Category: English

1 Today was my thirtieth birthday. I specifically ordered a small artisan strawberry shortcake to be delivered to the office. When the box arrived, my coworker looked at me with wide eyes. “Wait, Sophie, I thought you never celebrated your birthday?” I sliced a piece, handed it to her, and forced a smile. “Yeah, well, I just felt like it this year.” This was the very first time in my five years of marriage to Kyle that I was actually celebrating my birthday. The reason was sickeningly simple. His dead first love, his perfect angel, happened to share my exact birth date. Every single year on this day, he would sit in the living room staring at her framed photograph, brooding in utter silence until dawn. Years ago, some friends who knew I loved a good party brought over gifts and a cake. Kyle threw everything straight into the trash. He told me, with ice in his voice, that absolutely no celebrations were allowed on the anniversary of her passing. For five whole years, he had been wearing mourning clothes for that woman. Even as recently as yesterday, I heard him tell a client he was a widower. The vanilla frosting on my tongue was supposed to be sweet, but as I swallowed, all I tasted was a bitter, acidic sting. If his heart was permanently buried in a graveyard with her, then I was done playing the ghost in this lifeless shell of a house. What was the point of a marriage where I couldn’t even blow out a candle on my own birthday? When I finally got home, I put the leftover cake into the fridge. Kyle’s exhausted, hollow voice immediately drifted from the living room. “Did you get the white lilies and the brioche?” “The lilies have to be fresh, and the brioche needs to be from that downtown bakery. Otherwise, she won’t like it.” He didn’t even bother to look up. His gaze was entirely glued to Audrey’s portrait on the mantelpiece. His eyes were red-rimmed, swimming with a sickening amount of tender devotion. This exact scene had played out on loop for half a decade. Every year on this date, Kyle canceled all his meetings, ignored all his calls, and stayed home to keep his dead college sweetheart company. When I didn’t respond, he reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the photo. He glared at my empty hands, annoyance twisting his handsome features. “Where are they? Did you not see my texts?” I saw them. They were just buried at the very bottom of my notifications, pushed down by dozens of birthday wishes from people who actually cared. And honestly, I just couldn’t be bothered to open them. In previous years, I would clock out of work, ride the subway for two hours across the city, stand in the freezing cold before the downtown bakery closed just to get that specific pastry, and then take another train to a specialty florist to buy the most expensive lilies. Then I would drag my exhausted body back home, cook a full meal for him and a dead girl’s photograph, and immediately go tend to his bedridden mother. I would bathe her, massage her atrophied legs, and clean up her messes. By the time I could finally sit down, it would be pushing midnight. And even after bleeding myself dry for him, I never once got a “Happy Birthday” out of Kyle’s mouth. A groan of pain echoed from his mother’s bedroom down the hall. But this time, I didn’t rush in like a well-trained dog. Instead, I opened the fridge, took out my half-eaten cake, set it on the kitchen island, and took a slow, deliberate bite. “My mom is calling for you. Why are you just standing there?” He frowned at the hallway, irritated by the noise, and barked the order at me as if it were my God-given duty. He marched over to the kitchen. I didn’t flinch. I looked him dead in the eye and spoke my first words of the night. “Kyle, I am your wife. Not some free live-in maid your family hired.” He froze. His brain seemed to short-circuit for a second before his eyes darted down to the pink cake on the counter. His face darkened instantly. “Sophie, didn’t I make myself absolutely clear? Today is Audrey’s memorial. You can celebrate your stupid birthday a day early or a day late. Do you really have to jinx her day and make everyone miserable?” It was utterly absurd. It was my birthday. Her death anniversary. And somehow, in his twisted mind, I was the curse bringing bad luck into the house. Right behind him sat Audrey’s portrait. The woman’s delicate, innocent smile was shrouded in the flickering shadows of the candles he had lit. It was a blurry, mocking sight. To his left was the hallway, echoing with the wet coughs and demanding yells of a mother-in-law who verbally abused me on a daily basis, constantly reminding me I wasn’t a fraction of the woman Audrey used to be. And standing right in front of him was me, a woman with absolutely zero presence, zero respect, and zero value in this household. I looked at the living room he had turned into a literal shrine. I listened to the hacking coughs that used to dictate my life. I swallowed the last bite of my cake and tossed the paper plate into the trash. And right along with it, I threw away my five-year marriage to Kyle Pierce. Ignoring his furious glare, I walked straight toward the master bedroom. Before closing the door, I paused and looked back at him. “Kyle. If you didn’t desperately need someone to wipe your mother’s ass five years ago, you never would have married me, would you?” 2 Asking a question I already knew the answer to was just asking for pain. Kyle looked completely stunned. Those sharp, analytical eyes that usually processed high-end corporate data went totally blank. It was as if he couldn’t even comprehend why I was acting out of line. One second. Two seconds. Three. I counted silently in my head, then turned away in disgust. But just as my fingers wrapped around the brass door handle, his patience snapped. “Is the limit on the credit card not enough for you?” “Sophie, if you want a bigger allowance, just use your words. There is absolutely no need to throw a childish tantrum just to get my attention.” I violently twisted the handle and slammed the door shut, locking his arrogant, self-righteous lecture out in the hallway. My legs gave out. I slid down the hard wood of the door, hit the floor, and covered my mouth to muffle the heavy, broken sobs tearing out of my throat. In five years of marriage, this was the very first time we had openly clashed like this. Sure, I had voiced my discomfort about the Audrey shrine before, but he always played the martyr. “She has no family left. No parents, no siblings. If I don’t remember her, no one will,” he would say, looking at me with gentle disappointment. “Sophie, do you really need to be jealous of a ghost?” He always sounded so logical. So painfully loyal and romantic. He made it impossible for me to argue without feeling like a heartless monster. When we first met, everyone told me I had hit the jackpot. They said I came from a totally average background, had an average face, and worked an average teaching job. Snagging a guy like Kyle on a blind date was a miracle. He was incredibly handsome, an Ivy League graduate, and made more in a month than I did in a year. I thought our first coffee date was just a polite, one-off thing. But a few days later, he asked me out again. Then a third time. A fourth. By the fifth date, he asked me to marry him. Back then, I had no clue he was harboring the ghost of a perfect first love. Audrey had been just as brilliant and glowing as him. They were the golden couple on campus until a tragic accident took her life. She became the bleeding, untreatable wound in his chest. A wound he decided to spend his entire life honoring. A wound so deep he actually set up a memorial shelf in our marital home. It was so bad that a week before our wedding, he dragged me to her grave, fell to his knees, and sobbed as he apologized to her headstone. It was so sick that even after we did the obligatory deed as a married couple, he would quietly slip out of bed and go whisper apologies to her framed picture in the dark. For years, I swallowed the pain. I naively convinced myself that if I just loved him enough, he would eventually let go of the past and actually live a life with me. I brainwashed myself into thinking there was no point competing with a dead girl. But what did all that enduring get me? A miserable, exhausting existence. A barren wasteland of a marriage. I finally realized how pathetic my silent suffering had been. It was so painfully funny that I actually choked on a laugh through my tears, the sound hollow and desperate in the quiet bedroom. I don’t know how long I sat there. Eventually, I pulled myself together, crawled into bed, and stared numbly at the city lights bleeding through the blinds. A sudden knock rattled the door. “Sophie. Are you asleep?” “Let’s talk.” When I unlocked it, Kyle was leaning against the doorframe, his expression a tight, complicated knot. He struggled with his pride for a long moment before finally speaking. “I was too harsh earlier. Don’t take it to heart.” The apology spilled out of him rapidly, as if the words physically burned his tongue. Before I could even register the half-baked sentiment, the real reason for his visit dropped. “But regardless of the fight, you really shouldn’t have brought a cake into the house on her anniversary. It would break her heart.” “Just go out there, light a candle, and tell her you’re sorry. Then we can drop this whole thing. Audrey was a sweet girl, I’m sure she won’t hold it against you.” His face was still as strikingly handsome as ever, but as he casually ordered me to bow down to a ghost, his features morphed into something utterly repulsive. For the first time in my life, I looked at my husband and felt pure, unadulterated disgust. Fighting back the bile rising in my throat, I gripped the edge of the door, my knuckles turning white. My voice came out raw and raspy. “Kyle, I want a divorce.” 3 Kyle froze, his eyes narrowing. “A divorce?” He chewed on the word, a mocking, condescending smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. It was like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. “I put three thousand dollars into your account every single month. That’s double your pathetic teacher’s salary. If you divorce me, how exactly do you plan on surviving?” I tilted my head back, looking up at this man who felt entirely like a stranger. He was much taller than me, and the height difference only amplified his suffocating arrogance. For five years, I had constantly looked up to him. I spent so much time craning my neck that I forgot how to stand straight on my own two feet. “Kyle. Do you have any idea how much your mother’s medication costs every month?” I pulled out my phone, opened my budget tracker, and shoved the screen toward him, reading the lines off one by one. “Just her prescriptions this month cost over two thousand. Groceries were eight hundred. Water, electricity, HOA fees. Do you think that pays for itself?” “And then there are the premium candles and imported lilies you make me buy for Audrey every week…” I stopped, swallowing the hard lump in my throat, and pointed a shaking finger at the total at the bottom of the screen. A number far exceeding his precious three grand. “The money burned for your dead girlfriend costs more than my personal expenses combined! I haven’t taken a single dime from you. In fact, I’ve been draining my own savings just to keep this miserable house afloat!” “So tell me, Kyle, what gives you the audacity to think you are providing for me?” Years of suppressed rage erupted like a pressure cooker. I had never felt so terrifyingly light, so incredibly free. Kyle stood paralyzed. His eyes were glued to the meticulous, undeniable ledger on my screen. A look of complete bewilderment washed over his face, an expression I had never seen before. It took him several agonizing seconds to deflate. “Fine. If money is the issue, I’ll transfer another three thousand next month.” “It is not about the goddamn money!” I cut him off cold. I finally spat out the pathetic, humiliating truth that had been rotting inside me. “We are supposed to be married. All I wanted was for you to love me. Is that really so impossible?” In five years, that was the first time I had ever said the word “love” to his face. And it would undoubtedly be the last. My bruised, battered heart was already in shreds on the floor. “I can give you anything else,” he said, his voice dropping low, sounding genuinely tortured. “But I promised Audrey. I promised her I would only love her for the rest of my life.” He smelled of stale wax and clinical grief. Standing there, trapped in his self-imposed misery, he looked so pathetic I almost pitied him. “Oh, drop the act,” I scoffed, my voice dripping with venom. “If you really loved Audrey that much, you wouldn’t have rushed into a marriage with me six months after she died! There’s no audience here, Kyle. Who are you putting on this devoted lover act for?” I ripped right through his hypocritical disguise, severing whatever lingering affection I had left. His eyes snapped up, bloodshot and feral. He lunged forward, his heavy hands clamping down hard on my shoulders. “You have absolutely no right to judge our love!” he snarled, his breath hot against my face. “If she hadn’t died, trash like you would never have been allowed to step foot in my house!” Blinding pain shot through my collarbones. I gritted my teeth and raised my hands to shove him off. Just then, a sickening thud echoed from the guest room. It was followed immediately by Mrs. Pierce’s agonizing wail. Kyle flinched, his grip releasing instantly. He spun around and sprinted down the hall. When he threw the door open, a suffocating, rotting stench rolled out into the hallway. Mrs. Pierce was sprawled awkwardly on the hardwood, covered in her own mess, groaning incoherently. Kyle gagged, immediately slapping a hand over his nose and mouth. He stood frozen in the doorway, absolutely refusing to take a single step inside. His mother’s breathing hitched, turning into a desperate, rattling wheeze. “Sophie… please… help me…” I couldn’t just stand there and watch a frail woman choke on her own fluids. So, despite everything, I stayed. I called 911. I stabilized her. I cleaned the vomit and the filth off her skin. And through it all, Kyle remained glued to the doorframe, as useless as a decorative plant. It wasn’t until the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance and we arrived at the emergency room that he finally snapped out of his trance. “Thank God you were there,” he exhaled, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do today. Look, whatever you said earlier, I know you were just lashing out. Let’s not bring up divorce again, okay?” I opened my mouth, but before I could utter a single syllable, a nurse called my name to pick up the prescription forms. When I walked back down the hospital corridor, I caught the tail end of a conversation between Kyle and another patient’s family member. “Hey, that young woman running around doing all the dirty work. Is she a nurse you hired from an agency?” the stranger asked. “Man, she is good. You don’t see young people that thorough anymore. Do you think you could ask her if she has time to take on my dad’s case?” Kyle went dead silent for three long seconds. Then, he gave a slow, barely perceptible nod. “Sure.” The pharmacy bags slipped from my fingers, hitting the linoleum floor with a soft crinkle. I didn’t even bend down to pick them up. I just turned around and walked away. This time, I didn’t look back. 4 Not far from the hospital was an intersection branching off in three different directions. I stood frozen in the middle of the pavement, totally lost, having nowhere to actually go. Directly across from me was an old clock tower. It was five minutes to midnight. And so, in the final five minutes of my thirtieth birthday, I closed my eyes and made a wish. A wish I hadn’t dared to make in five years. I wished for freedom. I wished for a clean break. I wished to never, ever cross paths with Kyle Pierce again. Over the next few days, I stayed at a cheap boutique hotel near the high school where I taught. I spent my free periods on the phone with a divorce attorney. My terms were crystal clear. I wanted exactly what was legally mine, including full reimbursement for the massive medical bills I had fronted for his mother. Nothing more, nothing less. While the lawyer was drafting the paperwork, Kyle’s texts started flooding in, increasing in panic with every passing hour. At first, he tried to play it cool. Where are you? Did you go home first? I don’t know how to deal with the hospital staff. You’re off work tomorrow anyway, so get here early. Then, the tone shifted. Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum? Come to the hospital right now so we can talk this out face to face. Give me your new number. I need to call you. Where exactly is your school? I’m coming to pick you up tonight. It was darkly hilarious. We had been married for five years, yet my own husband had no idea what my phone number was or what street my school was on. Yet he could recite the exact date Audrey bought a specific brand of lip gloss. I let out a dry, sarcastic laugh and hit the ‘Do Not Disturb’ button on his contact. I truly didn’t expect him to actually track down my workplace. “Sophie. Why the hell are you ignoring my texts?” He cornered me in the parking lot. He looked rough. His jaw was lined with dark stubble, his clothes were wrinkled, and he reeked of cheap hospital coffee and antiseptic. I gave him a dead-eyed stare, side-stepped him, and kept walking to my car. He lunged and grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “Listen to me. Every single nurse I hired for my mother quit because she kept screaming at them. So I need you to request a week off work and come back to take care—” Before the sentence even left his mouth, I swung my free hand and slapped him directly across the face. The crack echoed loudly in the quiet lot. “If you need a nurse, call an agency! Stop harassing me!” I yelled, my voice shaking with pure rage. “Or better yet, go to the cemetery and ask your precious ghost to rise from the dead and play happy family with you!” Kyle clutched his stinging cheek, staring at me like I had grown a second head. “Sophie, have you lost your damn mind?” he hissed. “Isn’t this little stunt dragging on long enough? Are you really trying to force a divorce and turn yourself into damaged goods that nobody else will ever want?” I was still shorter than him, but as I looked him in the eyes, I didn’t feel small anymore. “I’d rather be damaged goods than your maid,” I said smoothly. “Honestly, Kyle? Out of everything I’ve done in my entire life, marrying you is the one thing I am most deeply embarrassed by.” He didn’t try to contact me after that day. I wasn’t sure if his massive ego couldn’t handle the slap or if he had actually accepted reality. Honestly, I couldn’t care less. The day the divorce papers were finally ready, I drove back to the house one last time. Mostly to force a pen into his hand, and partially to pack up my clothes. But what I never, in my wildest nightmares, expected to see when I pushed open that front door… Was her. Standing right there in the living room. Breathing. Smiling. Looking exactly like the dead woman in the framed picture on the mantel.

