to push me like this? Do you have any idea how unreasonable you’re being right now?” I finally closed the proposal and looked up at him. Staring at the face I once loved with every fiber of my being, all I felt was nausea. “Alexander, do you think all you have to do is snap your fingers, and I’ll come crawling to you like a dog wagging its tail?” I stood up, grabbed the dessert box, and walked over to the trash can. Let go. With a thud, the delicate mango mille crepe hit the bottom and turned into a pile of mush. “I’m allergic to mangoes. Did you not know that?” I watched his expression freeze, and said each word slowly. “When you bought this — was it actually to make me feel better, or just to make yourself feel good about the gesture?” Alexander’s face twisted. He stared hard at the ruined cake in the trash, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Victoria, my patience has limits!” I smiled. “Funny. Mine just hit its limit too.” I pointed at the door. “Now get out of my room. First thing tomorrow morning, pack your things and get out of the Astor family home.” Alexander went completely still. He finally realized — I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was genuinely done with him. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by something darker. Just then, Chloe’s timid voice drifted in from outside the door. “Victoria, please don’t kick Alexander out.” Chloe pushed the door open and walked in, her eyes red. “Alexander’s hand may be injured, but he’s really talented. Dad already agreed to let him intern in Astor Group’s R&D department.” I narrowed my eyes, looking at the two of them. So that’s what this is about. Couldn’t even wait a little longer before trying to sink their hands into the core of Astor Group, could they? Alexander met my gaze, his chin lifting slightly, that familiar air of cold arrogance settling back over him. “Victoria, I’ll prove to you that I’m not some deadweight who needs to leech off you.”

Alexander got exactly what he wanted — a spot in Astor Group’s R&D department. With his genuine talent and his relentless, almost obsessive drive, he carved out a solid position for himself in the department within just one month. He was desperate to prove himself to me. He pushed himself hard every single day, staying at the office late into the night. Rumors started circulating around the company — that he was the future son-in-law of the Astor family, a rare tech prodigy. Every time we crossed paths in the hallway, he’d look at me with that pointed, meaningful gaze. He thought it would make me feel threatened. That I’d come running back to him. What he didn’t know was that every move he’d made was exactly what I had planned for. Because Astor Group was about to launch the development of its “Deep Sea” AI medical chip. In my past life, it was this very project that became the spark that burned the Astor family to the ground. Alexander had used his position in the R&D department to quietly steal the core source code for “Deep Sea.” He then handed it over to a shell tech company that Chloe had secretly registered under a fake name. In the end, Astor Group didn’t just miss its window in the market — the massive R&D funds poured into the project couldn’t be recovered, and the cash flow collapsed entirely. My father had scrambled to save the company, borrowing from every direction he could, until they finally maneuvered him into a corner with no way out. This time, I was the one who made the first move. I granted the senior researchers in the R&D department access to the core code repository for “Deep Sea.” Of course, that code had been carefully… dressed up by a top-tier hacker I’d hired. On the day of the Annual Tech Summit, every seat in the venue was taken. Alexander stood at the entrance in a perfectly tailored bespoke suit. He radiated the sharp, hungry energy of someone who was absolutely certain he was about to win — nothing left of the disheveled wreck I’d seen at that casino. When he spotted me walking toward him, he stepped forward to meet me. “Vicky,” he said, lowering his voice with the condescending air of someone doing her a favor. “All you have to do is swallow your pride right now, apologize to Chloe, and promise to stop going after her. In return, I’ll hand over a core piece of technology I hold to Astor Group—free of charge—and protect Astor Group’s standing in the industry.” He thought he had Astor Group by the throat. He thought he’d finally found a way to crush me under his heel and force me to submit. I looked at him standing there, so full of himself, and almost laughed. “Alexander, are you out of your mind?” I shot back without an ounce of courtesy. His expression darkened. He reached out to grab my shoulder. “Victoria, don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be. You have no idea what you’re walking into. Don’t make me be the one to tear that pride of yours apart.” I stepped aside, avoiding his hand, and stared at him coldly. “Go ahead. I’d love to see you try.” The summit officially began. Tech companies took the stage one by one to showcase their latest innovations. When the host announced “Starlight Tech”—the name of Chloe’s shell company—a wave of murmurs rippled through the room. After all, it was a brand-new company that no one had ever heard of. But when Alexander walked onto the stage as Starlight Tech Chief Technology Officer and unveiled their AI medical chip called “Nova” the entire room went silent. Because Nova’s specifications and architecture were nearly identical to Astor Group’s “Deep Sea” chip—matching it almost point for point, and even edging it out slightly in certain processing speeds. Alexander stood beneath the spotlight, his gaze burning as he looked down at me from the stage. He was waiting for me to look shocked. Desperate. Shattered. Waiting for me to crawl to him and beg. Chloe sat nearby, the satisfaction on her face impossible to hide. The investors in the audience were buzzing, throwing offers at Starlight Tech left and right. The host announced with barely contained excitement, “Starlight Technologies’ Nova chip is, without a doubt, a landmark breakthrough in medical technology!” Thunderous applause. Alexander looked at me through the crowd, his eyes gleaming with the arrogance of a man who thought he’d already won. “Victoria,” he mouthed slowly. “I told you you’d regret this.” I ignored him. Instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out a slim laptop. I stood up and walked straight toward the stage. I grabbed the microphone right out of the host’s hand. “Congratulations to Starlight Tech,” I said, my voice steady and clear, “for successfully unveiling a ticking time bomb that could blow up the entire global healthcare system.”

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To scrape together the money for my sister’s treatment, I became Vivian Grant’s contracted lover for three years. For three years, I came whenever she called and threw away every last shred of dignity. I thought that as long as I was obedient enough and knew my place, I would eventually warm her heart. Until that charity gala, when I heard her chatting with her best friend, her voice full of contempt. “Liam Reed?” “He’s just a little toy I keep around with money, nothing more. He’s very obedient. Give him some cash and he’ll go away.” “The Sullivan family can help me secure the land in South Bay. Next month, I’ll get engaged to Ethan Sullivan, and when the time comes, I’ll kick Liam out.” At that moment, the last bit of love in my heart went out completely. In front of a room full of elites, I smashed the million-dollar watch she had just bought for me back into her arms, then walked into the pouring rain without looking back. A year later, I became a rising star in the business world, holding a project worth hundreds of billions, with admirers lined up all the way to France. But that once-arrogant heiress of New York’s elite knelt outside my door on a stormy night, soaked to the bone, crying in a hoarse voice. “Liam, I was wrong. Please, look back at me…” I looked at her through the floor-to-ceiling window and calmly instructed my assistant, “Call the police. Someone is harassing me.”

Late autumn in New York was cold enough to cut into the bones. But the charity gala on the top floor of the Peninsula Hotel was filled with elegant gowns and polished guests, warm as spring. I sat in the corner of the lounge, looking down at the balance on my phone. Mia’s medical funds were almost drained again. Vivian brought me here tonight, saying she was going to bid on something for me as a gift for our third anniversary. To be honest, I had been looking forward to it. It had been three years, and she had never brought me to a public event before. This was the first time. Footsteps and teasing laughter came from outside the door. “Vivian, that was a huge move. Thirty million for a limited-edition Patek Philippe, and you didn’t even blink.” It was Vivian’s best friend, Zoe Carter. “Ethan likes it, so what’s thirty million?” Vivian’s voice was lazy and careless. My heart sank hard. Ethan? That heir of the Sullivan family who had just come back from overseas? “But what about the one in your lounge? He’s been with you for three years. Even if he hasn’t contributed much, he’s at least put in the effort, right?” Zoe lowered her voice, her tone teasing. Vivian let out a soft laugh. That laugh, separated from me by a thin door, stabbed into my heart like a knife. “Liam Reed?” Her tone was indifferent, as if she were talking about some irrelevant object. “He’s just a pastime I can dismiss with money. His sister’s life is still in my hands. He wouldn’t dare make trouble.” “True. The Sullivan family has the core technology for the South Bay project, and you’re getting engaged next month, so it’s time to clean up those messy relationships.” I sat on the sofa, my whole body ice-cold. It felt like I had fallen into an ice cellar. Engaged? Three days ago, she had held me in her arms and murmured in my ear, saying that after Mia’s surgery, we would go to Iceland to see the northern lights. So it had all been a lie. I thought time had turned into love, but it was only charity after she weighed the benefits and losses. The door was pushed open. Vivian walked in wearing a couture gown, holding the velvet box with the luxury watch inside. When she saw my dark expression, she frowned slightly. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” She walked over and instinctively reached out to touch my face. I turned my head and avoided her hand. Her hand froze in midair, and her eyes darkened. “Why are you throwing a tantrum?” Her tone carried a trace of impatience. I stood up and looked straight into her eyes. “You’re getting engaged?” I heard my own voice, calm in a terrifying way. Vivian froze for a moment. Then she tossed the box onto the coffee table and crossed her arms. “You heard?” She showed no panic at being exposed and instead looked perfectly entitled. “The Sullivan family can help me secure the land in South Bay. A marriage alliance with them benefits the company.” She looked at me like she was soothing a clueless subordinate. “Be good. This watch is yours, and your monthly allowance will double from now on. Aside from status, you won’t be missing anything.” I looked at the watch gleaming with a metallic shine. Suddenly, I found it unbearably disgusting. “Vivian Grant,” I called her name. “Do you think my spine is made of money?” She sneered. “What else would it be? Have you paid your sister’s dialysis fee for tomorrow? Without me, you two would have starved to death on the streets long ago.” She was certain I could not leave her. Because I was poor, and because I had a sick little sister dragging me down. I took a deep breath. Then I picked up the velvet box on the table. A mocking curve appeared at the corner of Vivian’s mouth, as if she thought I had finally compromised. The next second. I threw the box back into her arms. Bang! The box hit her arm, bounced to the floor, and the watch slid out, rolling deep into the carpet. Vivian’s expression changed instantly. She glared at me in disbelief. “Liam Reed! Are you insane?” “Yes, I’m insane.” I looked at her coldly. “These three years, just consider them my wishful thinking. We’re done.” After I said that, I turned without hesitation, pushed the door open, and walked into the cold wind of the hallway.

