Category: English

I took the HR job at my wife’s company without telling her. On my third day, while navigating the employee portal, a wedding PTO request popped up in the queue. I clicked it. The co-applicants listed: my wife, Lauren, and a junior employee named Beckett. Using my administrator credentials, I pulled up Beckett’s file. The headshot showed a sharp, pretty boy with clean-cut features. His title: Executive Assistant to the Director of Marketing. Lauren’s assistant. I searched his name on Instagram. His profile was wide open. His latest post was from yesterday. A pre-wedding portrait. Lauren, radiant in a cascading white lace gown, her arms wrapped around him from behind. The caption: “The rest of my life starts with you, Mrs. Beckett.” I scrolled back to the portal, my cursor hovering over the blue “Approve” button. I clicked. [Request Status: Approved.] Have a wonderful wedding, Lauren. I personally cleared your schedule for it. … Our company-wide Slack channel lit up. It was Beckett. He posted a digital invite—elegant gold foil on deep crimson—with a link to their wedding website. Right below it was the same photo of Lauren hugging him, laughing like she’d never known a single sorrow. The channel erupted. “Congratulations, Lauren! He’s gorgeous!” “What a beautiful couple. Made for each other!” “Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!” The notifications cascaded down my screen, each chime a tiny, jagged twist in my chest. I stared blankly at the glass screen, watching my coworkers shower them with digital confetti. My wife, Lauren, was planning to marry another man in front of everyone we worked with. Before the thought could fully form, the heavy glass door of the HR suite swung open. Beckett walked in, carrying a large silver platter of high-end wedding chocolates, his face glowing with a sheer, untouchable happiness. “Hey everyone, grab some sugar! Help me celebrate,” his voice was bright, buoyant with the kind of joy you couldn’t fake. The team flocked to him, laughing, offering congratulations as they took handfuls of truffles. Beckett worked his way through the room, eventually stopping right in front of my desk. He set a physical, gold-embossed invitation and a small bag of dark chocolates on my keyboard. “You have to come, Luke,” he said, giving me a warm, earnest smile. I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Congratulations.” I picked up a chocolate, unwrapped the foil, and popped it into my mouth. It was sickeningly sweet. “Oh, wow, Beckett, that’s gorgeous. Is that an emerald?” one of my colleagues asked, pointing to a vintage-style emerald signet cuff on his wrist. Beckett blushed, touching the green stone gently. “Yeah, Lauren gave it to me. She said it brings out my eyes, and that I’m one of the few people who can pull off vintage gold.” The chocolate in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash. That cuff was my first-anniversary gift to Lauren. Three months ago, she came back from a business trip and told me she’d lost it at a hotel. She had cried, blaming herself, promising she’d find a way to make it up to me. She hadn’t lost it. She’d given it to him. Beckett shifted his hand, and the platinum wedding band on his ring finger caught the fluorescent light. “And she designed this ring herself,” he continued, holding his hand up. “My name is Beckett—like a little brook—so she had this ‘Water Lily’ motif engraved around the band. See how the petals flow? It’s completely custom.” The office sighed in unison. “Lauren is so incredibly romantic.” “Seriously. A woman who puts that much thought into things? You hit the jackpot.” I remembered asking Lauren for a custom ring of our own years ago. “We’re already married, Luke,” she had snapped, not even looking up from her iPad. “Why waste money on sentimental garbage?” Beckett kept talking, his face flushed with the thrill of being loved. “She’s always so busy, but she still drives twenty minutes out of her way just to bring me those warm pistachio croissants from that bakery near the old district.” That bakery was directly below my apartment. I had asked her a hundred times to grab a box on her way home. “It’s too far,” she’d tell me, her voice dripping with irritation. “I’m not fighting traffic for a pastry.” From the office to our place, and from the office to Beckett’s apartment, were in completely opposite directions. It wasn’t the traffic she hated. It was me. “She told me that once we’re married, I’ll handle all the finances. She wants me to have total control of the estate.” Meanwhile, my salary had been directly deposited into our joint account, managed entirely by her, since our third week of marriage. She’d told me that a stable household required a single hand on the wheel. I stared at this young, blissfully ignorant boy. The sweeter his stories, the tighter the knot in my throat became. “Luke? You okay?” Beckett asked, noticing my silence. I forced a thin, hollow smile. “Lauren is a remarkable woman. You two deserve everything.” “Thanks, man. Really appreciate it.” When I got home that evening, the smell of garlic and rosemary hit me. Lauren was standing by the stove, wearing an apron, humming to herself. When she heard the door click, she poked her head out, her face bright with a domestic warmth I hadn’t seen in months. “You’re home! Wash your hands, dinner’s almost ready.” She brought out a plate of honey-glazed pork chops. My favorite. Or, at least, what she thought was my favorite. “Made your favorite tonight. Dig in.” I set my bag down and went into the bathroom. I turned on the faucet, letting the rushing water drown out the sudden, violent urge to throw up. When I sat down, Lauren had already plated the food. “How’s the job hunt going?” she asked, putting a piece of asparagus on my plate. She asked this every single day. It used to feel like support. Now, it felt like surveillance. “Still looking,” I said, pushing the rice around with my fork. “No rush.” “Take your time. There’s no pressure. I can support us.” I almost laughed out loud. Support us. On the two hundred dollars of “allowance” she transferred to my personal account every month, while Beckett wore a vintage emerald cuff that would have taken me two years of saving to buy. Lauren put her fork down. “Oh, by the way. Quick heads-up.” “Yeah?” “The firm is sending me to Miami for a conference. I’ll be gone about two weeks.” I looked up at her. “Two weeks? That’s long.” “I know, but we have a major account launching there. It’s crucial.” She lied with a flawless, practiced ease. “When do you leave?” “Tomorrow morning.” I nodded. “Are you packed? Do you need help?” “No, I’ve got it.” She placed a pork chop on my plate. “Eat up. You’ve been looking so thin lately.” The glistening meat sat on my plate, making my stomach churn. It was Beckett’s favorite. But I was severely allergic to pork. I set my fork down, the metal clinking against the ceramic. Lauren’s brow furrowed, the warm wife persona instantly evaporating. “What’s wrong? You didn’t even touch it.” “I’m just tired today, Lauren.” “Tired?” She let out a sharp, dry laugh. “You sit at home all day job hunting and you’re tired? I work a fifty-hour week, come home, make you a scratch dinner, and I’m not complaining.” I looked at her, truly looked at her, and felt a cold wave of estrangement. Who was this woman? When did she become so cruel? “Lauren, when was the last time we actually talked?” She blinked, then waved her hand dismissively, clearly annoyed. “What is there to talk about? We’re talking right now.” “I have a million things to handle at the office, and then I have to come home and cater to your moods. What more do you want from me?” “Stop being so ungrateful, Luke.” I didn’t say another word. I just watched her. She paced between the living room and the bedroom, tossing linen shirts and light t-shirts onto the bed. “It’s Miami, so just light stuff,” she muttered to herself, not looking at me. “Yeah,” I murmured, my eyes falling on the sleek, silver suitcase sitting open on the floor. “New suitcase?” “Oh. Yeah. The wheel on my old one broke.” She zipped up a compartment. “Picked it up during lunch.” I walked over to the bed, picking up a white linen button-down she was about to pack. “There’s a smudge on the collar of this one. You should swap it.” I tossed it back into the closet and pulled out a fresh, pressed white shirt instead. She paused, looking at me with a fleeting, unreadable expression. She didn’t say anything, just took the fresh shirt and packed it away. “Did you pack your stomach meds?” I asked. “Your acid reflux has been bad.” “Yeah, I have them. Go to sleep, Luke. My flight is early.” The next morning, before the sun had even cleared the horizon, the wheels of her new suitcase clicked against our hardwood floor as she left. I waited five minutes, grabbed my car keys, and followed her. She drove at a steady, leisurely pace, but she didn’t head toward the airport. Instead, she took the highway south, eventually turning into a luxury gated community called Amberley Estates. I parked across the street, watching her car disappear into the underground parking structure. Ten minutes later, she walked out of the elevator lobby. She was wearing the white linen shirt I had chosen for her, but her suitcase was gone. The glass doors of the building opened. Beckett came running out, wearing a sharp, tailored white suit, his face beaming as he took her hand. So this was her real home. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a Slack message from the CEO, Mr. Davis. “Luke, can you post an announcement to the general channel?” “To celebrate Lauren’s upcoming wedding, the company will be closed next Monday so everyone can attend. Hotel details and registry info to follow from Lauren shortly.” I sat in my car, my fingers hovering over the phone screen. I opened the main company channel with three hundred employees. I copied, pasted, and hit send. The channel immediately exploded with replies. “Wow! A paid day off! Thanks, Mr. Davis!” “Double win! A wedding and a free Monday!” “Congratulations, Lauren! So happy for you two!” “See you guys on Monday!” I watched the messages scroll by, then typed my own response: “Congratulations, Lauren. Wishing you two the absolute best.” Beckett replied with a blushing emoji. “Thank you so much, everyone!” Then Lauren jumped in. “Thank you, Mr. Davis, and thanks to my amazing team. Can’t wait to celebrate with you all on Monday.” I locked my phone, put the car in drive, and went home. Back to the house we had shared for three years. Monday arrived. I wore my best black suit, pairing it with a dark, muted tie. I stood in front of the mirror, combing my hair back until it was perfectly neat. The wedding was at the St. Regis, the most expensive hotel in the city. In the lobby, a massive, soft-lit portrait of Lauren and Beckett greeted the guests. Beckett’s parents stood near the entrance, radiant with pride, welcoming everyone. One of my HR team members, Drew, was managing the guest book. When he saw me, he froze. “Luke… you’re here.” I nodded, sliding a thick, heavy envelope onto the table. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” Without waiting for his response, I walked into the grand ballroom. The room was nearly packed with our coworkers. The atmosphere was loud, celebratory, and buzzing. I found a quiet table in the back corner. It was empty. Shortly after, Lauren’s parents arrived, ushered in by Beckett’s family. Lauren’s mother, Lydia, wore an elegant designer sheath dress, her face flushed with excitement. The ceremony was scheduled for 11:18 AM. The house lights dimmed. The music swelled, and a warm spotlight focused on the heavy double doors at the back of the room. The officiant’s voice echoed over the speakers. “Welcome, friends and family. Today, we gather to celebrate a love that feels destined.” Beckett stood at the altar in his white tuxedo, a brilliant, nervous smile on his face as he stared down the aisle. The doors swung open. Lauren, breathtaking in a sweeping white gown, walked down the carpet, her arm linked with her father’s. The room erupted into applause. At the table next to mine, two marketing executives whispered. “He’s so handsome. Lauren really hit the jackpot.” “I heard she paid for the whole thing herself. That tuxedo alone is bespoke Italian silk. Must’ve cost a fortune.” Lauren’s father, Gregory, placed her hand in Beckett’s, whispering a brief blessing. Beckett nodded, his eyes shining as he led her up the steps to the altar. They stood hand-in-hand. The officiant spoke again. “Before they take their vows, let’s take a look at the screen behind them to celebrate their journey together.” The massive projector screen at the back of the stage flickered to life. On stage, Lauren turned to look at the screen, and in that instant, every ounce of color drained from her face.