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On the morning of our third wedding anniversary, I sat on the edge of the bed, numbly waiting for the sun to rise. The screen of my phone lit up. It was my husband, Betts. Pinned at the very top of his iMessage app was a contact saved under the name “Babygirl.” The profile picture belonged to Sienna. A woman pushing thirty, entirely comfortable basking in the cringe-inducing affection of that nickname. I scrolled through their chat history. The words pierced my chest like needles. “Be careful crossing the street, okay?” “Bought you those strawberry cream lattes you love.” But the text that finally suffocated me was hers: “I’ve been waiting forever for you to drop her.” Betts had replied, whining about his own marriage. “Picking up your husband’s slack, buying you flowers in secret, acting like just a friend… every second of these three years has been pure torture.” When Betts finally woke up and saw his phone in my hand, he froze. Then, a smile of absolute relief washed over his face. “Since you already know, I guess I can stop pretending,” he said, his tone impossibly light. Just yesterday. On our actual wedding anniversary. He and Sienna had made it official. “I chased her for three years, and she finally said yes.” I could hear the barely contained thrill vibrating in his throat. “I’m sorry, but she and I… we’re meant to be.” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just nodded, completely silent, and opened the drawer of my nightstand. I pulled out two copies of a divorce settlement. The date line at the top was blank. But at the very bottom, his signature was already there in black ink. He had signed it on the exact same day we picked up our marriage license, three years ago. 1 He snatched the papers from my hands, flipping them over twice as if looking for a trick. “What is this supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it looks like,” I said. “Three years ago, when you signed this, I told you. The day you figured out what you really wanted, just fill in the date.” He slammed the papers down on the nightstand. The crisp smack of the pages echoed in the quiet room. “Sienna had no idea I was after her these past three years,” he said, his jaw tightening. “She only agreed to be with me yesterday. I didn’t cheat. I never betrayed you.” I stood up and walked to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. “I know,” I said. “You came home on time every night. You spent your weekends here. You bought the obligatory jewelry for every holiday. You didn’t physically cheat.” He followed me out. “Then what the hell is this? You’ve just been sitting on a signed divorce paper for three years waiting to spring it on me?” I set my glass down on the marble counter. “Last night, you came home blackout drunk. When I was wrestling you into bed, you muttered her name twenty-three times.” That shut him up. I walked right past him, back into the bedroom. I picked up the two copies of the settlement, set them back on the nightstand, and laid a pen right next to them. “Fill in the date yourself. I’m going to work.” As I was slipping into my heels by the front door, he chased after me. His bare feet slapped against the hardwood, his voice thick with morning sleep and sudden panic. “You’re just going to leave?” I straightened my posture and looked back at him. “What else do you want me to do? You confessed your undying love to her yesterday. Have you even texted her good morning yet? Is she waiting for you? Did you guys plan your first real date?” His mouth opened, but nothing came out. “Let me help you out,” I said. “Today is Thursday. You two can grab dinner on Friday, maybe catch a movie over the weekend. I’ll come back on Monday to pack up the rest of my stuff.” When the front door clicked shut behind me, he didn’t come after me. The elevator arrived almost instantly. I stood inside the metal box, watching the digital floor numbers tick down, one by one. Lobby. The doors slid open. A delivery guy was standing right there, holding a massive, obnoxious bouquet of red roses, squinting at the shipping label. “Delivery for Sienna?” he looked up and asked. I told him he had the wrong person. He stepped aside, and I walked out the glass doors. The morning sun was blinding. 2 A white BMW was idling right outside the gates of my neighborhood. As I walked past it, the tinted window rolled down, revealing Sienna’s face. She offered me a fragile, little smile. It was fleeting, like it slipped out by accident, but also entirely calculated. “Hi,” she said softly. “Is Betts around?” I didn’t break my stride. I just walked around the hood of her car. She called out after me. “He drank way too much last night. I was so worried about him, so I just wanted to come check.” I stopped in my tracks. When I turned around, she was already stepping out of the driver’s seat. She was wearing a simple, flowing white sundress. Her hair was loose and casual, her face scrubbed entirely clean of makeup. I had seen this exact look a hundred times. In the hidden photo albums on Betts’s phone. Lingering around the lobby of his office building. “He did drink too much,” I said flatly. “He drank it inside my house.” She flinched. “Please, you have to understand, don’t misunderstand…” “There’s no misunderstanding,” I cut her off. “He got hammered, grabbed my hand, and called your name twenty-three times. He woke up this morning and told me he finally wore you down. You guys are together now. Congrats.” A furious flush crept up her neck and spilled onto her cheeks. “I am so, so sorry… I swear to God I didn’t mean to do this. I literally had no idea he was married. He never told me…” I just stared at her. Her eyes were already brimming with tears. Moisture clung to her eyelashes. She bit her lower lip, looking like a girl who had just been handed the most tragic, unfair hand in life, trying desperately to hold back her sobs. I knew this routine by heart. “Well, now you know,” I said. “He’s upstairs. Apartment 301. Go get him.” She stayed frozen, glued to the pavement. Footsteps pounded from the courtyard behind me, followed by Betts’s breathless voice. “Sienna?” I glanced over my shoulder. He had run out in his house slippers. His hair was a mess, his dress shirt wrinkled from sleeping in it. When he saw Sienna standing there, he hesitated for a fraction of a second before practically sprinting to her side. He stepped right in front of her, acting like a human shield. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his voice dropping into a dark, defensive register. I actually laughed. A harsh, dry sound. “What am I doing?” He kept her tucked firmly behind his back, looking at me like I was a rabid dog about to lunge at her throat. “She doesn’t know anything,” he insisted. “I went after her. I lied to her and said I was single. If you’re mad, take it out on me. Leave her out of this.” Sienna tugged weakly at the back of his shirt, her voice trembling. “Betts, don’t be like this. She didn’t even say anything bad…” I laughed out loud this time. “She’s right, I haven’t even said anything yet,” I said. “But you’re really putting on an Oscar-worthy performance.” Betts glared at me, his brow furrowed in disgust. “Stop being so toxic.” “I’m toxic?” I looked at him, then at the half of Sienna’s face peeking out from behind his shoulder. “Sienna, didn’t you just apologize to me two minutes ago? You said you didn’t know he was married. He says he lied to you. So which one of you is full of crap?” The tears finally spilled down Sienna’s cheeks. Betts glanced back at her, his face darkening with rage as he turned back to me. “Enough,” he snapped. “I’ll sign the papers. Take whatever you want. Just back off.” I looked at the man I had married. Three years. He had never looked at me with that kind of intensity. He had certainly never used his body to shield me from the world. “Take what I want?” I echoed. “I don’t want a damn thing. The papers are blank, fill them out however you want. Your parents put down the deposit on the house, I paid the mortgage for three years. Do the math and Venmo me my half. The car is yours, take it. I’m just taking my clothes and leaving.” He was stunned into silence. Sienna stepped out from behind his shadow, her delicate fingers wrapping around his sleeve. “Betts, please, stop fighting… I’m fine, really…” Betts reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight. I looked at their intertwined fingers. Suddenly, the whole thing just felt exhausting. It was incredibly boring. “Whatever,” I said. “I’ll get my stuff on Monday. Have a nice life.” I turned my back and started walking down the sidewalk. I hadn’t made it fifteen steps before I heard the rapid clicking of sandals chasing after me. It was Sienna. She ran up, panting slightly, and grabbed my arm. “Please,” she whispered, her voice pathetic and small. “I really didn’t know he had a wife. If I knew, I never would have said yes to him. You have to believe me.” I looked down at the hand clutching my arm. Her manicure was flawless. Little sparkling rhinestones embedded in the gel. “Let go.” She didn’t. “Please don’t blame him, it’s all my fault.” I yanked my arm away violently. “Sienna,” I said, my voice dropping to a dead calm. “Do you want to know what I hate the most about you?” She stared at me, wide-eyed. “It’s not that you like him,” I said. “It’s the fact that every time you show your face, you pull this exact act. You know exactly what you’re doing, yet you pretend to be the biggest victim in the room. He chased you for three years. You didn’t say yes on day one, you didn’t say yes on day a thousand. You waited specifically until yesterday. Do you even know what yesterday was?” Her eyes flickered. A tiny, imperceptible flinch. “Our wedding anniversary.” She pressed her lips together, mute. “Every bouquet he bought you, every dinner reservation he made, every bullshit excuse he fed me. You enjoyed every single second of it. You didn’t know he was married? You’re telling me you didn’t notice that every time he came over to see you, he had to rush back to a house he shared with a woman?” The tears started flowing again, thick and fast. “I swear, I…” “Save it,” I cut her off. “I’m done watching the show.” I turned and walked away. She didn’t chase me this time. By the time I reached the bus stop, my phone buzzed. A text from Betts. “Papers are signed and dated. Left them on the shoe rack. Let me know before you come back to pack. I’ll take her out so you don’t have to see us.” I stared at the glowing pixels for a long time. The bus pulled up with a screech of air brakes. I climbed aboard and took a seat by the window. My phone buzzed one more time. Him again. “She’s been through a lot of pain because of this over the last three years. I’m not going to let anyone hurt her anymore.” 3 Sienna was standing at the bottom of the concrete steps outside the Family Court building. She had changed her outfit. A soft, powder-blue dress, her hair pulled back into an elegant half-up style. Still sporting that painfully clean, innocent aesthetic. When she saw me get out of the Uber, she took a deliberate step backward and kept her mouth shut. Betts was waiting at the top of the stairs, gripping a folder of documents so tightly his knuckles were white. I walked up the steps. He glanced at me but didn’t move an inch. “Let’s go,” I said. He turned and pushed through the heavy glass doors. I followed. Sienna didn’t come inside. She just stood by the entrance, a silent martyr. The clerk’s office was dreary, filled with rows of plastic chairs. We sat across the desk from a middle-aged woman wearing reading glasses. She was flipping through our paperwork, not even bothering to look up. “Reason for divorce?” “Irreconcilable differences,” I said. Betts snapped his head toward me. The clerk dragged a finger down the settlement agreement, stopping at a blank section. “Asset division needs to be explicitly stated. If there’s no spousal support, write zero.” I scribbled my direct deposit info on the page and handed over the printed stack of my mortgage payment receipts. The clerk skimmed it, grabbed her heavy metal stamp, and slammed it down. The thud echoed through the stale air. “Done,” she said, sliding two official decrees across the counter. “One for each of you. Keep them safe.” Betts just sat there, frozen. I reached out, grabbed both copies, opened mine to check the spelling, and then shoved his copy across the laminate desk. “Take it.” He stared at my face. He didn’t reach for the paper. I left it right in front of him, stood up, and started walking toward the exit. Just as I reached the doors, he called out. “Hold on.” I stopped. He caught up to me, standing right in my personal space, clutching the decree in his fist. All the color had drained from his face. “You’re really just going to walk away like this?” “What else?” I asked. “Did you want me to buy you guys a celebratory lunch?” He let out a sharp, unhinged laugh. It wasn’t the relieved smile from yesterday morning. This was something ugly. The corners of his mouth pulled back, but his eyes were completely hollow. “I regret it,” he spat out. “I regret marrying you.” I studied his face. Three years. This was the face I woke up next to every single morning. When he slept, his brow was always slightly furrowed. Sometimes he would roll over and blindly reach his hand out across the mattress. Whenever his hand brushed against me, he would pull it back, turn over, and face the wall. “Excuse me?” “I said I regret it.” He glared at me, forcing every word out through his teeth. “From the very beginning. Every single day of the last three years, I regretted it. But the thing I regret the absolute most is.” I slapped him across the face. The smack was explosive. The clerk at the desk jolted upright. The entire line of couples waiting for their paperwork turned to stare. He cupped his reddened cheek, utterly paralyzed. I shook out my right hand. My palm was stinging. “That was for making me waste three years of my life.” Before he could even process what happened, frantic footsteps clattered behind me. Sienna threw herself in front of him, spreading her arms wide like a mother hen shielding her chick. “What is wrong with you!” she screamed at me, her eyes manic and red. “You hit him! You absolute psycho!” I looked at her. Tears were spilling down her face, her lips quivering. Standing in front of him like that, she looked incredibly fragile. Incredibly brave. I let out a soft laugh. “Psycho?” She flinched back, then forced her spine straight. “He just told you the truth, and you hit him? Do you have any idea that for the past three years, he came over to my place every single night before going home to you? He told me he dreaded opening that door. He told me he couldn’t breathe in that house. He said being in the same room as you made his skin crawl.” “Sienna,” Betts hissed from behind her. “Stop.” She ignored him, practically vibrating with self-righteous fury. “Every single gift he bought you, I was the one who picked it out. He didn’t know what you liked, so he begged me to choose. Every bouquet of flowers he brought home, he brought to me first to make sure I liked it before he dared give it to you.” “Sienna!” She spun around to look at him, sobbing openly now. “My heart breaks for you,” she wailed. “I can’t stand watching her abuse you anymore.” Betts pulled her against his chest, burying her face in his shoulder. He looked over her head at me. It was a look I had never seen in my life. It was a volatile cocktail of hatred, fury, heartbreak, and guilt. It all twisted together until it formed three simple words. “Just leave.” I stood my ground. “I was already leaving,” I said. “You’re the one who told me to hold on.” He blinked, thrown off balance. Sienna lifted her tear-streaked face from his shirt. Looking at me, she whispered, “Please don’t be mad at him. He’s just having a really hard day.” I looked at the two of them. He was holding her. She was leaning on him. Standing right outside the Family Court, they looked like star-crossed lovers who had finally survived the war. The morning sun spilled over them, bathing them in a warm, golden light. I stuffed my divorce papers into my purse, turned around, and walked down the steps. After a few strides, I heard him call out from the top. “I’m sending a crew to pack up the house tomorrow. Make sure your stuff is gone by tonight.” I didn’t look back. “I saved your bank info. The money will hit your account by next week.” I kept walking. Just as I reached the edge of the sidewalk to hail a ride, I heard Sienna’s voice ringing out. “Wait!” I stopped and looked over my shoulder. She was practically jogging down the concrete stairs, panting heavily as she closed the distance. “Listen,” she said. “I’m sorry.” I stared at her face. Tears were still clinging to her cheeks. Her nose was flushed pink, her lips pressed tightly together. She looked the absolute picture of sincerity. “Sorry for what?” She hesitated. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for blowing up like that just now. I didn’t mean to lose control, it’s just that it physically hurts me to see him suffer.” “Suffer from what?” She blinked, confused. “Suffer… from the last three years.” “What exactly happened to him these last three years?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Did he cheat on me? No. Did he hit me? No. Was he emotionally abusive to my face? No. He just didn’t love me. What part of that is a tragic, gut-wrenching trauma?” She opened her mouth, stammering. “Sienna,” I said. “If you felt so horrible for his suffering, what exactly were you doing for the last three years? He chased you. You strung him along. You kept him on the hook until the exact day of his wedding anniversary to finally give him an inch. Who is it that you actually feel sorry for? Him? Or yourself?” She was completely silenced. I turned away for the last time. She didn’t follow. As I stood under the shade of the bus stop, my phone vibrated. A text from Betts. “I’m wiring the money this afternoon. I’ll leave the apartment keys with the front desk. Grab them yourself. Don’t ever contact us again.” I stared at the harsh letters on the screen. The bus arrived with a heavy sigh of hydraulics. I got on, finding an empty seat near the back. My phone buzzed again. Him. “She’s not the malicious person you think she is. You have her all wrong.” I shoved the phone into my pocket. And for the first time that morning, the corner of my mouth tugged upward into a genuine smile. Finally. I was free. 4 There were four cardboard boxes stacked in the middle of my new studio apartment. I ripped the tape off the last one and started shoving my clothes into the wardrobe. The closet was a cheap wooden thing provided by the landlord. The hinges were shot, so if I packed too many sweaters, the doors popped open like a joke. My phone was tossed on the mattress, the screen glowing brightly. The movers had just left. The silence in the room was heavy and absolute. I sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the bedframe. I pulled the divorce decree out of my purse, stared at it for three seconds, and shoved it back in. I grabbed my phone blindly. The little notification dot on Instagram was annoying me. I tapped the app and scrolled past a few random posts until Sienna’s feed popped up. A photo of her and Betts. The two of them were sitting in a high-end restaurant. A decadent slice of cake sat between them, a single candle flickering. She had her hands pressed together, making a wish, smiling radiantly for the camera. The caption read: A belated anniversary. I dropped the phone face-down on the bed. Five seconds later, I picked it back up. I opened my camera and snapped a quick picture. Just the blank white wall of my studio, the stack of moving boxes in the corner, and a pile of clothes scattered on the floor. I typed out four words: Waking from a nightmare. Post. I threw the phone back down and went to tackle the kitchen boxes. Every pot and pan was wrapped in old newspaper. I unwrapped them one by one, wiped them down with a rag, and shoved them into the chipped cabinets. My phone started ringing. I ignored it. It rang again. I was fighting with a bottle of dish soap, twisting the stubborn pump until my palms were red and raw. The ringing didn’t stop. I slammed the plastic bottle down on the counter, walked over, and picked up the phone. Seventeen likes. Eight comments. Coworker A: You moved?? Coworker B: Congrats on the new place! A few old college friends had left thumbs-up emojis and party poppers. I scrolled down. And hit a comment from Betts. I didn’t even have time to read what he wrote because his name flashed across the screen. Incoming call. I swiped to answer. “What the hell is that post supposed to mean?” His voice barked through the speaker. I walked over to the window, phone pressed to my ear. My new place was in a rundown neighborhood. Down in the courtyard, someone had draped their laundry over the bushes, and two old ladies were sitting under a tree, aggressively gossiping. “What do you mean?” “‘Waking from a nightmare,’” he quoted, his tone dripping with venom. “Who exactly are you calling a nightmare?” I let out a dry laugh. “Who do you think?” Dead silence on his end for two beats. “Are you insane?” he snapped. “You’re the one who agreed to the divorce. You’re the one who drew up the papers. I didn’t force you into a damn thing. Who are you putting on a show for?” I said nothing. “Delete it,” he demanded. “Take it down right now.” “Why?” “What do you mean ‘why’?” “Why should I delete it?” I asked casually. “What are you so terrified of?” He choked on his words. Faintly, through the receiver, I heard Sienna’s voice. It was soft, muffled. Betts’s voice moved away from the phone for a second. “It’s nothing. Just sit there.” Then he was back, the phone close to his mouth. “You’ve been misunderstanding her for three years. That’s enough. We’re divorced. Stop acting like a bitter ex.” I leaned against the windowsill, watching the two old ladies below. They seemed to be arguing now. One was pointing a crooked finger; the other swatted it away and turned her back. “What exactly did I misunderstand?” “She has never done a single malicious thing to you,” he stated firmly. “It’s all in your paranoid head.” “She’s never done a single malicious thing,” I repeated slowly. “Then why did you just tell her to sit down and stay away from the phone?” Silence. “She saw you call me, didn’t she?” I pushed. “Did she ask you what was wrong with her big doe eyes? Did she tell you that it’s okay, she understands you have to deal with me? Did she beg you not to be angry with me because I’m just hurting?” “Shut up.” “Did I get the script wrong? I was just guessing her dialogue. It’s been three years. I have her routine memorized.” He hung up on me. I pulled the phone away. Call ended. One minute, forty-seven seconds. The Instagram notification dot lit up again. I refreshed the app and finally read his comment. Betts: We’ll see who the real nightmare was. Right beneath it, Sienna had replied. Just a single emoji—the monkey covering its eyes—and a short phrase: Stop it, you. I stared at that little monkey emoji for a very long time. My phone buzzed again. Not him this time. It was Rupert. Rupert was my oldest friend. We grew up on the same street. He went out of state for college, came back, and opened up a design studio. We barely saw each other more than twice a year these days. The last time I saw him was around Christmas. He dropped off a box of fancy pastries, claiming he “just happened to be driving by.” Rupert: What nightmare? I typed back: Nothing. He replied instantly: I saw Betts’s comment. What’s going on? I debated for a second, then typed: We’re divorced. The little typing bubble appeared on his end. It danced on the screen for a solid minute. Finally, a single word popped up: Oh. A second later, another text. Rupert: Did you eat yet? I looked at those words. Suddenly, a weird memory clicked into place. For the last three years, no matter what I posted on Instagram—a sunset, a work complaint, a meme—he would always reply with a text asking if I had eaten. Sometimes I said yes. Sometimes I ignored it. But he always asked. I didn’t reply. I tossed the phone on the bed and went back to the kitchen. The dish soap bottle was still refusing to pop open. I dug through my cardboard toolbox looking for a pair of pliers. The phone vibrated against the mattress. Rupert: I’m standing outside your gate. Which building? I froze. Stared at the text. I typed: How the hell do you know where I live? He replied instantly: I recognize the background in your photo. That ugly, crooked oak tree outside the window. There’s only one complex in this zip code with a tree that depressing. I walked back to the window and looked down. Right at the entrance of the courtyard, there it was. A massive, twisted oak tree leaning at a dangerous forty-five-degree angle. It had been half-dead for twenty years. Standing right beneath it was a guy in a grey hoodie, holding a plastic takeout bag, craning his neck to look up at the windows. I pushed the glass open and waved down at him. He spotted me, raised the plastic bag in a salute, and started walking toward the stairwell. Watching his broad shoulders disappear under the awning, another memory hit me out of nowhere. That crooked oak tree. He was standing under that exact tree on the day I got married, three years ago. I remember seeing him from the tinted window of the bridal car as we pulled away. Later that night, he had texted me: Are you happy? I never replied.