“Stop!” Vivian shouted behind me. I did not stop. The elevator at the end of the hallway happened to open, and I strode in, pressing the close button. The elevator doors slowly shut, cutting off Vivian’s furious face. When I walked out of the hotel entrance, cold wind and fine rain hit me head-on. I wrapped my thin coat tighter around myself and stepped into the rain. My phone vibrated crazily in my pocket. They were all calls from Vivian. I turned it off, pulled out the SIM card, and threw it into a trash can by the road. I returned to the large apartment in the city center. Everywhere there was filled with Vivian’s presence. The walk-in closet was full of custom suits she had bought for me, and the shelves were lined with expensive skincare products in matching sets. I found an old suitcase. I only packed a few of my old clothes, several professional books, and a broken laptop I had used for five years. I did not touch a single one of those glittering luxury watches or designer bags. I neatly placed the black card, car keys, and access card Vivian had given me on the shoe cabinet in the entryway. Then I took one last look at the “golden cage” I had lived in for three years. With a bang, I closed the door. Dragging my suitcase, I took the last night bus. I arrived in the city’s poorest neighborhood. This place was the gutter of this glamorous city. The alleys were cramped, sewage covered the ground, and the air was filled with the sour stench of cheap takeout mixed with drains. I knocked on the door of a rental agency with a red light on. “What’s the cheapest room you have?” The landlady looked me up and down, then spat out a sunflower seed shell. “Top floor, no AC, shared bathroom, six hundred a month, three months up front plus one month deposit.” “Fine.” I paid the money and got the key. The room was only ten square meters. There was a wooden plank bed and a wobbly wardrobe. The wall paint was peeling, and there was a yellow water stain on the ceiling. I sat on the hard bed board, listening to the snoring and a baby’s crying from next door. It was very noisy. But I felt freer than I ever had before. Early the next morning. I went to the hospital. Mia Reed lay on the hospital bed, her face as pale as a sheet of paper. When she saw me, she forced out a smile. “Liam, you didn’t come see me yesterday.” “Yesterday… I had overtime.” I walked over and tucked the blanket around her. “Liam, where’s Vivian? She hasn’t come in a long time.” Mia asked innocently. My heart stung. “Mia,” I looked into her eyes and said seriously, “don’t mention her again from now on. We have nothing to do with her anymore.” Mia froze. Although she was sick, she was not stupid. She looked at my tightly furrowed brows and seemed to understand something. “Liam, is it because of me…” Her eyes reddened. “Am I dragging you down?” “Nonsense.” I held her ice-cold hand. “You’re my only family in this world. As long as you’re okay, I’m not afraid of anything.” After I left the ward, the head nurse at the nurses’ station stopped me. “Liam, the money in your sister’s account is only enough for three more days. Her targeted medication afterward costs fifty thousand per injection, so you need to find a way quickly.” “I understand. Thank you.” I walked out of the hospital and stood on the busy street. The sunlight was harsh. I touched the jade pendant hanging around my neck. It was the only thing my father had left me. I gritted my teeth, turned around, and walked into a pawnshop on the corner. “Final sale, one hundred thousand.” The owner studied it with a magnifying glass for a long time before naming a price. “This is high-grade glass jade!” I said in a suppressed voice. “Young man, the market isn’t good right now. The quality of this pendant is average, so that’s the price. Take it or leave it.” The owner looked like he knew he had me cornered. I closed my eyes. Mia’s pale face flashed through my mind. “Fine. I’ll pawn it.” With the one hundred thousand in hand, I immediately deposited it into the hospital account. That one hundred thousand would only last half a month. I had to find a job as soon as possible.

I thought that with my degree from a top university, finding a job would not be hard. But I underestimated Vivian’s methods. In one week, I sent out over a hundred resumes. Either they disappeared without a reply, or after I passed the interview, I would get a call the next day saying I was not a good fit. Then I went to a fairly decent internet company. HR handed my resume directly back to me. “Mr. Reed, if you offended someone you shouldn’t have, then don’t try to make it in New York. Go back to your hometown.” I clenched the resume, my knuckles turning white. Vivian Grant. She was trying to force me into a dead end and make me go back to beg her. I stood under the blazing sun, looking at the Grant Group building in the distance. It towered into the clouds, arrogant and untouchable. “Vivian Grant, don’t even dream of it,” I said through gritted teeth, one word at a time. If I could not get into a big company, then I would go to a small one. I would go somewhere that did not require connections, did not care about education, and only looked at performance. In the end, I joined a newly established real estate agency. The base salary was fifteen hundred, and the commission depended entirely on my own hustle. The office had no AC, the electric scooter was old, and every day I handed out flyers on the street under heat close to forty degrees Celsius. “Hi, are you looking to buy a house? There’s a new development in the South District, right by good schools!” I stopped a passing middle-aged woman and handed her a thick flyer. The woman waved me away in disgust, as if shooing a fly. “Go away, go away. It’s too hot!” The flyers scattered all over the ground. I crouched down and picked them up one by one. Sweat flowed into my eyes, stinging sharply. My white shirt was already soaked through with sweat and stuck tightly to my back. But I had no time to complain. After half a month, I was tanned and had lost ten pounds. But I had also closed three small deals and earned over ten thousand in commission. On payday, I bought a roast chicken and brought it to the hospital to eat with Mia. Mia ate until her mouth was greasy, smiling happily. Looking at her, I felt everything was worth it. Just when I thought life was finally getting back on track. Trouble came to my door. That afternoon, the manager suddenly called me into his office. “Liam, there’s a big client tonight who specifically wants to see that villa at Nanshan Manor. Come with me.” The manager rubbed his hands together, his face full of excitement. “Nanshan Manor? That’s a mansion worth over a hundred million!” “Exactly! If this deal closes, the commission alone will be over a million! You’re lucky, kid!” A faint unease rose in my heart. How could such a huge deal fall into the lap of a newcomer like me? But a million in commission was too tempting. With that money, Mia’s surgery and follow-up recovery fees would all be covered. I pushed down my doubts and followed the manager to Nanshan Manor. The moment I pushed open the door to the luxury private room. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze. On the leather sofa. Vivian sat with her legs crossed, holding a glass of red wine and looking at me with a half-smile. Ethan sat beside her in a custom suit, his face full of superiority. There were also several rich heirs from their circle in the room, all staring at me like they were waiting for a good show. “Ms. Grant, I brought him.” The manager nodded and bowed as he hurried over. I turned to leave. “Stop.” Vivian spoke coldly. Two bodyguards immediately blocked the door. I turned back and looked at her coldly. “Ms. Grant, if you want to buy a house, then look at the house. If not, I still need to get off work.” Ethan burst out laughing. “Vivian, this is the man you said had such a backbone? How did he end up like this?” He looked me up and down, taking in my cheap work clothes and sun-roughened skin, his eyes full of contempt. “I heard you’re selling houses? Fine.” Ethan took a stack of cash from his bag and threw it onto the table. “Drink these three bottles of liquor on the table, and I’ll sign the contract for this hundred-million-dollar villa with you.” On the table sat three bottles of strong liquor. The manager kept desperately winking at me from the side. “Liam, drink it! Ms. Grant and Mr. Sullivan are giving you respect!” I looked at the three bottles of liquor. I was allergic to alcohol, and if I drank that much, I could die. Vivian looked at me, her gaze carrying the charity of someone high above me. “Liam, as long as you drink it, this deal will be yours. Not only that, I’ll pay for all of your sister’s follow-up treatment overseas.” She was certain I would compromise. Just like every time over the past three years when she had used Mia to threaten me. I walked to the table. Ethan’s smile grew even more smug. “A loser really is a loser. For money, he doesn’t even care about his life.” I picked up a bottle of liquor. I twisted off the cap. Then. I flipped my wrist. Splash! The entire bottle of liquor landed precisely on Ethan’s custom suit worth hundreds of thousands.

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Only right before I died did I see the screen full of floating comments: 【I’m dying laughing. This male supporting character is so stupid. He spent five years as a blood bank and still thought it was love.】 【Once he dies, Vivian and Julian will inherit his fortune and officially announce their marriage.】 【A pure ATM plus a walking blood bank. This tool man is seriously miserable.】 I looked at Vivian, who was holding her first love in her arms while letting me bleed to death, and I finally understood. I was living inside a tragic romance novel, and I was the stupidest tool man in it. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of the car accident. Vivian was holding Julian, who had only scraped a little skin, and fussing over him, then she turned around and was about to scold me for driving carelessly. I ignored her and called my lawyer directly. “Freeze all of Vivian’s assets, pull funding from every project, and also get back every cent I’ve spent on her over the past five years, principal and interest included.” The comments exploded. 【Holy shit! He awakened!!】 【The living devil is online! This trash couple is done for!】

The violent crash tore through the night sky. My body rolled with the car, and my forehead slammed hard against the window as warm liquid slid down my cheek and blurred my vision. “Ethan! Ethan, how are you?!” Vivian’s panicked voice echoed inside the cramped car. She kicked open the twisted car door and desperately shielded Julian, who had been sitting in the passenger seat, in her arms before helping him out with extreme care. From beginning to end, she never once looked at me, trapped in the back seat with both legs pinned tightly beneath the seat. “Vivian…” I struggled to open my mouth, my voice as faint as a thread. “Save me…” Vivian’s footsteps paused. She turned back, her cold gaze sweeping over my mangled, bloody legs as her brows drew tight. “Ethan, Julian has a clotting disorder, and he scraped his skin, so the bleeding has to be stopped immediately.” “You’re just stuck, and you won’t die, so be good and wait in the car for the ambulance.” After she said that, she supported Julian and rushed toward a taxi she had stopped by the roadside without looking back. They sped away in a cloud of dust. I watched the taillights disappear into the rainy night, and my heart felt like it had been crushed by an invisible hand. Just then, a blinding red light suddenly flashed before my eyes. Immediately after, lines of strange floating comments abruptly appeared in midair. 【Sigh, the tool-man male lead is about to be abused again.】 【He doesn’t know that he’s just the “walking blood bank” for the Oscar-winning actress’s true love. Vivian is with him just so Julian can get blood transfusions anytime.】 【Once both his legs are crippled, Vivian will naturally bring up breaking up, then turn around and get together with Julian. The two of them will use the male lead’s money and resources to become the model couple of the industry.】 【Poor thing. Before his mom died, she gave him all her shares, but he dumped everything onto that trash woman and ended up being drained of blood alive.】 I stared hard at those red words, my mind completely blank. A walking blood bank? An ATM? Drained of blood alive? It turned out that my years of devotion had only been an elaborate pig-butchering scam. Agony, mixed with extreme rage, spread wildly through every inch of my body. I bit through my lip and tasted the strong tang of blood. I was not dead. I, Ethan Hale, would never die just like this at the hands of a trash woman. Using the last bit of strength in my entire body, I pulled my phone from my bag and called my private lawyer. “Attorney Miller.” “Cancel all resources and financial support under my name for Vivian’s studio.” “Yes, all of it.” “Do not leave her a single cent.”