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On the day of my graduation, Larry had just slipped a simple silver band onto my ring finger when my phone buzzed. It was an email from a scrambled, unrecognizable address. The subject line read: From Ten Years in the Future. Amused and assuming it was some elaborate graduation prank, I typed out a quick reply: “Will Larry and I be happy? What about Cathy, my best friend? Will the two of us stay friends forever?” The response came almost instantly. “According to your current timeline, Larry has already been sleeping with Cathy for a year.” “Everyone knows. Even your mother.” “After you marry him, he will give you a thousand dollars a month for groceries while wire-transferring ten thousand to her.” “You will suffer three miscarriages, all because of him and Cathy.” “And you will only discover the truth on the day they celebrate their tenth anniversary of being together.” The final email contained only a single sentence. I stared at the screen, my entire body beginning to tremble. “I beg you, don’t marry him. The doctor says I only have a month left.” … Seeing me frozen in place with my eyes locked on the screen, Larry smiled, wrapping an arm around my waist. “What’s got you so mesmerized, babe?” I forced myself back to reality, locking my phone. “Nothing. Just a rejection letter from another firm.” He let out a soft laugh. “That’s their loss. You’re too good for them anyway. Besides, we already agreed we’re starting at the firm together.” I managed a tight smile but said nothing. Just then, Cathy ran over, her white sundress fluttering in the June breeze. She was holding a bouquet of baby’s breath. “Diana! Come on, we need to get our graduation photos before the light fades!” She grinned, grabbing my arm, before casting a playful glance at Larry. “I suppose I’ll let you be our photographer. But if they’re blurry, I’m throwing a punch.” She raised a small, clenched fist toward his chest. Usually, when they acted like oil and water, I would step in to play the peacemaker. But with the weight of that email sitting like lead in my chest, I simply watched. Larry offered a lazy, slow curl of his lips. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist as he drew out his words. “Is that so? I’d actually love to see you try.” Cathy’s cheeks flushed a sudden, deep crimson. She yanked her hand back, huffing. “Don’t touch me with your gross hands. Come on, Diana, let’s go.” Later, during a break in our photo session in the empty classrooms, I excused myself to use the restroom. As I walked back down the quiet hallway and reached for the classroom door, voices drifted through the slightly open gap. “Larry, this ten-carat diamond ring is so gorgeous. I love it. Why didn’t you get Diana one too? We’re best friends, we should have matching ones.” I heard the rustle of clothing, and then Larry’s voice, soft and indulgent—the tone he reserved for things he truly cherished. “Silly. You forgot? I’m playing the broke college grad around her. Besides, this was custom-made just for you. It’s one of a kind.” I looked down at the cheap, plain silver band on my finger. The cold metal suddenly felt like a brand. I stood there for a long moment, forcing a slow, quiet breath into my lungs, before pushing the door open. At the sound of the hinges creaking, Larry’s hand snapped away from Cathy’s shoulder. To celebrate our graduation, the group went out for dinner and drinks that evening. Sitting at the loud, crowded table, my phone vibrated in my lap. Another email. “Don’t listen to what they say. Watch what they do.” I didn’t quite understand the warning until someone at the table suggested a game of Truth or Dare. Larry drew a card: Do ten squats while bridal-carrying the second person to your left. I was sitting directly to his left. Cathy was sitting to mine. The second person to his left was Cathy. A chorus of whistles and suggestive laughter erupted from our friends. Cathy rolled her eyes, her brow furrowing in apparent disgust. “Ugh, what a stupid game. As if I’d want you touching me. Don’t worry, Diana, I’ll make sure he pays for this.” Larry chuckled, casting a brief, reassuring look at me. “Just a game, babe. Don’t be jealous.” He walked over and lifted Cathy into his arms. The fit was seamless, their bodies pressing together in an intimate, familiar alignment. Cathy’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her fingers burying slightly into his collar. When he finished, Larry laughed off the tension, complaining that she was heavy and wiping sweat from his forehead. But I noticed his ears were burning red. Cathy sniffed. “I’m the one who’s disgusted. Diana, I’m going to the restroom to wash off this cheap cologne.” They left the table—one after the other—with a practiced, silent coordination. My phone buzzed again. “Do you know? When I found his old journal years later, I learned that during that graduation dinner, when they took forever to return, they were in the empty private dining room next door…” I stood up, claiming I needed to use the restroom. The friends at the table tried to stop me. “Wait for Larry to get back, Diana. It’s crowded tonight, don’t go alone.” I offered them a calm, reassuring smile. “Actually, I’m feeling a bit under the weather. I think I’m going to slip out and head home early. Can you let them know for me?” They looked visibly relieved, nodding quickly. I walked down the hallway, keeping my footsteps light against the carpet. The restaurant’s bass-heavy music muffled the ambient noise, but as I passed the dark, vacant private room next door, I stopped. Through the narrow crack in the doorframe, under the dim amber light, I saw them. Cathy was pressed against the wall, her lips parted, her tongue sliding against his in a deep, desperate kiss. Larry’s hand was locked at the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her in with a hunger I had never seen in him. When I finally stepped out into the cool night air, a text message from my mother popped up. A few days ago, she had been ecstatic about booking the flights for our post-grad trip. I hadn’t received the confirmation email yet, assuming she was still waiting on a deal. “Diana, I could only get three tickets—one for me, one for Larry, and one for Cathy. There weren’t any left for you. See if you can get yourself on the standby list.” I stared at the glowing screen. A cold, hollow realization settled over me: I was the outsider in my own life. We had planned this trip for months. Cathy was the one who had suggested bringing my mother along, and my mother had happily volunteered to handle the bookings. My parents had divorced when I was young, and Cathy, who lived across the hall, had practically grown up in our home since middle school. We were a trio. Or so I had believed. My phone vibrated again. Larry was calling. “Why didn’t you wait for me, babe? I wanted to drive you home.” His voice was still so tender. It brought back memories of our high school graduation, of him standing under the streetlights, face flushed as he confessed his love. Throughout our four years of college, he had always played the protective boyfriend. When a stranger had followed me to my dorm, Larry had taken a blow from a metal pipe to protect me. He had never missed an anniversary, always scraping together whatever money he had to buy me a thoughtful gift. “Protecting my girl is just what I do,” he used to say, flashing that boyish grin. In our junior year, I had finally introduced him to Cathy. From their very first meeting, they seemed to detest one another. Larry had grumbled, “Is she going to steal all your attention from me? No way.” Cathy had laughed it off, asking me where on earth I had found such a hopelessly devoted simp. The morning after the graduation dinner, I was carrying the last of my things down from the dorm lobby when I ran into Cathy. She was in a foul mood, muttering about how Larry had dumped her at the campus gates the night before and made her walk the rest of the way. I said nothing. Outside, Larry’s car was idling. Cathy pulled open the rear door and slid inside, muttering that she was going to sleep. A couple of underclassmen walked past us, gossiping loudly. “Did you hear? Last night, near the woods behind the dorms, someone was making out so loud you could hear it from the path.” Larry, who was loading my suitcases into the trunk, froze for a fraction of a second. As I sat in the passenger seat, I adjusted the sun visor to check my makeup. Through the compact mirror, I watched them. Larry handed me a bottle of water, his eyes automatically darting to the rearview mirror to meet Cathy’s gaze. She made a childish face at him, and his lips curved into a private, knowing smile. When we got home, my mother was waiting. We had always kept a guest bedroom ready for Cathy. Before bed, my mother brought a warm glass of milk to my room. Her eyes lingered on my face a second longer than usual. “You’ve had a stressful week, sweetheart. Drink this and get some sleep.” I smiled, taking the glass. “Thanks, Mom. I will.” The moment she closed the door, my hand hesitated. Remembering the email, I walked over to the windowsill and slowly poured every drop of the milk into the soil of a large succulent, using a small spade to cover the wet dirt with fresh soil. My mother had sacrificed a lot to raise me. She had always seemed to give me whatever I asked for. But after everything I had seen, I couldn’t afford to trust blindly anymore. I lay down on the bed, keeping my breathing slow and even, pretending to be asleep. After what felt like hours, my bedroom door creaked open. Footsteps approached, stopping right beside my bed. Someone stood there, watching me in the darkness, before quietly slipping back out and shutting the door. A moment later, muffled, hushed voices drifted from the living room. I slipped out of bed, my bare feet making no sound on the floor, and pressed my ear against the wood of the door. “Is she asleep?” Cathy’s voice was a soft whisper. “She drank it. She’s out cold—I made sure to put a sleeping aid in her milk,” my mother replied, her voice chillingly calm. “Keep your voices down. Don’t wake her.” My heart gave a violent, painful squeeze. Larry’s voice rose, carrying a trace of hesitation. “Do we really have to go through with this? Is there no other way?” “Didn’t you promise me we’d celebrate after we registered the marriage license tomorrow?” Cathy’s voice turned into a whiny, petulant pout. “You said you’d make it up to me.” “But…” “Larry,” Cathy cut him off, her tone shifting. “Think about it. If she doesn’t get hurt, we marry tomorrow and we don’t even get to go on a honeymoon? She’ll expect you to spend all your time with her.” A long silence stretched over the apartment. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,” Larry finally sighed. “Tomorrow, Diana and I will go to the old bookstore downtown,” Cathy said, her voice turning sweet again. “Is that place safe? Don’t make it too serious. We don’t want a real tragedy,” Larry warned. My mother’s voice joined back in. “I’ll pretend I know nothing tomorrow. Just be careful, both of you.” I leaned my forehead against the cold wood of the door, my fingernails digging into my palms until they nearly drew blood. The mother who had fought a bitter, years-long custody battle against my father to keep me, the woman I had trusted with my entire life, was quietly conspiring with my boyfriend and my best friend to stage an accident so they could run off on a honeymoon. I took a slow, deep breath, walked back to my bed, and closed my eyes. The next morning, I intentionally stayed in bed until nearly noon. When I finally walked into the living room, they were already waiting. Larry and Cathy were sitting side-by-side on the sofa, while my mother hummed a tune in the kitchen. They looked radiant—no doubt because they had already made a trip to the courthouse that morning to sign their marriage certificate. Seeing me, Cathy jumped up with a bright smile. “Diana! Come to the old bookstore with me? I really want to find a copy of that vintage art monograph.” “Sure,” I smiled back. “Let’s go.” Larry offered to drive us. He parked outside the shop and stayed in the car, claiming he had some emails to reply to. The old bookstore was a dusty, two-story labyrinth. Cathy led the way toward the creaky wooden staircase that led to the second-floor loft. I followed a few steps behind, watching her closely. She climbed halfway up, then suddenly let out a sharp gasp, her body tilting backward as her arms flailed wildly, reaching out to grab my collar. Having prepared for this, I kept my hand locked tightly around the solid iron banister. I pressed my back flat against the wall, giving her absolutely no leverage. Cathy’s hands grabbed empty air. Losing her balance completely, she tumbled backward down the wooden stairs, landing hard on the floorboards with a sickening thud and a scream of genuine pain. Hearing the commotion, Larry burst through the front door. His eyes scanned the room, bypassing me entirely to land on Cathy writhing on the floor. He looked up at me, his eyes blazing with a raw, unscripted fury. “Why didn’t you catch her? You just stood there and watched her fall?” I stood on the stairs, looking down at him, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “Larry, whose boyfriend are you? You didn’t even ask if I was okay before accusing me. If someone walked in right now, they’d think you were the one married to her.” He froze, a sudden flicker of panic and guilt crossing his face. Cathy whimpered from the floor, clutching her ankle. “It hurts so much, Larry… my leg…” Larry immediately knelt beside her, lifting her into his arms with practiced care, and carried her out to the car. He didn’t look back at me once. At the hospital, Larry was a whirlwind of anxiety. He handled the registration, paid the bills, and wheeled her to the radiology department, showing far more concern than a friend of the family ever should. In his panic, he completely forgot to play the role of the broke college kid. I leaned against the wall outside the examination room, my arms crossed, watching his frantic movements with a cold, steady gaze. Sensing my eyes on him, he finally seemed to realize his mistake. He walked over, rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish smile plastered on his face. “She’s your best friend, Diana. I know how much you care about her. I just wanted to make sure everything was handled so you wouldn’t have to worry.” I almost laughed. His acting was usually seamless, but today, he had overplayed his hand. I turned around, walked out of the hospital lobby, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. After a few rings, my father’s voice came through the line, thick with disbelief and hope. “Diana? You’re actually calling me.” “Dad,” I said, staring at my reflection in the glass doors of the hospital exit. “That offer to join the company in London—does it still stand?” “Of course. Anytime you want, sweetheart.” “Set it up,” I said. “As fast as you can.”

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On the day we met to discuss the wedding, my parents wore clothes they had bought just for the occasion. We sat in the private dining room of a high-end French restaurant, waiting. Three hours passed before my fiancé, Elliott, and his parents finally showed up. The moment his mother, Victoria, sat down, she pointed at the bowl of wild mushroom consommé in the center of the table and looked at my mother. “Freda’s mother, dear, would you mind ladling some soup for me? This silk dress is custom Valentino. I can’t risk getting a drop of grease on it.” Her tone was casually dismissive, the way one might address a hired maid. My temper flared, but Elliott caught my hand under the table, squeezing it gently. “Freda, relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Your mom is a housekeeper; she’s used to serving. She’s quick on her feet. My mom’s never lifted a finger in her life. It’s just a hand. Don’t be so sensitive.” My mother froze. She blinked, a shadow of embarrassment crossing her face, before she quickly wiped her hands on her stiff, new skirt. Forcing a polite smile, she stood up. “It’s fine, really. I’ve got it.” She carefully spooned the soup, ensuring the ladle didn’t drip, and offered the bowl with both hands. Victoria didn’t even look up. She poked at the liquid with her silver spoon, her brow furrowing in deep distaste. “You didn’t even strain the herbs? Elliott has a delicate stomach. He can’t possibly drink this with bits floating in it.” My mother stood frozen, the color draining from her face. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, looking utterly terrified of having caused offense. “Let me… let me get another bowl and strain it…” Watching her stand there, so small and desperate to please, a sharp, burning ache rose in my chest. I stood up, pulled my mother back into her seat, and grabbed the bowl of soup. Without another word, I dumped it directly into the trash can by the sideboard. While Victoria gasped in shocked outrage, I turned my gaze to Elliott. I felt entirely cold, entirely calm. “Elliott,” I said, “the wedding is off.” ······ 1 Silence fell over the room, heavy and absolute, lasting for three long seconds. Victoria was the first to break it, her face twisting into an expression that suggested she had just heard a ridiculous joke. “What did you just say? Do you have any idea how many girls from the best families are practically lining up to marry into our family?” “Mom,” Elliott interrupted. He stood up and walked over to my side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He leaned in, his voice dropping into that sweet, cajoling tone he used whenever he wanted to charm me. “Freda, sweetheart, stop making a scene, okay? I know my mom can be insensitive. I’ll talk to her later.” His hand was warm, his thumb gently rubbing my shoulder, like he was soothing a stray cat that had bared its claws. In our three years together, this was always his move when I got angry. And every single time, I had softened. But not today. I pulled away from his touch, refusing to look at him. “Elliott, you just said my mom is ‘used to serving people’ and ‘quick on her feet.’ Do you honestly think there’s nothing wrong with that sentence?” He blinked, then let out a heavy, weary sigh. “I was just stating a fact. She works in home care and cleaning. Why are you acting like it’s a dirty secret? Sweetheart, it’s not like I look down on her.” When he called me “sweetheart,” his voice was genuinely tender. But that tenderness was exactly what made my skin crawl. He truly, from the bottom of his heart, did not see the insult. I turned to look at my dad. He had been sitting silently the entire time, his knuckles white around his water glass. The price tag on his new suit sleeve hadn’t even been fully snipped off. Before we left, he had adjusted his tie in front of the mirror four times, asking my mom if he looked too old-fashioned. Now, he looked up, his lips trembling slightly. He said only one thing: “Freda, let’s go. We’re done here.” The sound of his chair scraping against the hardwood floor was loud and harsh. Elliott reached out to stop me, his fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. “Freda, are you seriously going to ruin everything over something so trivial—” “Trivial?” I looked back at him. “You let your mother treat my mom like hired help, and you think that’s trivial?” His smooth facade cracked for a split second, but he quickly recovered, flashing that airy, bohemian smile that only artists can pull off. “Okay, okay. My bad. I apologize. I’ll take you to that Italian place you love this weekend to make it up to you, deal?” I didn’t answer. I helped my parents up and walked out of the restaurant. In the hallway, my mom kept her head low, staring at her shoes. “Freda… did I embarrass you?” I stopped, turning to wrap my arms tightly around her. She felt so thin, her shoulder blades sharp against my palms. “Mom, no. Never. You didn’t do anything wrong.” My dad stood in silence for a long moment before he spoke quietly. “Sweetheart… if you really love the boy… I can swallow my pride. I just… I don’t want you going into a family where they make you feel small.” 2 Back at my rented apartment, I made up the fold-out bed for my parents and boiled some water. My mom took the mug, hesitating before she spoke. “Freda, I’ve been thinking… maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on Elliott. His mother is difficult, but Elliott really does love you. Look at all those paintings he does of you. His friends, his social media—everyone knows how much he adores you. I don’t care about my pride. I just want you to be happy.” I knelt down and took her hands in mine. They were rough, like sandpaper, with deep lines that no soap could ever wash clean. Fifteen years of scrubbing other people’s floors had left their mark. “Mom, your pride is my pride.” She stared at me, tears welling in her eyes, before she hurriedly wiped them away with her sleeve. My dad muttered from the doorway, “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” I couldn’t sleep that night. At 1:00 AM, my phone began buzzing continuously. Elliott had sent over a dozen texts. The first few were playful: “Sweetheart~ if you’re mad, yell at me, just don’t ignore me.” “Freda Freda Freda, at least send a silly emoji.” Then the tone shifted: “You can’t seriously be calling off the wedding over this? The invitations are already printed.” The last message was a voice note, thirty-eight seconds long. I tapped play. His voice was low, laced with a mix of exhaustion and genuine confusion. “Freda, I honestly don’t get what you’re so angry about. My mom is just like that. She’s like that with everyone. I’m not her. I have never once judged where you come from. You’re my muse. You’re the center of my art. Isn’t that enough?” I stared at the ceiling, leaving it on read. He had painted me dozens of times. Last year, his piece “The Camellia” had sold for three hundred thousand dollars, and everyone in his circle knew it was a portrait of his girlfriend. But I remembered a private gallery dinner he’d taken me to. I had worn a dress that cost me two months of savings. He had looked at me, smiled, and gently tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Next time, let me pick out your outfit, okay? Your taste is a little… too rustic.” And last Christmas, when he drove me back to my hometown. Seeing the cracked asphalt and the run-down bungalows at the edge of town, he had rolled down his window, taking a deep breath. “No wonder you have such grit, Freda. Kids who grow up in places like this have a raw, primal survival instinct. It’s beautiful.” He had said it with genuine admiration, the way an art critic might praise the rough, textured brushstrokes of a painting. But my parents weren’t brushstrokes. They were human beings. The next morning, I took my parents to the train station. Just before going through security, my dad turned back and slipped a thick white envelope into my hand. “Freda, this is some money I put aside. Take it. Just in case… in case you really don’t go through with it. It’s good to have your own cash. Keep your head up.” The envelope wasn’t very thick, but I knew it represented more than half a year of his pension. My dad gave me a reassuring smile and walked through the gate. His back was slightly stooped, his new suit hanging loosely on his frame like it was still on a hanger. 3 Three days after my parents left, Elliott showed up. He stood outside my apartment door, holding a bouquet of white roses and a box of pastries from that bakery I loved. He was wearing his black cashmere turtleneck—the one I always told him he looked best in. His hair was slightly messy, falling perfectly over his eyes. He looked devastatingly handsome. “Sweetheart, come on, open the door. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His muffled voice drifted through the door. “If you don’t open up, I’m just going to sit in this hallway until you feel bad for me.” I unlocked the door and let him in. He walked inside, taking a quick, almost imperceptible glance around my tiny, seven-hundred-square-foot rental. A tiny flinch of his brow, gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a warm smile. He sat on my small sofa and took my hand, his thumb stroking the back of it. “Have you had time to cool down? The invitations are out, the venue is locked in, and the deposit is paid. If you’re still mad, I’ll make my mother call you and apologize herself.” I pulled my hand back. “Elliott, let me ask you something.” “Anything.” “If my mother weren’t a housekeeper—if she were a university professor—would your mother have demanded she serve her soup?” He went quiet for a beat, then let out a soft laugh. “Freda, my mom is just old school. She treats everyone like that. It has nothing to do with what your mom does for a living. And honestly…” He paused, looking at me with gentle pity. “Class differences exist. It’s not something I can personally erase overnight. But I chose you. Isn’t that what matters?” “I chose you.” He had said those words so many times before. Every time, they sounded like charity. “You chose me, so I should be grateful?” He frowned. “Why do you have to put it like that? That’s not what I mean.” “Then what do you mean?” He took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over to the window, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Freda, I mean that the gap between our backgrounds is a real, objective thing. The fact that I don’t care about it—doesn’t that show how much I love you? But you can’t expect my mother, or my entire family, to just pretend that gap doesn’t exist.” I looked at his profile against the window, feeling a strange, hollow calm wash over me. He was being entirely honest. He did love me, but his love came with a quiet, persistent condition: I was expected to be grateful for his tolerance. “Elliott,” I said, “if one day you couldn’t paint anymore, if you lost every dime you had, do you think my parents would make you wait on them?” He turned around, blinking. He had clearly never considered the question, because in his world, such a downfall was an impossibility. “They wouldn’t care about your bank account or your family name,” I continued, “because you’d be the person I chose. But your family cares. And deep down, so do you.” For the first time, his composure cracked. He opened his mouth to speak, but his phone cut him off. He glanced at the screen and stepped into the corner to answer it. “Hey, Mom… Yeah, I’m at her place. We’re talking.” “Don’t worry, she’s just hurt. I’ll smooth it over.” “Right. Don’t cancel the invitations. Send them out.” He spoke with his back to me, his voice lowered, but in the quiet room, every word was crystal clear. I stood up and pulled the front door wide open. “Get out, Elliott.” He hung up, a flash of genuine panic crossing his eyes. “Freda—” “I’ll give you my final answer about the wedding soon.” He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed. He walked over and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Fine. I’ll give you some space. But Freda, please remember… I really do love you.” After the door clicked shut, the faint scent of his expensive cologne lingered in the air. I walked over to the trash can and dropped the white roses inside. 4 Over the next few days, Elliott came by every day. Leaving flowers, pastries, little sketched notes slid under the door. He played the part of the penitent lover perfectly. On the fifth night, he called, his voice unusually solemn. “Freda, I had a long talk with my mother. She’s stepping back from the wedding planning. We can do whatever you want.” I remained quiet for a moment. “Really?” “Really.” He paused, his voice dropping into a cautious, delicate tone. “There is… one thing we need to discuss, though.” “What’s that?” “The guest list. As you know, the people attending are mostly from my father’s business circles and the art world. My dad was thinking…” “Thinking what?” “Well… it’s going to be a very formal affair. We’re worried your parents might feel out of place, or that they’d just feel uncomfortable with all the cameras and formality. My dad suggested it might be easier on them if we set up a private, high-quality live stream for them to watch from home. Then, right after the wedding, we can fly back to their town and host a quiet, intimate family dinner. It’ll be much more relaxed for them.” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles ached. “Elliott. Are you telling me my parents aren’t allowed to attend my own wedding?” “It’s not that they aren’t allowed, Freda. It’s just… finding a way that’s more comfortable for everyone.” “Comfortable for everyone, or comfortable for your parents?” “Freda, please listen to me. I’ve taken a lot of heat for this relationship already. My mother wanted me to marry Senator Ward’s daughter, and I said no. My dad’s friends told him I was throwing my life away, and I fought them all off. I fought my entire family to be with you. They are making one small request—” “A small request?” I cut him off, my voice barely a whisper. “Telling my parents they can’t watch their only daughter get married is a small request?” “Freda, can you try to see this from my perspective? I’ve made so many compromises.” He sighed, his voice reverting to that gentle, condescending tone. “Be reasonable, sweetheart. As soon as the reception is over, I promise we’ll drive down to see them. We can even bring them back to the city to stay with us for a month, okay?” I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. “I understand,” I said quietly. After hanging up, I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time. I remembered when my dad first found out I had a boyfriend. He had been so excited he couldn’t sleep. He dug out his thirty-year-old wedding album, pointed to my mom’s faded dress, and said, “When you get married, Freda, I’m going to buy your mother a beautiful dress, just like this one, so she can sit in the front row and look at you.” I didn’t cry. Instead, I dialed my mother’s number. “Mom,” I said when she picked up. “You and Dad don’t need to come down for the wedding.” There was a brief pause on the other end. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did… did we cause trouble again?” “No, Mom. I’m not marrying him.” A long, heavy silence stretched over the line. Finally, my mother spoke softly. “Okay. Mom will be waiting for you to come home.” I hung up and immediately started packing. Elliott sent a text: “Sweetheart, the dress arrived! Do you want to come to the studio tomorrow to try it on? I want to see you in it so badly.” Followed by a string of kiss emojis. I didn’t reply. He sent another: “Freda~ still mad? How about I have them deliver the dress to your place? You can try it on there and send me a picture. Oh, and I talked to my mom. She promised to be on her best behavior at the ceremony.” The next morning, a courier delivered the dress. I looked at the custom gown draped over my bed—French lace, hand-beaded pearls, fabric that easily cost six figures. It was breathtaking. It looked like a beautiful, glittering cage. I carefully folded the gown, packed it back into its pristine white box, and set it by the front door. Then I opened my suitcase and began packing my own life. I didn’t take much. The jewelry, the designer bags, the silk dresses he had bought me—I laid them all out neatly on the bed. I only packed the old canvas backpack I’d carried when I first arrived in Chicago, the envelope of cash my dad had given me, and the mason jar of peach preserves my mom had quietly tucked under my pillow during her visit. On the lid was a piece of tape with her shaky handwriting: “Freda’s favorite.” The wedding was scheduled for Saturday. On Friday evening, I walked out of my apartment, rolling my suitcase behind me. Before leaving, I left a note on top of the wedding dress box: “Elliott, here is the dress. If my parents aren’t worthy of attending this wedding, then I’m not worthy of it either.” I turned off my phone, stepped into the cool night air, and disappeared into the city. The next day, Saturday. The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of white orchids and crystal chandeliers. Three hundred guests sat in gilded chairs under the soft, glittering lights. Elliott stood near the entrance in his custom tuxedo, holding a glass of champagne he hadn’t touched, his eyes darting to his watch every few seconds. 9:00 AM. The bridal suite was empty. 9:30 AM. My phone went straight to voicemail. 10:00 AM. He sent his assistant to my apartment. A few minutes later, a text popped up from the assistant: “Elliott, the apartment is completely cleared out. There’s nothing here but the wedding dress box and a note.” Elliott stared at the screen, the easy smile slowly draining from his face. Behind him, the soft murmur of three hundred high-society guests began to grow louder. Victoria hurried over, her face pale with fury under her heavy makeup. She hissed in a harsh whisper: “Where is she? Where is the bride?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “514698”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day I was finally recognized as the true heir to the Dwight fortune, the imposter—the boy who had lived my life for twenty years—looked at me with tear-rimmed eyes and offered to give back his engagement. I thought of my girlfriend, who had just told me she was pregnant, and quietly declined. “No need. My heart already belongs to someone else.” The moment the words left my mouth, a series of glowing, translucent lines drifted across my vision. [Lmao, look at this bitter second-lead acting so noble. He’s going to regret this the second he sees the female lead.] [Too bad she’s still going to choose the adopted brother anyway. Cue the pathetic stalking phase.] [Cody’s going to be driven to a suicide attempt, and this guy will end up hated by the family, despised by his ex, and dying a miserable, lonely death. Absolute clown.] I lowered my eyes, a cold wave of absurdity washing over me. Stalking a strange woman? I had my own life. I had the woman I loved. Just then, soft footsteps echoed behind me. Cody wiped his tears, quickening his pace to meet the newcomer. “Margot, this is my brother… Wyatt. The engagement… it should have been his all along.” I turned around, and my heart stopped. I was staring into a pair of agonizingly familiar eyes. It was Margot. The woman who had funded my life for five years, the woman currently carrying my child. 1. When Margot saw me, a flash of pure panic crossed her features. But it was gone in a heartbeat. She masked it immediately, adopting a polite, distant expression. “Mr. Dwight,” she said, her voice cool and detached. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then she reached out, gently smoothing her hand over Cody’s. Her tone was soft but unyielding. “Don’t talk nonsense, Cody. Our engagement was decided a long time ago. Nothing is going to change that.” In the air before me, the text feed exploded. [Here it comes! He’s going to play the victim, expose their secret affair, and force her hand!] [He’s totally going to use the pregnancy to blackmail her and steal the engagement!] I took a slow, deep breath, pulling my gaze away from her. “Nice to meet you, Miss Crestwood,” I said quietly. The text paused for a second. [Wait… that’s it? Why isn’t he throwing a tantrum?] [He’s just acting. Let’s see how long he can keep up the charade.] [Oh, I get it. Reverse psychology! Playing hard to get.] Margot clearly hadn’t anticipated this response. She shot me a lingering look, a mix of warning and quiet calculation. My biological mother, Lydia, seized the moment. “You mentioned you had someone you loved, Wyatt? How serious is it?” All eyes fell back on me. I looked at Margot. Her expression was perfectly composed, but I noticed her clenched fists trembling slightly at her sides. I looked up, meeting their expectant stares, and let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Serious enough that… she had to go home for an arranged marriage. So, I got dumped.” The living room fell into a suffocating silence. Lydia’s face contorted as if she had swallowed a fly. My father, Richard, cleared his throat and awkwardly shifted his gaze. Margot’s face drained of color, turning visibly rigid. Cody eagerly pressed, “So… you really don’t want the engagement, Wyatt?” “I don’t,” I replied, my voice clipping short and clean. There was no hesitation, no lingering affection. “Since you two are so deeply in love, the arrangement is yours.” The text rolled again: [Keep faking it! He’s definitely going to corner her in private and cry like a baby.] My biological parents visibly relaxed. Lydia stood up. “Wyatt, let me show you to your room. Cody isn’t well; he shouldn’t be sitting up for too long.” My room was at the very end of the hallway. When she pushed the door open, I was greeted by a cramped, drafty space. It had a shared bathroom down the hall, and its north-facing window let in absolutely no sunlight. Lydia’s voice was dismissive. “You’ll have to make do with this for now. Cody’s been in his room for twenty years—he’s used to it, and it wouldn’t be fair to make him move. You’re the older brother, so be understanding.” Richard followed her, lingering in the doorway to add, “Cody has always been delicate, and he’s highly sensitive. Make sure you yield to him. We need harmony in this family.” I stared at the room, which was smaller than the master bathroom Cody likely enjoyed. I nodded. “Understood.” A few minutes after they left, there was a soft knock. Margot stood in the doorway, her voice a sharp whisper. “Wyatt, watch your mouth. The last five years were nothing but a transaction. I felt sorry for you, so I threw you a bone.” “Cody is the man I am marrying. As for the baby in my womb, he will call Cody ‘Dad.’ You’d better learn your place.” I stared at her stomach. Only an hour ago, I had foolishly believed that being recognized by the Dwights would finally bridge the class divide between us. I thought I could finally stand beside her in the light. It turned out to be nothing but a pathetic illusion. Pushing down the bitter ache rising in my chest, I looked her in the eyes. “Margot, we’re done.” She froze, completely stunned. I closed the door in her face and didn’t look back. 2. But Margot was clearly infuriated by my finality. She shoved her hand against the door to keep it open, but before she could speak, footsteps echoed down the hallway. Cody appeared, carrying a fruit platter. The moment he saw us alone, his eyes welled with tears. “Wyatt… are you still angry at me for taking the engagement?” He let out a trembling sob. “I really didn’t mean to… If you love Margot, I… I can step aside…” Lydia rushed over at the sound of his voice. Seeing the scene, her brow furrowed in deep disgust. “Wyatt! You just got back and you’re already tearing this family apart? Cody is fragile—he can’t handle this kind of stress!” “How can you be so shameless? Creeping around your brother’s fiancée in the middle of the night?” [Ooh! Caught red-handed! I bet he’s going to expose her pregnancy right now to force her hand!] [Classic victim-blaming. He’s going to lose his mind and start screaming any second.] “I didn’t,” I said, my voice entirely flat, devoid of any emotion. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to sleep.” Without giving them another glance, I shut the door. Through the thin wood, I could hear Lydia comforting Cody. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Mom will make it right…” [Wait, why didn’t he scream?] [He’s playing the long game! His tactics have leveled up!] The comments kept rolling, but I had already stopped caring. My phone buzzed. It was a wire transfer from Margot—a massive sum. Then came a text: Keep your mouth shut about the past. Do it out of respect for everything I’ve done for you. I stared at the screen, letting out a bitter laugh. Yes. She had done a lot for me. Five years ago, the grandmother who raised me fell gravely ill right after I finished high school. On the day my university acceptance letter arrived, I was working late at a high-end private club. I was short thousands of dollars for her medical bills, and I had already decided to forfeit my education. That night, a group of wealthy older women cornered me in a VIP lounge. They poured whiskey over my head, tearing at my collar. I fought back, but my voice was caught in my throat. Then Margot kicked the door open. Her bodyguards cleared the room, and she wrapped her designer coat around my shivering, half-clad body. She didn’t ask questions. She only asked, “Do you need money?” I had nodded, my tears thick with humiliation. She handed me a card. “Take it. Pay your bills, go to school, and never step foot in a place like this again.” She saved me. She gave my grandmother a fighting chance, and she paved a completely different path for my life. Afterward, she quietly funded my tuition, visiting me whenever she could. Eventually, on a rainy night, she stayed over at my tiny apartment. Everything had felt so natural. Before my grandmother passed, she held Margot’s hand. “Please look after Wyatt,” she whispered. Margot had nodded. And I had believed her. Five years. From eighteen to twenty-three, I gave her the absolute best years of my youth. I learned to run her household, memorized every single preference she had, sat in quiet companionship when she was exhausted, and spoke words of comfort whenever she needed them. I even learned to appreciate fine wine, read financial statements, and decipher the coded jargon of her elite social circle. She told me her family demanded a match of equal status, so she asked me to wait. To wait until she had enough power to make her own decisions, to go public with us, to marry me. Just yesterday, she told me she was pregnant. Before we could even process the news, the Dwights tracked me down. I had thought the universe was finally giving us a chance. I thought we were finally equals. But she told me she was marrying Cody. A boy who wasn’t even a Dwight by blood anymore. A boy who was no longer her equal. My vision blurred. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pulled up my email inbox. There was an unread message from three days ago—an acceptance offer for a Master’s program at the Royal College of Art in London. I clicked Accept. Margot, the baby, and those five ridiculous years—I didn’t want any of it anymore. [Wait, what is he looking at? Is that a foreign website?] [Who cares, probably plotting his next move to stalk her.] [Can’t wait for the drama to unfold!] I locked my phone screen. The black glass reflected the hollow outline of my face. 3. At breakfast the next morning, Cody approached me with a bowl of seafood chowder, his smile saccharine and innocent. “I made this, Wyatt. You should try some, it’s really good.” “No, thank you,” I replied politely. He insisted on stepping closer, and then, his foot suddenly slipped. The scalding liquid poured directly onto my lap. The porcelain bowl shattered against the floor. Sharp pain flared across my skin, leaving angry red welts. I hissed, gritting my teeth. Instantly, Cody’s eyes flooded with tears. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt! I didn’t mean to, I swear…” Lydia was the first to speak, her tone dripping with annoyance. “Why didn’t you catch it? Why were you just sitting there?” Richard frowned. “So incredibly slow and awkward.” [Here we go! He’s going to use this to make a scene!] [He totally dodged it on purpose to make Cody look bad. So manipulative.] [Serves him right! That’s what you get for hitting on Margot!] Just then, Margot walked through the front door. Cody immediately threw his arms around her, buried his face in her neck, and let out a soft, wounded whimper. Margot’s eyes filled with fierce protectiveness. She patted his back gently, then turned a freezing glare toward me. “Cody was only trying to be nice, Wyatt. Why do you always have to act so miserable?” I looked past her, fixing my eyes on Richard and Lydia. “Mr. Dwight, Mrs. Dwight. Did I spill the soup?” They fell silent, unable to argue, but Richard simply waved his hand dismissively. “The point is that your brother was startled. That’s what matters.” To “comfort” Cody, Richard made an announcement right then and there. “The boutique consulting branch I planned to have Wyatt manage… we’ll hand it over to Cody instead.” Margot nodded in agreement. “I’ll throw in a few corporate clients of my own as an engagement gift for Cody.” “Whatever you want,” I said quietly. [Wait, why isn’t he putting up a fight? This is weird…] Back in my room, another transfer notification popped up from Margot. Along with it, a text: Stop taking your frustrations out on Cody. I accepted the money. Then, with slow, deliberate fingers, I typed out a single line and hit send. Margot, did you forget that I’m severely allergic to seafood? The chat went dead silent. A long time passed before another massive wire transfer cleared. I smirked, accepting every single dime. Why shouldn’t I? It was the least she owed me—penance for five years of my life and the price of my silence. Outside my window, the sound of an engine revved, followed by Cody’s loud, carefree laughter. I assumed Margot had taken him out to cheer him up. It wasn’t until dusk that they finally returned. A few minutes later, Cody burst into my room, painting in mock panic. “Wyatt! My limited-edition watch is gone! It was the engagement gift Margot got me…” He held up his phone, showing me a photo of the piece. My chest tightened. I recognized that watch instantly. A year ago, Margot had taken me to a private charity auction and told me to pick my favorite item from the catalog. I had chosen this exact watch. She bid aggressively, paying an exorbitant price to win it. I waited for weeks, expecting her to present it to me, but she never did. When I finally built up the courage to ask, she had casually shrugged. “I gave it to my cousin.” It turned out, from the very beginning, it was always meant for Cody. [Look at his guilty face! He definitely stole it!] [Search his room!] Margot gave me a hard, unforgiving look. “Wyatt. You were the only one home all day. Just give it back.” “I didn’t take it.” Lydia hurried in, her voice strained. “We aren’t accusing you, Wyatt. We’re just asking if you saw it.” “Yeah, Wyatt,” Cody whispered. “It’s extremely expensive…” The implication was loud and clear. They were calling me a thief to my face. Margot stared at me, her dark eyes filled with a heavy, disappointing judgment. That look pricked me like a needle, leaving a tiny, dull ache. Suddenly, an overwhelming exhaustion settled into my bones. I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “I’ve been in my room all day. I haven’t left once. If you don’t believe me, check the security cameras.” I met Margot’s gaze directly. “There are cameras in the hallway and the main foyer.” Margot’s expression faltered. Cody’s face stuck in an instant. “Oh, let’s not get carried away with cameras. We’re family…” Lydia tried to placate everyone. Right then, the housekeeper hurried down the hall, holding the watch. “Master Cody! It was caught in the crevice behind your nightstand. I found it while dusting.” The room went completely quiet. [Wait, it actually was a misunderstanding?] [Looking at him, he doesn’t seem interested in fighting back at all… This is getting weird.] The comments thinned out, showing the first hints of doubt. Margot’s expression was frozen. She quietly sent another wire transfer with a brief note: My mistake. I accepted it. Once they cleared out, I opened my phone and pulled up flight schedules to London. [What is he doing? I can’t see his screen…] [Who cares, probably plotting another scheme.] I locked my phone, pulled the blanket over my head, and finally closed my eyes. 4. The Dwights spared no expense for Cody’s birthday gala. The guest list included the city’s entire high society. Lydia had practically ordered me to attend. “If you aren’t there, what will people think of us? They’ll say we’re hiding our own flesh and blood.” At the gala, Cody stood at the podium, giving a tearful speech thanking the Dwights for twenty years of unconditional love. The crowd murmured with adoration. “Such a sweet, grateful boy. He’s closer to them than any biological child could be.” A few guests glanced toward the dim corner where I sat, whispering behind their champagne flutes. “Is that the real son? Why does he look like a statue?” “Raised on the streets. He simply lacks the breeding for a room like this.” Margot stayed by Cody’s side the entire night, gently dabbing away his tears and holding the microphone for him with a soft, adoring smile. I sat alone, my wine untouched. The roaring chatter of the crowd pressed against my temples like rising water. I couldn’t breathe. Slipping away early, I walked back to my room. But when I pushed the door open, I froze. My desk had been completely ransacked. The drawers were pulled out, their contents spilled onto the floor. My heart hammered in my chest. I rushed to the nightstand. My grandmother’s jade pendant—the only physical piece of her I had left—was gone. I ran back to the ballroom. In the middle of the crowd, Cody was holding up a raw green jade pendant, turning it under the crystal chandeliers. He laughed, speaking to his friends. “My brother lent it to me for the night. Beautiful, isn’t it?” “Give it back,” I said, stepping into his circle. My voice was quiet, but it vibrated with a sudden, dangerous edge. Cody gasped, startled, and his fingers slipped. The pendant hit the polished marble floor. With a sharp, sickening crack, it shattered into pieces. The entire ballroom fell dead silent. Tears welled in Cody’s eyes instantly. “Wyatt… I’m so sorry, it was an accident…” The guests began to whisper, throwing me glances as if I were a lunatic making a scene over nothing. Margot stepped in, barely looking at the broken pieces on the floor. Her tone was dismissive. “It’s just a cheap pendant, Wyatt. Is this really necessary?” I dropped to my knees, picking up the jagged pieces of jade one by one. The sharp edges sliced into my fingertips, but even as blood dripped onto the green stone, I felt absolutely nothing. “My grandmother gave this to me,” I whispered, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “The last thing she told me before she died was to keep it safe.” Margot’s expression softened into realization. She, more than anyone, knew what my grandmother meant to me. She was the one who had stood beside me at the funeral. But Cody sobbed harder, burying his face in her shoulder. She hesitated for a split second, then wrapped her arms around him, murmuring softly, “Shh, don’t cry. I’ll buy you a much better one.” Lydia stepped up. “Wyatt, it was an accident. Don’t be so petty.” Richard frowned. “Enough. It’s a trinket. It broke, so be it. We’ll buy you another one just like it tomorrow.” I stood up slowly, the broken shards cutting deep into my clenched palm. I walked right up to Cody, raised my hand, and hit him. The slap cracked like a whip through the silent room. A collective gasp echoed through the crowd. In the next second, Margot surged forward. She grabbed my wrist, and before I could react, her other hand came down hard across my cheek. Slap. My cheek burned with white-hot pain. The metallic taste of blood seeped onto my tongue. Margot’s eyes were cold as ice. “Wyatt. You’ve gone too far.” [Oh my god! That was his grandmother’s only keepsake!] [Margot is a monster! She knew exactly what it meant to him!] [I actually feel for Wyatt now. Who wouldn’t lose their mind?] I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. I didn’t scream, and I didn’t cry. I carefully wrapped the broken pieces and the severed string in my handkerchief, tucking them deep into my breast pocket. “Whatever debt I owed you,” I said, looking at Margot, “is paid in full.” Then I looked at Richard and Lydia. “I don’t want this family anymore.” I turned and walked out of the ballroom. Behind me, Lydia’s hysterical voice echoed: “Let him leave! If he walks out that door, he’s never coming back!” My phone buzzed relentlessly. Margot sent a wire transfer: Stop being angry. Richard and Lydia each sent massive sums, labeled Compensations. I accepted every single one. The next afternoon, I returned to the house to pack the last of my belongings. As I reached the corner of the hallway, voices filtered out from Cody’s half-open bedroom door. “Dad, Mom… Margot is carrying my baby. We need to expedite the wedding.” “I heard rumors that she kept some charity case on the side. Honestly, it makes me feel so insecure.” I froze, the air violently knocked out of my lungs. The child she was carrying… belonged to Cody? [Wow, Wyatt got absolutely wrecked. In the end, he lost his girl and his baby.] [I officially support him going full villain mode.] My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t draw breath. Every remaining shred of hope and lingering affection I had harbored was ground into dust. I didn’t make a sound. I simply turned around and walked away. I grabbed my suitcase and threw my few clothes inside. An hour later, I was sitting in the airport lounge. I pulled out my phone and opened my chat with Margot. I typed out a final message: Margot, whatever mercy you showed me years ago, I paid back with five years of my life. I know the truth about the baby now. From this moment on, we are strangers. I attached a picture of the broken jade pendant. Send. Block. Delete. I powered down the phone, popped out the SIM card, and dropped it into a nearby trash can. The overhead speakers crackled to life. “Now boarding flight 248 to London Heathrow…” I stood up, picked up my bag, and walked toward the gate without looking back.