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The moment I asked Brian for a divorce, my knuckles turned a stark bone white around my phone. Tears stung my eyes, threatening to spill. I was shaking, every muscle trembling with a rage I could no longer suppress. The catalyst was a social media post from Vanessa, his supposed platonic best friend. She had locked the privacy settings so only I could see it. She deliberately posted a glaringly intimate photo. In the picture, Brian was asleep, his head resting on her pale bare thighs. Their fingers were tightly intertwined. The caption was pure provocation. It read, “Twenty years of friendship. No one can tear us apart.” What chilled me to the bone was the phone call she made late that night. There were no words on the other end at first. There was only the distinct sound of a man snoring. “Brian had a bit too much to drink and fell asleep at my place,” she said lightly. “You and the kid should not wait up.” When Brian came home the next day, he saw my darkened expression. Instead of showing an ounce of guilt, he frowned and tossed his phone onto the couch. “Check it if you want. I have a clear conscience,” he said, turning toward the bathroom. He tossed a freezing remark over his shoulder. “If you keep being this paranoid, we really can not go on living like this.” “If we can not go on, then we will not.” I finally let the words out. “Since you love spending the night at your best friend’s house so much, I will grant your wish. Let us get a divorce.” The air in the house instantly froze. Brian stopped in his tracks. He turned around, staring at me in absolute bewilderment. “What did you just say?” “I said, divorce.” After that, I dropped our son off at kindergarten. By the time I got back home, Brian had already left for work. I started packing my bags. My phone buzzed with a text from him. “I want beef stew for dinner tonight. We can talk about the nonsense you brought up this morning.” When he got off work and walked through the door. He saw the rich, savory beef stew steaming on the dining table. A smug smile crept onto his face. Seeing me walk out of the kitchen with an apron on, he slipped into his house shoes, walked over, and wrapped his arms around me. “Honey, I knew you would always take care of my needs,” he murmured softly. “Marrying you was the best decision I ever made.” “Where is Noah?” I pushed him away, my expression completely flat. “You did not marry the wrong person, but I definitely did.” “Noah is in his room playing on his tablet.” I set the last plate of roasted vegetables on the table and handed him a bowl of rice. “Eat up, then sign the papers.” “From now on, we go our separate ways.” Brian had just lifted his fork. He froze. His sharp brows knitted together in deep frustration. “I have explained this to you a hundred times. The company is doing layoffs, my projects are a mess, and I am under a ton of pressure. That is why I went to grab a drink with Vanessa.” “I had too much and crashed at her place for one night.” “Absolutely nothing happened between us.” “We are completely innocent.” “How many times do I have to say it before you get it through your head?” By the end of his speech, Brian was visibly agitated. I could not tell if he was genuinely angry because I was wronging him, or if this was the hysterical defensiveness of a liar caught in the act. But none of that mattered to me anymore. Seeing my absolute silence, Brian looked ready to explode. “You always do this. You act paranoid every single day. You never believe my explanations. If I really wanted to sleep with Vanessa, why would I have married you in the first place?” “Do you think I could not have had her?” Hearing that, my lips twitched into a mocking smirk. “She was young and pretty back then, so she bagged a rich guy. If she had not gotten a divorce, do you really think you would have ever stood a chance with her?” Crash! Brian furiously swept his plate off the table. Food scattered across the hardwood floor, still steaming. Right now, he looked like a wild beast whose deepest wound had just been ripped open. He glared at me, his eyes practically shooting daggers. “Mom, what happened?” Noah poked his little head out from his bedroom. “It is nothing, sweetie. Dad just accidentally dropped a plate.” “Be careful, Dad.” “I know.” Once Noah closed his door again, Brian forced down his boiling rage and lowered his voice. “You can accuse me all you want, but do not insult Vanessa.” “Our relationship is purely platonic. We are innocent.” “If you refuse to believe it, I have nothing left to say.” “Then do not say anything.” “It looks like you have lost your appetite anyway.” With that, I pulled out the divorce papers I had prepared earlier and slid them across the table. “I am walking away with nothing. I do not want your money.” “I only want Noah.” Brian let out a harsh bark of laughter. He grabbed the papers, ripped them into shreds, and chucked them into the trash bin. “You want to take my son?” “Not a chance in hell!” “You are always walking around with a miserable look on your face, acting like everyone owes you something. You make me sick. I am done eating.” “I am going to get a drink with Vanessa.” After Brian slammed the front door behind him, I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug deeply into my palms. Just as the tears were about to spill over, I threw my head back. Crying over a cheating man who no longer loved me was the most pathetic thing I could do. For the next two days, Brian did not come home. I did not bother asking where he was. On the third afternoon, I had just brought Noah back from kindergarten when I heard the front door click open behind me. I thought Brian was finally back. But when the door swung wide, his platonic soulmate walked right in. “Well if it isn’t the wifey. Long time no see.” “Where did you get that key?” “Brian gave it to me. He said he did not want to come home, so I am here to grab some clean clothes for him. I figured I would take Noah out for dinner while I am at it.” Vanessa acted like she owned the place. She strolled right past me and headed straight for our master bedroom. She opened the closet with practiced ease, pulled out two of Brian’s shirts, and then turned to my son with a sickly sweet smile. “Come on, Noah. Your dad is waiting for us at the restaurant.” “We are having steak tonight.” My son shook his head and ran over to hide behind my legs. “I am not going.” Vanessa pulled two fancy chocolates from her designer bag. “If you are a good boy and listen to me, I will give you these.” “You are a bad woman.” “I do not eat candy from bad people. It makes my tummy hurt.” Noah’s words actually made me laugh out loud. Vanessa’s face immediately dropped. She glared at me with pure venom. “He is just a child and you are already teaching him to say awful things like that? What kind of mother are you?” “My son is growing up. He knows right from wrong. If he thinks you are a bad woman, maybe you should take a good hard look in the mirror.” “Have you been doing things you should be ashamed of?” “What exactly have I done that I should be ashamed of?” “Enlighten me.” I ignored her obnoxious demand. Instead, I pointed toward the front door. “You are not welcome in my house.” “Your house?” A wicked sneer twisted Vanessa’s lips. “You poor, pathetic woman. Never mind this house.” “You are about to lose your husband.” She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and smiled triumphantly. “Brian spent the last two nights at my place.” “So what?” I raised an eyebrow. “His heart is not with you anymore.” “And?” “Your little marriage is completely over.” She took a menacing step closer to me. “I am not afraid to tell you the truth. Yeah, I slept with Brian.” “He said you lie there like a dead fish. Zero fun at all.” “We try new things every single night, and…” While she was busy gloating, I raised my hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had. Smack! Vanessa was completely stunned. She clutched her cheek, staring at me in absolute shock. In her wildest dreams, she never thought I would actually hit her. “Sarah, you… you dared to hit me?” She glared at me, her entire body trembling with sheer outrage. “He and I are not legally divorced yet.” “I am still his wife.” “Who gave a cheap homewrecker like you the nerve to act this arrogant in front of me?” In the past, I held my tongue. I knew our marriage was on the rocks, but we had a five year old son. I wanted Noah to have a healthy, complete family. So even when Vanessa crossed the line, even when I suspected Brian was stepping out, I swallowed my pride. But Brian had only grown more brazen, treating me like absolute garbage. Now that I had made up my mind to leave him, I was not about to let this woman bark in my face. If I did not slap some sense into her, I would hate myself. Looking at her furious, unyielding face, I let out a cold laugh. “Your former husband cheated on you, kept a mistress, and treated you like dirt. Your life was miserable, so you came here to ruin ours. And poor stupid Brian actually thinks you are madly in love with him.” “He is just an idiot playing right into your hands.” “When he finally sees your true colors, he is going to regret ever looking your way.” Vanessa’s eyes went wide. She clearly did not expect me to know so much about her disastrous past. “You bitch. No one has ever laid a hand on me in my entire life.” “I will kill you!” I grabbed her wrist with one hand and raised my other hand to strike again. Just as I was about to deliver a second slap, a furious roar echoed from the doorway. “Sarah, stop it right now!” “Brian!” Vanessa, already playing the victim from the first slap, saw her savior. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. They spilled down her cheeks in heavy drops. She looked so incredibly fragile and wronged that even a stranger might feel sorry for her. Having been through a marriage already, Vanessa knew exactly how to manipulate a man’s ego. She wrenched her hand out of my grip and practically threw herself into Brian’s chest. “She is so mean.” “I only came to get some clothes for you.” “I planned to just grab them and leave, so I wouldn’t upset her.” “But she refused to let me go.” “She even taught Noah to curse at me.” “And then she hit me.” “Look.” Tears streaming down her face, she tilted her head up and pointed at the red mark on her cheek. Brian looked utterly heartbroken as he wiped her tears away. He gently stroked her bruised skin. Then he asked in the softest, most sickeningly sweet voice imaginable, “Does it hurt?” “It hurts so much.” Vanessa shivered dramatically. Brian’s face turned dark as thunder. He grabbed Vanessa’s hand, marched up to me, and demanded coldly, “Did you hit her?” “I did.” I did not hesitate for a second. “You are acting like a complete lunatic! You are completely unreasonable!” I kept my mouth shut, staring him down. “Apologize to her right now.” He did not even ask what happened. He just ordered me to apologize. My gaze shifted to Vanessa. She was clinging to his arm like a parasite. Catching my eye, she flashed a triumphant smirk, but her voice remained pitiful. “Brian, let it go. Nobody has ever truly cared about me or protected me anyway. People like me are just destined to be bullied.” “I… I am used to it.” More tears. Brian wrapped his arm around her waist. “I didn’t protect you in the past, but I will protect you from now on. Nobody gets to bully you.” “Really?” He nodded firmly. “Thank God. I finally have someone in my corner.” Vanessa smiled through her tears. Brian glared at me. “I will give you one last chance. Apologize to Vanessa right now.” “Or… I let her slap you back.” “Pick one.” I scoffed. “You think she deserves my apology?” “So you are choosing the slap?” Before I could even reply, Brian turned to Vanessa. “Go slap her.” “Oh? But she is your wife.” “Is that… okay?” “I have got your back. She will not dare do anything.” “Hit her!” Vanessa walked toward me, a vicious gleam in her eyes, and slowly raised her hand. “Well then… I guess I will do it.” The moment the words left her mouth, her hand swung hard against my face. Smack! I did not dodge it. I needed this sting. I needed the physical pain to completely harden my heart against this man forever. Feeling the burning sensation spread across my cheek, I stared dead into Brian’s eyes. “Are you satisfied?” “Do not ever mess with Vanessa again.” “Or I will not let you off so easily next time.” With that final warning, he grabbed her hand and walked out the door. A few days later. Brian came home, shot me an icy glare, and slammed a new set of divorce papers onto the coffee table. “You wanted a divorce so badly, right?” “Here you go.” “Sign them and get out of my house.” I silently picked up the document and skimmed it. He was giving me zero financial support. But the worst part was the custody section. He wanted full custody of Noah. Seeing that, I slammed the papers down. “I do not care about the money. We agree on that. But I am keeping my son.” “Keep dreaming.” “You get no money and no kid.” Brian dropped onto the sofa, casually crossing one leg over the other, a smug grin on his face. “I talked to a lawyer. A woman like you, with no job, no income, and zero financial stability? No judge is ever going to give you custody.” “If you want to take this to court, bring it on.” “But… do you even have the money to hire a lawyer?” Looking at his arrogant, victorious face, I trembled with fury. I had been a stay at home mom for years. He was right. I had no money and no job. I knew he would fight me for Noah. But I never expected him to be this ruthless. He was trying to completely destroy me. Seeing me frozen in shock, Brian chuckled. “I worked my fingers to the bone all these years so you and our son could live comfortably.” “You had it too easy for too long, and you forgot your place.” “You want to cause drama every single day.” “Since you love throwing tantrums, I am giving you exactly what you want.” “Sign the damn papers.” “Then pack your trash and leave.” “Oh, and one more thing.” “Just so you know, once we are divorced, I am moving Vanessa in. Noah will call her Mom.” “You are forbidden from ever seeing him again.” “Just pretend you never gave birth to him.” Every single cell in my body was vibrating with raw anger. I carried that boy for nine months. I went through agonizing labor, practically touching death’s door to bring him into this world. And he was telling me to pretend he never existed? “Are you even human… or are you just a monster?” “How can someone be this cold blooded?” “I do not have a job or money because I did not want to work? Because I was lazy?” “You begged me to stay home to raise our child and manage the house. And now you are using my sacrifice as a weapon to steal my son?” “Are you not afraid karma is going to strike you dead for being this evil?” “Sarah, I am not being cruel.” “You forced my hand.” “You and Noah could have stayed in this house perfectly fine.” “You could have kept your title as my wife.” “But you kept provoking Vanessa over and over again.” “You knew her first marriage was a disaster. You knew she lost her baby before it was even born.” “Yet you poured salt on her wounds. You called her wicked and said God was punishing her by taking her child.” “I used to feel a little guilty about what I did to you, but now…” “I realize you are the most toxic person I know.” His words hit me like a truck. When did I ever say those horrific things to Vanessa? It was glaringly obvious. Vanessa had used his anger against me to whisper poisonous lies into his ear. I opened my mouth to defend myself. But I swallowed the words. What was the point of explaining? Our relationship was already dead and buried. “No matter what you say, I am not giving up my son.” I laid out my final boundary. “Then we go to court.” “Let the judge decide.” And just like that, the custody battle began. I had no money for a fancy attorney. I had to rely on legal aid. My public defender took one look at my financial situation and told me my chances of winning were practically zero. The final verdict matched her prediction. I lost. The judge granted full custody to Brian. The moment the gavel fell, it felt like the sun went out. Without my son, my life meant absolutely nothing. My mind went completely blank. I stumbled out of the courtroom like a soulless ghost, barely registering my surroundings. Suddenly, Vanessa’s mocking voice pierced the air. “From now on, I am Noah’s real mommy.” “Come here, Noah. Let us go.” I whipped my head around. Vanessa was gripping my son’s wrist tightly, beaming with malicious joy. Noah was crying, trying to pull away and run to me. But she scooped him up into her arms. “Mommy, please do not leave me!” He reached out for me, sobbing uncontrollably. I instinctively took a step toward him. Vanessa shot me a venomous glare. “Sarah, the court has made its ruling. If you dare come near him again, I will get a restraining order. You will never see his face again.” The color drained from my face. The world was spinning. “Mom!” “Stop crying.” Vanessa scolded him. “She is not your mother anymore. I am your mother.” “You are not my mom! You are a bad woman!” Smack! Vanessa slapped my five year old son hard across his tender face. My heart physically tore in half. “Do not you dare touch my son!” I screamed at her, lunging forward. Just then, Brian walked out of the courthouse restroom. Unaware of the slap, he scowled at me. “What are you screaming about now? Get lost.”