The smell of disinfectant in the hospital was sharp. I lay in the hospital bed with my right leg in a thick cast. The doctor said that if I had been brought in half an hour later, my leg would have been completely ruined. The door to the ward was shoved open. Julian rushed in wearing an oversized hospital gown, his eyes red. “Ethan, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it.” He rushed to my bedside, his voice choked. “If Vivian hadn’t been trying to protect me, she wouldn’t have left you alone…” “Please don’t blame her. If you have to blame someone, blame me.” Behind him stood Vivian, her face dark. She looked at my casted leg, and there was not the slightest trace of pain in her eyes, only impatience. “Ethan, are you done making a scene?” “Julian was so worried about you that he came running over before his own wound was even bandaged, so who are you trying to impress with that cold face?” “I’ve already had the company release a statement saying the accident was an accident and won’t affect Julian’s reputation, so cooperate and repost it later.” I looked at the two of them playing off each other and almost laughed out loud. 【I’m dying laughing. A cat crying over a mouse. Such fake mercy.】 【This woman is still thinking about burying the trending topic. She has no idea the male lead has already pulled the rug out from under her.】 【Julian is such a drama queen. His acting is more convincing than Vivian’s, and she’s the Oscar winner.】 I raised my hand, avoided Julian’s outstretched hand, picked up the wet wipe by the bed, and wiped my fingers one by one as if they had been stained with something dirty. “There’s no need to apologize.” “After all, I don’t plan to forgive you.” Julian’s crying froze, and he looked at me in disbelief. Vivian frowned, her tone thick with warning. “Ethan, Julian didn’t do it on purpose, so don’t be so unreasonable when you already have the upper hand.” “He has been in poor health since childhood, so it’s only right for you to give way to him.” It was this same speech again. Ever since we were kids, whenever Julian and I had any conflict, everyone told me to give way to him. Because he had a clotting disorder, and because he was the weak one who needed care. And I was the soil that provided nutrients for him, so I deserved to be sacrificed. I threw the used wet wipe accurately into the trash can and looked up at her coldly. “Vivian, have you forgotten that I am your fiancé?” “At the scene of the accident, you abandoned your fiancé whose legs were pinned down and went to take care of a man who had only scraped his skin.” “Now you even want me to cooperate with your statement and cover up your shamelessness?” “Who the hell do you think you are?” Vivian’s face instantly turned livid. She stared hard at me as if she no longer recognized me. In the past, as long as she frowned, Ethan would rush over in distress to ask if she was okay. He would never look at her with eyes that seemed to be looking at garbage. “Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you?” She gritted her teeth and stepped closer. “Do you know that because you threw a tantrum and froze my cards, several projects at my studio have all been shut down?” “Call the bank immediately and unfreeze them. Otherwise, our engagement ceremony will be postponed indefinitely.” She thought that if she threatened me with the engagement, I would compromise like I used to. I looked at that self-righteous face and suddenly felt utterly sick. “There’s no need to postpone it.” I pressed the call button beside the bed. “Vivian, we’re breaking off the engagement.”

The ward fell into deathly silence. Vivian froze in place, a trace of panic flashing through her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by contempt. “Ethan, what kind of hard-to-get game are you playing now?” “Breaking off the engagement? Can you bear to do that?” “Everyone in New York high society knows that you, Ethan Hale, love me so much that you don’t even want your dignity.” “Now you’re using the engagement to threaten me? Do you think I’ll believe you?” Julian quickly spoke too, timidly saying, “Ethan, don’t be angry with Vivian.” “I know you’re mad because of me, so at worst… at worst, I’ll never see Vivian again.” As he spoke, his eyes reddened again, as if he had suffered some huge injustice. Vivian immediately stood in front of him in distress and glared at me. “Ethan, look at what you’ve become.” “Julian thinks of you in everything, but you make things difficult for him at every turn.” “I’m telling you, if you don’t unfreeze the cards and apologize to Julian today, then I won’t marry you.” I coldly watched this man and woman perform, and not a single ripple stirred in my heart. There was only disgust. “Nurse.” I looked at the nurse who had just pushed the door open and come in. “These two are disturbing my rest, so please ask them to leave.” “Also, notify security that from now on, without my permission, these two are not allowed to step into my ward.” The nurse looked at me, then at Vivian’s livid face, and politely issued the order to leave. “You two, the patient needs quiet rest, so please leave.” Vivian’s face completely lost its composure. She pointed at me, her finger trembling slightly. “Fine. Ethan, don’t regret this.” “When you come crying to beg me, I’ll see how you clean up this mess.” After saying that, she dragged Julian with her and slammed the door in a rage as she left. The ward finally quieted down. I took out my phone and called my assistant, Josh. “Josh, help me prepare a press conference, and set it for tomorrow afternoon.” “Also, bring me the recording pen from my safe.” There were some surprises saved in there. Since we were going to tear things apart, then we might as well tear them apart completely.

The next afternoon. The tags “Ethan Hale Seriously Injured in Car Accident” and “Vivian Abandons Fiancé” stayed on the trending list all night. Vivian’s PR team desperately tried to suppress the trending topics, but my team spent ten times the money and pinned the heat firmly at the top. At the press conference, camera flashes fell like snow, dazzling enough to make people dizzy. I sat in a wheelchair with my right leg in a cast, my face pale but my eyes firm. Vivian actually came too. She was probably afraid I would say something reckless in front of the media, so she had rushed over specifically to “control the scene.” She walked to my side and tried to hold my hand like usual, but I coldly avoided her. Her hand froze in midair, and a trace of darkness flashed through her eyes, but facing the cameras, she still forced out an affectionate smile. “Thank you for your concern, friends from the media. Ethan’s body is still recovering, so I hope everyone will not disturb him too much.” “As for last night’s accident, it was only a small incident. The situation was urgent at the time, and I simply sent Julian, who was more seriously injured, to seek medical treatment first. I did not abandon Ethan.” “My relationship with Ethan is very stable, and the engagement ceremony will proceed as scheduled.” She spoke in such a dignified way, as if she really were the best woman in the world. I looked at her hypocritical face, picked up the microphone in front of me, and gave a soft laugh. “Miss Vivian, it’s truly a shame your acting never won you an Oscar.” The entire room erupted. Every camera instantly turned toward me. Vivian’s face changed, and she lowered her voice to warn me. “Ethan, are you crazy?” I ignored her, swept my gaze over the reporters below the stage, and slowly spoke. “I invited everyone here today because I want to announce something.” “I, Ethan Hale, am officially breaking off my engagement with Miss Vivian Shaw starting today.” The flashes went wild. “Mr. Hale, is the engagement being broken off because of last night’s car accident?” “Is it because Miss Shaw showed favoritism toward Mr. Julian Grant?” Vivian panicked completely. She shot to her feet and tried to snatch my microphone. “Ethan is just throwing a tantrum with me. Please don’t misunderstand…” “Throwing a tantrum?” I sneered, took the recording pen from my assistant, and pressed the play button. “Vivian, are you really going to marry that man?” It was Julian’s voice, carrying a hint of coquettishness. “Be good. If I don’t get close to him, how can I take his money to promote you? How can I make him willingly become your walking blood bank?” “When I’ve squeezed his money and usefulness dry, I’ll break off the engagement with him and be with you openly and gloriously.” “By then, all of the Hale family’s business will be ours.” It was Vivian’s calm and cruel voice. The recording was very long, filled with countless moments of them coveting my property, plotting against my body, and mocking me as a “tool man.” Every sentence was like a sharp blade, cutting their hypocritical masks to pieces. When the recording finished, the whole venue fell into deathly silence. Every camera was aimed at Vivian’s deathly pale face. I looked at her, the corner of my mouth curving slightly. “Miss Shaw, are you satisfied with this recording?” “Oh, right, I forgot to tell you.” “The company shares my mom left me automatically took effect the day I came of age.” “In other words, the villa you live in now, the sports car you drive, and even the studio you’re so proud of were all bought for you with my money.” “Now, I don’t want to play anymore.” “So please pack your things and get the hell out of my world.”

As soon as I finished speaking, the reporters at the scene were like sharks smelling blood, and the room instantly boiled over. Countless microphones were shoved into Vivian’s face. “Miss Shaw, is the content of the recording true?” “Did you approach Mr. Hale only for his money and blood?” “What exactly is your relationship with Mr. Grant? Were you conspiring to commit fraud?” Vivian was blocked in place, her face changing colors more dramatically than a paint palette. She opened her mouth, but she could not say a single word. 【Hahahaha, public humiliation scene. So satisfying, too satisfying.】 【Look at that woman’s expression. She looks like she swallowed a fly.】 【The male lead is awesome. This counterattack is fast, accurate, and ruthless.】 I watched the floating comments, turned my wheelchair, and left the venue under the protection of bodyguards. The clamor and curses behind me became the background music of my victory. That night, tags like #VivianShawGetOutOfHollywood, #JulianGrantDramaQueen, and #FeelBadForEthanHale took turns dominating the top of the trending list. All of Vivian’s endorsements, film and television resources, and variety shows terminated their contracts with her overnight. The “serious award-winning actress” persona she had worked so hard to build over the years collapsed completely. What awaited her would be astronomical breach-of-contract penalties worth hundreds of millions. Julian was not doing much better. The lead roles in several major IP projects he had originally been in talks for were all recast. Netizens even dug up his old history of bullying classmates and demanded that he get out of Hollywood. Just when I thought I could finally catch my breath for a moment, my phone rang. Caller ID: Father. Richard Hale. I looked at the name flashing on the screen, and a hint of coldness flashed through my eyes. When I answered the call, Richard’s roar, suppressed with anger, immediately came from the other end. “Ethan, are you done making trouble?” “Release a statement immediately saying that recording was forged. Otherwise, I’ll freeze all your cards.” I leaned against the headboard and casually pinched my fingers. “Oh? So you still know I’m your son?” “I thought your only son was Julian.” The other end of the phone went silent. After a long while, he finally spoke coldly. “Don’t forget that Hale blood runs through your veins, and everything you enjoy was given to you by the Hale family.” “I had you get together with Vivian for the company’s interests, and it was also for your own good.” “Now that you’ve made such a mess, do you know how much the company is going to lose?” I laughed, and my throat tightened from it. “The company’s interests? For my own good?” “Dad, put your hand on your heart and tell me, did you really have me get together with Vivian for the company?” “Wasn’t it because Julian needed a walking blood bank who would come whenever he called, and Vivian was the most suitable ‘blood bag keeper’ you had chosen?” On the other end of the phone, there was deathly silence. Just when I thought he had nothing to say, he suddenly let out a sinister laugh. “Ethan, do you think you’ve won?” “Do you think that once you get rid of Vivian, you can get rid of your fate?” “I’m telling you, it’s not that easy.” “Julian is my son, and as long as I’m alive, you must serve him.” “Back then, your mother was willing to donate bone marrow to Julian for my sake. Why can’t you learn from her?” All the blood in my body froze instantly at that moment. My mom… didn’t she die in an accident?