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Three years into our marriage, Flora brought home a college sophomore. Before I could even process the insult, she pushed a young, wide-eyed girl into my path. “I need a little excitement, Alex, and you need company,” she said smoothly, as if simply handing over an old coat. “We’re both getting what we want. Don’t hold a grudge.” But this time, she flew too close to the sun. She came to me later, her tone uncharacteristically pleading, trying to strike a deal: “Alex, I wasn’t careful. I took precautions, but… I ended up pregnant with Dustin’s baby. The child needs a father on paper. We need to divorce. Just temporarily.” “I’ll marry Dustin for now, and you can spend this time with that college girl. Treat it like a real relationship. Go date.” Behind closed doors, her friends gossiped. “Flora, you literally crawled up ninety-nine stone steps of the basilica on your knees to pray for this man’s life. Are you really being this generous now?” “Right? You didn’t even warn that girl to keep her hands off your husband?” I heard Flora laugh, a light, careless sound. “I don’t have a sharing fetish,” she said. “But you all know Alex. He’s an emotional purist. He won’t touch her.” “Brilliant! You bring the girl right to his face. If he chooses to live like a monk, that’s his own fault. No one can blame you.” They all expected me to do what I had always done—write a check, call security, and sweep her flings out the door. Instead, I looked up and smiled. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll date her.” 1 Flora froze. The living room fell into a sudden, suffocating silence. Whitney was the first to find her voice. “Alex, what did you just say?” I set my phone on the coffee table, letting my gaze sweep past Flora’s stunned face before settling on the girl standing quietly by the door. “I said, fine.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. “He actually agreed?!” “No way. He’s not kicking her out?” “Flora, did you hear that?” Flora’s expression barely shifted. That faint, mocking curve of her lips remained perfectly intact. But Dustin, standing beside her, nervously squeezed her hand. “Flora, he’s finally seeing reason. You should be happy.” Flora didn’t answer him. She walked over to Iris, patted her shoulder, and said, “Take good care of him.” Then, she and Dustin went upstairs. I looked back at the girl. Her ears were flushed crimson. “Are you staying in the dorms, or here?” Her throat clicked as she swallowed. “Either… either is fine.” “Then stay here.” I turned and walked toward the hallway. Behind me, the hushed murmurs started up again. “Is he serious?” “Usually, when this happens, we all get dragged into the blowout!” “Oh, please. Trust Flora. When has he not thrown a check at them? It’s like touching them would rot his hands.” “Remember that art-school dropout? Alex didn’t even give him money. Just had security throw him into the street.” “He’s probably just acting out because Flora’s pregnant. Trying to make her jealous.” I kept walking. Their words were like needles in my back, but they weren’t wrong. I used to be insufferable. Too proud, too self-righteous, believing that my “emotional purity” could somehow protect the sacredness of our vows. Every time Flora brought someone home, I would coldly hand over a check and banish them. I thought that was winning. I thought it kept me clean. And where did that leave me? With Dustin’s baby on the way. My pristine principles had bought me a stack of divorce papers, a cold bed, and a living room full of people waiting to watch me break. At the door of the guest room, I stopped and leaned against the frame. I looked at Iris. Five-foot-six. Champion of the international mock trial team, top of her class, guaranteed federal clerkship. Flora had spent real money this time. This wasn’t some desperate kid she’d picked up from a dive bar. “Are you doing this for the money?” I asked. She nodded. No hesitation. No defenses. My old self would have sneered, thrown a check, and told her to get lost. How grand I must have looked then, perched on my moral high ground, treating these girls like toxic waste. But the “toxic waste” left, and Flora never came back. And honestly, who among us was truly clean? “If you need anything, let the housekeeper know,” I said, stepping inside. She followed me. “I’m Iris.” “I know,” I replied without turning. “Flora told me.” I walked out onto the balcony. Below, the guests were finally leaving, their cars winding down the driveway. I had lost count of how many of my humiliations they had cheered for. Back in my room, I glanced at the divorce agreement on the nightstand. For three years, I had turned a blind eye to her wild behavior. It started after “that” incident—the one that fractured us beyond repair. She had her reasons, and I had mine. But debts have to be paid. At first, I told her: “Just don’t bring them to our house.” Then I said: “Just don’t cross the line.” Step by step, I retreated. Step by step, she pushed. Now, since we were both exhausted by this marriage, there was no point in hesitating. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Iris emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp. Seeing me, her ears instantly turned bright pink. “I… I’m done,” she whispered. I stood up, momentarily struck by how easily she blushed. Flora’s previous choices had always looked at me with defiance when I kicked them out. One had even yelled: “Are you two psychopaths? One pushes us in, the other kicks us out! What do you think we are?” At the time, I had only stared coldly: “Take the money and shut up.” Now, I realized she was right. We were both sick. One with a twisted need to push me away, the other with a pathological need to remain untouched. My phone buzzed. A text from Flora: “Sleep early.” It was hilarious. She never sent texts like that. Why now? Because I let Iris stay? Because she finally realized that the Alex who “would never touch them” might actually cross the line? I didn’t reply. The lights across the estate went out, plunging the villa into silence. Dustin had moved in. Iris had moved in. This house had finally become what it always was: a dumpster where we threw all our garbage. Myself included. I turned off the light, a bitter smile tracing my lips in the dark. She thought I was still the same Alex. Thought I wouldn’t dare. Thought I couldn’t. Thought I would be clean forever. She was wrong. The next morning, the dull ache in my neck lingered. When I went downstairs, Iris was in the kitchen helping the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. When she saw me, she nearly dropped the spatula. I smiled. Where was the shy girl from last night? As soon as I sat down, Flora came down the stairs. “Up so early?” She took the seat opposite me, a strange, unreadable smile on her face. “How was last night?” Before I could answer, the front door burst open. Whitney rushed in. “Flora, Flora! Who won—” “I bet twenty grand he wouldn’t last until noon!” “I bet he kicked her out last night. Three-to-one odds, Flora’s bookmaking—” The words died in her throat. They saw me, and their excitement instantly curdled into awkwardness. “Oh… Alex! Morning!” Flora took a sip of her coffee. She looked at them as if this bet wasn’t about her own marriage, but some hard-won trophy. “Have a seat,” I said calmly. “Breakfast is ready.” I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “You should head to class,” I told Iris. Iris blinked, startled, then quickly untied her apron and hurried out. The door clicked shut, and the room went silent for two beats. Whitney lowered her voice. “See? He sent her away after all!” Todd laughed. “What did you expect? Flora has Alex mapped out perfectly.” “Flora really knows how to train them,” Whitney said, her tone dripping with admiration. “That’s the kind of husband you want. Keeps the house, guards the door, never strays.” Flora sat at the table, her plate clean. Listening to them, her lips curved with quiet satisfaction. I let out a breath and walked back into the dining room. Flora and I spoke at the exact same moment. “Accompany me back to the family estate for dinner tonight…” “See you at the clerk’s office at two p.m. for the divorce…” The room went dead quiet. I slid the signed divorce agreement across the table. “Let’s get this over with first.” Flora froze, her eyes scanning the signature line. She didn’t move. I knew what she was thinking. In the past, I would have torn the paper to shreds with tears in my eyes, asking how she could do this to me. It would have been a massive, dramatic production. Flora looked up at me, her tone reverting to that lazy, casual drawl. “What’s the rush? I’m not even in a hurry.” “I am,” I said. “Two p.m. Are you showing up?” Her eye twitched. “Alex,” she said, pushing the agreement back toward the center of the table. “Are you out of your mind?” “I’d rather do it now,” I replied, “before I wake up and regret not tearing it up.” The tension stretched thin. Suddenly, Dustin came down the stairs. “Alex, please don’t be angry. I just didn’t want my baby to be born with a stigma. We can wait to finalize the divorce until after the baby is born and registered.” His eyes welled with tears, looking far more devastated about my divorce than I was. Flora shot a look at Dustin. The phrase “don’t be angry” seemed to prick her pride. When had Flora ever been rushed into anything by anyone? “Alex, you think I’m afraid to sign?” she laughed coldly, grabbing the pen. Whitney panicked. “Flora—” “Shut up,” Flora snapped, not even looking up. She signed her name with a sharp flourish and threw the pen onto the table. Her signature smirk returned. “I keep my word. And everyone here is a witness.” “Once Dustin and I have the baby, we’ll remarry.” She stood up and leaned down to whisper in my ear, her voice carrying a suffocating, possessive warmth. “You’re the man I dragged back from the edge of the grave, Alex. None of those cheap flings could ever compare to you. This baby? You’ll raise it. You’re the only one worthy of being its father, understand?” I let out a soft laugh. So this was her version of love. I said nothing, grabbed my packed suitcase, and walked out the front door. Behind me, Dustin’s voice floated out. “Flora… do you think he’s really not coming back?” She didn’t answer. In her plan, I was supposed to divorce her but stay in the house. The estate was still my home. My actual departure had caught her off guard. But she didn’t think it changed anything. “Oh, please,” she told Dustin. “He’s gone. You should be thrilled.” “No, I’m not!” Dustin whimpered. “My upbringing wouldn’t allow me to break up a marriage… it’s all for the baby.” He looked like a fragile reed bending in the wind. It instantly melted Flora’s annoyance. “Alright, stop crying. I’m not teasing you.” Dustin was far smarter than her previous flings. He didn’t provoke me, didn’t call to flaunt his position. He simply adopted an “I’m here to join the family” posture. The moment I said anything harsh, Flora would think he was being victimized. I had seen younger, more handsome, more charismatic boys. But they were always too impatient, demanding she choose, demanding I leave. Only Dustin was patient. He moved in quietly, carrying a baby, calling me “brother” like he was family. He had achieved what none of the others could. At 1:50 p.m., I sat on the bench outside the clerk’s office. I called Flora for the ninth time. This time, she picked up. “Where are you?” I asked. Her voice was distracted. “I’m at Dustin’s prenatal appointment. I can’t leave. Wait for me, I’ll head over when we’re done.” “I told you, our appointment is at two.” “The divorce isn’t going anywhere,” she said, as if soothing a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Wait until I’m finished. Bye.” Wait. Always waiting. I watched the couples passing through the lobby. Some were crying, some were numb. I used to cry like that, tearing my heart out, until her guilt would offer me the “reward” of staying married. But today, that wasn’t the reward I wanted. The clerk called the next number. I pulled up my lawyer’s contact and sent a text: “Mr. Warren, let’s file for a contested divorce. I’ll send you the paperwork this afternoon.” That evening, at my father-in-law’s insistence, I returned to the family estate. The entire drive, I wondered how to explain it to Thomas. Should I tell him his daughter got another man pregnant? That she forced me into a divorce? Or that I was suing her? Family obligations are often far more exhausting than lawsuits. When I arrived, I was alone. Thomas frowned. “Where is Flora?” “She’s busy,” I said. “Busy?” He slammed his fork onto the table. “What could be more important than her husband?” I remained silent. Thomas and my father had been brothers-in-arms, surviving combat together. He had always wanted our families joined. But Flora’s mother, Lydia, had fought it. She looked down on my family’s modest background, and after my severe illness, she claimed my constitution was too weak. It was Flora who refused to let go. She had gone to St. Jude’s Basilica on the hill, kneeling on every single one of the ninety-nine stone steps leading to the altar. Ninety-nine steps. Her knees were torn to shreds. She had prayed: “I don’t need to be with him. Just let him live.” When I found out, I broke down. In our relationship, she had always been the fierce one, while I watched from the shadows of my own insecurity. But after that, I held her hand and said, “I won’t hide anymore. If you have the courage to marry me, I have the courage to stand by you.” Miraculously, my health improved. The day I finally went home with her, Thomas was so thrilled he transferred a third of his stock options to my name as a safety net, to give me standing within the family. Back then, I thought Lydia was our biggest hurdle. Now I knew that outsiders could never destroy a marriage. Only the people inside could do that. Before I could find the words to explain, the heavy oak doors opened. Flora walked in, her arm wrapped around Dustin. She froze when she saw me. Thomas’s face darkened. “What is this trash doing in my house?” Flora guided Dustin to a chair, her tone breezy. “Dad, it’s just dinner. Don’t make a scene.” Then she glanced at me. “Alex, go home for tonight.” Sensing my stillness, she leaned in and whispered, “I didn’t think you’d actually show up. Today is his turn, okay?” I let out a quiet laugh. His turn. She was parading her new man, bringing him home before our divorce was even dry. Lydia came downstairs, her eyes skating over me before landing on Dustin. “Is this the new one? Our family certainly has a habit of attracting low-class grifters.” With one sentence, she insulted us both. Years ago, Flora would have stood in front of me and declared, “Alex is my choice.” But today, she frowned and pulled Dustin closer. “Mom, don’t talk about my man like that.” Dustin’s eyes brimmed with tears. He always looked like the victim of a cruel world. I stood up, thoroughly exhausted. “I’m leaving.” Thomas couldn’t stop me. Flora didn’t look back. As I stepped out into the cold night, I thought of those ninety-nine steps. “I don’t need to be with him, just let him live.” Well, she got her wish. The divorce went smoother than expected. Flora believed that once the baby arrived and we remarried, everything would slide back into its comfortable groove. On the day we signed the mediation agreement, she was forty minutes late, signing her name with a casual shrug. She leaned close, her tone uncharacteristically sweet. “Didn’t you always want a real wedding?” “Once we remarry, I’ll plan it myself. The island you wanted, the custom suit, everything.” I looked at her. “Flora, there’s no need.” She paused, then smiled. “I know you think we’re past all that, but I owe you a wedding. I want to make it right.” I shook my head. “In a week, you…” Before I could finish, her phone blared. She answered it, her face going pale. “His stomach hurts? I’ll be right there!” She took two steps, then turned back to me. “I know our legal marriage ends in a week when the papers clear, but that’s just a piece of paper. The court has the papers, but you belong to me. They’re separate things.” She patted my shoulder and ran out. I stood alone in the hallway, finishing the sentence she had cut off. “…In a week, you’ll receive much more than just a divorce decree.” The day the decree arrived at the family estate, Thomas summoned her home with a furious phone call. “I don’t care how you do it, get Alex back here right now. I have things to say to him.” “After that, if you still want to destroy your life, I won’t stop you!” Flora frowned. She didn’t know what her father wanted to say, but she knew how absurd this divorce actually was. For the past week, her phone had been dead silent. No texts from me, no missed calls. She claimed she didn’t care, but the emptiness was beginning to gnaw at her. She had never gone a full week without speaking to her husband. She needed an excuse to reach out, and her father had just handed her one. “Fine, fine,” she mumbled, pulling up my contact card. “He’s being ridiculous. I’ll call him.” She complained, but her fingers moved faster than they ever had. She pressed call. She cleared her throat, rehearsing her opening line. “Alex, my dad wants you at the estate.” Or: “Are you done throwing your tantrum? It’s been a week, get back home.” The call connected. But the voice on the other end wasn’t mine. “Hello? The groom is currently adjusting his tie. Are you a guest of the groom’s family?”