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My birthday gala was a surprise thrown by my older brother, Steven. I’d planned to use the occasion to introduce Steven Maxwell to my family. But he claimed he had an important business dinner and declined my invitation. So, I reluctantly dropped the idea. At the gala, a familiar figure suddenly appeared, instantly drawing the gaze of every socialite and reporter in the room. It was Steven. He wore a sharp, tailored suit, radiating an undeniable brilliance. He was a completely different person from the Steven I knew, who wore a worn-out tank top in our rented apartment while telling me stories. Even more surprisingly, he had a woman by his side. Steven leaned in and whispered, explaining that this was Steven Maxwell, a renowned rising star in the city, who had taken over his family’s empire at eighteen and, at twenty-two, married the shipping magnate’s daughter – the very woman now at his side. My brother added that Steven’s life had been nothing but smooth sailing, earning him much envy and admiration. That was when it hit me: Steven Maxwell’s “Maxwell” wasn’t just a surname. It was the Maxwell, of the city’s most powerful dynasty. 1 My family had been in politics for generations, originally old friends with the Maxwells. But then the Maxwell patriarch decided to venture into business, shifting from government to commerce. Our families now maintained only a basic, polite facade. Underneath, we even skipped exchanging courtesies during holidays. Simply put, the political elite looked down on merchants for their “new money” stench, while those in business found the politicians hypocritical and pretentious. As for me, I rarely set foot in the city, making few public appearances. My social media scarcely featured any photos of me. The outside world only knew of the Maxwells’ well-protected younger daughter, Aurora. They didn’t know I also used my mother’s maiden name, Luna Turner. After graduating college, I spent three years gaining experience in a rural town with my brother, which left me even more out of touch with city affairs. So, when I first met Steven and heard his last name was Maxwell, I didn’t give it much thought. But I never imagined. I wasn’t the only one concealing my identity. Seeing my prolonged silence, my brother frowned, turning his gaze to me. “What are you thinking about?” His voice pulled me back to reality. I was startled, then forced a smile, shaking my head. “I’m fine, just probably didn’t get enough rest.” My explanation sounded a little thin; my brother clearly didn’t buy it. He looked at me twice more but ultimately said nothing. Steven was no longer in the main ballroom, nor was my father. They had clearly gone to the study upstairs. I unconsciously frowned. “What does he want with Dad?” My brother’s knuckles, wrapped around a champagne flute, tightened slightly, his eyes dimming. “They want an arranged marriage.” “The Maxwells have a younger relative, about your age.” Suddenly, I froze, my heart churning with emotion. “So Steven is here to broker a deal?” “Yes, he wants to win Dad over.” The moment my brother’s words landed, I couldn’t help but let out a cynical laugh. A wave of absurdity washed over me. Round and round we went. Steven had lied to me, I had lied to Steven, and now he wanted his family’s junior to marry me? How dare he? What right did he have? Betrayal and resentment surged simultaneously. I clenched my fingers, letting my nails dig into my palm. As blood dripped from my fingertips to the floor. My brother’s frown deepened. This time, his voice was firm. “You know Steven Maxwell?” I didn’t deny it. Steven and I met in Willow Creek. Three years ago, my painting hit a wall. Coincidentally, my brother was heading to Willow Creek for a training stint, so he brought me along. He was busy every day, always on the go. I explored the entire town, but he couldn’t spare a moment. It was then that I met Steven. That day, I wandered around with my easel, eventually stopping at a small park. Willow Creek was undergoing urban development back then, and officials were often in the vicinity. Steven was among the crowd that day, wearing a hard hat, a white T-shirt, and jeans, looking somewhat out of place among the suited individuals. So much so that I overlooked their respectful attitude towards Steven. He stood among them, speaking animatedly, a faint smile occasionally playing on his lips. The sunlight falling on his shoulders seemed to make him glow. I was so captivated by the sight that by the time I realized it, his profile was already sketched onto my canvas. That was my first encounter with Steven. At the time, I thought it was just a chance meeting and was filled with regret. But I never imagined our second meeting would come so quickly. 2 I rear-ended a car, and the owner was Steven. He got out of the driver’s seat, his brow furrowed, and walked towards me. I thought he was coming to chew me out. But the next second, his magnetic, gentle voice filled the air: “Are you hurt?” I was instantly captivated. It was love at first sight with Steven. The moment I saw him, I couldn’t move. Later, when he often took me hiking to mountain peaks, he’d ask, “If I didn’t have this face, would you still love me?” He’d demand an answer but then wouldn’t care what it was. So much so that even today, I never said: “Steven, my feelings for you started with your looks and were cemented by your character.” But it’s a good thing I didn’t say it. Otherwise, everything that happened today would have been far too ironic. Later, we exchanged contact information. But neither of us reached out first. Until one night, half a month later, Steven got drunk, and the bar owner called me. I hailed a cab to the bar almost immediately. Terrified I’d arrive too late and Steven would be taken advantage of. After all, it’s dangerous for guys out alone these days, especially handsome ones. I didn’t take Steven home; I didn’t dare. My brother detested every man in my life, so my relationship with Steven had to be kept a secret from him. Steven was a good drunk; he didn’t cry or make a fuss, but he was too quiet. There were moments I thought he’d fallen asleep, but a quick glance showed he hadn’t; his deep eyes were fixed on the TV, unblinking. Until the clock struck midnight. Steven softly murmured, “Happy birthday to me.” Then he fell into a deep sleep. In that moment, I felt an indescribable mix of emotions—a deep ache, a heavy suppression. I ended up sitting in the living room all night. When I woke up the next day, I confessed my feelings to Steven. Steven didn’t seem surprised then; he smiled and agreed. As we spent more time together, I learned that Steven had seen me the first time I appeared in the park. And our second and third encounters had all been his deliberate planning. At the time, I was so angry I didn’t want to talk to him. Steven simply hugged me from behind, then bit my earlobe, muttering, “Baby, I just liked you too much, so I found ways to meet you.” “I want you to love me, to like me.” “I lied a lot to you, but that day really was my birthday.” His voice was laced with a hint of grievance by the end, and eventually, I surrendered. I loved Steven, so I was willing to compromise. We dated for three years, our relationship stable; we almost never argued. Steven indulged me without limits, and even when we occasionally disagreed, we always resolved it in bed. Even a week ago. This man was still sleeping next to me on the wooden bed in our rented apartment, holding me gently from behind. His thin lips brushed softly against my ear, saying: “Luna, you are this world’s gift to me.” “I love you so much.” But who could have imagined that Steven was married? After a long pause, my brother’s throat bobbed, his gaze fixed on me. “So, all those times you told me you were staying at a friend’s house, you were actually with Steven?” I nodded. “Yes.” Hearing this, my brother’s eyes darkened further. He silently lowered his head, finished the wine in his glass, then said hoarsely, “What are you going to do now?” I didn’t answer, just gave my brother a reassuring look. Then I turned and walked straight away. Steven wanted me to marry a junior from his family. Fine, I’d grant him his wish. I just hoped he wouldn’t regret it someday. 3 Just then, Steven had settled the marriage alliance intention with Mr. Maxwell, when his peripheral vision caught a familiar figure at the stairwell corner. Before he could get a good look, the person disappeared into the depths of the hallway. He frowned, his right hand instinctively reaching into his pocket for his phone. The top contact on his social media was Luna Turner; not even his nominal wife held that privilege. Luna had sent him a message that afternoon; he hadn’t read it yet. “Even though it’s my birthday today, you’re allowed to come home late, BUT! You absolutely must bring a gift.” After reading it, a faint smile played on Steven’s lips. His expression was clearly visible to Mr. Maxwell, who chuckled. “Everyone says Steven Maxwell is cold and unfeeling, a block of ice. It seems that’s not entirely true.” Steven looked up, a little belatedly, but his smile remained. “Just a little laugh, Mr. Maxwell.” Mr. Maxwell waved his hand, shaking his head. “Alright, I’m off to join my little princess. I still need to ask for her opinion on this marriage alliance. If she doesn’t agree, I’m out of options.” Steven nodded, saying nothing more about the alliance, leaving it at that. But he didn’t expect Steven Crosby to walk towards him. Steven Crosby was the Maxwell family’s adopted son, and perhaps out of gratitude, he was fiercely protective of his sister, Aurora. He worried about every little thing that might happen to her. From childhood, she had been shielded, everyone calling him a “sister’s boy.” The alliance with the Maxwell family. While Mr. Maxwell said he’d consider Aurora’s feelings, Steven Crosby’s approval was, in reality, far harder to win. “I hear from Father that you’re here to discuss my sister’s marriage to your nephew,” Steven Crosby went straight to the point. Steven didn’t deny it, nodding frankly. “So?” Steven Crosby scoffed. “Just give up already.” He lifted his eyes to Steven, a mocking curve playing on his lips. “Aurora won’t agree. Even if she says yes, I won’t let your Maxwell family cling to her.” His words were unapologetic. He didn’t care about Steven’s power or status, nor did he bother to save face for him. Steven also knew Steven Crosby’s background. Three years in Willow Creek. All to return now and rightfully take over from Mr. Maxwell. But an alliance between the two families would only bring benefits, not drawbacks. He couldn’t understand why Steven Crosby was so resistant, even showing hostility towards him. Steven narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man before him. But before he could figure it out. His assistant hurried over, whispering in his ear: “Mrs. Maxwell is having an argument with someone in the backyard.” … I didn’t expect to run into Chloe Turner before I ran into Steven. Chloe recognized me almost instantly. Dressed in a haute couture gown, she directly blocked my path. “You must be Luna Turner, right?” I frowned. “You know me?” “Surprised?” Chloe looked at me with an easy smirk, her hand casually stroking her abdomen. “Steven Maxwell is my husband, in name. As his wife, I should be aware of all his activities, including—” She paused, then softly uttered three words: “His side chick.” Instantly, my fists clenched unconsciously. “So you knew about Steven and me all along?” Chloe smirked, nodding. “Yes, I knew all along.” “I know exactly what kind of person Steven Maxwell is—possessive, doesn’t like anyone interfering in his affairs, so there’s no need for me to stir up trouble.” “Anyway, he won’t shortchange me on what’s rightfully mine: love, status, power, position. What belongs to me, he hasn’t given to anyone else.” “What more could I want?” I opened my mouth, then fell silent for a moment. If Steven had given Chloe the love she deserved, what had he given me? Three years of companionship, what did it mean to Steven? Chloe noticed my daze and continued: “Luna Turner, do you know why Steven suddenly came back to the city?” 4 I hadn’t considered that question. Steven was always traveling between two cities, claiming it was for work, and for a man, putting his career first was perfectly understandable. I never demanded that Steven revolve around me. So, when he said he had to attend a business dinner and would miss my birthday, I didn’t say anything. But now, Chloe stared at me, her words crystal clear: “Because I’m pregnant.” A sudden crash echoed in my mind. My pupils constricted, and I looked up in disbelief, almost instinctively asking, “So what?” “What are you trying to brag about?” “Are you trying to tell me how much Steven loves you?” But on second thought, why would Chloe need to brag? She was Steven’s wife, and it was natural for her to be carrying his child. It was me. What was I? What standing did I have? “Did you know, Steven loves this child very much? The day he received the report, he established a charity foundation in its name, accumulating good karma for it,” Chloe boasted. No wonder. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. Willow Creek was still under development back then, so commercialization wasn’t severe, and it was by the sea. Lying on the beach at night, you could see many stars. At that time, Steven loved to watch the stars with me and play in the sand with the kids nearby. I thought he liked children, so I tentatively asked, “Steven, do you like kids?” But he looked at me deeply before saying: “No.” Now I finally understood. Steven didn’t dislike children; it was just that the person who would bear his child shouldn’t be me, couldn’t be me. I didn’t want to be entangled with Chloe any longer. Everything that happened today had caught me off guard; I needed to calm down. But as I turned to leave, Chloe suddenly grabbed my arm. I instinctively pulled my wrist back with force. She lost her footing, staggered back two steps, her heel slipping on the ground. She fell unsteadily onto the floor. A passing waiter immediately came to help her up. “Ms. Turner, are you alright—” “Get out!” Chloe snarled. She stood up and raised her hand, slapping me across the face. Her movement was too swift; I didn’t even have time to dodge. “Slap—” The slap landed squarely on my face. A burning sting instantly flared on my cheek. Steven arrived just in time to see this scene. He almost stepped forward immediately, but his assistant reminded him there were paparazzi nearby. After a moment of consideration, he stopped. I laughed, mocking myself. I had actually just been hoping Steven would come over, would stand up for me like he used to. But I’d forgotten. My Steven was dead. The Steven before me was just Chloe’s husband. I stepped past him, ready to leave. Steven said softly, “Come home, I’ll explain everything to you—” Mid-sentence, I calmly interjected, “No need.” “Steven, we’re over.”

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1 “Yes, I am the plagiarist. I will stop updating my comic and drop out of college to atone for my sins.” The moment I posted that final announcement, my loyal readers didn’t panic, but the manipulative little clout chaser definitely did. In my past life, I was just a quiet artist drawing a popular queer fantasy webcomic. Then she came along. An influencer with a massive following. She framed me for stealing her work, incited a massive internet hate campaign against me, and even got my publisher to publicly denounce me. She took my original universe, butchered the lore, and sold the movie and animation rights for millions. Nobody remembered that when she first started posting her comic, she claimed it was just a “humble homage” to my work. I couldn’t handle the crushing weight of the death threats and the global humiliation. I stood on the edge of the campus rooftop. I watched my sketchbooks flutter down into the abyss, and then I followed them. The moment gravity won, my final sight was my parents. Their eyes were completely shattered, red and screaming with despair. I fell into an endless, suffocating darkness, drowning in bitter regret and sheer hatred. Then I opened my eyes. And the first thing I saw was the notification for her newest chapter update. A sharp ringtone violently pulled me out of my trance. The dorm room was pitch black. The only light came from my monitor, reflecting off my bloodshot eyes. I frantically checked the date in the bottom corner of the screen. I was back. Exactly two weeks before everything went to hell. Which meant… I scrambled to open my creator dashboard. In my scheduled drafts folder, my newest chapter was sitting there. It was set to publish in exactly one hour. Without a single second of hesitation, I smashed the cancel button. In my previous life, that specific chapter was my absolute masterpiece. It perfectly tied together a massive plot twist I had been setting up for months. When it originally went live, my comment section exploded. “The storytelling is insane! Even the background characters have such tragic depth!” “Why did you have to kill him off so early? I am literally sobbing over my keyboard right now.” “The artwork is breathtaking. The look of repressed agony on his face ruined me.” Those were my day one readers. The ones who had been with me since I was a nobody. When the plagiarism accusations started flying, they were the only ones who stood in the trenches and fought for me. Looking at their old comments begging for an update, hot tears spilled down my cheeks. Thank you for believing in me. But their voices had been completely drowned out by Ivy’s rabid fanbase. One of my top readers, a girl who always sent me premium gifts on the app, had her real identity leaked online. She endured thousands of vicious messages, explicit deepfakes, and vile rumors. Her mental health completely collapsed, and she had to drop out of her university. Thinking about her, I opened my drafts again, staring at the panels I had painstakingly drawn frame by frame. A sudden, freezing prickle crawled down my vertebrae. I whipped my head around to look at my sleeping roommates. I didn’t know why, but it felt like invisible eyes were burning a hole in the back of my neck. But the room was totally still. In my past life, exactly three days after I posted this chapter, Ivy’s fans went on a total rampage. They posted timestamps showing that Ivy had updated her chapter exactly one hour before mine. The plot was identical. The platform, which had always ignored my emails, suddenly posted a massive public statement. They permanently banned my account and mass blocked anyone who tried to defend me. They blatantly took Ivy’s side. Her fans didn’t stop there. They tracked down my personal Instagram. “Thieves deserve to rot.” “Did your parents raise you just to steal other people’s talent?” “No wonder your art is garbage. Go beg on the streets, you brainless hack.” “You go to Western Arts Uni? We are calling the dean right now to get you expelled!” The school administration, terrified of bad PR, forced me into an indefinite suspension. The day I packed my bags to leave the dorms, I barely made it to the ground floor before someone threw a dripping trash bag right at my face. 2 It was garbage from the communal bathrooms. A sickening stench flooded my lungs. Before I could even wipe my eyes, a heavy boot slammed into my ribs. “You filthy thief! Stealing from our queen! We’ll teach you a lesson!” “Go eat dirt, psycho!” They pinned me to the concrete and kicked me relentlessly. They fractured two of my ribs and stomped on my dominant hand until my fingers snapped. After that day, I went from being a top tier artist to a broken shell who couldn’t even grip a stylus without shaking. Everywhere I went, the whispers and the venom followed. My fingers suddenly throbbed with a phantom pain. I looked down at my hands. They were perfectly fine. Unbroken. My heart rate slowly leveled out. My phone screen lit up, flashing a call from my boyfriend, Connor. Connor and I were both in the fine arts program. He was the golden boy of the campus. From the first week of freshman year, girls had been throwing themselves at him. I never cared about his hype, but out of nowhere, he started pursuing me. Obsessively. He waited outside my classes, brought me coffee, and flooded me with attention. Eventually, I gave in and agreed to date him. But a few months into our relationship, a new girl suddenly appeared in his orbit. Ivy. I didn’t realize it until right before my death, but Ivy was the mastermind behind the webcomic account that ruined my life. Ivy had this striking, almost unearthly aesthetic. Deep violet eyes, porcelain skin, and a tragic, delicate aura. She looked ethereal, completely untouchable by the real world. She transferred to our program a few months ago. Rumor had it her mother was a famous Hollywood screenwriter and her dad was a prestigious novelist. Within weeks, she was crowned the undisputed campus queen. She had just as many stalkers as Connor did. Connor swore they were just distant childhood family friends. He claimed they practically grew up in the same sandbox and viewed each other like siblings. So I brushed off their constant, overly intimate touching. Until the night he got too drunk at a frat party and accidentally dialed my number. I walked into the VIP room and found Ivy sitting right on his lap. They were sipping from the exact same glass of whiskey. Their lips were practically brushing. I walked right up to them, my face deadpan, and snatched the glass away. “Sharing a cup seems a bit inconvenient, doesn’t it?” “Actually, keeping me around is what’s inconvenient.” “We are done.” But the very next day, we were back together. He staged a massive public apology in the middle of the quad. He spelled out my name in expensive candles and shoved a giant bouquet of roses into my arms while a crowd cheered. I felt incredibly humiliated and completely trapped. I agreed to take him back just to escape the hundreds of staring eyes. But once a cheater, always a cheater. Every time I caught him getting too close to Ivy, he would pull another massive, manipulative stunt to force my forgiveness. I was completely exhausted by the toxic cycle. But I never knew how to break it. Now, with a second chance at life, my only goal was crystal clear. I was going to stay a million miles away from this pathetic, cheating duo. Connor’s name flashed on my screen again. I declined the call and went straight to his contact profile to delete him. But right before I hit block, I saw his newest status update. “Nothing is more beautiful than a girl chasing her dreams.” Attached was a photo of Ivy’s back. She was sitting at a cafe, drafting storyboards in a leather notebook and scribbling script notes. Something felt incredibly wrong. I zoomed in on the picture. The script she was writing was the exact same plot from my unpublished drafts folder. It wasn’t just a similar vibe. Her outline, the camera angles, the emotional beats, even the specific dialogue lines were identical. The only difference was that my story was about two male fantasy warlords, and hers was a traditional male and female romance. Sure, the High Fae fantasy genre had common tropes, but matching dialogue and panel pacing word for word? That was impossible. She literally just took my tragic male protagonist and slapped a dress on him! 3 This was exactly how she killed me in my past life. She published her chapter exactly one hour before my scheduled release. It locked me in as the undeniable thief. I always thought it was a freak coincidence or a massive leak. But looking at it now, something darker was happening. Every single plot twist in my comic came directly from my own brain at random hours of the night. They were purely mine. I rarely read other comics, let alone copied anyone. I searched up Ivy’s latest published chapter on the app. My eyes went entirely cold. She even copied the deliberate, unresolved cliffhanger I had written when I was suffering from writer’s block. Word for absolute word. My brain felt like a knot of barbed wire. I sat in the dark and thought about it all night long. By dawn, I made a ruthless decision. I permanently deleted every single unreleased file in my drafts folder. I was going to completely nuke my own storyline. I was shifting it from a sweet, slow burn romance into a highly toxic, agonizing psychological tragedy. I wanted maximum emotional damage. I spent the entire morning writing a brand new outline, drafting twisted new character motivations, and sketching rough character sheets. I had been posting art online since high school. Over the years, I had built a reputation as a veteran creator. Because my genre was a bit niche, I wasn’t mainstream famous. But my core audience was fiercely loyal. Since the day I signed my publishing contract, this comic had completely dominated the top ranking charts. It had been sitting at number one for months, beating the second place comic by tens of thousands of premium tips. My ultimate dream was to see my universe adapted into a beautiful animated series. I wanted to pick the voice actors and oversee the script myself. Even if a studio couldn’t capture every nuance, I had already mapped out exactly how to translate the subtle romantic tension to the screen. Every night before I fell asleep, I imagined my characters moving and breathing on a cinema screen. This specific story was inspired by a random moment from my teenage years. I saw two guys walking in front of me in the rain. The taller one playfully flicked the forehead of the shorter one. He laughed and said, “If you’re an angel, I’m definitely your downfall.” “I won’t just break your halo, I’m going to break your heart. That’s the only way you’ll never forget me.” That passing joke sparked my entire universe. I spent three years fleshing out the lore, breathing life into the words. And Ivy had stolen every single drop of it. In my past life, she used my soul to secure massive animation and film deals. And she let the studios butcher it. She made an absolute fortune while my life’s work was humiliated. My stoic, self sacrificing hero was rewritten into a whiny, boy crazy idiot who was willing to destroy the universe just to get a kiss. It was utterly psychotic! Thinking about that, an electric spark lit up my brain. Wait. Wouldn’t an unhinged, psychotic protagonist actually be a brilliant twist? If I rewrote the angel’s descent to earth as a descent into absolute madness, the lore would be incredibly rich. I downed two iced americanos and didn’t sleep for a second. I just typed and sketched like a machine. The ideas were bleeding out of my fingertips. By the second afternoon, my heart was hammering against my ribs. My nervous system was completely wired. The adrenaline rush was so intense it actually hurt. It felt like my brain and my physical body were violently wrestling for control over my own hands. The manic trance didn’t break until my roommate gently placed a cupcake on my desk. “Serena, you haven’t slept or eaten in thirty six hours. Are you trying to put yourself in the ER?” “Put the pen down. Eat something.” I violently snapped out of the trance, gasping for air. I exhaled deeply, feeling like my soul had been scooped out with a spoon. “Thanks for the sugar. I’ll eat it right after I upload this chapter.” My roommate wasn’t having it. She hit save on my software and physically closed my laptop lid. “You already update twice a day. What is the rush?” “If you don’t eat right now, I am calling your mom to tattle on you!” Defeated, I picked up the fork and started eating. 4 While I was chewing on the frosting, I aimlessly scrolled through social media and completely froze. A forgotten memory slammed into my chest. Back when Ivy first started gaining traction, a few eagle eyed readers pointed out that her lore felt way too similar to mine. She had responded to a comment directly. “I am just paying homage to Heavy Rain.” Heavy Rain was my pen name. “Is paying homage a crime now? Or does she own the copyright to the entire fantasy genre? Did she invent the universe?” That single comment started an absolute war. Remembering this, I quickly opened the app and found her creator profile. Her original replies were still public. Reader: “Why does your world building feel like it was directly copy pasted?” Ivy: “Haha, you caught me! I totally borrowed Heavy Rain’s vibe. I just thought her style was cute.” Reader: “Your villain’s backstory is exactly like Heavy Rain’s protagonist.” Ivy: “What can I say? I am her biggest fanboy! I practically worship her!” I took rapid screenshots of every single admission and finally let out a breath of relief. In my past life, she eventually deleted all the comments where she admitted to copying me, keeping only the vague, defensive ones. Those deleted comments later became the weapon her fans used to destroy me. They accused me of having a god complex, bullying a small indie artist, and gatekeeping the entire fantasy genre. I never gatekept anything. It was an entirely fabricated narrative. But the internet mob didn’t care about the truth. To them, my explanations were just pathetic excuses. “Thieves always lie through their teeth!” “She is actually sending her toxic fans to harass our princess on Instagram!” “Our princess is having panic attacks because of her! She needs to be held accountable. I need to know where she lives so I can handle her in person.” And they did. They found my university. They found my parents. The university was flooded with so many bomb threats and angry calls that they forced me out. My phone was bombarded with disgusting texts from strange men asking for my hourly rate. Ivy had posted my personal phone number on explicit hookup forums. Disgusting creeps tracked my location. One night, right outside the dorms, I was almost dragged into an unmarked van. If my roommate hadn’t screamed for campus security, I would have been… During that absolute nightmare, I called Connor begging for help. He just screamed at me through the phone. “Serena, you make me absolutely sick. I cannot believe I dated a fraud.” “Don’t you feel pathetic stealing from someone else? You can’t even draw your own stick figures! You call yourself an artist? You’re a parasite!” “I never want to see your ugly face again. Go jump off a bridge!” “Looking at you makes my skin crawl. I must have been blind to ever touch you.” I had smiled a broken, hollow smile, dropped my phone, threw my sketchbooks into the wind, and stepped off the ledge. When my skull cracked against the pavement, my eyes locked onto my parents’ faces, completely destroyed by grief. In that split second, the regret consumed me. If I could do it all over, I would burn the world down before I let them hurt me again. And now, the universe had handed me a second chance. This time, I just needed to figure out exactly how Ivy was getting access to my unreleased thoughts. Once I cracked that, she was finished. The suffocating memories made my chest tight. I couldn’t breathe. My heart seized with a sharp, terrifying pain. Something was deeply wrong. In that moment of intense pain, an unnatural, burning urge commanded me to open my laptop and upload my draft. I violently fought the urge, distracting myself by endlessly scrolling through my phone. A second later, Ivy’s new comic update popped onto my feed. A layer of freezing sweat coated my spine. Her brand new chapter was the exact same unhinged, psychotic plotline I had literally just hallucinated in my head!