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My father is the Don of Marchetti family and tonight, seven of his men walked out of my mother’s bedroom. He’s standing in the doorway with his new whore on his arm. They both stare at my mother lying motionless on the bed. And he smiles like she’s the entertainment. “You used to look down on Bianca, Isabella. And look at you now, the great Moretti princess, not so high and mighty anymore.” His voice makes me want to throw up. “I think it’s time you let me make Bianca my second wife.” My mother doesn’t scream or cry. She forces herself up off the bed, every movement shaking. This time, she pulls the diamond pendant off her neck—the one he gave her the night he proposed—and drops it into the fire. The next morning, my father throws a wedding. Bigger than the one he gave my mother fifteen years ago. Three hundred guests from every family on the East Coast, all here to watch my father make his mistress official. I’m wearing a black dress. Nobody notices. Halfway through dinner, the lights flicker. The big screen behind the head table turns on by itself. It’s my mother. Naked. On her own bed. Seven men taking turns. The video is high-definition. Someone wanted us to see every detail. I lunge for the screen, trying to block it with my own body. “What the fuck is this?! Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!” The guests are laughing. Some of them are filming. Some of them are pointing at the men in the video and naming them out loud, like it’s a party game. My father’s face goes purple. “You like showing off so much, Isabella?” He’s on his feet, champagne flute shaking in his hand. “Fine. I’ll give the whole family a turn.” He snaps his fingers. “Take her to the Room.” I scream and throw myself at him. The housekeeper catches me from behind, one hand clamps over my mouth, and drags me out of the ballroom while my mother is hauled in the opposite direction. The guests’ laughter follows me into the hallway. “Once a woman’s been in the Room—passed around to every man in the family—she doesn’t walk right again. Wears diapers the rest of her life. Might as well bury her.” “Generous of the Don, though. Sharing his own wife with the boys.” “A Moretti princess. Soft hands, soft skin. Bet she moans prettier than the club girls…” The housekeeper drops me in my bedroom and locks the door from the outside. I sit on the floor in my black dress and ask her, “What’s the Room?” She whispers, through the door, “The worst thing the Marchetti family does to a woman, Cleo.” … I don’t sleep. By noon the next day, they let me see my mom. The smell hits me before I’m through the doorway. Blood. Sweat. Strangers. My mom is on the bed. Eyes open. Not blinking. Under the thin white nightgown they put on her, every inch of her skin is bruised. “Mama—” My voice cracks. My fingers hover over her arm; I can’t bring myself to touch her. I turn to the door to scream for the family doctor— The door swings open first. My father walks in with Bianca on his arm, both of them in fresh silk, both of them perfumed. Bianca makes a tiny gagging sound and covers her nose. My father looks at my mother the way you look at a stain on the carpet. “Isabella. Drop the act.” I freeze. “I gave the men orders. Nobody actually touched you.” He’s bored. “Stop performing.” I open my mouth and want to shout—she’s bruised, she’s bleeding! But my mother’s hand closes around my wrist to stop me, and she reaches under her pillow. It’s divorce papers. Already signed. “Dante.” Her voice is a husk of itself. “Sign them. I don’t want the money. I don’t want the house. I don’t want the name.” “I just want Cleo.” My father’s eyebrow lifts like he’s heard a child threaten to run away from home. “Don’t be stupid, Bella. Your father’s dead. Your brother’s dead. Your mother’s been dead for ten years. Where the hell are you gonna go?” I stare at him. So he remembers. He remembers that Uncle Rafael took six bullets covering his retreat in the northern territory war. That Rafael’s body is still buried under a warehouse floor in Buffalo because we never got it back. He remembers that my grandfather—the old Don Moretti—put a gun to his own temple in front of the Commission to force them to back my father up. He remembers kneeling in front of the Moretti family crest the day he married my mother, swearing on his blood and his bones: I, Dante Marchetti, will protect Isabella Moretti until the day I die. One wife. One love. No exceptions. But “until the day I die” is a long time. Three years into the marriage, he came home from a job up north with Bianca Costa. Said she’d saved his life. Said my mother needed to be understanding. When my mother grew tulips in the garden, Bianca said the pollen made her sneeze. My father had every flower torn up by the roots. When my mother got pregnant with my baby brother, Bianca cried and said that something terrible would happen to her if my mother kept the baby. That night, my father held my mother down himself and forced the pills down her throat. She bled through her dress and onto the rug. She screamed for six hours. While he was three rooms away, listening to Bianca sing. I bet he heard every second of it. But He didn’t move. That was the night I understood: my father—the man who used to lift me onto his shoulders to watch the fireworks— was already dead.

Like he’s afraid she’ll say the word divorce again, my father snatches the papers out of her hand and throws them in the fireplace. The paper curls. Blackens. Gone in three seconds. He sighs—soft, the way he used to sigh when I was little and skinned my knee—and reaches out to smooth my mother’s hair. She turns her face away. His hand hangs in the air for a long, ugly second. Then he yanks it back and his jaw locks. “Tonight,” he says, voice flat, “I’m taking Bianca to the Commission’s annual gala. Give her your Bulgari set.” “No.” I’m already in front of the bed before my mother can speak. “That’s my grandma’s. She left it to my mom. Nobody touches it.” Bianca’s eyes well up on cue. The tears actually slide down her cheeks; I have to give her credit, she’s good. “Dante, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m not worthy of the Moretti family heirlooms.” She presses a hand to her mouth. “It’s okay. Just let them laugh at me. I’m used to it…” My father’s face goes to stone. “Isabella. This is how you raised our daughter? Mouthing off, no manners, no respect for Bianca?” His voice drops. “Maybe Cleo should move in with Bianca. Learn some respect.” My mother’s face goes white. She pushes herself upright on the bed and puts herself between me and him. “Take the jewelry. Take all of it. Don’t touch my daughter.” Bianca’s mouth twitches. For half a second, I see the smile she’s trying to hide. Then she wipes her tears and says, very softly, “Dante, I’m scared I’ll embarrass you tonight. I’m just a club girl. I don’t know how to act around those people.” She squeezes his arm. “What if Isabella came with us? As my maid? Just so I don’t make a fool of myself.” The Don’s wife. A maid. To his mistress. In front of every family on the East Coast. My father doesn’t even hesitate. “Done.” … At sunset, they throw a grey servant’s dress through the door. I watch my mother peel off her silk slip and pull the cheap dress on. There’s not a clean inch of skin on her back. I’m crying before I know I’ve started. She wipes my face with her thumb. Then she pulls something out from under her pillow and presses it into my palm. A small gold cross on a thin chain. “Cleo, baby. Listen to me.” Her eyes are clear for the first time in months. “I’m not going to be here much longer. I need you to listen.” “Mama, don’t—” “Listen. When I’m gone, you take this cross. You get on a plane. You fly to Los Angeles. You go to Luca Moretti.” I know the name. The Don of the West Coast. The man who spoiled me rotten when I was little, who treated me like his own kid—until he and my father started hating each other for reasons nobody would explain, and he stopped coming around. “Show him this cross. He’ll know what it means.” Her voice catches. “He’ll keep you safe. He’ll do it for me.” “I’m sorry I won’t see you grow up, baby.” I close my fist around the cross so hard the edges cut my palm. I know exactly how worn down she is. She fought. God, she fought. When Bianca first arrived, my mother put her in an apartment across town—a nice one, paid for, just not in our house. The next morning, my father called it jealousy. He made her walk barefoot down Fifth Avenue in a silk robe to bring Bianca home herself. Six months ago, after the miscarriage, my mother came at Bianca with a kitchen knife. My father dragged her to the cemetery, stood her in front of my grandmother’s grave, and told her if she touched Bianca again, he’d dig the body up and dump it in the East River himself. Three days ago, somebody leaked Bianca’s old videos from her stripper days to half the families on the coast. My father decided my mother did it. That same night, he had her drugged and locked in the basement with a dozen men who’d broken family code, and he let them have her until morning. After that night, she stopped fighting. I lean my forehead against her bony shoulder. I can feel every rib through her cheap dress, and I choke on a sob. “Mama.”

Bianca isn’t done with us. At the gala, she makes a show of it. Snaps her fingers at my mother to refill her champagne. Drops a napkin and waits, smiling, until my mother kneels on the marble to pick it up. Every woman in that room watches the Moretti princess serve drinks to a stripper Dante picked up in a back-alley club in Atlantic City. When Bianca’s had enough sport with the crowd, she walks us out to the gardens behind the venue. There’s a pond. No witnesses. She tugs off one of her diamond earrings and flicks it into the water. “Go get it.” My mother doesn’t move. Bianca’s face goes ugly so fast I almost laugh. “Isabella. You’re my maid tonight. I tell you to do something, you do it. Go get it.” My mother looks at her for a long, quiet second. “A ring won’t change what you are, Bianca. You’re a mistress. You’ll die a mistress.” Bianca’s hand flies up to slap her. I get there first. I shove Bianca hard in the chest—she stumbles back two steps in her heels—and I plant myself in front of my mother. “Get the fuck away from her.” “You little bitch—” She swings on me. My mother yanks me into her arms a half-second before her nails connect; instead of my cheek, Bianca’s nails rake down my mother’s throat. Four red lines well up instantly. And for one beat—one single beat—my mother’s eyes flash with something I haven’t seen in three years. The old Moretti fire. The look she had in the photos from before she married him. Bianca actually flinches back. Then she remembers where she is, and she sneers. “You’re all bark, Isabella. No bite.” She turns to me. “Fine. Don’t get it. But Cleo’s marriage contract is sitting on Dante’s desk right now, and I get a say. Want me to recommend the Falcone man? Or the Romano heir?” The Falcone man is forty-three and on his fourth wife. The Romano heir is nineteen and beat a maid to death last summer for serving cold coffee. His father paid it off. My mother’s hand jerks against my shoulder. “I’ll get the earring,” she whispers. The water is freezing. My mother walks down the stone steps into the pond fully dressed. Her lips are blue inside of two minutes. “Mama!” Bianca slaps me. Hard. Then again, backhand. “Shut your mouth, you spoiled little bitch—” “What the hell is going on?” Dante’s voice. Bianca reacts in a heartbeat. She grabs my hand—drives my palm into her own chest—and throws herself backwards over the low railing into the pond. The splash is theatrical. Then Dante is in the water before his jacket is off, and he hauls Bianca out cradled against his chest like she’s made of glass. My mother is twenty feet away, drowning. A waiter from the gala—not family, not blood, just a kid trying to keep his job—is the one who jumps in and drags her to the edge. Bianca clings to Dante’s lapels and shakes. “I’m sorry, Dante, I’m so sorry—I shouldn’t have come tonight—” She sees me and screams, hides her face against his shoulder. “Don’t let her hit me again, please, please—” “I didn’t touch you!” I’m shaking. My cheek is on fire from her slap. “She made my mother get in the water for an earring! She called me a bitch! She’s been hitting me, look at my face, look—” Dante looks at my mother instead. Bruised, half-drowned, lips blue, barely breathing on the wet stones. For one second, something flickers behind his eyes. Something that almost looks like he still loves her. Then Bianca sobs against him. “Dante, please—I know she hates me. Fine. But to drag Cleo into it? To make a child lie for her?” She lifts her tear-streaked face. “I admit it. I slapped Cleo. Because she called me a bitch. She said I spread my legs for every man and insulted my dead mother.” Bianca’s voice climbs. “I was nobody before you, Dante, but I have pride. I’d rather drown than be treated like that—” She lunges for the railing like she’s going to throw herself in again. “Enough.” Dante’s voice is ice. “Take her to the basement. Twenty with the belt.” “No!” My mother throws herself in front of me before the guards drag me. “She’s mine. I raised her. Whatever she did—do it to me.” Dante looks down at her. Cold as hell. “Forty.” … The basement is cold. Concrete floor. One bare bulb swinging from the ceiling. My mother kneels on the floor. By the tenth, I’m sobbing so hard I can’t breathe. By the twentieth, my mom can’t even hold her head up. And I taste blood where I’ve bitten through my lip. I’m on my knees outside, screaming at the men, screaming at Dante, screaming at God— “Please. Please! She’s my MOM! Please stop!” By the end, she coughs up blood and collapses face-down on the concrete. I get her back to her room. I pay the family doctor double to come at midnight. Until dawn, I can’t hold it anymore and pass out beside her. I wake up again because someone is in the room. Dante. He’s kneeling beside the bed. He lifts the back of her nightgown with hands that are actually shaking, and a tear lands on her shoulder blade. He cleans the wounds himself. He whispers to her, voice broken. “Bella. Bella, why do you have to be so stubborn.” “Bianca’s a good girl. She saved my life. You don’t know what she did for me. You don’t know.” “Just let her have a baby. Once she gives me a baby, I’ll send her away. You and me and Cleo. Back to how we were. Like before.” I shut my eyes quietly. There is no “how we were.”