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I work at a local commercial bank. My dad always complained about his failing memory, so he asked me to keep his $50,000 savings in my account for safekeeping. Over the next couple of years, however, he slowly asked for every single dollar back. But then, during a family dinner at our house to discuss my younger brother’s upcoming wedding, my brother suddenly said: “Dad, that fifty thousand you had Lucas save for you—we need to pull it out now so I can pay the deposits for the wedding venue.” My dad looked at me, smiled warmly, and nodded. “Sure, of course!” My heart skipped a beat. I looked at him. “Dad, that fifty thousand… you asked me to withdraw all of it for you over the last two years. It’s gone.” My dad froze. His expression made it crystal clear to everyone in the room: I have no idea what you’re talking about. He forced a weak chuckle. “My memory’s shot these days, Lucas. Are you sure you transferred it all back to me?” A cold chill washed over me. Every single time he had asked for that money, he had insisted on cash. Not a single electronic transfer. Not a single paper trail. My brother, Toby, sneered. “Come on, Lucas. Dad’s getting older. Don’t tell me you’re trying to pocket his life savings just because his memory is slipping.” “If you really gave it back, show us the receipts. Show us the bank transfers. Prove it.” … The air in the room turned instantly hostile. Every relative’s eyes locked onto me, heavy with judgment. It was the look you give a parasite—someone stealing from their own aging parents. My dad smiled nervously and nudged Toby. “Toby, don’t talk to your brother like that. Lucas wouldn’t do something like that.” He pushed Toby gently toward the kitchen. “There are some grapes in the fridge. Go wash them for everyone.” Then, with practiced ease, he turned back to the guests, attempting to smooth over the tension. “Here, let me get everyone some more drinks.” His attempt to “keep the peace” only sealed my guilt in their eyes. “Dad, do you really not remember?” I asked, my voice flat, my eyes locked on his. He smiled again, rubbing his temples. “You know how my head is. Let me think.” “Lucas, when did you transfer it? Give your dad a hint, maybe it’ll jog his memory,” Aunt Helen said, her voice dripping with artificial warmth. “The last installment was five thousand in cash,” I said. “Six months ago, right before the holidays. You said you needed it for Christmas shopping and hosting. You don’t remember that?” My dad used to have a steel-trap memory. He could recall details from fifteen years ago down to the penny. It was only in the last few years that he started hiding behind the excuse of “forgetfulness.” Toby returned with a bowl of washed fruit, setting it down with a heavy thud. His voice was hard. “Last Christmas, Dad told me he didn’t have a dime for the holidays. I had to Venmo him five hundred dollars so he could buy groceries!” He stared at me, his face saying it all: You’re a liar. My dad immediately chimed in. “Right! Yes, I remember now. I was completely broke at the end of last year.” He looked at Toby with proud, misty eyes. “Toby was such a good boy. He sent me five hundred dollars.” Toby pulled out his phone and shoved his transaction history in my face. “See? I bought the Christmas groceries, Toby. There’s the proof. Where’s yours?” He was practically begging for a fight, treating me like a criminal on the stand. Aunt Karen couldn’t watch anymore. She reached out, squeezing my arm with that same condescending, “for your own good” pity. “Lucas, your dad has had a hard life.” “Your mom passed away so early. He raised you two boys all on his own. It wasn’t easy.” “That fifty thousand is everything he has. He pinched pennies his entire life to save that money.” It was the classic passive-aggressive dance of adults. They didn’t outright call me a thief, but every single word accused me of being one. Suddenly, Uncle George spoke up. “Lucas, is this because you don’t want your dad spending his savings on Toby’s wedding?” Toby’s eyes narrowed instantly, sharp and predatory. He had already convinced himself I was trying to steal his inheritance. “Is that what this is, Lucas? You’re keeping the money because you’re jealous?” Before I could speak, he let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t get you! You’ve never even been close to Dad. Why are you trying to steal from him now?” It was true. I had never been close to my dad the way Toby was. There was always an invisible, cold distance between us. I didn’t even know when it started. Maybe it was because when we were kids, Toby was always the crier, the fragile one, and my dad would let him sleep tucked under his arm. I was relegated to the foot of the bed. Or maybe it was because the dinner table was always filled with Toby’s favorite foods. Or maybe it was because the phrase I heard most growing up was: “You’re the older brother, Lucas. Just let him have it.” His favoritism wasn’t a loud, angry thing. It was quiet, insidious, bleeding into every corner of our lives. I didn’t hate him for it; I just couldn’t bring myself to play the doting son. My dad had decided to leave everything to Toby the moment Toby turned ten. I remember him saying, “The younger one needs me more. I have to help him out. Lucas has a good head on his shoulders; he’ll figure things out on his own.” I hadn’t protested. Toby was the one who stayed close, the one who made him feel like a father. “I don’t want any of your money,” I said quietly. “And I didn’t steal Dad’s—” My dad’s phone rang, cutting me off. He answered it quickly. “Yeah, we’re on our way now.” He hung up and turned to the room, clapping his hands. “The restaurant has the private room ready. Let’s go grab dinner. If the food is good, I’ll book them for the reception.” He ushered the aunts and uncles out with practiced hospitality. At the restaurant, we sat around a large circular table piled high with food. But before I could even take a bite, Uncle George leaned in, his tone dripping with unearned wisdom. “Lucas, your dad really did sacrifice everything for you boys.” “He put you through college, which is how you got that comfortable, fancy job at the bank.” “We’re family here. I’m only saying this because I care about you.” Just like Aunt Helen, he left the worst unsaid. Every word was a knife disguised as a blessing. My cousin Todd chipped in, “Uncle Frank is incredibly generous. When I was in community college, my parents only gave me three hundred a month for expenses.” “Toby got a thousand dollars a month. I’m sure Lucas got the same. With his salary, it’s a miracle Uncle Frank saved fifty thousand at all.” My stomach dropped. A cold, heavy weight settled in my chest. During my four years of college, my dad had only sent me five hundred dollars—and that was only during the first two months of my freshman year. He never sent another dime. I knew money was tight, so I never asked. I worked part-time jobs, pulled night shifts, and covered my tuition with scholarships. And now I was learning he had been sending my share to Toby. My voice turned ice-cold. “During my four years of college, my dad gave me a grand total of five hundred dollars. Not five hundred a month.” “Five hundred dollars. Total. I worked thirty hours a week to keep myself fed.” The table fell dead silent. Everyone stared. My dad looked up, his face a mask of innocent confusion. “That can’t be right, Lucas. I sent money to both of you every single month.” I pulled out my phone, opened my bank app, and scrolled back to my college years, holding it out to him. “Look for yourself. Five hundred dollars. That’s it.” My dad stared at the screen. For a split second, a flicker of genuine embarrassment crossed his face, his brow furrowing. He quickly pulled out his own phone and pulled up his past statements. “Look, Lucas. Right here. Every month during those four years, I had a recurring transfer of one thousand dollars.” I looked at the screen. The recipient name on every single monthly transaction was the same. I didn’t feel angry anymore. Just tired. My voice was barely a whisper. “The transactions are there, Dad. But they’re all to Toby’s account.” My dad blinked, stunned. Then he gave his forehead a sharp, performative slap. “Oh, my god. My head is a sieve!” “How did I manage to send your money to your brother’s account?” He looked at me with deep, theatrical regret. “But Lucas, why didn’t you say anything? If you weren’t getting the money, you should have told me!” Then he turned to Toby, who was sitting on his right. “And Toby, what is wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me you were getting double the money every month?” Toby shrugged, rolling his eyes. “How was I supposed to know? I thought you were just worried I’d run out of cash, so you split it into two transfers.” Toby leaned across the table, his eyes boring into mine. “So what, Lucas? You felt cheated because of some college money, and that’s why you decided to steal Dad’s fifty grand?” I opened my mouth to respond, but my dad threw his arm out, physically shielding Toby from me. He patted my shoulder, his voice pleading. “The college money was my fault, Lucas. My memory is terrible. I messed up the accounts.” “Toby just speaks before he thinks. Don’t take it out on him.” I ignored Toby and looked straight at my dad. “Dad. The fifty thousand. I gave it all back to you. Do you honestly, truly not remember a single time I handed you those envelopes of cash?” My dad winced, looking deeply pained. “Sorry to interrupt,” the restaurant manager said, walking into the private dining room and breaking the suffocating tension. My dad immediately forced a bright smile. “Mr. Miller, how is everything? Please let me know if we can adjust anything for you.” “It’s very good, thank you,” my dad said. “Perfect. We can finalize the details once you’re finished with your dinner.” As soon as the manager stepped out, my dad acted as if nothing had happened, waving his fork. “Eat, eat! We’re all family. Let’s not let the food get cold.” Silverware clinked against plates. I hadn’t even swallowed my first bite when Toby muttered under his breath, “You’re always coddling him, Dad.” “A few grand from college is nothing compared to fifty thousand dollars!” “He’s clearly just trying to take your entire life savings.” My dad nudged him hard, telling him to drop it, but Toby was already on a roll. He pulled out his phone, opened the calculator app, and began aggressively tapping the screen. “Let’s do the math,” Toby sneered, holding the phone up. “Four years of college allowance at five hundred a month is twenty-four thousand. You got five hundred, so Dad owed you twenty-three thousand five hundred.” “But wait. Summer break is three months, winter break is one month. That’s four months a year you lived at home. Sixteen months total where Dad didn’t owe you a dime for food.” “So subtract eight thousand. That means Dad owed you fifteen thousand five hundred.” “Deduct that from the fifty thousand Dad left with you, and you still owe him thirty-four thousand five hundred!” “So give him the damn money!” My uncle Richard sighed, playing the mediator. “Lucas, Toby needs this money for his wedding.” “You have to understand. Toby is willing to meet you halfway. You’re brothers. Don’t ruin your family over a budget dispute.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my dad cut me off again. He smiled warmly at the table. “Lucas has always been the responsible one. He wouldn’t let his brother’s wedding fall through.” “Let’s eat first. We’ve had a long day.” Suddenly, Aunt Helen smiled at me. “Lucas, since Toby is getting married, you as the older brother must be preparing a very generous gift. How much are you putting in the card?” I had already set aside a thousand dollars. But my dad spoke up before I could answer. “Lucas is giving at least five thousand. They bicker, but I know how much Lucas loves his little brother.” He was trapping me, painting me into a corner where I couldn’t say no without looking like a monster. I looked around the table. “I just bought a townhouse two years ago and my mortgage is tight. I’ve prepared a hundred dollars.” My dad had been furious when I bought that place. He hadn’t supported the decision, and I hadn’t asked for his permission. He had ignored my calls for weeks afterward. At my words, the temperature in the room plummeted. Toby let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Of course. The guy who’s trying to steal from his own father can’t even spare a decent wedding gift.” The relatives leaned in, their voices overlapping in a chorus of disappointment. “Lucas, this is his wedding. A hundred dollars is insulting. You’re embarrassing your father.” My dad’s smile finally slipped. “Lucas, stop playing games. This is serious. He’s your only brother. You need to show him some real support.” The restaurant manager walked back in, holding a folder with the contract, mercifully cutting off the onslaught. She laid it out on the table. “Alright, so our standard package is normally $150 per person, but we can offer you a discounted rate of $130.” “For 100 guests, the catering and venue fee will be $13,000.” “For the decor, we have different tiers. The basic setup starts at $5,000, and our mid-tier is $8,000.” “Our premium all-inclusive package, which includes the bridal suite, makeup, and dress rentals, is $15,000.” “And we can provide guest shuttles for $1,000.” My dad and Toby studied the brochures. My dad closed the folder and looked at the manager, ready to negotiate. “How about we do the premium all-inclusive package, the shuttles, and the catering for a flat $25,000? But you have to give us the absolute best decor. This is my son’s big day. I won’t have him or his bride feeling second-class.” The manager paused, calculating. “Let me speak to my director.” She stepped aside to make a quick phone call, then returned with a nod. “We can do that. I’ll have my assistant print the updated contract.” Once my dad signed his name on the line, the manager smiled politely. “And how will we be handling the payment today? Card or check?” My dad turned his head slowly, looking at me with absolute confidence. “Lucas, didn’t I leave that fifty thousand with you?” “Go ahead and take care of the twenty-five thousand deposit now. You can keep whatever’s left over.” A cold, hollow laugh escaped my chest. “Dad, what are you playing at?” “I know your memory isn’t great, but there is no way on earth you forgot that I already gave you every single dollar of that money.” “Are you really trying to force me to pay for Toby’s wedding?” My dad’s face fell, his eyes filling with a wounded, fragile sorrow. “Lucas… how could you say that to me?” “I genuinely don’t remember you giving it back. To accuse me of lying… it breaks my heart.” He clutched his chest, looking like a father utterly destroyed by his ungrateful son. Toby jumped out of his chair, pointing a finger at me. “You selfish piece of garbage! You keep claiming you gave it back! Where is the proof? Where are the receipts?” In an instant, the room erupted. The voices of aunts and uncles swarmed me like wasps. “Lucas, how can you be so heartless? We’ve been talking to you for hours and you won’t listen to a word!” “Your father worked himself to the bone for you, and you’re stealing his life savings.” “You’re the one who went to college! How can you behave with so little dignity?” “He’s only asking for half of his own money back, and you still won’t give it to him!” I couldn’t breathe. The sheer, suffocating weight of their hypocrisy pressed down on my chest until something inside me finally snapped. “Enough!” I roared. The room went dead silent. “You want proof? Fine. I will show you the proof. Every single dollar has a paper trail.”