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Five years ago, at my engagement party, I slapped my fiancé’s secretary Samuel so hard I knocked his newly done nose crooked. To avenge his secretary, my fiancé Raymond personally sent me to prison. The day I was released happened to coincide with Raymond and Samuel’s wedding. Everyone thought I would seek crazy revenge. But I didn’t make a scene at the wedding like everyone expected. Instead, I boarded a flight to another city and disappeared without a trace. Five years later, I returned to the country with my husband Manuel, just in time for my birthday. Manuel and I had plans to celebrate together. But when I arrived at the agreed-upon restaurant, I ran into Samuel. “Well, well? Who do we have here?” “If it isn’t Aurora?” “Haven’t seen you in years, Aurora. How did you end up looking so pathetic? Can’t even afford decent clothes?” Samuel’s voice was loud and dripping with sarcasm. The entire lobby instantly fell silent, with everyone’s eyes turning toward us. I looked down at my clothes. Though they looked simple and plain, with no designer logos visible, they were all custom-made by Italian craftsmen. Each piece cost at least a hundred thousand dollars. But I didn’t need to explain that to Samuel. I ignored him and picked up the menu from the table. My disregard only enraged Samuel further. He snatched the menu from my hands, raising his voice: “What, did two years in prison make you deaf? Didn’t you hear me talking to you?” Before he finished speaking, the entire restaurant erupted in whispers. “Looks normal enough, but who would’ve thought she’s an ex-con.” “Oh my God, how did someone like that get in here?” Ignoring the murmurs and pointing fingers from surrounding customers, I slowly raised my head and looked at Samuel expressionlessly: “Excuse me, do I know you?” Samuel froze, then said angrily: “Aurora, what’s with the act? Do you really think you’re still that high-flying CEO from back then?” “Do you even know where you are? This is And Happy, the most elite, most luxurious restaurant in Massachusetts. A single cup of coffee costs hundreds of dollars.” “Take a good look at yourself. Can you even afford to eat here? Get out! Just get out and stop embarrassing yourself!” Samuel looked at me with utter contempt and actually kicked the table in front of me. A loud crash echoed through the space. The coffee cup shook violently, brown liquid splashing out. Looking at the brown stains on my white shirt cuff, my expression darkened. This shirt was a birthday gift from Manuel. Today was the first time I’d worn it. I looked at Samuel coldly: “Apologize!” But Samuel just laughed mockingly: “You want ME to apologize?!” “Aurora, you must be dreaming!” “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s you apologizing to me. Being in the same space as a bitch like you is ruining my appetite.” With that, Samuel turned toward the door, his voice shrill: “Security!” “Where’s security? Where the hell did everyone go? Letting just anyone in! Do you all want to lose your jobs?” Two security guards approached hesitantly. Just then, the restaurant manager arrived after hearing the commotion. Seeing Samuel’s angry expression, the manager jogged over quickly. “What seems to be the problem? Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll handle it immediately.” Samuel snorted coldly: “What’s going on with you people?” “Service standards are getting worse and worse. Can’t you see there’s some poor trash here ruining the atmosphere?” The manager froze, following Samuel’s gaze toward me. “I’m so sorry, I’ll handle this right away.” The manager bowed and scraped before Samuel, his tone full of obvious flattery and fawning. Then he turned to me with a stern expression: “Miss, this is a high-end establishment, not a homeless shelter. Please leave immediately.” He made a gesture toward the door. “Did you hear that?” Samuel smugly patted my face: “Poor people should know their place. If you’re broke, don’t come out here trying to act rich!” I didn’t move. Samuel thought I was scared and became even more arrogant. He pressed harder: “I should’ve made sure you stayed in there a few more years back then, so you wouldn’t get out and embarrass yourself like this.” I smiled coldly: “Samuel, that line should be directed at you.” “Have you been living the good life so long that you’ve forgotten how you used to crawl through garbage heaps looking for food?”

Samuel grew up in the slums. When I met him, he was only thirteen, dressed in rags and digging through a garbage heap for food. I gave him the bread I had left over. He took it and wolfed it down in two bites. When I tried to leave, Samuel knelt at my feet, clutching my pant leg and refusing to let go. I softened in that moment and took him home, supporting him financially all the way through college. After graduation, I even arranged for him to work at the company as Raymond’s secretary. I never imagined that this moment of compassion would eventually push me into an abyss of no return. A wolf is always a wolf. You can never domesticate one. The person I treated with all my heart was the one who stabbed me deepest in the back. Like many people who forget their roots after making it big, that time in the slums was taboo for Samuel—a past he never wanted mentioned. Samuel’s expression changed instantly. Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, he bristled with rage, pointing at me and shrieking: “Bitch! You’re asking for death!” “How dare you bring up my past!” “Believe me, I’ll cut out your tongue right now and feed it to the dogs!” Watching Samuel’s furious reaction, I smiled coldly: “Cut out my tongue?!” “Are you sure you have what it takes?” “Don’t end up crying in some man’s arms again!” “You…” Samuel choked, pointing at me unable to speak for a long moment, his face turning red then pale. It was the shame and humiliation of having the truth exposed. “Aurora, you’re dead today.” Samuel stared at me, eyes full of venom. The atmosphere in the restaurant suddenly shifted. The previously noisy private room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Everyone’s eyes on me changed too, as if looking at someone courting death who didn’t know their place. Everyone knew that Samuel was the precious darling of Raymond, CEO of the Raymond Group. The Raymond Group had been thriving these past two years, going from strength to strength. In Massachusetts, who would dare disrespect the Raymond Group? Crossing Samuel meant crossing the entire Raymond Group. Samuel roared at the security guards behind him: “What are you standing around for? Get her! Let this bitch know what happens when you piss me off!” As his words fell, two burly security guards immediately stepped forward, grabbing my arms from both sides. The guards’ grip was strong, making my arms ache. “I suggest you let go of me, or you’ll regret it.” My voice was cold, as if pulled from an ice cellar. But Samuel just laughed as if he’d heard the funniest joke: “Regret?” “Who are you trying to scare!” “This isn’t five years ago. You’re just an ex-con, a poor nobody—like a fly to me.” “Forget hitting you, even if I killed you, what could you do about it?” I narrowed my eyes, watching Samuel draw closer and closer. When he was one step away, Samuel stopped, looking down at me from above. After a long moment, he slowly bent down, grabbed my chin with his hand, eyes challenging: “Aurora, you’re worthless.” “Calling you garbage picker and you still won’t admit it!” Worthless. Garbage picker. Samuel’s voice echoed in my ears again and again. I felt transported back to five years ago.

That day was my engagement party with Raymond. When the ceremony reached the cake-cutting portion, Samuel suddenly presented an exquisite gift box. When the box opened, inside was a worn-out high heel. Laughter erupted around us. And Samuel, as if that wasn’t enough, leaned in closer and continued mocking me: “So what if you’re the boss? You still have to pick up my hand-me-downs! Sleep with the man I slept with! You’re worthless, the queen of trash!” Before he finished speaking, an explicit bedroom photo appeared on his phone screen. In the photo, Samuel wore sexy, revealing black stockings, eyes seductive as silk. And Raymond was shirtless, desire burning in his eyes, completely different from his usual cold demeanor. Samuel smiled at me triumphantly. My pupils constricted violently, all the blood in my body seeming to boil. In that moment, I could no longer remain calm. The rage flooding through me burned away all reason. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face… Because of that slap, I spent two full years in prison. “Hahaha—” Pulling myself from the memory, Samuel was still laughing triumphantly. The other people in the restaurant joined in the laughter. Everyone was enjoying my embarrassment and distress. My eyes turned cold. I suddenly jerked my head, shaking off Samuel’s hand that was still pinching my chin. Taking advantage of everyone’s momentary shock, I broke free from the two guards’ restraint. I looked at Samuel’s perfectly repaired nose mockingly: “I see you need to be taught a lesson again.” “Looks like enough time has passed to make you forget the pain of having your nose broken. Today I’ll kindly help you remember.” My eyes were sharp, my voice as cold as Satan from hell. In that instant, everyone was shocked into silence by the powerful aura emanating from me. Meeting my fierce gaze, Samuel looked panicked: “Bitch, you wouldn’t dare?!” “Aren’t you afraid I’ll send you back to prison?” I smiled coldly: “Let’s find out then.” Ignoring Samuel’s threats, under everyone’s horrified and disbelieving gazes, I swung my fist hard at Samuel’s face. “Ahhh—” Samuel staggered back two steps, clutching his nose and letting out a piercing wail. His expensively repaired nose was crooked again. Two streams of blood gushed out between his fingers. “You dare hit me?!” Samuel was shocked and furious. He never expected that after I’d been through prison, I would still dare to strike him. The restaurant manager panicked, snorting coldly: “Don’t you have eyes? Don’t you know where you are? Making trouble here? You must have a death wish.” If Samuel got hurt in his restaurant, when Raymond asked about it, he’d have no way to explain. “Daring to hit Miss Samuel? This is suicide!” The others snapped back to reality as well, looking at the blood on Samuel’s face in horror. “She’s insane, completely insane!” “This bitch has a death wish! She actually dared to hit Miss Samuel?” Everyone looked at me as if I were already dead. But I remained calm and composed. Samuel’s eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted with rage, looking at me as if he wanted to tear me into a thousand pieces. “Aurora, either get on your knees and apologize, or die!” “Choose!” I laughed mockingly: “You want me to apologize? You’re not worthy.” “Good, good, GOOD!” Samuel said “good” three times, then pulled several stacks of bills from his wallet. He slammed them on the table with a “smack” and said to the security guards behind him: “All of you, attack together. Beat her to death! Afterward I’ll pay triple!” Everyone’s eyes lit up, eager to act. Just as fists were about to land on me, a surprised and uncertain male voice came from behind: “Aurora?!”

I slowly turned around, looking toward the voice. Raymond stood there, watching me with complex emotions in his eyes. “Where have you been all these years? Why didn’t you come find me after you got out?” Compared to Raymond’s excitement, my expression was calm, my eyes devoid of emotion. Seeing the man I once loved desperately, my heart was surprisingly still, without a ripple. “Where I’ve been is none of your concern, Mr. Raymond.” That one phrase—”Mr. Raymond”—was distant and unfamiliar. Raymond’s emotions surged instantly, his eyes reddening. A flash of jealous hatred flickered through Samuel’s eyes. “Ugh…” Samuel cried out in pain. “What’s wrong?” Raymond snapped back to attention, looking at Samuel anxiously. When he saw the blood on Samuel’s face, his expression changed dramatically: “You’re hurt? Who did this?” Samuel immediately put on a pitiful expression. “Raymond, you’re finally here. We haven’t seen each other in years. I kindly invited Aurora to dinner, but not only did she not appreciate it, she attacked me.” His eyes reddened, as if he’d suffered infinite grievance. He was completely different from his earlier arrogance. The restaurant manager quickly chimed in: “That’s right! This person came here to cause trouble and insulted Miss Samuel. We were just about to teach her a lesson!” Raymond froze, then frowned, the excitement in his eyes gone as he looked at me: “You really hit Samuel?” I nodded with a smile: “Yes, I did.” Seeing me admit it so readily, Raymond said angrily: “Aurora, I really underestimated you.” “Two years in prison not only didn’t teach you to restrain your violent nature, but made it worse?” “Samuel practically grew up under your care. How could you bring yourself to do this?” Samuel added with false sympathy: “Raymond, don’t be angry. I think Aurora might still resent us for sending her to prison back then…” Raymond snorted coldly: “Resent?!” “If you do something wrong, you should be punished. Otherwise, if everyone could just murder and steal, the world would descend into chaos.” “If you ask me, two years wasn’t enough time.” With that, Raymond picked up his phone and dialed a number: “Chief Johnson? This is Raymond. There’s an ex-con causing trouble at And Happy. Please send some officers over!” Samuel looked at me triumphantly. “Aurora, if you don’t want to go back to prison, it’s not impossible.” “Just get on your knees and apologize. Say you were wrong, and I’ll forgive you.” Compared to sending me back to prison, Samuel preferred to enjoy the satisfaction of grinding me into the dirt. Raymond seemed to sigh helplessly: “You’re always so kind.” Then he looked at me coldly: “Did you hear that?” “Kneel and apologize to Samuel, and I won’t pursue this matter.” Samuel thought victory was assured and became complacent. “But I suggest you hurry. The police will be here any minute.” “I assume you don’t want to go back to prison.” I smiled coldly: “Make me kneel? Dream on!” Raymond’s eyebrows shot up, and he snorted coldly: “Stubborn fool.” “I gave you a chance. You chose not to take it.” “When the police take you away, don’t blame anyone.” Just as Raymond finished speaking, the sound of sudden braking came from outside the hotel entrance. Dozens of black Rolls-Royces approached from the distance, forming a line as they stopped in front of the restaurant.

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My mate Leon is the Alpha heir of Shadowclaw pack. Once again, he didn’t spend my birthday with me this year. Because today is also his childhood friend Nora’s birthday. I opened Nora’s Ins, and sure enough, there was a new post. “Grateful for your company every year on my birthday. We promised to spend every future birthday together!” The photo showed two hands making heart signs in front of a cake. One of them was Leon’s—I recognized the watch I’d given him. I hit like, set down my phone, and dumped all the dishes I’d lovingly prepared—all Leon’s favorites—into the trash. Then I went to a restaurant, ordered what I liked, and celebrated my birthday alone. Leon didn’t know I’d already made my decision—to break up with him and return to Frosthowl pack to become the Alpha heir. Halfway through my meal, Leon called, his tone somewhat anxious. “Rhea, did you see Nora’s post?” “I did.” “I’ll come back after I finish celebrating with her. I’ll spend it with you next year. Be reasonable and don’t make a fuss, okay?” The old me would have cried and thrown a fit. But not anymore. I simply said calmly, “Okay.” The next morning around seven, my phone woke me. It only rang a few times before stopping—probably because he didn’t want to wait again. I picked it up and looked. It was Leon. He used to be too lazy to use his own key, so he’d always call me like this—let it ring a few times, then hang up. No matter what I was doing, I’d immediately run to open the door for him. But not today. I tossed my phone aside, pulled the covers over my head, and went back to sleep. The spare key was under the doormat. He knew that. I’d stayed up until three in the morning packing last night, and my head was still foggy. My phone rang several more times, but I didn’t even bother looking. I don’t know how long passed before I groggily heard someone opening the door. The door slammed against the wall with a loud bang, then the bedroom door was shoved open, accompanied by Leon’s angry questioning. “Rhea, why didn’t you open the door for me? I called so many times! You know I hate using keys!” I opened my eyes and looked at him without much emotion. “I was too tired. Didn’t hear it.” Leon opened his mouth, then finally just said, “I’m hungry. Get up and make me something to eat. I was up all night, and I need to catch up on sleep after I eat.” In the past, I would’ve jumped up immediately to make him breakfast. But now I just said flatly, “I’m really tired too. Go buy yourself some breakfast downstairs.” Leon was clearly angry, but he held it in. “You’re still mad I didn’t spend your birthday with you yesterday?” “No, you’re overthinking it.” Leon didn’t believe me and explained unprompted, “Nora is like my little sister. Her dad died for mine. I’ve taken care of her since we were kids—if I don’t stay with her, who will? Stop being so petty, or I’m really going to get angry!” “You’re right, you should stay with her. I’m not mad.” Nora’s father was Leon’s father’s Beta. When Nora was seven, a Rogue attacked Shadowclaw pack, and her father died protecting Leon’s father. Nora’s mother died not long after from grief. Since then, Nora had lived with Leon’s family. Unlike their childhood bond, Leon and I met through a friend’s introduction. When we first met, we both realized we were fated mates. Leon blushed as he looked at me, said it was love at first sight, and asked if I wanted to date him. I blushed too and said yes. Later we fell in love and went on dates everywhere. I thought I’d be happy like that forever—until I met Nora and saw how attentively Leon cared for her. Later I accidentally overheard Nora’s friends talking and learned that before meeting me, Leon and Nora had almost started dating. I was the one who’d come between them, forcing them to remain just friends. From then on, I kept thinking back to my first meeting with Leon. I couldn’t help wondering—did Leon really fall for me at first sight? Or was the so-called love at first sight just an act, something he said because dating his fated mate would solidify his position as Alpha heir? My reminiscing ended. I couldn’t sleep anymore, so I got up to go to the bathroom. Leon grabbed my wrist and reluctantly pulled a bracelet from his pocket. “Here, stop being upset. Your birthday present.” Looking at that cheap bracelet, the decorative metal piece dangling and swaying with the movement, it seemed so perfunctory. Then thinking about the designer watch Leon wore in Nora’s social media photos, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. I shook my wrist, revealing the watch my mom had sent a few days ago. “Thanks, but I have a watch now. Wearing this would be inconvenient. You keep it.” Leon said angrily, “And you say you’re not mad! You used to be so happy with whatever I gave you. Now you’re turning up your nose at it, is that it?” Leon’s income wasn’t high. The things he gave me for my birthday in the past were never expensive either—little trinkets costing a few dollars or tens of dollars, sometimes he’d even forget to give anything. But I’d never minded. Every year on his birthday, though, I carefully prepared gifts. Last week for his birthday, I gave him a designer bracelet. I was tired. I really didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I took the bracelet and put it in my pocket. “Thank you.” I changed clothes and prepared to leave. Leon asked urgently, “Where are you going?” “Meeting friends. Going to the gym together.” Since getting together with Leon, I’d spent almost all my free time on him. Accompanying him, taking care of him, barely having any time for myself. But not anymore. From now on, I was going to live for myself.