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Cameron Lee is a man of rigid boundaries. In Manhattan’s elite circles, everyone knows his “no-touch” policy. For five years, I was the only exception—the wife who held the keys to his world. Until I didn’t. For the third time, our wedding anniversary comes up as an “incorrect password.” I have no choice but to call him. “Cameron, your tablet is acting up. You need to take it to the shop tomorrow.” A playful, high-pitched voice answers the line. “Mrs. Lee? Oh, I’m so sorry! I was playing games on the CEO’s tablet in his office yesterday. I may accidentally changed the password to my birthday.” I freeze for seconds, then hang up. When Cameron returns home that night, I toss the divorce papers onto the coffee table in front of him. He rubs his temples, his face a mask of pure irritation. “Why are you being so petty with a young girl? She’s inexperienced. What’s your excuse for being so immature?” I let out a cold laugh. “Then go spend your life with her and her ‘inexperience.’” Cameron leans down, picks up the papers, and tears them into shreds without even glancing at the terms. He drops the confetti into the trash, his gaze ice-cold. “Rebecca, you’re becoming completely irrational.” “I’m done discussing this, Cameron Lee,” I say, my eyes void of any warmth. “Our marriage was always a strategic merger. We have no emotional foundation. A clean break is the only way out for both of us.” My heart feels like it’s being pierced by a thousand invisible needles. It’s true that we were a business alliance, but over five years of living together, I had unknowingly fallen for him. But what does love matter now? There’s always a first time, and then a second. If I pretend nothing happened this time, what about the next? And the time after that? Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life swallowing my dignity? Gracie Day’s words today were a blatant act of war. Everyone in Manhattan knows that Cameron Lee doesn’t let women get close to him. He’s obsessed with his boundaries and personal space. When he was twenty, a maid’s daughter thought she could play a game. She took advantage of his drunken state after a gala, loosened his tie, and tried to frame a scandal to secure her future. In the end, he had both her hands broken before throwing her out of the Lee estate. She was never heard from again. Cameron has a severe “no-touch” policy. For years, I was the only exception. I was the only one allowed to touch his personal items—his tablet, his phone, his laptop. Even if I wanted to check his messages, he would just ruffle my hair with a tired but indulgent smile, telling me not to stay up too late. Well, from today, that privilege expired. The warning bells are screaming, and I need to cut my losses before I sink any deeper. … A suffocating silence stretches across the living room. We are in a deadlock. He knows my temper. He knows I don’t tolerate a single grain of sand in my eye. On our wedding night, I told him clearly: if he ever found someone else, I would step aside. No drama, no clinging. Back then, he held me so tightly I thought he’d merge me into his own skin. He told me we were a perfect match, a pair made by fate. He said that even without “love,” we could grow old together. He didn’t mind my touch, and I didn’t mind his. Compared to the useless, cheating playboys of the Upper East Side, I preferred him as my husband. For five years, we were the golden couple of the city. Every joint venture between the Lees and the Powells was a massive success. Three months ago, on Cameron’s birthday, I told him I wanted a baby. He had stroked my tear-stained face, moved by the intensity of the moment. “Rebecca, are you sure?” I had sobbed, wrapping my weak arms around his neck. I still remember that second—the flash of light in his dark, narrow eyes. Before I drifted off from exhaustion, something warm and wet dropped onto my face. Then, he pulled me into his broad, warm chest. “Becca… thank you.”

The memory snaps, and I force myself to bury those beautiful moments. I push down the bitterness rising in my throat and sharpen my voice. “Cameron, I want a divorce.” Long minutes pass, and Cameron remains silent, offering no reaction. I’ve always hated his silent treatment. I turn around and head upstairs to pack my things. Half an hour later, as I’m dragging my suitcase toward the door, Cameron finally moves. He blocks my path with his arm. “Rebecca Powell, you’re throwing away a marriage over the password of my tablet?” It’s been a long time since he called me by my full name. I take a deep breath and look him in the eye. “Yes.” His frown deepens. Maybe he’s thinking about the baby in my womb, because his tone softens slightly. “Rebecca, let me explain.” I don’t plan on giving him another chance, but I’m curious to see what kind of lies he’ll spin. “The girl’s project pitch passed the board of directors. She didn’t want a bonus. She told me she hadn’t played games in a long time and asked to use my tablet for a few rounds. So I agreed. The password has been changed back. It was a minor thing, Becca. I’ve already talked to her, and she knows she was wrong. She even said she’d come by to apologize to you in person.” “Be the bigger person. Don’t make things difficult for a girl who just graduated. I promise, I won’t have any contact with her outside of work.” I catch the hidden meaning immediately. “Cameron, you’re already protecting her? Do you see me as some malicious, jealous wife now? You two are ‘innocent,’ I’m the one being unreasonable?” “Becca, that’s not what I meant.” I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “I don’t care what you meant. I’m getting this divorce. As for the baby… I haven’t decided yet. But don’t worry, even if I have it, I won’t use it to blackmail you.” I leave it at that, pushing past him and walking out of the villa. The staff are terrified, none of them daring to stop me. I take an Uber back to the Powell estate. I expected my parents to support me once they heard the story. The reality is the exact opposite. My father, Josh, chainsmokes one cigarette after another. “Rebecca, it’s not that we don’t want you to be happy, but our business relies entirely on Cameron’s investment. If you divorce him, he’ll divest, and the Powell Group will be underwater by morning.” My mother, Lailah, wearing an expensive face mask, scolds me for being ungrateful. “Cameron has been wonderful to you. He’s a provider. Don’t be impulsive and hand him over to another woman on a silver platter.” Even if he did have a little fun on the side, there’s no such thing as ‘true love’ in the elite world. Marrying into the Lee family was the luckiest thing that ever happened to you.” It all boils down to one word: profit. Over the years, my father’s poor management has brought the company to the brink of bankruptcy multiple times. Cameron saved it every single time. I thought I would be devastated. I thought I would scream. But I feel nothing. I look at them calmly and ask, “So, what do you want me to do?” Josh crushes his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ve already texted Cameron since you arrived. He’s on his way. Go back with him and be a good wife. Stop running home every time you’re upset; it makes us look like a joke.” Lailah chimes in. “Listen to your father, Rebecca. We only want what’s best for you. Ah, also, Leo has his eye on a piece of land owned by the Lees. Make sure you mention it to Cameron. Ask him to do Leo a favor.” There it is. The reason I was raised as a bargaining chip was Leo Powell. My brother. The Golden Child.

Cameron arrives in ten minutes. His usually perfect hair is slightly messy, a rare sign of haste. He ignores my resistance and grabs my hand, offering my parents a polite, apologetic smile. “This is all my fault. I upset Rebecca.” My father immediately tells the butler to bring out the best tea leaves. My mother insists on cooking dinner herself to keep Cameron for the evening. And I’m just… there. A ghost in the room. No one cares how I feel. Just like that, I’m back in the car, heading back to Cameron’s villa. Before I leave, Mom pulls me aside and mysteriously hands me a small bottle of pink liquid. She claims it’s a “miracle” for marital intimacy. “Men stray not just because of the other woman, but because the wife fails her duties. You’re pregnant now, and Cameron has needs.” “Listen to me, Becca. This potion will make him obsessed with you again, and it won’t hurt the baby.” Instead of taking the bottle, I look at her like she’s a complete stranger. We share the same blood, but today, I finally see her for who she really is. Seeing me frozen, she forces the bottle into my hand. On the other side of the lawn, Dad is frantically trying to light a cigarette for Cameron. Cameron refuses. “Dad, second-hand smoke isn’t good for a pregnant woman.” Josh laughs awkwardly. “Right, right. My mistake.” The scene is absurd. … A few days later, Cameron hires a therapist for me. The therapist claims my “irrationality” is just hormonal shifts from pregnancy. Cameron returns to being the attentive, perfect husband, treating me with such care that I almost wonder if the fight was just a bad dream. But I’m not fooled by the staged sweetness. The coldness and impatience he showed that night left a scar that won’t heal. Every time I feel a phantom pain, I’m reminded of the truth. I can’t act like everything is fine, so I mostly give him the cold shoulder. As long as I don’t mention divorce, Cameron doesn’t get angry. He thinks I’ve been “tamed.” He has no idea that I’ve already booked a one-way ticket to New Zealand. I’m leaving him in a week. I’m leaving Manhattan. I’m never coming back. Not for him, and not for my parents. I’m done being used. I’ve also scheduled an appointment to terminate the pregnancy. It’s tomorrow. But Cameron is keeping a tight leash on me. Even when he’s at the office, he has bodyguards following me. I can’t tell if he’s protective of me or just the heir in my belly. The next morning, I do something out of character: I make him breakfast. He’s visibly surprised. In five years, I’ve rarely stepped into the kitchen, let alone made a full spread tailored to his tastes. After he finishes eating, I tell him I’m going for a prenatal check-up. He reaches for his phone. “I’ll push the morning meeting to the afternoon.” “No need. I can go by myself.” I take the initiative to help him straighten his tie. “Cameron, I’m not a child. I don’t need you or the guards breathing down my neck. Go to your meeting. I’ll call you if I need anything.” Cameron looks down at his perfectly knotted tie, then at me. After a moment of hesitation, he nods. Before he walks out, he reminds me a dozen times to be careful. Then he adds, “Becca, come home early after the check-up. Gracie spent half her salary on a gift for you. She’s coming over tonight to apologize.”