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My cousin’s wife was hooking up with someone at a cheap motel, and my cousin, too terrified to go alone, dragged me along to back him up. I wanted no part in their toxic marital drama, but he threw himself at my feet, weeping and begging. I made him promise, over and over, that we would only talk—no fists, no violence. He swore up and down. But the moment we arrived, he kicked the door open, lunged at the bed, and plunged a knife straight into the lover’s chest. The knife was one he had swiped from my kitchen earlier that day. It was covered in my fingerprints. At the trial, the two of them stood in the witness box and pointed their fingers directly at me. They swore under oath that I was the killer. I was defenseless. I was sentenced to death. After they put me to death, my cousin didn’t just walk away from the million-dollar debt he owed my business. He forged a promissory note, seized my house, and kicked my grieving parents out onto the street. My parents, shattered by the loss of their only son, had nowhere to go. They froze to death on a bitter, snowy night. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day my cousin begged me to go to that motel. … “Lester, please. Just come with me. I’m begging you, man.” “Lester, your cousin is on his knees. What more do you want? Do you want me to get down on my knees, too?” Two familiar voices pulled me from the lingering terror of a needle piercing my skin—the cold, sterile terror of the execution chamber, the phantom sting of the chemicals still burning in my veins. I opened my eyes to see my cousin, Kyle, kneeling on the hardwood floor in front of me. Gripping my arm with a vice-like hold was his mother, my Aunt Helen, looking as if she was about to drop to her knees as well. The realization hit me like a physical blow: I was back. I had traveled back to the very day Kyle tried to drag me into his twisted trap. “Lester, the guy is built like a tank,” Kyle pleaded, his eyes shining with desperate, fake tears. “I can’t face him alone. I can’t bring anyone else into this—it’s too embarrassing. You’re my family, man. I had no choice but to come to you.” “I swear, I just need you to stand there. To back me up. I won’t make you do a thing.” He had said those exact words in my past life. But the moment we got to the motel and he kicked that door open, he didn’t hesitate. Before I could even process what was happening, he had plunged a kitchen knife into the chest of Victor, the man sleeping with his wife. Victor bled out right there on the cheap sheets. I had stood there, utterly paralyzed with horror. When I finally found my voice and screamed at Kyle to run, he had simply leaned against the dresser, casually lighting a cigarette. “What are you panicking for?” he had muttered. “If you want to run, go ahead.” I didn’t even make it out of the lobby before security tackled me. The front desk had already received an anonymous tip about a murder, and they pegged me as the prime suspect. While I was frantically trying to explain, the police arrived. They brought me back up to the bloody room. Before I could open my mouth to defend myself, Kyle and his wife, Amber, were already weeping to the officers. “Officer, we saw the whole thing. My cousin, Lester, did it. He killed him.” “He and Victor were business rivals. They’ve been at each other’s throats for months over a deal. We’re family to both of them, so we arranged this meeting to help them patch things up. We had no idea Lester would be this reckless. He just pulled out a knife and snapped…” “That’s a lie! You killed him! Why are you lying?!” I had screamed, my chest tight, my voice cracking. “Officer, I swear to God, it wasn’t me!” But the motel’s security cameras had mysteriously glitched that night. The murder weapon was a knife from my own kitchen, covered in my own fingerprints. To make matters worse, the police database showed a previous harassment report Victor had filed against me after a heated argument. The motive was served on a silver platter. I was convicted. Sentenced to death. I died a criminal’s death, buried in shame. My elderly parents were destroyed. But their nightmare was only beginning. With me out of the picture, Kyle refused to pay back the million dollars he owed my business. Instead, he produced a forged contract claiming I owed “him” a million dollars, demanding my parents pay it back immediately. Grief-stricken and legally outmaneuvered, my parents were forced to sign over their house to settle the “debt.” Left homeless, they froze to death on a bitterly cold winter night, huddled under a thin blanket on a park bench. It wasn’t until after my death, when my spirit lingered in the cold air, that I realized the truth. The entire catching-them-in-the-act setup was a meticulously designed trap. Kyle owed both me and Victor massive sums of money. So, he devised a sickening plan: he had Amber seduce Victor, dragged me along under the guise of an outraged husband, and used a knife he had stolen from my kitchen to commit the murder. Two creditors, silenced in one stroke. One dead, one executed by the state. The memory made my blood run cold, then boil with a white-hot fury. I violently wrenched my arm free from my aunt’s grasp. “Find someone else to parade your dirty laundry with,” I said, my voice cold and hard. “I’m not humoring this pathetic drama.” Kyle froze, his desperate expression instantly hardening into something ugly and resentful. “Lester, are you seriously saying that right now? Your own cousin asks you for help, and you’re worried about your reputation?” “Have you forgotten everything I’ve done for you over the years?” I let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Everything you’ve done for me? You actually have the nerve to say that?” “I trusted you to expand our territory, and you embezzled a million dollars of my company’s funds—money you still haven’t paid back.” “I sent you to negotiate a project with Victor, and you used my name to illegally solicit a million-dollar investment from him, which you pocketed, leaving me to take the fall and almost getting me into a fistfight with him.” “You haven’t helped me a single day in your life, Kyle. All you do is drag me into your garbage. From this second on, we are done. Get the hell out of my house.” Kyle’s face flushed a deep, angry crimson. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Aunt Helen, seeing her precious son backed into a corner, stepped in, pointing a manicured finger directly at my nose. “Lester! You ungrateful, cold-hearted bastard! Your cousin is going through the worst crisis of his life, and you stand there talking to him like he’s trash? Where is your humanity?” “We are family! Blood is thicker than water! How can you just stand by and watch him get humiliated like this?” “Family.” The word tasted like ash in my mouth. In my past life, when she and her son were throwing my grieving father out of his own home, my dad had begged her, weeping, to give them just a few more days because of their shared blood. And what had she said? She had looked down her nose at him and said, “Business is business, Richard. Debt is debt. If your son was a useless criminal who owed my boy money, that’s on you. If you don’t pack up and leave by tonight, I’ll hire men to throw your things into the gutter. Don’t blame your big sister for being heartless.” Recalling her smug, cruel face made my stomach churn with disgust. “Save your guilt trips, Aunt Helen. They don’t work on me anymore,” I said coldly. “The answer is no. I am not helping him catch his cheating wife, and I am not getting involved in this mess.” Aunt Helen’s face twisted in rage, turning a mottled shade of red and purple. Unable to find words to argue with me, she turned around and began hammering frantically on my parents’ bedroom door. “Richard! Mary! Stop hiding in there! Come out and see what a disrespectful, heartless monster of a son you’ve raised!” The door clicked open, and my parents stepped out, looking anxious and deeply uncomfortable. My dad looked at me with a sigh. “Lester, son… maybe you should just go with Kyle? Your aunt and cousin are practically begging you.” “It’s a delicate matter, and they can’t exactly ask strangers. We’d feel better knowing you’re there to keep Kyle safe. If things get out of hand…” “Mom, Dad, stop,” I interrupted, my voice gentle but unyielding. “I’m not going. And that is final.” They didn’t know what a parasite Kyle truly was. They were still worrying about his safety, completely unaware of the knife he was waiting to plunge into my back. Seeing that even my parents couldn’t sway me, Kyle realized I was truly, immovably done with him. His eyes narrowed, glinting with venom. “Fine, Lester. Remember today,” he spat, his voice dropping to a low hiss. “I don’t need you. I can handle those two pieces of trash on my own.” He grabbed his mother’s arm, and they slammed the front door so hard the walls vibrated. Once they were gone, the thought of what Kyle might do to Victor weighed on me. Despite everything, I decided to throw a bone of warning to Victor out of sheer basic human decency. I dialed his number and warned him to stay far away from Kyle’s wife. But Victor didn’t appreciate the gesture. He immediately blew up at me over the phone. “You’re full of shit, Lester! Amber and I are strictly professional. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do. You’re still pissed about our argument last month, so you’re spreading cheap rumors to ruin my reputation, aren’t you?” I didn’t even bother arguing. I just hung up. In my past life, we had shared a tragic, manipulated fate. I wanted to throw him a lifeline, but some people are determined to drown. If he wanted to treat my warning like poison, so be it. Let him face the storm. The next morning, I was drinking coffee when a breaking news alert flashed on my phone: “A local man had been rushed to the hospital in critical condition after being stabbed multiple times in a downtown motel. Doctors were currently fighting to save his life.” As I was trying to find out the identity of the victim, my front door was suddenly subjected to a violent, deafening pounding. I opened it to find Victor’s wife, Megan, and his elderly mother standing on the landing, their faces distorted with grief and blinding rage. “You absolute monster, Lester!” Megan screamed, lunging forward. “Victor only had a few words with you, and you try to murder him? Well, here we are! Why don’t you just stab the rest of us too?!” She pulled a kitchen knife from her purse and tried to force the hilt into my hand, physically pulling my arm toward her chest. Victor’s mother grabbed my other arm, her teeth sinking deep into my wrist. “You animal!” she shrieked through clenched teeth, her voice muffled by my skin. “Give me back my son! I’ll tear you apart myself!” I wrestled myself free from the two hysterical women, backing away and shouting over their screams. “Are you out of your minds?! I haven’t seen Victor in weeks! How could I have stabbed him?” “Who told you this garbage? Why are you blaming me?!” Megan pointed a trembling, manicured finger at my face, her voice cracking. “Stop lying, Lester! I was there when you and Victor had that fight! I heard you say you wanted him dead!” “And don’t try to deny it—your own cousin, Kyle, confirmed it! He told us you bought a knife specifically to go after Victor!” Right on cue, the elevator doors chimed, and Kyle and Amber stepped out, hurrying down the hallway with practiced expressions of deep concern. Kyle walked up to me, shaking his head with a look of theatrical disappointment. “Lester, how could you be so reckless? I begged you not to do it.” “You’ve ruined your life, man. Murder is a capital offense. Just go to the police station and turn yourself in. Maybe they’ll show some mercy if you confess.” I shoved him back, hard. “Cut the bullshit, Kyle. You didn’t see me do anything. For all I know, you’re the one who stabbed him!” Amber stepped forward, grabbing my jacket sleeve. “Lester, have you lost your mind? Where is your conscience?” “When you bought that knife to get revenge on Victor, your cousin literally got on his knees to beg you to stop. You wouldn’t listen. Now that you’ve done this, everyone else is running away from you. But Kyle and I ran straight here to convince you to confess, to save what’s left of your life.” “Don’t be stubborn. Listen to your family. Just turn yourself in.” Hearing this, Megan’s eyes went wild. Believing their words entirely, she raised the knife again and charged at me. “You think you’re getting a light sentence?! Over my dead body! I’ll kill you first!” Kyle and Amber quickly stepped aside, exchanging a swift, ugly smirk as they prepared to watch the bloody spectacle unfold. I dodged Megan’s desperate swipe, turning to run back inside my apartment to lock the door, but Kyle suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm, pinning me in place. “Lester, where do you think you’re going? You made your bed, now lie in it! Stop running from the police!” With my arm pinned, I couldn’t move as Megan lunged again, the silver blade aiming straight for my stomach. “Stop right there!” Just as the blade was inches from my flesh, several heavy-set men burst from the stairwell. With loud, commanding shouts, they tackled Megan to the ground, disarming her in a second. The police had arrived. Pinned to the floor, Megan shrieked, “Let me go! He killed my husband! I want him dead!” Victor’s mother scrambled over, grabbing the officer’s uniform. “Please, let her go! She’s just grieving! My son is dying!” She pointed wildly at me. “Arrest him! He’s the monster who stabbed my boy!” The commotion had drawn the attention of the entire floor. Neighbors began opening their doors, whispering and staring at the unfolding chaos in the hallway. The lead officer, Detective Reynolds, gently helped the elderly woman to her feet. “Ma’am, please calm down. We are here specifically to investigate the assault on your son.” Reynolds turned his gaze to me, his expression grim. “Lester. We received a tip identifying you as the primary suspect in the attempted murder of Victor. We recovered the weapon at the scene, and it has partial prints on it. We need to take your fingerprints for comparison right now.” Two forensic technicians stepped forward, holding out ink pads and scanners. The neighbors began whispering frantically. “What is going on? Did Lester actually stab someone?” “I heard he murdered some guy over a business dispute…” “Shh, wait and see. The police are still testing him.” Kyle and Amber seized the opportunity, loudly playing to the crowd. “It’s true, everyone,” Kyle called out, sighing heavily. “I’m his cousin, and it breaks my heart, but I saw him buy the knife. I begged him not to do it, but he was blinded by rage…” “We came here to convince him to surrender so he wouldn’t face the death penalty, but he just won’t listen. It’s tragic.” The neighbors looked at me with horror and disgust. My parents, who had just returned from buying groceries, squeezed through the crowded hallway. Hearing the rumors, my mother dropped her grocery bag, spilling apples across the floor, and began to weep. “Lester, baby… tell me it’s not true. What are we going to do?” I held my parents’ hands tightly, squeezing them reassuringly. “Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I have nothing to do with this. It’s going to be cleared up in a second.” Just as I spoke, the two technicians stepped back, holding a tablet showing the analysis. “Detective Reynolds. The prints on the handle of the knife recovered from the motel are an exact match for the suspect, Lester.” The hallway erupted. “Oh my god, he actually did it.” “And he was standing there pretending to be innocent! What a psychopath.” Megan and her mother-in-law screamed at me. “You sick bastard! The evidence is right there! How are you going to lie your way out of this now?!” My mother collapsed against my father, sobbing hysterically. “Lester, you said you were innocent… how is this happening?” Kyle let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “I told you to confess, Lester. Now you’re going to rot in a cell.” Detective Reynolds stepped forward, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Lester, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Victor.” I calmly put my hands up, but instead of offering my wrists, I pulled out my phone. “Detective Reynolds, hold on a second. I am not your guy. And before you put those cuffs on me, you might want to look at this video. Once you do, you’ll know exactly who you should be arresting.”

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At the school’s End-of-Year Family Carnival, my husband, Ethan, finally gave in to our son’s begging. It was the first time he had ever come with me to pick up our son from school. The teacher walked out, holding our son’s hand. She gave Ethan a strange look and muttered casually, “Lily’s dad, when you used to pick up your daughter, you’d always show up thirty minutes early.” “How come you’re so careless when it comes to your son? A father shouldn’t play favorites.” The umbrella in Ethan’s hand slipped, clattering to the wet ground. Muddy water splashed all over my legs. I held my trembling son, who was wrapped in a faded school hoodie, and stared at the man in front of me. He felt like a total stranger. We only had one son. Where on earth did a daughter come from? Ethan shuddered violently, his voice shaking. “What rubbish are you talking about! I don’t have a daughter!” The teacher got frustrated and pointed toward the preschool classroom next door. “How could I mistake you? Just this morning, you brought a huge box of premium organic Rainier cherries for Lily to share with the other kids!” Ethan’s face went dead white. He grabbed my shoulder and tried to push me toward the car. “The teacher got the wrong guy. Babe, let’s go. Now.” I reached up, gently straightened his wet collar, and said softly, “What’s the rush?” Turning around, I smiled at the bewildered teacher. “Could you show me the way, please?” “I’d love to see what an amazing, world-class father my husband is to someone else’s child.”