After an exhilarating workout with friends, we sat in the rest area drinking water. My friends joked half-seriously, “We thought you’d forgotten about us once you got a boyfriend. We almost didn’t dare invite you anymore.” I quickly apologized and promised, “I’m sorry! It won’t happen again. If there’s any activity, definitely invite me!” “That’s more like it! Come on, let’s go sit and chat at a café.” After getting together with Leon, I’d always tried to fit into his circle, unknowingly distancing myself from my own friends. Every day revolved around him, putting him first in everything. Looking back now, I’d been such a fool. By the time I got home, it was almost midnight. I pushed open the bedroom door to find Leon sitting on the bed. He frowned. “Rhea, why are you back so late? I had to order takeout for lunch and dinner. It was terrible.” I opened the closet to get clean clothes. “I ate out today too. It tasted pretty good, no worse than homemade.” Leon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Didn’t you used to say you’d cook for me every day from now on, that you wouldn’t let me eat takeout because it’s bad for my health?” “I was wrong. Living in this era, if you can’t cook, you have to get used to takeout.” Anger flashed in Leon’s eyes. “And you say you’re not mad! Out all day, not a single call or message, and you didn’t come back to cook!” I said calmly, “I’m really not mad. Just hanging out with friends. My phone died.” Seeing me like this, Leon suddenly threw off the covers, got out of bed angrily, grabbed me as I was about to leave, and raised his voice: “Can you stop being so petty? I told you we’re just like siblings! What exactly are you making a fuss about? Rhea, my patience has limits!” I pulled my hand free. “I’m really not making a fuss. I’m tired. I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” With that, I took my clothes to the bathroom, ignoring Leon’s calls behind me. That night, I finally slept soundly through the whole night. The next morning, Leon sat in the living room with his arms crossed, his expression dark. I knew he was waiting for me to apologize first, to make him happy. In the past, whenever he was unhappy, whether it was my fault or not, I’d beg him humbly for forgiveness. Then he’d make a bunch of demands, and only after I’d done everything would he reluctantly forgive me. This had been the pattern for years. I was tired of it. I ignored him, washed up, and left. I had important things to do today. I found a café and made a video call home. My father is the Alpha of Frosthowl pack. Since dating Leon, I’d moved to Shadowclaw pack to live with him, only returning to Frosthowl pack during holidays. This time, I told my parents I was planning to return to Frosthowl pack and wouldn’t be leaving again. I saw the tears of joy in my mother’s eyes. My father was clearly relieved too, saying I should come back to help him share some of the pack responsibilities. Frosthowl pack is located in a quiet northern town with a cold, damp climate. Leon grew up in a warm region and never adapted to the weather there. He’d always refused to go back with me, which is why I’d left my parents to live with him here. That evening, I met my friends for dinner and told them the news. Someone asked, “What about Leon?” I was silent for a moment, then smiled bitterly. “We… should be breaking up soon.” I used to think I’d build a family with Leon here. But now that home no longer existed. I was going back to the home with my parents—the one that would never abandon me. When I got home, I saw Leon wearing a white dress shirt, his hair carefully styled, holding his phone on a video call with Nora. Nora’s voice came through the phone. “Leon, you look so handsome! Even a simple white shirt looks so good on you!” Leon laughed happily, his voice full of mirth. “Really? You always know what to say.” I stood quietly without speaking. This expensive white shirt was also a gift from me to Leon. When Leon turned around laughing and saw me, his face immediately fell. He turned back to Nora and said, “I have to go. I’m heading out soon and will be there shortly. Eat something to tide you over first.” Leon could greet Nora with smiles and thoughtful care, but couldn’t spare even a smile for me. He glanced at me with annoyance, walked past me, changed his shoes, and left. He was starting to give me the silent treatment again. Over the years we’d been together, he’d often ignored me over things related to Nora. Each time I’d been anxious, trying every way to make him happy. But this time, I wasn’t worried. I just took the groceries I’d bought and went to the kitchen to make myself a late-night snack. I’d been too busy chatting with friends at dinner and hadn’t eaten much. Now I was a bit hungry. Over the next few days, I busied myself packing. My belongings in the house gradually decreased. Leon didn’t notice.

Today, Leon went out to see Nora again. I sat at the dining table, eating while looking at my phone. Nora had posted: “Whenever I feel lonely, you’re always there. It’s wonderful. Grateful!” In the photo, Leon and Nora had their heads together, making peace signs at the camera. Leon’s buddies all liked and commented, envying their relationship. All along, they’d thought Leon and Nora were better matched—childhood sweethearts, how nice—while I was like a third wheel inserting myself between them. Looking at that post, I suddenly felt those friends were right. The two of them did look more like a couple. In the past, after holding back for a long time, I’d carefully remind Leon to keep some distance from Nora. His buddies would mock me for being too controlling, saying I had control issues and wouldn’t let Leon have freedom in his friendships. Leon never spoke up for me. Instead, he’d join them in criticizing me, telling me not to restrict him and to give him more space. Leon had also commented below: “You’ve always been there for me too!” I calmly exited the app and got up to clear the dishes. Thunder rumbled outside. It was going to rain. I went to the balcony to bring in the clothes. Bean-sized raindrops immediately began pelting the windows. In the past, whenever it rained, I’d rush to call Leon asking where he was, wanting to bring him an umbrella so he wouldn’t get wet. He and his friends would laugh at me for worrying too much, managing too much, preventing them from having fun. I showered early, lay in bed watching videos, and fell asleep without realizing it. The sound of Leon forcefully pushing open my bedroom door woke me. Seeing me asleep, he questioned angrily: “Rhea, it’s raining so hard, your boyfriend isn’t home this late, and you’re not worried at all? If it were my buddies’ girlfriends, they’d already be calling nonstop asking where they are, personally bringing an umbrella to pick them up! And you?” I was somewhat surprised, not understanding why he was so angry. Once before when he was with Nora and it rained, I’d called several times asking where he was and when he’d be back, wanting to pick him up. He’d gotten very angry, saying I was worrying needlessly, that he was with Nora and needed to take her home first. He also said I just didn’t want him with Nora, that I was making excuses for him to come home early, that my need for control was suffocating him. Now I’d given him freedom, yet he was questioning why I didn’t pick him up. I really didn’t understand what he wanted from me. I answered with a heart like still water, “You were with Nora, so I wasn’t worried. You two can hang out longer, then take her home.” Leon’s eyes widened in disbelief. Perhaps he was wondering how I could so calmly mention Nora and even allow them to stay out this late alone. After a while, he seemed to think of something and explained, “Today… was the anniversary of Nora’s father’s death. She was very upset. As a friend, I couldn’t leave her alone. Don’t read too much into it.” I expressed understanding and nodded in agreement. “I get it. You should definitely spend more time with her on a day like this.” My reasonableness left Leon at a loss for words. He studied my face carefully, trying to find a trace of anger, but found none. Leon softened his tone. “Rhea, I need to shower. Can you run the hot water for me?” I looked at him in surprise. This was almost like him initiating reconciliation. In the past, he was always so superior, making me beg and plead before he’d reluctantly make up with me. I pretended not to understand his hint and just said, “No, I’m tired. Run it yourself, then get some rest in your room.” Leon looked at me in disbelief, then angrily turned and left. I got up and closed the door myself, then went back to sleep. A peaceful night’s sleep.

Early the next morning, my friend Vivian called to invite me to dinner. She’d just returned from a business trip. Hearing I was returning to Frosthowl pack, she wanted to get together again since there wouldn’t be many more chances. I felt a bit sad hearing this, but agreed. Before hanging up, she added, “Oh, bring Leon too. I won’t contact him separately.” Right—Vivian wasn’t just my friend, but Leon’s too. She was the one who’d introduced us in the first place. But this way, I couldn’t hide my return to Frosthowl pack anymore. I’d originally wanted to wait until everything was settled before saying anything, to avoid complications. After hanging up, I saw Leon coming out of his room. I hesitated, then spoke up. “Vivian wants to have dinner with us tonight.” He looked at me, seeming somewhat hesitant, about to speak when his phone rang. I didn’t know what the person on the other end said, but Leon soothed them gently, “Nora, don’t worry, it won’t be lost. I’ll come right over to help you find it.” Leon hung up and hurried toward the door, efficiently changing his shoes while saying to me, “Rhea, Nora has an emergency and needs my help. You go to dinner by yourself tonight. I won’t make it. Let Vivian know.” That evening at a restaurant, Vivian and I had just raised our glasses when Leon walked in with Nora by his side. The moment our eyes met, Leon looked somewhat surprised and embarrassed. Nora beside him gave me a slightly provocative smile. Leon stepped forward, his expression somewhat unnatural. “What a coincidence, you’re here too.” Nora said with false apology, “Leon saw I was hungry and said he’d bring me here to eat. We’re not interrupting, are we?” Vivian seemed to have forgotten Leon’s earlier refusal to join us for dinner. She enthusiastically invited them to sit together and had the server add more dishes. Leon wanted to sit next to me. I got up and moved next to Vivian, leaving the opposite seats for him and Nora. Leon’s buddies were right—he and Nora did look more compatible. I shouldn’t squeeze myself in the middle. Leon’s face showed some nervousness. Several times he seemed about to explain to me but was interrupted. I chatted with Vivian on my own. My phone kept buzzing with notifications. I took a moment to glance. They were from Leon. “Rhea, don’t misunderstand. After I helped Nora find her things, she said she wanted to eat at this restaurant, so I brought her.” “I really didn’t know you’d be here too.” “If you’re unhappy, I’ll be more careful next time.” “After dinner, let’s go home together, okay?” I looked down and replied, “No need. You two go ahead. I want to chat with Vivian a bit longer.” I put down my phone and focused on talking with Vivian, ignoring the subsequent messages. After a few drinks, Vivian was a bit tipsy. She put her arm around me, her eyes slightly red. “Why are you suddenly going back to Frosthowl pack? You’re my best friend here. When you leave, I won’t have anyone to chat and shop with.” My heart ached too, my nose tingling with emotion. “My parents are getting older and struggling to handle pack affairs. I need to go back to help them. Come visit me there, and I’ll treat you well.” Vivian ultimately didn’t say more, just raised her glass to toast me again. Leon seemed to have heard something. His eyes widened as he stared at me in shock.

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Eight years after my husband Ethan died, I finally agreed to the blind date my sister arranged. Before the date, I went to the salon for a new hairstyle and bought a new dress at the mall. My sister had set fire to Ethan’s belongings. I ignored my burns and snatched our wedding rings from the flames. I held the rings and arrived at the restaurant where I was supposed to meet my blind date, Noah. Through the glass window, I saw Noah chatting with a friend. When Noah lowered his head, I caught a clear view of his friend’s face. In that instant, I nearly stopped breathing. That man was Ethan—the same Ethan I had pushed into the cremation furnace with my own hands. And beside him sat a woman with a stunning figure, clinging close to him. I didn’t have the courage to push open the door. I leaned silently against the wall, listening to the conversation inside. “Noah, the woman you’re meeting is already half an hour late. You think she stood you up?” That voice—I would never forget it, even in death. It was Ethan. My Ethan, the one I’d missed desperately for eight years. But why was he still alive? And why was there a woman I didn’t recognize sitting beside him? Why hadn’t he come back to find me all these years? Why hadn’t he told me he wasn’t dead? Too many questions clogged my chest until it felt suffocating. Then another voice spoke—Noah’s. “Women like to dress up. It’s natural for them to take a little longer.” Then Noah changed the subject. “Ethan, I really envy you. You married a beautiful woman like Ivy and she even gave you such an adorable son. You two must have been together for many years.” Ethan’s cheerful voice drifted out. “Ivy and I have been together for nine years.” How ridiculous. For the past eight years, not only had Ethan not died—he’d gotten married and had a child with someone else. He’d been living carefree in a world I knew nothing about, while I’d nearly lost half my life from missing him. Eight years ago, one rainy night, I’d insisted on having pizza. Even though the rain was pouring, Ethan grabbed an umbrella and went out without hesitation. I curled up on the couch, but instead of pizza, I received news that he’d died in a car accident. By the time I arrived at the scene, his car had burned to a hollow shell. The downpour had doused the flames, leaving only a few streams of foul-smelling black smoke. Ethan in the driver’s seat was burned beyond recognition. If not for the wedding ring on his left hand, I wouldn’t have been able to identify him at all. In the years that followed, I drowned in endless guilt. I kept thinking. If only I hadn’t insisted on pizza that night. If only I’d gone out with him. If only… Ethan were still alive. I turned gray overnight at such a young age. I became a shell of myself. I gave up my social life, quit my job, and locked myself indoors all day. Ethan’s death turned my life completely upside down. If my sister hadn’t pulled me out of that abyss, I probably wouldn’t exist in this world anymore. Tears fell heavily onto the ground. My sobbing finally drew the attention of those inside. Noah slowly opened the door and looked surprised to see me. “What happened? Did something go wrong on your way here?” I shook my head and followed him inside. Noah stood by my side, staring at my red, swollen hands. “If you don’t treat those wounds, they might get infected.” I tucked my hands behind my back, my gaze locked onto Ethan’s face. That face I’d missed day and night now appeared before me like something from a dream. “Ethan, you lied to me so cruelly.” Ethan looked equally shocked. Disbelief flashed in his eyes. “You’re Noah’s blind date?”

At this moment, did it even matter who the blind date was? I just wanted answers for the past eight years. I couldn’t have spent eight years grieving over a man who was still alive. Searing pain shot through my palms. My throat choked up as I shouted at Ethan. “Ethan, tell me—why did you lie to me?” “Do you know what these eight years have been like for me?” “What happened that night? Tell me!” Ethan took a deep breath and glanced at the woman beside him. Then he stood and walked up to me, his gaze settling on my face. “I had no choice.” “That car accident—I planned it.” One phrase—”I had no choice”—to justify his enormous lie. One phrase—”I couldn’t help it”—to turn my past eight years into a joke. I laughed coldly and raised my hand, slapping Ethan hard across the face. “Ethan, you know that’s not the explanation I want!” “This slap is for those eight wasted years.” Then I raised my hand again and struck the same spot. “This slap is for the apology you owe me for lying.” My palm burned with pain. Blood began seeping from my burn wounds. Ethan’s eyes turned cold. He casually wiped the blood from his lip. His fists clenched slightly. “That’s enough, Stella. I told you—I had no choice.” “You always said a man needs to take responsibility. So when Ivy got pregnant, I chose to step up. I couldn’t let the child be born without a father. I couldn’t let people think Ivy was some irresponsible woman.” “What I did was just fulfilling a man’s duty.” “Are you satisfied with that explanation?” “But you cheated on me! How can you talk about cheating like it’s something honorable?” “You couldn’t bear to hurt another woman, but you could let me live like a ghost for eight years and make me feel guilty for the rest of my life.” “Ethan, is this what you call responsibility?” I laughed and staggered backward, remembering that the day after Ethan left, I discovered I was pregnant. I’d wanted to die, but the baby’s arrival gave me a reason to keep dragging myself through life. I never imagined that the belief I’d clung to so desperately would end like this. Ivy, sitting nearby, walked over to Ethan with concern. Her delicate hand gently touched his face. Then she looked at me with an expression full of guilt. “I’m sorry, Stella. We didn’t mean to hide this from you.” “But now Ethan and I are married and we have a child. About the past… could you maybe—” I stared at her seductive face. “Not hold it against us? Not pursue it?” “Ivy, if you were in my position, what would you do? If I told you to be generous, could you actually do it?” “It’s only because you’re not the one who got hurt.” With that, I threw the wedding ring I’d been clutching into a nearby trash can. I turned, opened the door, and walked straight out. So this was how my eight years with Ethan ended—with a period. All that devotion and guilt finally turned to ash in this moment. Noah caught up with me, holding gauze and iodine. No one had expected today to turn out this way. As Noah cleaned my hands, he spoke. “I didn’t know you and Ethan had that kind of history.” “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you they’d be here.” I couldn’t bring myself to smile, staring at the raw red flesh on my palms. “Noah, we can be friends.” His hand paused mid-motion. He looked at me intently. “Stella, I don’t mind your past.” “Don’t shut me out just yet.”