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“We’re done!” I dumped Julian the second he got back from Geneva. “Just because I didn’t get you that vintage watch?” He scoffed, his handsome face saying he didn’t really care. “Yes.” I didn’t even blink. My fiancé, Julian, took his investment team to Geneva for a business trip last week. When he was back, everyone got a gift. He even brought the receptionist a bottle of expensive champagne. Everyone, except me. He completely forgot about me. It should have been my birthday present. The one I kept talking about for two full months — a vintage Cartier watch. His new assistant, Chloe, posted a selfie on Instagram, bragging about her fancy gift. In the photo, she was wearing a brand-new watch from the exact same brand that I wanted. Her caption below: “Best boss in the world! Tysm! Love you always! #BestBossEver” Below, Julian’s comment was brief: “No big deal.” I stared at that post for a long time, then I deleted the text already typed out: “Can’t wait to have you home”. Julian and I met at age seven. We fell in love at eighteen. Twenty years of my life, wrapped up in this man. Once, he put me above everything else. But later, I became the one he cared about least. Take now for example, I’m seriously talking about breaking up with him, but he’s just looking at his phone. It’s a lunch invitation from Chloe. He smirks, sounding annoyed but trying to play it off: “Alright, Ava, stop it.” “What’s the big deal? It’s just a watch. I promise I’ll get you one next time.” “I’m having lunch with Chloe today. Just take a cab and go home.” He adjusts his suit cuffs, hurrying away. I don’t want to stop him at all. Instead, I reply to the email from that haute couture studio in Paris — an offer they’d sent me seven times. “I accept your offer. Flying out soon. See you in Paris.” After sending the email, I slide the engagement ring off my finger, placing it inside his study drawer. Julian, from now on, we go our separate ways. Take care. … “Ava, did you really break up with him?” The moment I step out of Julian’s company, my best friend Sophie calls. “Yeah, I did.” “You guys have been together for nine years! And all because he forgot a gift for you?” I stand still on the sidewalk, watching the endless flow of New York traffic. “It’s not just about the watch.” Before Julian left for Geneva, I specifically reminded him that it’s the perfect place for vintage watches. He swore he’d look for it. In the end, he got limited-edition cigars for his banking partners, and the latest Cartier for his assistant. Yet for me, he returned with nothing. “Sorry, Ava, the schedule was all packed. It just slipped my mind.” “Next time I’ll definitely make it up to you.” In the three months since our engagement, he has forgotten my requests seventeen times. The first time, I had a high fever from a severe flu. I asked him to bring some Tylenol after work. He said yes. But when he got home, he reeked of booze. “A super important client called for a last-minute meeting. Sorry about your meds. I completely forgot.” I didn’t lose my temper. After tucking him into bed that night, I wrapped myself in a blanket and went down to the pharmacy myself. The second time, my personal design studio just landed a massive order. I was working my ass off, so I asked him to drop off some food at the studio. He said yes. I waited until eleven that night. My stomach was killing me, but he never showed up. When I got home, he was already out of the shower, watching Bloomberg in bed. “Sorry, I forgot. It’s just been a long day.” I looked at him, totally speechless. Then came the third time, the eighth, And finally, the seventeenth…

Again and again, I convinced myself that he was just too busy. I got so used to it, preparing myself for him to “forget” every single time. Until one day, by pure coincidence, Chloe’s account popped up in my Instagram recommendations. Her account was entirely filled with her daily life with Julian: “#BestBossEver” On March 21st: “Literally just told my boss I couldn’t sleep from stress. Walked in today to find a luxury sleep care package waiting at my desk.” “Feeling the lucky girl vibes.” On April 7th, she posted a photo from a Michelin-starred restaurant. “Randomly mentioned to my boss last week that I wanted to try this place… And he actually brought me over today! So happy!” “Such a charming, wealthy boss — who could resist?” April 7th, the exact same day I asked Julian to drop off some food for me at the studio. And then, there was today. Julian finally returned from Geneva. Chloe bragged about the watch from him on IG. “Best boss in the world! Thx! Love you always! #BestBossEver” Below it, Julian’s comment: “No big deal.” That watch was from the exact same brand that I wanted. However, for me, Julian had a schedule that was “all packed.” For her, it was “no big deal.” “Sophie, I’ve already made up my mind about this relationship. Don’t talk me out of it,” I say to her on the other end of the line. She falls silent, letting out a sigh. “So, you didn’t tell him about going to Paris either?” “Not yet,” I say, “I’ll talk to him tonight.”

At night, in my study, I’m having a video conference with my future colleagues in Paris. It’s a haute couture bridal studio located on Avenue Montaigne. For Julian, I declined six offers out of the seven they’ve sent me. Now, the seventh time. I say yes. “Everything at the New York studio is wrapped up. I can get on the plane in two days.” “Wonderful, Ava!” Arthur, the founder of the studio, says in pleasant surprise. “Your talents definitely deserve a much bigger stage. When you get here, I will personally show you around Paris.” “What about Paris?” Julian’s voice suddenly cuts in. I turn around, realizing he is already back at our apartment on the Upper East Side. “Back so early tonight?” It’s only eight o’clock. For the last three months, he usually stayed out much later with Chloe or some clients. Julian is caught off guard by the question. He freezes for a second. “What do you mean by that?” He doesn’t press further, brushing past me in a hurry, rummaging through the drawer for two concert tickets. He explains casually: “Chloe bought me lunch at noon. So tonight, I’m taking her to Carnegie Hall for a concert. Just returning the favor. That’s all.” Right after, he quickly adds, as if I cared: “Don’t overthink it.” I simply nod, my gaze falling on those two tickets. They are dated yesterday. This wasn’t some last-minute whim. They had this planned all along. But I’m not calling him out. After all, I’m about to leave him forever. He can go with whoever he wants. That’s none of my business. It’s just that… my eyes still sting for reasons I refuse to admit. “Julian, do you still remember what day today is?”

He frowns. “What day? Another anniversary? Give me a break, will you?” “I gotta go.” He turns to leave without hesitation. “Julian!” I stop him, forcing a faint smile. “On your way back, get me a piece of cake, okay? Lady M’s matcha crepe.” He pauses, seemingly remembering something, then his expression softens. “Okay.” “When you get back, I have to tell you something. It’s important.” “Got it.” The door clicks shut. I sit back down in front of my laptop. “Sorry about that, let’s continue…” Julian completely forgot — today is my 27th birthday. Two months ago, he asked me what I wanted for present. I only mentioned two of my wishes. First, I wanted him to help me find that vintage watch I’d been dying for. Second, I invited him to a concert. The watch? He didn’t buy it. The concert? He’s taking someone else. In the end, even my birthday is gone in his brain. But it doesn’t matter. After tonight, I’m heading to Paris. We’ll never see each other again.

That night, Julian didn’t come back right after the concert. I fell asleep on the sofa in the study. In my dream, I see the seven-year-old Julian again. He holds a small tree branch in front of me, trembling at a vicious stray dog. Although he’s afraid, he shouts out loud: “Don’t be scared, Ava, “I’ll protect you!” I also see him at eighteen, by the lake in Central Park, his face flushing as he stammers to me: “Ava, will… will you be my girlfriend? I swear I’ll always put you first!” I keep my head down, blushing: “Yes, I believe you.” At twenty-five, he proposed to me. At twenty-seven, we got engaged. And today, three months after the engagement, I waited for him on the sofa to discuss our breakup. He kept me waiting for so long that I fell asleep. In the middle of the night, the vibration of my phone wakes me up. It’s a text message from Julian. “It’s not safe for Chloe to take a cab alone this late, so I’m taking her home first. Don’t wait up for me, just go to sleep.” I reply. “What about my cake? You forgot again?” My finger hovers over the “send” button for a long time. In the end, I delete it, letter by letter. I reply with one simple word. “OK.” Then I lock my screen, roll over, and go back to sleep. That night, I cry so much my arm gets soaked and goes completely numb. The next morning, I find myself waking up in the bedroom. After a brief moment of confusion, I walk out. There’s a smell of coffee in the air. Julian is in the kitchen. On the dining table sits an exquisite cake box. “Awake now, sleepyhead?” He glances at me sideways, continuing to make the coffee. “Fell asleep on the sofa last night? I had to carry you into the bedroom. You really need to lose some weight, you know?” He complains, but a smile plays on his lips, as if nothing bad ever happened between us, as if we are still that inseparable couple. For a second, I’m in a daze. I walk to the table to open the cake box, my voice softening unconsciously: “I just fell asleep waiting for you. Is this cake from last night? Why isn’t it in the fridge…” “Don’t touch it!”

Julian snaps, slapping my hand away so hard the back of it instantly turns red. “Hey, that’s for Chloe. She said she wanted some cake last night, so I went to that trendy bakery first thing this morning and waited in line for this.” He points to the fridge. “Your breakfast is inside.” I open the fridge. A single bottle of strawberry milk sits alone on the shelf. Strawberry milk? When I was eighteen, Julian gave me a bottle of expired strawberry milk. I got severe food poisoning, vomiting and diarrhea non-stop. I could only lie in the hospital bed for three days. Since then, strawberry milk has been sort of my trauma. Julian was terrified back then. In the hospital, he held my hands tightly, crying his eyes out. He swore he’d never let anything strawberry-flavored near me again. Now, he even forgets about that too. I grip the fridge door, spacing out for a moment. I shut it. Julian stands to the side, frowning. “You don’t want it? Chloe recommended that brand. Said it’s amazing.” “I’m allergic to strawberry, don’t you remember?” “Since when?” “Eighteen. Because of you.” Julian’s brows knit for a second, then loosen up as if it’s nothing. “I forgot.” “I know.”

The tension in the room instantly drops to freezing. Julian opens his mouth to say something, but his eyes suddenly drop to my bare finger. His face darkens at once. “Where’s your ring? Why aren’t you wearing our engagement ring?” He fires off the questions, his tone demanding. I raise my hand, about to answer, when his phone rings. Chloe’s bubbly voice comes through the speaker: “Julian, did you get my cake?” “It better be my favorite salted caramel chocolate!” “I’m almost at the office! It better be there, or I’m gonna be so mad at you!” The stern look on Julian’s face instantly melts into a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.” He grabs the cake off the table, drops a quick “We’ll talk tonight,” and hurries out the door. The whole thing takes less than ten seconds. If he had stayed for just ten more seconds, I would have told him. I’m leaving. My flight is tonight. I let out a bitter smile, pull my hair up, and start packing my bags. Halfway through, Julian sends a text. [Wait for me at home tonight. We seriously need to talk.] [When?] I ask. [Around eight. I’ll drop Chloe off first.] My fingertips hover over the screen for a moment, then I type a single word. [Okay.]