This blind date was my sister’s arrangement. Noah and I weren’t really familiar—we only knew each other’s names. My sister wanted to help me move on from Ethan’s death, and I truly did need to start a new life. Noah was worried, so he took me to the hospital. On the way back, he placed the gift he’d prepared for me on the seat beside me. “Stella, I can wait for you.” His gaze was sincere and warm, rekindling something in my deadened heart for just a moment. When I got home, I hid the fact that I’d seen Ethan from my sister. I knew her temper. If she found out Ethan had deceived me, she’d definitely go after him. But now, I didn’t want to see Ethan anymore. The real Ethan had died eight years ago. A week later, I agreed to Noah’s pursuit and we planned our wedding date. Everyone said we were rushing things, that we should take more time to get to know each other. But I just didn’t want to keep drowning in those old memories. I didn’t want the memories of Ethan to slowly devour me. News of the wedding eventually reached Ethan’s ears. It was the first time he sought me out alone. In the park downstairs. “Stella, you can’t marry him.” The Ethan before me was dressed in a sharp suit, tall and handsome, but his eyes no longer held the warmth I remembered. “Who are you to me? What business is it of yours whether I get married?” “Ethan, please keep your distance. Don’t let your wife get the wrong idea about our relationship.” My deliberate coldness displeased the possessive Ethan. He stepped forward and gripped my shoulders tightly. “Stella, wait for me another ten years. In ten years, my son with Ivy will be an adult. Then we can remarry, okay?” “I really had no choice.” I laughed. “Ten years? How many decades does a woman have? I already gambled away eight years. You want me to gamble another uncertain ten years?” “Do you think I’m still that stupid?” “You had the right to cheat. I have the right to pursue happiness.” I stepped backward. Ethan’s hand hung suspended in midair. Anger shadowed his brow. “Stella, you could marry anyone else. Why does it have to be Noah?” “How am I supposed to face you two after this?” “How to face us? You seem pretty good at adapting.” “Let me tell you—it’s Noah or no one.” Without giving Ethan another chance to speak, I turned and left the park. The night before the wedding, Noah invited many friends to his house. The living room and bedrooms were packed with people. Noah was smiling, holding an air pump and inflating balloons. By the time I arrived at his place, the bridal suite was already decorated. I just didn’t expect Ethan and Ivy to show up uninvited. Ethan held a gift box and casually tossed it onto the coffee table. “Noah, are you really going to marry a divorced woman? As your friend, I need to warn you—it’s not too late to back out.” Ethan said this only because of what happened in the park. He was just bitter. Even though he’d deceived me, even though I’d thought he was dead, in his mind I was only allowed to remain faithful to him. Even if he didn’t want me anymore, I had no right to marry anyone else. Noah stepped forward and took my hand, as if declaring ownership to Ethan. “I don’t mind Stella’s past. What matters is the present.” “Ethan, don’t forget to come drink at our wedding tomorrow.” Ethan flew into a rage, his sharp gaze landing on Noah. “You’re really going to throw away our brotherhood over a woman?” “You’ve got so many women around you. Why does it have to be Stella?” “Noah, let me make this clear—if you dare marry her, we’re done as brothers.”

That night, I received a message from Ethan. “Can’t even wait ten years? Stella.” “Since you insist on getting married, I’ll send you a big gift tomorrow.” It wasn’t that I couldn’t wait. I just didn’t see the point anymore. I didn’t reply. I blocked the unfamiliar number. On the wedding day, Noah invited many relatives and friends. He said he wanted more people to witness our happiness. The large screen behind us displayed our wedding photos. They flashed by one after another. I suddenly remembered that when I married Ethan, we never even took proper wedding photos. He made excuses—too tired, too busy at work—always finding reasons to put me off. Later I understood. He wasn’t too busy. He was spending all his time with Ivy and simply couldn’t get away. As the last wedding photo faded, the guests thought it was over. But then more photos appeared. They showed me half-naked, my cheeks flushed, eyes unfocused, completely drunk and unconscious. Whispers spread through the guests below. “This woman has no shame. Look how exposed she is.” “Could she be a prostitute?” “How inappropriate to show photos like this at a wedding. She’s disgraced the entire family.” A bolder relative stood up and advised Noah directly. “Noah, I think you should call off this wedding.” “I’ll introduce you to someone better later.” “This woman is clearly no good. That kid is probably some illegitimate child she’s too embarrassed to admit to, so she’s calling it her sister.” “Still involved with her ex-husband, and now a child appears out of nowhere. If you really marry her, you’ll regret it.” Noah quickly had the staff turn off the screen and apologized to me repeatedly. I knew whose doing this was. Utterly despicable—just like his fake death eight years ago. Noah still held my waist tightly. “Stella is a wonderful woman. Those photos must be someone’s malicious prank.” “And our wedding is not for outsiders to comment on.” I scanned the crowd and spotted Ethan sitting in the corner, his eyes fixed on me. A faint smile played at his lips, as if mocking me on stage. I lifted my wedding dress and walked up to Ethan. “Is this all you know how to do—these underhanded tricks? Now and eight years ago.” “Ethan, the biggest regret of my life was marrying you.” Ethan let out a scornful laugh, his gaze shifting to Noah behind me. “Noah, you really want to pick up my leftovers?” “You saw it yourself—what Stella looks like in those photos, didn’t you?” Then Ethan withdrew his gaze, his eyes crinkling. “Stella, do you like the gift I sent?” “Actually, if you’d just been nicer to me, I would’ve given you a proper explanation for those eight years.” “I could even bring you home to live with Ivy.” “I know how heartbroken you’ve been these eight years without me.” He deliberately leaned closer, a wicked smile on his lips. “Do you dream about me every night? Do you miss me so much you can’t sleep?” “You’re disgusting!” Furious, I slapped Ethan across the mouth. Ethan immediately straightened up. Every eye in the room turned to him. “Stella, you’re insane!” Ethan grabbed a wine glass and hurled it at me. Just as the glass was about to hit, a small voice called out from behind me. “You bad man! Don’t bully my sister!” Ethan froze mid-motion, staring hard at the little girl. “What did you call her?” Emma said fiercely, repeating herself. “She’s my sister.” Ethan suddenly threw the wine glass at his feet and frowned. “Stella, you don’t even have parents. Where did this sister come from?” “Who is this girl?”

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Ethan Hunt pretended to be gentle for three years, raising me to be a tool for his first love’s paintings. I heard him laughing in the lounge. “I don’t love her at all. Being with her? Aside from the paintings, the sex is amazing.” I stood outside the door holding coffee. My hands didn’t shake, but my heart turned cold. That night, I burned everything he’d given me, jumped from the second floor, and ran toward the future I’d once rejected for him without looking back. Only later did I learn that the SUV that rescued me in the pouring rain wasn’t a coincidence. The man named Louis had been secretly collecting all my paintings since I was a little girl doing street graffiti. He said, “I’ve waited three years for you. Waited for you to wake up from another man’s cage.” This time, I won’t run away again. Cherry POV When I pushed open the slightly ajar door of the gallery VIP lounge, laughter was coming from inside. “Ethan Hunt, we really don’t get you. You’re a billionaire, a top-tier curator. Why are you acting like a servant in front of that poor girl Cherry? Cooking for her every day, even taking off her shoes for her. What’s the point?” Hearing my own name, my hand froze mid-push. After a brief, deathly silence, Ethan’s habitually gentle voice rang out, but it carried a coldness and mockery I’d never heard before. “Wild cats need to be stroked the right way to be tamed.” A lighter clicked, and he seemed to light a cigarette. His voice sounded distorted through the smoke. “Vivian’s hand is ruined. She can’t hold a paintbrush anymore. Cherry’s painting style is identical to hers, even more spirited. If I don’t spoil her rotten and make her devoted to me, how will she willingly paint those thirty pieces to pave the way for Vivian’s comeback exhibition?” Each word stabbed brutally into my eardrums. All the blood in my body froze solid in that moment. I felt like I’d fallen into an ice pit. I was a ghostwriting tool for Vivian?! The lounge fell silent for a moment, then erupted in even more enthusiastic exclamations. “Damn, that’s so you, Ethan Hunt! That’s ruthless. Using your current girlfriend’s blood and bones to feed your first love’s dreams. That’s insane.” “I heard Vivian’s coming back next week? Since you’ve almost gotten all thirty paintings, what about Cherry? She’s so headstrong. If she finds out she’s been used as a blood bag for three years, won’t she blow the roof off?” Ethan laughed lightly, his tone dripping with contempt. “She can’t leave me. For three years, I’ve cut off all her social connections and raised her to be a waste of space who only knows how to depend on me. Even if she finds out, she’ll just stay obediently in the cage I’ve built for her.” Seeing someone about to come out, my face went deathly pale as I jolted awake and stumbled backward out of the hallway on stiff legs. Outside, a blizzard had started at some point. I didn’t even have my coat on as I walked into the swirling snow. Icy snowflakes slammed into my face, melting into water that mixed with my tears and fell into the mud. Everything before my eyes blurred, but scenes from the past three years flashed through my mind. Ethan was the youngest art professor at New York’s top art academy, and also an extremely influential curator in the industry. The first time I met him was in an alley behind an underground racing track. I’d gotten into a bloody fight with some thugs over graffiti territory, biting one guy’s neck like a lone wolf. Ethan appeared holding a black umbrella, his leather shoes stepping through filthy puddles. With those slender fingers that usually handled masterpieces, he wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. He said gently, “Cherry, hands are for painting, not fighting. Come home with me.” In that moment, having grown up in an orphanage scraping by and enduring countless cold stares, I heard my own heart pounding wildly. I thought I’d found salvation. For three years, Ethan had spoiled me to a pathological degree. He wouldn’t let me do any housework for fear of hurting my hands. He cooked for me with endless variety every day, and when I was tired from painting, he’d even kneel on one knee to massage my aching calves. I thought this was the ultimate expression of love. Turns out, he was just maintaining a useful tool. He was afraid of my hands getting hurt because I had to paint for Vivian. He kept me confined at home because he was afraid my painting style would be exposed prematurely. Even in bed, when he always liked to hold me from behind and force me to watch my right hand holding the brush in the mirror. It was because that hand could fulfill his first love’s dreams! I crouched in the snow, biting hard on the back of my hand, crying until my throat was torn raw and I tasted thick blood. I don’t know how long passed before I swayed to my feet. My tears had dried up, leaving only ash-gray desolation in my eyes. I pulled out my phone from my pocket, found a number I’d blocked for three years, unblocked it, and dialed. It was the private number of Crete, France’s top art master. Three years ago, Crete had recognized my talent and wanted to take me to Paris for secret intensive training to mold me into the next generation’s artistic giant. But for Ethan’s words “I can’t live without you,” I’d refused without hesitation. The call connected. I cleared my hoarse throat, my voice cold as ice. “Mr. Crete, this is Cherry. Is your offer still valid? I’m willing to go with you.”

Cherry POV “Cherry! You’ve finally come to your senses! My God, I knew you wouldn’t let your talent be buried! In half a month I’ll send a private jet to pick you up. Use these two weeks to settle everything in America!” Hearing the French on the other end of the line, excited to the point of breaking, I calmly responded “okay” and hung up. When I returned to the luxury villa Ethan called our “love nest,” it was already late at night. As soon as I pushed open the door, warm air hit my face. Ethan, wearing gray loungewear, was coming out of the kitchen carrying a steaming cup of mulled wine. Seeing me covered in snow and looking disheveled, his eyes immediately creased with concern. “Where were you? How did you get like this, not even using an umbrella?” He walked over quickly, habitually trying to pull me into his embrace. I instinctively turned my head away, avoiding his touch. Ethan’s hand froze mid-air. A flash of displeasure crossed his eyes, but it was quickly covered by gentleness. He sighed and forcibly grabbed my cold hand, rubbing it between his palms. “Cherry, sulking at me again? The gallery was too busy today. I didn’t have time to pick you up. That’s my fault. Drink the mulled wine first, don’t catch a cold. You still need to deliver the last three paintings next week.” Listen to that. Such a perfect excuse. Caring about me was fake. Caring about those last three paintings was real. I lowered my eyes, looking at his refined, scholarly face, and suddenly felt my stomach churning with nausea. “Ethan.” I suddenly spoke, my voice terribly hoarse. “Mm?” He looked down, blowing on the mulled wine, responding carelessly. “If one day I couldn’t paint anymore, would you still treat me like you do now?” Ethan’s motion of blowing on the wine abruptly stopped. He looked up, studying me deeply, then laughed and reached out to ruffle my damp hair. “What nonsense. Even if you became completely useless, I’d still take care of you for life. Cherry, drink up.” If this were before, hearing those words would have made my eyes redden with emotion. But now, I only felt my hair stand on end. His promise to take care of me for life meant keeping me chained in a basement like a pet, draining every last drop of blood from me. I didn’t take the wine. I walked past him and headed upstairs. “I’m tired. I want to sleep.” I didn’t look back, but I could imagine the gentleness instantly draining from his face, his expression turning sinister and cold. Over the next few days, I behaved unusually quietly. I no longer clung to Ethan acting cute like before, nor did I pull him out to look at stars in the middle of the night. I locked myself in the studio every day, painting frantically. Ethan seemed very satisfied with my obedience. He probably thought his “domestication” had finally reached its most perfect stage. At noon that day, Ethan came into the studio carrying cut fruit. “Cherry, take a break.” He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, his chin resting in the crook of my neck, but his eyes greedily fixed on the nearly completed “Sunflowers” on the canvas. The brushwork, color, and light were virtually identical to Vivian’s work from her peak years, even more stunning. “This painting is beautiful.” He praised it sincerely. My hand holding the brush tightened slightly, my knuckles turning white. I turned my head, looking at his face so close to mine, and suddenly smiled. “Is it? Whose name are you planning to sign on this painting?” The smile on Ethan’s face instantly froze. A flash of panic crossed his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure, even adding a touch of indulgent reproach. “What are you overthinking now? Your painting will naturally have your name on it. Next month’s exhibition, I’ll let the entire New York art world know how excellent my girlfriend is.” Watching his masterful performance, the last trace of hope in my heart completely died. I calmly pushed him away and picked up the palette nearby. “I’m thirsty. I want the coffee you make.” “Okay, I’ll go brew it for you.” Ethan kissed my forehead and headed downstairs. After confirming he’d left, I immediately locked the studio door and opened the laptop Ethan had left on the desk. I used to run the streets. My hacking skills weren’t top-tier, but cracking Ethan’s password was more than easy enough. Three minutes later, a document hidden deep in the files appeared on the screen. “Vivian’s Comeback Solo Exhibition Planning Document.” The catalog of thirty exhibited works was exactly all the heart and soul I’d poured out over the past six months! And the exhibition date was in ten days.

Cherry POV The black text on white background on the screen burned my eyes. Thirty paintings. Each one I’d stayed up countless nights to complete, painstakingly crafted stroke by stroke under Ethan’s “gentle encouragement.” Now, they all bore Vivian’s name. I laughed coldly, destructive madness churning in my eyes. I didn’t make a scene. I silently cleared my browsing history and put the computer back in its place. Footsteps sounded outside the door. Ethan came in carrying coffee. “Cherry, coffee’s ready.” I turned around, took the coffee and sipped it, then suddenly my hand shook and the scalding coffee spilled directly onto the nearly finished “Sunflowers”! The dark brown liquid instantly spread, ruining the entire painting’s color structure. “What are you doing?!” Ethan’s voice shot up sharply. His gentle mask instantly shattered, his eyes erupting with barely concealed fury and heartbreak. He shoved me aside and lunged at the canvas, trying to wipe away the stains with his sleeve, but the more he wiped, the worse it got. The force of his push made me stumble backward. My waist slammed hard against the easel, pain making me gasp. But I laughed. “My hand slipped.” I looked at Ethan’s frantic back, my tone light as air. “It’s just a painting. Why are you so worked up? Worst case, I’ll just repaint it.” Ethan’s whole body went rigid. He seemed to realize he’d lost his composure. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the violence in his eyes. When he turned around, he’d become that gentle, considerate perfect boyfriend again. “I’m sorry, Cherry. Did I hurt you?” He came over, rubbing my waist with apparent concern. “I just thought it was such a shame. You spent so long on this painting. I feel bad about all your hard work going to waste.” “Feel bad about my hard work, or about your cash cow being destroyed?” I looked at him with a half-smile. Ethan’s eyes darkened. He suddenly grabbed my chin, applying so much force he nearly crushed my bones. “Cherry, what’s gotten into you today? All these passive-aggressive remarks.” He leaned in close, his tone carrying a dangerous warning. “I’ve been swamped lately preparing for your exhibition. Can you be a little more sensible and stop making trouble?” “I’m making trouble?” I met his gaze fearlessly. “Ethan, do you dare look me in the eye and tell me this exhibition is really for me?” The two of us stood in a standoff, the air thick with gunpowder. Just then, Ethan’s phone suddenly rang. A special ringtone. Ethan’s expression changed. He immediately released me and walked onto the balcony with his phone. Though separated by the glass door, I could still clearly see the careful, treasuring expression on his face. An expression of genuine emotion he’d never shown me. “Vivian, you’ve arrived? Good, wait for me at the VIP passage. I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, Ethan rushed back in, putting on his coat as he spoke. “There’s an emergency at the gallery. I need to handle it. Stay home and paint obediently. That ‘Sunflowers’ must be redone within three days, understand?” Without giving me a chance to respond, he slammed the door and left. I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and watched the black SUV shoot out of the villa like an arrow released from its bow. I pulled out my phone and called a rideshare. “Driver, to the airport.”

Cherry POV Half an hour later, outside the airport VIP passage. Wearing a hat and mask, I stood behind a pillar. Not far away, Ethan was holding a black umbrella, carefully sheltering a woman in a white trench coat with a delicate demeanor. The woman seemed cold. Ethan immediately took off his own coat and draped it over her shoulders, then naturally tucked her cold hands into his embrace. “Vivian, welcome home.” His eyes were so tender they could drip water. Vivian leaned into his embrace, acting coquettish. “Ethan, how are the preparations for my exhibition going? My hand shakes even holding utensils now. If the exhibition fails, I’ll never be able to show my face in the art world again.” “Don’t worry.” Ethan lowered his head to kiss her hair, his tone firm and cruel. “All thirty paintings are ready. Every single one is top quality. They’ll definitely restore you to your peak.” “That ghostwriter Cherry… she won’t cause trouble, will she?” “Her?” Ethan’s lips curved with contempt. “Just an orphan who’s never seen the world. Give her a few scraps and she’d gladly give me her life. After the exhibition ends, I’ll find some random excuse to get rid of her.” Behind the pillar, I held up my phone, recording every moment of this scene completely. My heart had gone numb from the pain. So in his eyes, I wasn’t even human. Just a piece of trash to be thrown away after use. I put away my phone and turned to walk into the rain. Ethan, you want to use my blood to nourish your first love? Dream on. Over the next three days, I seemed like a different person. I no longer resisted painting. Instead, I locked myself in the studio like a madwoman, working day and night. Ethan was very satisfied with my condition. He thought his trip to the airport hadn’t been exposed, that I was still the fool he had firmly in the palm of his hand. To placate me, he even canceled several important engagements and came home on time every day to cook for me, playing the role of perfect boyfriend. “Cherry, eat first. There’s no rush with the painting.” Ethan set a plate of cut steak on the table and hugged me from behind, intimately nuzzling my cheek. I didn’t turn around. The brush in my hand flew rapidly across the canvas, adding the final brilliant touches of color. “It’s finished.” I set down the brush and turned around, looking at Ethan with calm eyes. Ethan’s gaze moved past me to the canvas. It was a brand new “Sunflowers,” even more vivid and stunning than the one that had been destroyed, as if one could feel the sunflowers’ life force burning under the scorching sun. “It’s perfect…” Ethan murmured, his eyes gleaming with fervent light. He must be thinking to himself. With this painting, Vivian’s exhibition would definitely cause a sensation! He excitedly embraced me and kissed me hard. “Cherry, you’re a genius! Don’t worry, after the exhibition ends, I’ll definitely make it up to you. What do you want? Designer bags? A sports car? Or… should we get married?” Get married? I laughed bitterly to myself. A marriage bought with my thirty paintings. The thought disgusted me. “I don’t want anything.” I pushed him away and walked to the sink, methodically washing my hands. “I’m tired. I want to rest for a few days. I’ll leave the exhibition matters to you.” “Of course. You rest well. I’ll handle everything else.” Ethan couldn’t wait to call a moving company and have all thirty packaged paintings from the studio transported away. Looking at the empty studio, my lips curved into an icy arc. Five days until Crete’s private jet arrived. Three days until Vivian’s exhibition. The show was just beginning.