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For the ninety-ninth time, my Alpha mate, Kyle, instinctively veered off patrol—straight toward Seraphina’s den. He turned and looked at me like I was the problem. “Why is your scent so weak? I didn’t even sense you. Anyway, since I’m here, I’ll reinforce the wards on Seraphina’s den.” I stood frozen, a bitter smile on my lips. That phrase again. “Since I’m here.” It started a year ago, after my best friend Seraphina moved to the forest edge. My Alpha, the pack’s leader, kept getting “lost” on his patrols. He promised we’d go to the Moonlight Ritual together. Instead, he knocked on Seraphina’s door, holding the ceremonial Moonpetal Nectar meant for us. Rogue werewolves wounded me and left me burning with a fever. I begged him for healing herbs. He gave them to Seraphina for her “moon-sickness.” Even on my own Coming of Age ceremony, he presented his trophy hunt to her. He laid the kill at her door. “Since I’m here,” he’d said. “Think of it as a gift for your friendship.” Another time, it was: “Seraphina’s aura’s been acting up. Since I’m here, I’ll help her settle it.” I watched him disappear into her den. He never looked back. I turned and walked toward my den. He’d forgotten. Today, my pack oath expired. I decided to leave this territory. Since he loved going there, he could stay there for good. Back at my den, a few young werewolves loyal to me were waiting. “Ella, we’re ready to start moving your things.” I nodded. At that moment, the communication crystal on my wrist buzzed. It was a mental link from Kyle. “Where did you go? Don’t wander off.” I flinched. Our mental link had always been one-sided. I was the only one who cared. For a moment, the message made my fingers tremble. But as I was concentrating, his next thought cut through. “Go to the apothecary in the south. Bring me a moonsilver dagger. Seraphina doesn’t have one here.” I stared at the silent words hanging in my mind. He hadn’t noticed I was gone. He only noticed I was gone when he needed me to run an errand. I looked back through our old messages. Almost every message from him was about Seraphina. “Give Seraphina that vial of Stardust Tears from the Elders. I’ll hunt another prize for you later. Seraphina wants to try the heart of a Fire Drake. We’re hunting one tonight. I’ve already found its trail.” Kyle never asked. He ordered. He had already decided before the words reached me. The last one was during a thunderstorm. I had asked if he could come get me. “I’m already home,” he replied. “You can get back on your own.” A moment later, a new post popped up on Seraphina’s PackFeed. It was a photo of a massive, dark wolf, with her perched safely on its back. The caption read: “Almost drowned in this storm! So lucky my guardian knight came to the rescue.” I knew that wolf’s form. I always told myself to be happy for them. He was my Alpha. She was my best friend. I told myself this was normal. But my patience only ever seemed to encourage him. He pushed the boundaries further and further. This time, I left his message unanswered.

As I packed, another message came from Kyle. “Still not back? Seraphina wanted dinner at Starlight Caverns, so I brought her. Meet us there yourself.” This was nothing new. We would make plans to hunt together. But I’d be delayed by pack duties, or tracking a kill. By the time I arrived, only cold scraps remained. Kyle always brushed me off. “Seraphina is weak, she needed to eat. So the food’s cold, it’s still fine. You’re too sensitive.” Don’t be so fragile. That was his favorite line. Rotting vines once tore through my den and wrecked it. When I asked him for help, he said the same thing. “I don’t have the energy for that. Get some of the younger werewolves. Don’t be so fragile.” So I burned the vines myself and reinforced the wards alone. After that, I stopped relying on him. But with Seraphina, he was different. “You don’t have to be so tough,” he told her. “Let me handle it. Your den is near Ella’s anyway. It’s no extra trouble.” I never understood it. I was his future mate. But when I needed him, I was being “fragile.” When she needed him, it was “no extra trouble.” I swallowed the bitterness and sent my reply. “Enjoy. I’ve got things to do.” His response didn’t come for a long time. “Another tantrum? Ella, you’re not a cub anymore. Grow up.”

I had thrown a tantrum once before. Last winter, an ice-wolf’s claw ripped my side open. Frost poison flooded my veins. I reached out through our link and begged for Fire-bloom. He was at Seraphina’s. Her moon-sickness was flaring up, he said. He was busy brewing her a calming tea. “But I’m uncomfortable,” I sent him. He was silent for two heartbeats. “You can still message me, so how bad can it be? I’ll have a courier send some. Just endure it.” That was my breaking point. He was my Alpha. But I would never be his priority. I told him I wanted to sever our mate bond. No reply came. The mind-link between us slammed shut, cutting me off cold. He knew my love for him was the easiest way to control me. He was sure I would never leave. That was my weakness. I suffered alone for two days. I cried until I had nothing left. Two days later, Seraphina came to “mediate.” And like a fool, I crawled back. I never caused a scene again after that day. But this was different. This wasn’t a tantrum. I was serious.

Young werewolves moved in and out, clearing the den. It hit me. After seven years of our mate bond, my home held almost nothing of Kyle’s. A pair of mud-caked boots, a drinking horn, and nothing else. Even those two items were things I had gotten for him. He’d never given me a real gift. Seraphina got a magical stone for her new den. For her birthday, he bought her favorite Ghost Orchids. But for me, he always had an excuse. “That ceremonial stuff is meaningless, Ella. We’re going to be Alpha and Luna. We have to be practical.” I used to question him, to argue about it. He said, “Getting gifts for your best friend makes you look good to the pack. It’s for you.” I let out a bitter laugh. My communication crystal vibrated. It was my mother calling. “Ella, honey? I was calling about your official bonding ceremony. How are things with Kyle?”

Not long ago, Kyle and I met with our parents. They gave us their blessing, ready to set a date for the ceremony. But Kyle put it on hold. He said the pack was expanding, and bonding could wait. At the time, I was disappointed, but I told myself I understood. The pressure on an Alpha was immense. Now, all I felt was relief. A man who couldn’t even find his way to my den… I would be alone forever with him. “Mom, the bonding ceremony is off. I’m ending things.” Her voice went tight with alarm over the crystal. “Why? Did he do something unforgivable?” “No. It’s just… not the right fit anymore.” There was a long silence on her end. Of course she was shocked. Every werewolf in the territory knew how much I loved Kyle. For seven years, I was devoted to him. My mother knew. Seraphina knew. I had chased after him from the start. To get closer to him, I learned his preferred fighting techniques. I studied the ancient scrolls he was obsessed with. I even secretly joined the same hunting party, just for the chance to fight at his side. When he decided to build his pack in the southern forests, I didn’t hesitate. I gave up a coveted spot at the Central Royal City. I packed up my entire life and followed him here. My own mother refused to speak to me for three days. All I could say was, “Mom, if I let him go, I’ll regret it forever.” Back then, Seraphina angrily scolded me, saying: “Ella, you’re hopelessly whipped.”

Seraphina and I were friends for ten years. She was my family. But now, she was taking all of my mate’s attention without a shred of guilt. She never cared how it made me feel. I saw her new post on PackFeed. It was a romantic dinner. My eyes stung. The picture was taken in the “Starlight Caverns.” I had found it in an old text. Sparkling cave walls, exquisite food, the sound of an elven harp. I begged Kyle to go with me so many times. He always said, “We’re going to be leading this pack, Ella. Think about our resources. A dinner that costs that much? I can put glow-stones on the ceiling for you.” He always sounded so reasonable. Every time, I said nothing. But now, Seraphina mentioned it. He took her to the one place I had always wanted to go. After moving the last box, I collapsed on the furs in my new den. I remembered building my last one. I’d messaged Kyle for help, but he was busy with pack defenses. He told me to handle it myself. To save resources, I did it all alone. I pushed too hard and reopened an old injury. It put me in bed for two days. But when Seraphina built her den, Kyle cleared his entire day. “Building a den is hard work, Ella. Your friend is alone. It’s our duty to help her.” I watched him work for her, sweat dampening his hair. I barely recognized him. It was never that he couldn’t. He just wouldn’t do it for me.

I was packing when the communication crystal started buzzing. It was Kyle. “Ella, open the door! You changed the ward’s incantation. What is this?” I took a breath. “It means nothing, Kyle. We’re over. I’m severing the bond.” He ignored what I said and raised his voice. “Seraphina remembered you wanted food from the Starlight Caverns. She brought some back for you, and you do this? Change the password and ignore us? Ella, stop throwing a tantrum!” I wasn’t sure if he didn’t hear me. Or if he’d labeled my decision as my usual drama. Before I could say it again, he hung up. I let out a hollow laugh. My own fault. My love for Kyle was no secret to anyone in the pack. Even he thought I would never leave. The next day, I was at the pack market, getting supplies for my new den. I turned down an aisle and ran straight into them. Kyle, his arms loaded with bags, and Seraphina at his side. The smiles on their faces vanished when they saw me. “Ella, please, don’t get me wrong. Kyle was only helping me. He was worried I couldn’t carry everything alone.” Seraphina tried to explain, reaching out for my hand. But Kyle yanked her back behind him. “Why are you explaining to her? She still owes you an apology. You baby her too much, Seraphina. That’s why she keeps pulling this crap.”

Seraphina gave me a worried look. She followed Kyle toward the trading post anyway. I watched them leave, my chest tightening. Kyle never went to the market with me. He always said it was too much trouble. “Have a courier bring what you need. Why go through the trouble yourself?” But there he was, carrying all of Seraphina’s bags without complaint. Outside, Kyle stowed all their things. Seraphina was already on his wolf back. She was in the seat only a claimed mate was supposed to take. She looked back and waved at me. “Get on,” Kyle said casually. “I’ll take you both home.” My eyes fell on the saddle pad woven from Moon-Grass. The one that marked the Luna’s seat. His brow furrowed when he saw my expression. “Seraphina is fragile. It’s safer for her up front. You can ride in the back.” He remembered all her little quirks. Her fragility, her irregular moon sickness. But he conveniently forgot about my old battle scars. My eyes stung. I forced the words out. “No, thanks. I’m not going that way.” Seraphina started to dismount. “Ella, don’t do this. You don’t want me sitting here, do you? I can get down.” But Kyle let out a low growl, commanding her to stay put. “If she’s not going our way, fine. We’re leaving.” The wolf lunged forward. Dust hit my face as they rode off. He never had any patience for me.

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It was the day before Valentine’s, the day Julian Thorne had finally agreed to marry me. But that morning? He married his ex-wife instead. We were on our way to Manhattan City Hall. He suddenly pulled his Bentley over to the side of the road. I looked at him in confusion, but he just stared blankly at the traffic. “We can’t get married today. Isabelle is back with my son, Leon. His condition has gotten worse, it’s complicated. Lawyers advised us to remarry. It’s to simplify the medical decisions and get him the best treatment faster.” My mind went blank. He tapped his knuckles on the steering wheel, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s a legal formality for the kid, Ella. You’ve always been so smart. You should understand my position. Our lavish wedding at The Plaza is still happening. You’ll still wear the Cartier ring. Nothing changes between us except a piece of paper. My feelings for you haven’t changed.” I looked at his handsome but unfamiliar face and felt sick. I was about to tell him the news. That we were finally having the baby we’d always wanted. But now, this selfish bastard didn’t deserve to know. And like that, this marriage meant nothing. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “So, Julian… when you went to City Hall yesterday and signed a marriage license with another woman, did you think about what that would make today for me?” Julian finally turned to face me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Ella, don’t be dramatic. My marriage to Isabelle was always a business alliance. You know that. Reinstating it is for guardianship and medical consent. It’s the fastest way to get Leon treatment. Besides, you’ve always said you hate complications, right?” He was right. I used to swallow all my problems so he could focus on the chaos of Wall Street. He always praised me for being “independent and not clingy.” Now, the independence he praised was the knife he was twisting in my back. I let out a laugh. “So, to avoid ‘complications,’ I’m supposed to accept my fiancé is legally another woman’s husband, right before our own wedding?” “Julian, what the hell am I to you?”

He reached for me, but I flinched. His hand froze between us. He sighed, dropping his hand to his side. “Ella, after five years, does a piece of paper really matter more than us? I’ve given you everything. I gave you the best life. You know that. I love you. You’re the only one I want to spend my life with. Nothing has changed.” My mind flashed back to a year ago. We were walking past a baby boutique on Fifth Avenue. He’d pulled me inside, picking up a tiny pair of sneakers. “Ella, once we’re married, let’s have a baby right away. I can’t wait to see a little you, looking at me with your eyes, calling me Dad.” His excitement had been so real then. And this betrayal felt as real now. My hand moved to my stomach. I lowered my voice. “And the child? He gets your name, your insurance… and then what? What’s the plan for them, Julian? Are you going to stay legally married to her forever?”

Julian relaxed. He thought I was caving. “Leon’s condition is complicated. He needs long-term care, and Isabelle can’t manage it alone. I’ll set them up in an apartment on the Upper East Side. They’ll have the best care. I’ll only visit once or twice a week. Ella, I promise. I’ll spend most of my time with you.” I felt an overwhelming sense of irony. How can a man about to be married have two homes? Two families? His phone buzzed. It was his mother. The unshakeable matriarch of the Thorne family. He answered. “Mother. On our way. I’m bringing Ella to the estate in the Hamptons for dinner.” He hung up, not even bothering to ask if I agreed. He spun the car around and merged onto the Long Island Expressway. A glance from the corner of his eye, his tone shifting from demanding to desperate. “Ella, I know how unfair this is. I have no right to ask anything of you.” He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “But the wedding has been announced. All of New York knows. And my mother… she adores you. You know her heart condition. She can’t take a shock right now.” “I’m begging you. Just give me a little time. Let me get Leon and Isabelle settled. Let me find the right way to handle things with her.” He looked at me, his eyes swirling with an emotion I’d never seen before. “Tonight, can we have dinner with her? Please? Give me some time.” I stared at his familiar profile. For the first time, a chill settled deep in my bones. He was turning pressure into a plea. Disguising his selfishness as a necessary evil. He was painting himself as the victim, trapped and torn between two worlds. He was making a bet. A bet on five years of my love. My stomach churned again. I bit my lip and fought not to throw up on the leather seats.

The Thorne estate in the Hamptons was grand enough to feel unreal. As we walked in, Julian’s mother greeted us. Mrs. Thorne, elegant and imposing, took my hand. “Ella! The chef made your favorite macarons.” She didn’t know. In her eyes, tomorrow was a celebration. Her son was marrying the love of his life. At the dinner table, Julian was the perfect fiancé. He cut my steak, poured me vintage champagne. A flawless performance. “Ella, enjoy it. You’ve gotten too thin preparing for the wedding.” Mrs. Thorne looked at us gently. Julian froze for a second, then forced a smile. “She’s right, you need to eat.” He looked at me, his eyes a mix of warning and pleading. He was making a bet. Betting I wouldn’t defy his mother. Betting I wouldn’t humiliate this kind, oblivious woman in front of everyone. After dinner, Mrs. Thorne quietly led me to her study. From a safe behind a painting, she retrieved a velvet box. Inside lay a sapphire necklace that glittered under the light. It was the Thorne family heirloom. “Ella, only a Thorne bride wears this,” she said, fastening it around my neck herself. “I can see how much Julian truly loves you. He used to be so wild. You changed him.” She patted my hand, her eyes growing misty. “You two build a beautiful life. And give me a grandchild soon. With my health… I hope I’m around long enough to hold one.”

The cold weight of the sapphires pressed against my skin. My throat tightened. I swallowed the words of refusal, again and again. The secret pressed on me harder than ever. The grandchild she was praying for was already here, inside me. But her son would have nothing to do with the baby. Later that night, back at our Central Park West penthouse, Julian came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He smelled of scotch, pressing hot kisses against my neck. “Honey…” My body went rigid. Pure, physical revulsion washed over me. I shoved him off, bolting for the bathroom where I retched over the sink. He followed, gently rubbing my back. “What’s wrong? Was it something you ate?” I splashed my face with cold water, staring at my own pale reflection. “Julian. Don’t touch me.” His hand froze. His expression hardened. “Are you still on this? Ella, I thought you’d cooled off.” I turned, backing up against the cold marble counter. Putting a barrier between us. “So what’s my role in this perfect plan of yours, Julian? Am I the publicly adored Mrs. Thorne, with no legal standing whatsoever? Or a tool to help you cover up your dirty deal, to make it all look respectable?”

He lit a cigarette. His patience was gone. “I already told you. You can have everything but the marriage license. The company stock, this penthouse, all of my personal assets. What I have with Isabelle is duty. That’s it.” Duty. There was that word again. “And what about me? What’s your duty to me?” “With you, it’s love!” he snarled, as if he were the one being wronged. “Don’t push me, Ella.” His voice turned to ice. “You know how much my mother adores you. Her heart can’t take a shock. If we split and something happens to her… could you live with that?” A chill went through me. He was using her against me again. It wasn’t a statement of fact. It was pure emotional blackmail. Her health was her doctor’s and family’s responsibility, not a cage to keep me trapped. He saw my silence and pressed his advantage, exploiting my kindness. “You’re a good person. You’ve always treated her like your mother, right?” Yes, I’m kind. But I’m not a fool. “Besides,” he said, playing his final, brutal card. “Your father’s experimental treatments at Sloan Kettering… the millions of dollars each year. I am paying for that. Can you give him that care if you leave me?” First, emotional blackmail. Then, a financial threat. He knew exactly where to hurt me. My compassion, and my devotion to my father. I looked at the man in front of me. It felt like I’d never known him. Was the gentle man I loved now this monster, chaining me with money and guilt? “Fine.” I said, my voice hollow. “I’m listening to you.” Julian sighed in relief, moving in for a hug. “I knew you’d see reason, Ella.” I sidestepped him. His arms froze in mid-air. I pointed to the guest room. “But I don’t want to look at you. You’re sleeping in there tonight.” His face darkened, but he nodded, desperate to secure my temporary surrender. “Alright. Get some rest.” When the door shut, I sank to the floor. I cried.

To make me accept this absurd reality, Julian took me to see Isabelle. He drove me to our first apartment in Brooklyn. A tiny loft that held all our history. The hard years and the good ones. Now, it was home to his legal wife and their son. The industrial space I remembered was gone. Replaced with a warm, cozy family home. Isabelle was gently giving medicine to a small boy. She wore a simple cashmere set, no makeup, her blonde hair loosely pinned up. She gave me a calm nod. “Please, sit down. Sorry, the place is a mess.” The boy was five or six, pale and thin, but he had Julian’s eyes. He hid behind Isabelle, whispering, “Daddy.” Julian walked over as if I wasn’t there. He knelt, checked Leon’s forehead, and got him a glass of water from the kitchen. He patiently coaxed the boy to take his medicine, wiping a drop from his chin. It was a father’s love. That much was obvious. Deep, instinctual, and impossible to fake. I stood in the doorway, like a stranger intruding on their family. Julian took Leon to his room to show him a new toy. Leaving me alone with her. Isabelle handed me a cup of herbal tea and sat across from me. “I told Julian, you know. That this is incredibly unfair to you.” She sighed. “But you know how he is. Once he makes a decision, no one can change it.” She said it so casually. “He wants it all. The responsibility he can’t abandon… and the thrill he can’t give up. The most important thing is to take care of ourselves, right?”

Her words were meant to sound like comfort. But she was putting me in my place. She was the duty, the responsibility. And I was just the thrill. She picked up a silver frame from the table. A photo of their little family. She wiped a speck of dust off the glass, then gave me a sad, knowing smile. “He never let me throw this away,” she said. “Not even when we were divorced.” “Some ties, you can’t break.” My eyes went from their smiling faces to the sapphire necklace on my chest. Suddenly, it felt ridiculous. The whole thing was a sick joke. I didn’t say a word. I just got up and walked out. She didn’t try to stop me. Her voice floated after me, light and airy. “Ella, don’t blame him. And don’t be so hard on yourself. Give it a few years. You’ll get used to it.” Get used to it? Get used to this twisted, sickening arrangement?

The wedding planning continued, as if nothing was wrong. Julian thought I had accepted it. He was back to being gentle and attentive, desperate to please me. “Ella, how do you like this Vera Wang gown? I had it rushed in just for you. And the ring, I had Harry Winston’s designer upgrade it to ten carats.” He was trying to cover his lies with expensive gifts. He took me to the gallery to pick up our engagement portrait. A giant, framed photo of us kissing on a beach at sunset. In the picture, I was smiling, thinking I was the luckiest woman. Now, the sight of that smile made my stomach turn. Julian pointed at it, mesmerized. “See, Ella? We’re made for each other. I’ll give you the world, I promise. Everything you could ever want.” I stared at that fake smile, and another wave of nausea washed over me. “I need the bathroom.” I ran, hunched over the toilet, and dry-heaved until my throat burned. Only bitter acid came up. The date on my ultrasound report flashed in my mind. I had been pregnant for almost three months.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Julian had his back to me. He was on the phone, his voice a low murmur. But I still heard every word. “…Isabelle, stop it. I can’t get away right now.” “Leon’s running a fever again? Did you give him his medicine?” “Okay, okay, I’m on my way. Don’t panic. I’ll stop by Magnolia Bakery and get his favorite cupcakes.” It was Isabelle. Even now, in the middle of our wedding plans. All she had to do was mention their son. And he was gone. He hung up, turning to see me standing there. Panic flashed across his face. Then it was gone. He walked toward me, looking regretful. “Honey, something urgent came up at work. A major client just flew in from Europe. I have to go.” I didn’t call out his lie. I held his gaze. “Julian, do you remember what day it is?” He looked at me, completely blank. He’d forgotten. I answered for him. “It’s my birthday.” Guilt washed over his features as he rushed to fix it. “Oh god, Ella, I’m so sorry. I’ve been so busy.” “What do you want? We’ll go to Fifth Avenue right now, you can have anything.” He reached for my hand. I took a step back and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. You have an emergency. You should go.” He looked relieved that I was being so “understanding.” He kissed my forehead and left. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. A huge party when I get back. Wait for me.” He grabbed his car keys and rushed out the door. He never looked back.

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