Cherry POV The next day, Ethan used the gallery as an excuse and didn’t come home all day. I knew he was with Vivian. I methodically packed my luggage. Actually, there wasn’t much to pack. Everything in this villa was bought by Ethan. I didn’t want to take a single item. I only took my passport and the utility knife I’d always carried with me. At ten p.m., Ethan came home reeking of alcohol and faint perfume. “Cherry, still awake?” Ethan loosened his tie and walked to the sofa, habitually trying to rest his head on my lap. I subtly avoided him and stood up. “I’ll run you a bath.” Ethan froze, watching my cold retreating figure, probably feeling an inexplicable irritation rising in his chest. These past few days, I’d been too obedient. So well-behaved it was abnormal. No acting cute, no clinging to him, even the look in my eyes when I looked at him carried the stillness of dead water. He strode over and grabbed my wrist, pinning me against the bathroom doorframe. “Cherry, what exactly are you sulking about?” He looked down at me, his eyes sinister. “I’ve already taken the paintings. The exhibition is about to start. Are you planning to pull some stunt?” He was gripping me so hard my bones ached, but I didn’t struggle. I looked up, meeting his eyes directly, and suddenly smiled. “Ethan, do you have paranoia? What stunt could I possibly pull? I’m just tired.” “Tired?” Ethan sneered and roughly tore open my collar. “If you’re tired, let’s do something relaxing.” He lowered his head and kissed me brutally, with the intent to punish, roughly biting my lips. I didn’t resist, letting him manipulate me like a puppet. This dead-fish response completely enraged Ethan. He shoved me away violently, his eyes full of disgust. “Buzzkill.” With that, he turned and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door with a bang. I leaned against the wall, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, my eyes cold as if frozen in ice. Ethan, this is the last time you’ll ever touch me. Vivian’s exhibition was set at New York’s largest private art museum. The night before the opening ceremony, Ethan came home unusually early. He was carrying an exquisite gift box containing a custom haute couture gown worth a fortune. “Cherry, wear this to the exhibition tomorrow.” He placed the gown on the bed, his tone carrying an unquestionable command. I didn’t even glance at the dress, asking flatly, “In what capacity? Your girlfriend, or… Vivian’s ghostwriter?” Ethan’s face darkened, his eyes instantly turning sharp. “What nonsense are you spouting?” He stepped forward, staring hard into my eyes, trying to find any flaw. “Who told you about the ghostwriting?” “Does anyone need to tell me?” I met his gaze fearlessly, my lips curving in a mocking smile. “Ethan, did you really think I was an idiot? I saw the planning document on your computer ages ago.” The air seemed to freeze in that moment. A flash of panic crossed Ethan’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by icy killing intent. He suddenly grabbed my throat and slammed me against the wall. “You snooped through my computer?!” His voice was distorted with rage. “Cherry, you’ve got some nerve!” The sensation of suffocation instantly overwhelmed me. My face flushed red, but I didn’t struggle. I just stared at him hard, my eyes full of contempt and mockery. “What? Exposed and now you’re lashing out in humiliation?” I squeezed the words painfully from my throat. “Ethan, you disgust me.”

Cherry POV “Shut up!” Ethan tightened his fingers, and watching me struggle in pain probably gave him some perverse satisfaction. “Since you already know, I don’t need to keep acting for you anymore.” He leaned close to my ear, his voice like a venomous snake. “That’s right. All those paintings are for Vivian. You’re nothing but a dog to me. Being able to make way for Vivian is your honor!” He suddenly released his grip. I fell to the floor like a broken doll, coughing violently. “Tomorrow, you’re not going anywhere. Stay home like a good girl.” Ethan looked down at me, his eyes cold to the extreme. “After the exhibition ends, I’ll give you some money. Get out of New York. If you dare say a single word outside, I guarantee you’ll disappear from this world.” With that, he turned and walked out of the bedroom, locking the door from the outside. Hearing the lock click into place, I lay on the floor and suddenly began to laugh quietly. The laughter grew louder and louder, finally turning into heart-wrenching, maniacal laughter. Ethan, you think one door can contain me? You really underestimate me. Late at night, the villa was completely silent. I pulled out a black backpack from under the bed, filled with tools I’d prepared long ago. I walked to the window and looked down at the drop below. Second floor. For someone like me who used to do parkour on the streets, this was nothing. I tore the bedsheet into strips, tied them into a rope, secured one end to the bed leg, and let the other end drop out the window. Just as I was about to climb out the window, footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door. Then the lock turned. Ethan pushed the door open, holding a glass of water. Seeing me standing on the windowsill, his pupils contracted sharply. The glass in his hand crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. “Cherry! What are you doing?!” he shouted and rushed forward. I looked at him coldly and jumped without hesitation. “No!” Ethan lunged to the window, only catching a corner of my clothing. I slid down the bedsheet halfway when it suddenly snapped. I fell heavily onto the lawn. Intense pain shot through my ankle. I grunted, cold sweat instantly beading on my forehead. “Cherry!” Ethan’s furious roar came from the second floor. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up from the ground despite the excruciating pain and limped toward the villa’s main gate. I couldn’t let them catch me! Absolutely not! Rain poured down, instantly drenching me. The pain in my ankle made every step feel like walking on knife points, but I didn’t dare stop. Behind me, I heard the villa’s main door being violently pushed open. Ethan, holding an umbrella and accompanied by several bodyguards, rushed into the rain. “Catch her! Don’t let her get away!” Ethan’s voice sounded especially vicious in the thunderstorm. I clenched my teeth and desperately ran toward the mountain road. I knew that if I could just reach the road and flag down a car, I’d be saved. But my ankle had swollen like a bun, and I was getting slower and slower. Just as the bodyguards were about to catch up, a black SUV suddenly burst around the corner, its blinding high beams forcing everyone to shield their eyes. The SUV screeched to a stop in front of me, and the door flew open. “Get in!” A deep, powerful male voice rang out. I didn’t have time to think. I scrambled into the car. The SUV roared like a wild beast and shot forward like an arrow, leaving Ethan and the bodyguards far behind. The car’s heater was on. I collapsed in the back seat, soaking wet, gasping for air. “Thank you…” I said weakly. The man in the driver’s seat handed me a clean towel, his voice cold and hard. “Dry yourself off.” I took the towel and, by the light of the streetlamps outside, got a clear look at the man’s profile. His features were chiseled, sharp as if carved by a blade. His eyes were keen as an eagle’s. He radiated the aura of someone battle-hardened. “Who are you? Why did you save me?” I asked warily. The man didn’t turn around, only saying flatly, “I was asked to do a job. Crete sent me to pick you up.” Hearing Crete’s name, my taut nerves finally relaxed. I leaned back against the seat, closed my eyes, and let exhaustion and pain wash over me. Ethan, we’ll settle our accounts slowly.

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When I found out the investor was Lincoln, I knew I was going to lose to Mia. She was Lincoln’s first love—the one he could never forget. After the meeting ended, Lincoln chose Mia’s proposal, just as I expected. Mia looked at me and sneered, “Even if you’re his wife, in his heart, I’ll always come first.” “Everything you schemed so hard to get comes effortlessly to me.” She and I had been rivals since our student days, ever since her mother stole my father. And she could just as easily occupy Lincoln’s heart. I glanced wearily at Lincoln in the distance, suddenly unwilling to fight Mia anymore. This time, I was giving up on him. Between Lincoln and my career, I chose my career. The company’s new investor caused quite a stir among the young women because he was incredibly handsome. The investor was Lincoln, my husband. The moment I learned this news, I knew my competition with Mia was already lost. In the break room, my colleagues were gossiping about the new investor. “This investor is the CEO of Zenith Group, the heir to the company—Lincoln himself.” “If our team’s design catches his eye, we won’t have to worry about performance metrics going forward.” “I bet Mia’s team will get it. I heard that Lincoln’s first love is Mia.” “Mia and Lincoln were college classmates, each other’s first love. Lincoln’s investment this time is all for Mia.” Hearing these words made my heart tighten. I returned to my office feeling lost. News that Lincoln was the investor had already spread throughout the company. The director called Mia and me to his office. “Jane, Mia.” “The investor for our project is Lincoln from Zenith Group. You two will each lead your teams to design a proposal. Submit them in one month.” The director looked at Mia with meaningful appreciation he couldn’t hide. It seemed he too had heard those rumors and understood why Lincoln had chosen our company. Before I even left the office, I knew our team’s design proposal would be a waste of effort. Competing against Mia, I’d likely just be there to make up the numbers. Outside the office, Mia stopped. We stood facing each other. I met her gaze. She smiled slightly. Her smile was triumphant and bold. “Jane, may the best woman win.” Yet her demeanor showed absolute confidence in victory. Because she knew very well that between her and me, Lincoln would definitely choose her. Watching her walk away with her head held high, I turned and left. The design department erupted in excitement. If my team’s design proposal was rejected, I’d spend the next period working under Mia, swallowing my pride and accepting all her guidance. I didn’t want to humble myself under her. Before the end of the workday, everyone gathered around Mia, praising her endlessly. “Mia, you’re amazing.” I made eye contact with Mia through the crowd. She was surrounded, the center of attention. Compared to her, my corner seemed cold and desolate. I stood alone in the corner, no one beside me. She smiled at me, lips pressed together. I looked away, put on my coat, and walked out.

Lincoln came home. His expression was its usual cool indifference. I still couldn’t help but ask. “Lincoln, you invested in our company?” Lincoln looked up at the sound. He met my eyes briefly, his expression bland, and hummed softly in acknowledgment. I continued asking, “Why did you choose our company?” I used a joking tone, “Will you give me special treatment?” Lincoln’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression serious. There wasn’t a trace of amusement in his eyes. After a moment’s thought, he said, “This was a decision by the company’s senior management.” “The proposal isn’t my decision alone.” The implication was that even being his wife didn’t matter. I didn’t ask any more questions. He was always this cold and distant, following his own rules and logic, never willing to make exceptions for me. And I always humiliated myself hoping to become his exception. Lincoln turned and left, entering his study. The study door wasn’t completely closed. I could hear him talking on the phone. The voice on the other end was Mia’s. Lincoln occasionally laughed softly in response to Mia. After hanging up, he pushed open the study door. He walked to the entryway and grabbed his coat from the rack. Putting on his overcoat and changing into dress shoes. He straightened up and said to me, “I have a business dinner tonight. I’m going out.” I nodded. Lincoln was extremely handsome, with deep-set features, a high-bridged nose, and thin lips. The dark overcoat over his perfectly fitted suit made his figure even more imposing. He disappeared through the front door. He came home very late that night. The words I wanted to ask died in my throat after seeing the post Mia shared on social media. Mia’s post showed a group photo. Four people in the photo: Mia, Lincoln, and two of their college classmates. Seeing this photo, I realized I didn’t need to ask that question. I wanted to ask Lincoln if he would favor Mia. I knew he would. I used to leave a light on for Lincoln when he came home late from business dinners. After turning off the light, I slept soundly. When I woke up, Lincoln and I didn’t run into each other. We each went to our respective companies. Everyone in our design department fawned over Mia, orbiting around her. Everyone knew that without Mia, Lincoln wouldn’t have chosen our company. My conflict with Mia was my own business. My colleagues only needed to care about their year-end bonuses and whether performance targets would be met. Today Lincoln appeared at the company as the investor. The director called Mia over. When Mia returned, everyone’s eyes were on her. “Mia, is Mr. Lincoln intimidating?” Mia’s lips curved slightly, her answer vague and ambiguous. “Mr. Lincoln and I have known each other for quite a while. He’s not intimidating.” “Everyone can relax.” Several people exchanged glances and smiled knowingly. I had already clicked the link and read through Mia and Lincoln’s love story once. If I weren’t Lincoln’s wife, I too would sigh about how beautiful young love was. Unfortunately, reading the love story between Lincoln and Mia compiled by their college alumni, I could only feel heartache. Mia still had a social media account from her college days that she hadn’t deleted. It was full of posts documenting their relationship. I masochistically scrolled through all these posts. The more I read, the more I realized Lincoln had truly loved her. Lincoln would patiently read through each of her posts, then comment and like them. And it was Lincoln who had pursued Mia first. It took me a whole year to pursue Lincoln. When I learned that Lincoln’s ex-girlfriend was Mia, a flash of satisfaction crossed my mind—a sense of revenge against Mia. But I quickly realized I had lost completely. That Lincoln still had his ex-girlfriend in his heart was utter humiliation to me. This let Mia gain another advantage over me.

Mia and I had been rivals since middle school. We were like fire and water, incompatible. Her mother had wormed her way into my family, and my mother became depressed and attempted suicide. I nearly lost my mother. In high school, we ended up at the same school again. She was one point short of getting into First High. My father, Jason, pulled strings to get her in. That year in high school, Mom went abroad. I stayed at the Jane house. I thought if I went too far, Mia and her mother would know when to back off. My methods weren’t sophisticated—rather stupid, actually. I poured ink into their cups. I was afraid they’d actually drink it, so I used colored black ink. I just wanted to scare them, to establish my authority in front of Mia. Unexpectedly, Mia complained to Jason, whose face darkened as he scolded me with furrowed brows. I hated them but didn’t dare do anything truly excessive. And everything I did only made Jason feel he’d wronged them. After high school graduation, Mia and I finally weren’t at the same school. What made me completely give up on Jason was during my first winter break in college, when Jason brought Mia to a gala. He didn’t deny that Mia was his daughter. He even wanted Mia to take the Jane surname. I told him that if he let Mia take the Jane surname, I would change mine to my mother’s maiden name. His eyes filled with fury as he looked at me, his arm raised in midair about to strike me. But a tall figure blocked it. That person was Lincoln. After graduation, I encountered Lincoln again. I pursued him for a whole year. Just when I was about to give up, he relented. It wasn’t until after marriage that I learned Mia was his ex-girlfriend. And that Lincoln had visited the Jane house as Mia’s boyfriend to meet Jason. So when Jason learned I had married Lincoln, his face darkened, clutching his chest, barely able to breathe. “Did you do this on purpose?” “You knew full well that Mr. Lincoln was Mia’s ex-boyfriend, yet you still married him?” I was stunned for a long while. During New Year’s, I didn’t want to return to the Jane house, but Lincoln insisted on taking me back. At the Jane house, Mia and I got into another conflict. We fell in the Jane house courtyard. Lincoln reacted quickly, striding forward to catch Mia. I took a fall. At the hospital, I stubbornly asked Lincoln with red eyes why he didn’t catch me. He cut fruit with an indifferent expression. “I didn’t see.” When Lincoln left the hospital room, Mia came to see me. She smiled as she looked at me lying in the hospital bed, recounting everything about her and Lincoln in college. In her telling, it was a side of Lincoln I didn’t know. My heart constricted. After I was discharged, Mia and I crossed paths again. We even ended up working at the same company. She and I competed neck and neck, neither willing to submit to the other. She wore the identity of Jason’s daughter, making the director treat her with utmost respect. Now she had an additional identity—the heir’s ex-girlfriend. Everyone fawned over her even more. I knew my design proposal would most likely be rejected in the end, but I still led my team working overtime, rushing to complete the design proposal.

A month later, I walked into the conference room with the proposal. Everyone was present except Mia. She arrived with Lincoln. Light fell perfectly on the two of them. Lincoln occasionally bowed his head, accommodating Mia’s height to hear her speak. The man’s profile was illuminated, his features sharp and defined. His eyes were dark, his smile faint. In that unintentional moment our eyes met, I wanted to read something different in his gaze. But there was nothing—still the same cool indifference. The lottery determined the presentation order. I was before Mia. I calmly took the stage and opened my PowerPoint presentation. I explained all my design concepts and inspiration. During the presentation, I was completely focused. When I stepped down, sparse applause sounded. The most enthusiastic applause came from Nora, a young woman who had been interning with me since graduation. Lincoln showed no expression. No one could read his thoughts. The director tried to gauge the meaning in his expression with sidelong glances. It was Mia’s turn to present. She naturally made eye contact with Lincoln. They smiled at each other. Colleagues below exchanged glances with gossipy smiles. Nora leaned close to me and whispered, “Jane, is our team’s proposal going to be rejected?” I pulled at the corners of my mouth, forcing a strained smile. After Mia’s presentation ended, her applause was clearly much louder than mine. The director enthusiastically applauded her. Lincoln’s lips curved slightly upward. There was a thirty-minute break midway. Recently, I’d been caught up in the rumors about Lincoln and Mia, barely able to breathe. The way he looked at me was too cold, making my heart tighten. Through office gossip, I learned more about Lincoln and Mia’s past. Lincoln had actively pursued Mia. He unfailingly walked her back to her dorm and brought her breakfast. All their classmates at Preston University knew how much Lincoln loved Mia. I sat motionless in my chair. Watching Lincoln and Mia walk out side by side, my nose tingled. The man I’d schemed so hard to get held my most hated person in his heart. Only Nora and I remained in the conference room. Nora held my hand. The thirty minutes ended. The results were in. Lincoln and the Zenith Group team had already left. Our director announced the results. Three votes total. All three votes went to Mia. When the results were announced, my eyes stung, welling with tears. I forcibly held back those tears. The director and Mia exchanged glances, expressing his approval. Several colleagues surrounded Mia. “Mia, you’re incredible.” I left with a lonely silhouette. But Mia chased after me. “Jane.” I stopped. Her eyes curved in a smile. “Even if you’re his wife, in his heart I’ll always come first.” “Everything you schemed so hard to get comes effortlessly to me.” Yes, at fourteen, Mia could easily take Jason’s love for me. Now she could occupy Lincoln’s heart too. In the distance, Lincoln was ushered into the elevator by the director, his posture lazy and casual. Suddenly I felt exhausted. I didn’t want to fight Mia anymore. I didn’t want Lincoln either. The elevator stood still. The director, very observant, quickly called out for Mia and me to enter the elevator together. The elevator slowly descended. The director kissed up to Lincoln. “Mr. Lincoln, you and Miss Mia are a perfect match. Made for each other.” Others chimed in. “Exactly. I heard Mr. Lincoln and Miss Mia are already married. Mr. Lincoln really dotes on his wife, specifically choosing our company for Miss Mia.” I numbly listened to these flattering words, unable to summon any reaction. Sensing a covert but burning gaze from beside me, I looked over. Lincoln’s face stiffened. The director nudged my arm, hinting that I should say something too. “Jane, don’t you agree? Mr. Lincoln and Miss Mia are such a perfect match.” The elevator doors opened. I calmly met Lincoln’s eyes. “Indeed, a perfect match.” Panic flashed in his normally indifferent eyes, his thin lips parting as if to say something.

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