The teacher walked ahead. Her heels clicked sharply against the polished concrete floor. Ethan stood frozen in place. I held Leo tightly in my arms, keeping my eyes locked on Ethan. The cuffs of Leo’s school hoodie were completely frayed, exposing his thin, pale little wrist. He buried his face in my neck. His body was shivering slightly from the rain. “Ethan, let’s go,” I called out. Ethan wiped the rain from his face. His skin looked sickly pale. “Claire, there’s really no need. The teacher must have gotten the wrong person. Preschool teachers these days are so unreliable.” He reached out to grab my arm. I stepped aside, dodging his hand. “Let’s just go look. Who knows? Maybe one of your clients has a kid named Lily too.” The teacher looked back at us, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Lily’s dad, it’s right ahead. Lily should still be having her snack.” Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He didn’t say another word and followed silently behind me. The hallway was long, the walls covered in colorful children’s drawings. The teacher stopped outside a classroom door and pointed inside. “There she is. That’s Lily.” I followed her finger. The classroom was warm and brightly lit. A group of children in beautiful, expensive clothes sat around a circular table. Right in the middle sat a little girl. She was wearing a pink tutu dress and a sparkling crystal headband. She was holding a massive, deep-purple cherry, stuffing it into her mouth. The cherries were huge. They looked incredibly expensive. Leo shifted in my arms. He whispered in my ear, “Mommy, I want some too.” I gently patted his back. “Ethan, you told me you bought that box of cherries for a client.” Ethan stood by the back door of the classroom, not daring to step inside. He kept his head down, his voice barely a whisper. “I did give them to a client… Maybe their kid goes to school here. It’s probably just a coincidence. Same name.” Right then, the little girl named Lily looked up. She spotted Ethan standing at the door. Her eyes lit up. She tossed the cherry aside and jumped down from her chair. She ran toward us as fast as her little legs could carry her. “Daddy!” Her voice was high and loud, echoing through the hallway. Ethan stiffened completely. The young teacher inside the classroom looked over and smiled. “Lily, your dad is here to pick you up!” Lily threw her arms around Ethan’s leg, clinging to him. “Daddy, why are you so late today? Chloe said you were going to take me out for pizza!” Ethan instinctively pushed the little girl away, his panicked eyes darting to me. “No… Claire, let me explain.” He tried to shake his leg free from Lily’s grip. His movement was too rough. Lily lost her balance and landed hard on her butt. “Waaah!” The little girl burst into tears. Ethan bent down to help her, but froze halfway and pulled his hands back. A hurried set of footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. A woman in a chic cream-colored trench coat rushed over. She scooped Lily up into her arms, frantically dusting off the girl’s dress. “What happened? How did you fall, sweetie?” The woman looked up, revealing a face with flawless, heavy makeup. It was Chloe. Ethan’s so-called “distant cousin.” She had moved to our city three years ago, claiming she needed help finding a job. When Chloe saw Ethan, her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Ethan, how could you let her fall and cry like this?” Before she could finish her sentence, she finally noticed me standing there. The expression on Chloe’s face froze. Holding the child, she took a half-step back. “Claire… you’re here too.” Leo coughed twice in my arms. I adjusted my grip on him, looking at the three of them. The man in a tailored suit, the woman in a designer trench coat, the child in a fancy tutu. Meanwhile, my son and I were soaking wet, looking completely miserable. Ethan opened his mouth to speak. I turned around and walked away. “We’re discussing this at home.”

The car heater was blasting. Ethan sat in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. The windshield wipers moved with a rhythmic, irritating screech. Leo sat in his car seat in the back, wrapped in my damp jacket. He was still shivering. Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned. “Can you tell him to stop putting his feet on the seat? This is genuine leather. It’s expensive to maintain.” I pulled out some tissues and wiped the water from Leo’s hair. “Leo has a fever.” I touched my son’s forehead. It was burning hot. Ethan sighed, clearly annoyed. “It’s just a little rain. Kids aren’t that fragile. Once we get home, give him some warm water and let him sweat it out.” “Lily is a kid too. Why did you buy her such an expensive dress?” I asked quietly. Ethan slammed on the brakes. The sudden jerk threw me forward, my forehead slamming into the passenger seatback. Behind us, a chorus of angry car horns erupted. Ethan stepped on the gas again, his words pouring out in a defensive rush. “I told you, Chloe was stupid. She got pregnant by some guy who ran off. I only helped her out because I felt bad for a single mother!” “The kid grows up without a father, so she insists on calling me ‘Daddy.’ What am I supposed to do? Argue with a toddler?” “And the cherries?” “I bought them for a client! The client rejected them, so I just handed them to Chloe.” “You know how tight our budget is with the mortgage. Spending money on luxury fruit like that is just too extravagant for us.” I stared out the window at the passing streetlights. The faded hoodie on Leo was washed out, the sleeves a couple of inches too short. Last month, I told Ethan that Leo was growing and needed new clothes. Ethan had said: “Kids grow fast. Buying new clothes is a waste of money.” “My cousin has a son who just outgrew his old clothes. We can just take those hand-me-downs.” So, Leo kept wearing these oversized, worn-out rags. Meanwhile, Lily got to wear custom-made tutu dresses and crystal headbands. We drove into the underground garage. Ethan parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt first. “Look, stop acting like this. Chloe has a hard life. We need to be more generous.” “I’ll cook dinner tonight to make it up to you, okay?” He reached into the back to pick up Leo. Leo shrank back, avoiding his touch. Ethan’s hand hung awkwardly in the air before he pulled it back, miffed. “This kid… he’s never close to his own father.” Once we got home, Ethan went straight into the kitchen. I measured Leo’s temperature in the living room. 101.3°F. We were completely out of kids’ fever medicine. I walked into the study to see if there was an extra first-aid kit. The desk in the study was cluttered with a messy pile of receipts and documents. Ethan usually forbade me from entering the study, claiming it contained “confidential company files.” But today, the door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see the messy desk. With Leo in my mind, I pushed the door open. I rummaged through the drawers. No medicine. But my fingers brushed against a hard plastic card. I pulled it out. It was a Disney VIP Annual Pass. The photo on the card showed Chloe, Lily, and Ethan, all smiling brightly. Their heads were pressed together, with the Disney castle and fireworks in the background. Underneath the card lay a store receipt. The date was last Saturday. It was Leo’s birthday. Ethan had told me he had to work overtime and couldn’t make it home. Leo had waited up until midnight, eventually falling asleep at the dinner table. The receipt showed a long list of items: Princess Dress: $500. Crystal Shoes: $300. Luxury Seafood Buffet: $200. Total: $1,000. My hand holding the receipt shook violently. That night, Ethan hadn’t returned until after 1:00 AM. He had brought back a tiny, cheap cupcake from a gas station. It was barely the size of my palm, and the frosting had completely melted. He had hugged me and said: “Babe, the company is struggling lately. They cut our bonuses.” “We need to save. When we have more money, we’ll throw our boy a proper party.” And I had believed him. I had deposited all the money I made from my freelance design work into his account, not even buying myself a single new shirt. The study door flew open. Ethan stood there, wearing an apron, a spatula in his hand. When he saw what I was holding, his face twisted in rage. “Who gave you permission to go through my things?” He lunged forward, ripping the annual pass and the receipt out of my hands. His movement was so violent that the spatula almost scraped my face.

Ethan crumpled the receipt into a ball and shoved it into his pocket along with the card. “This was for networking! A client’s daughter wanted to go to Disney. What’s wrong with me tagging along? It’s for work!” I stared at him. “Ethan, did you really need to ‘network’ on Leo’s birthday? You know exactly what you did!” “So what? If I don’t work, where does the money for this house come from? Who pays the mortgage?” He yelled back defensively, his voice booming. “You think I want to work overtime? I’m doing all of this for you and our son!” From the living room, Leo began to cough violently. I ignored Ethan, pushed past him, and ran out of the study. Leo’s face was flushed red with fever. He was curled up on the couch, gasping for air. “Mommy… it hurts…” He clutched the edge of my shirt, his knuckles turning white. I scooped him up. “Let’s go. We’re going to the hospital.” Ethan followed us out. “The hospital? At this hour? Do you know how expensive emergency room copays are?” “We have ginger in the kitchen. I’ll make him some tea to sweat it out.” “Hospitals are just scams anyway. They charge hundreds of dollars for a minor cold.” As I slipped Leo’s shoes on, I pressed my cheek against his burning forehead. “He has a high fever. We are going.” Ethan blocked the front door. “Claire, stop wasting money! A fever won’t kill him.” “When I was a kid, I had a 104-degree fever. My mom just wrapped me in blankets, and I woke up fine the next morning.” “Get out of my way.” My voice was ice-cold as I glared at him. Ethan flinched at my expression. He reluctantly stepped aside, muttering under his breath: “Fine, go. Waste your money. You’re spoiling him. Can’t even handle a tiny cold.” He didn’t put on his shoes, nor did he grab the car keys. Obviously, he had no intention of coming with us. I hadn’t expected him to anyway. Carrying my fifty-pound son, I ran down the stairs and tried to hail a cab. It was pouring, and there were no Ubers nearby. I stood by the curb for twenty minutes, getting completely soaked. Leo kept crying out for his dad in his feverish delirium. My tears mixed with the rain, tasting salty on my lips. At the hospital, we went through emergency registration and blood tests. The doctor diagnosed him with acute pneumonia. He needed an IV drip immediately. I ran up and down the hospital corridors alone, paying fees and collecting medicine. When the nurse inserted the IV needle, Leo cried out, begging for his dad. The nurse looked at me, standing there alone, and asked, “Where is his father?” I shook my head. “He’s dead.” By the time the IV finished, it was 3:00 AM. Leo’s fever had finally gone down, and he fell asleep on the observation bed. As I sat beside him, my phone buzzed. It was a bank notification. [Your account ending in 4012 completed a transaction of $800.00 at 03:15 AM at Ivy Private Pediatric Clinic.] That card was under my name, but Ethan had it linked to his Apple Pay. That was the money I had been saving for Leo’s college fund. I immediately called Ethan. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. Ethan’s voice was hushed, and the background was dead quiet, like he was in a private hallway. “Hello? What do you want in the middle of the night?” “Where are you?” “In bed, sleeping.” “Then explain to me why $800 was just charged to my card.” Silence stretched on the other end for a few seconds. “Oh, that… I bought health insurance for Leo online.” “You know how expensive pediatric visits are. Better safe than sorry.” “You bought insurance from a luxury private pediatric clinic at three in the morning?” Ethan snapped. “Ugh, you are so annoying! Chloe’s kid got sick and she’s at this clinic. She didn’t have enough cash, so she borrowed it from me!” “She’ll pay me back tomorrow. Why do you have to be so incredibly petty?” *Click.* He hung up. I watched the screen of my phone fade to black. *Borrow?* Chloe didn’t even have a job. How was she going to pay it back? For the last three years, any money “borrowed” by her had never been seen again. Using my burner account, I opened Ethan’s Instagram. Just five minutes ago, he had posted a story set to “Close Friends” only. The photo showed a tiny hand with an IV drip, set against the backdrop of a luxurious private hospital room. The caption read: *[My heart breaks for my baby girl. Daddy will always protect you.]* In the comment section, Chloe had replied: *[Thank you, Daddy. We love you.]* Ethan replied: *[Always.]* I tapped the picture and zoomed in. On the bedside table sat a limited-edition Lego set—the exact one I couldn’t afford to buy for Leo. Meanwhile, my actual son was lying in a noisy, crowded public emergency room, covered in a thin, yellowed hospital blanket. My fingers gripped my phone so tightly they went numb. I turned to look at the sleeping Leo. He was so well-behaved, barely even crying out loud when he was sick. All because Ethan had once told him that “crying boys are annoying.” I stood up, walked over to the nurse’s station, and borrowed a pair of scissors. I snipped a piece of the medical tape. Then, I dialed our home landline. No one answered. He was at the private hospital, playing daddy to his mistress’s child. Perfect. I sat back down, opened my banking app, and transferred every single cent left in that account to my best friend, Sarah. There was only $2,000 left. Over the past three years, Ethan had drained all my savings using every excuse imaginable. He said he was investing, managing our wealth, and planning for our future. It turned out his “future” never included me or Leo.

The next morning, Leo’s fever had mostly subsided. The doctor prescribed some antibiotics and discharged us. When we got back, Ethan still wasn’t home. The kitchen was cold and empty. I made some oatmeal for Leo and helped him eat. He was such a good boy. Right after taking his medicine, he quietly went to his room to do his homework. I walked into our bedroom and opened the closet. Ethan’s side was lined with pristine, expensive designer clothes. He always said that as a manager, his appearance was his brand, so he couldn’t look cheap. On my side, there were only a few stretched-out t-shirts and old jeans. I pulled out a massive suitcase. And I began to pack. First went Leo’s clothes, books, and toys. Then my documents, my laptop, and my drawing tablet. My movements were swift, without a shred of hesitation. When I got to the nightstand, I pulled open the drawer. Deep inside was a small, locked box. This was Ethan’s prized possession. He kept the key on his keychain at all times. But last night, in his rush to leave for the private hospital, he had changed pants and left his keys on the shoe rack by the entryway. I walked over, grabbed the key, and unlocked the box. Inside was a stack of papers. Right on top was a DNA paternity test. Petitioner: Ethan Vance. Test Subject: Lily Lin. Result: 99.9% probability of paternity. Ethan Vance is the biological father of Lily Lin. The date on the report was from three years ago. Right around the time Chloe first came to “seek help.” It had been a scam from the very beginning. Underneath the report was a property deed. A brand-new condo downtown. The sole owner listed was Chloe Lin. Paid in full. The payment record was from two years ago. That was exactly when I had received a $20,000 design bonus. Ethan had come to me crying, claiming his mother was critically ill and needed immediate surgery. Without a second thought, I had handed him the money. I had even taken out a high-interest personal loan to cover the rest of the medical costs. To this day, I was still paying off the interest on that loan, working late nights to sketch designs. It turned out that the “dying mother” I had starved myself to save was actually a luxury condo for his mistress. A wave of intense nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet, but nothing came up. Looking in the mirror, my face was pale and haggard, with fine lines creeping around my eyes. This was the reward for seven years of loving that man. I took clear photos of every single document, put them back exactly as they were, and locked the box. I placed the keys back on the shoe rack. Suddenly, the front door clicked open. Ethan was back. He carried a bag of takeout, a look of exhaustion on his face, but with an undeniable air of smug satisfaction. He had probably felt like a real hero playing family at Chloe’s bedside last night. “Babe, how is Leo? I bought some fresh bagels. They’re still warm.” He kicked off his shoes, walked in, and tossed the bag onto the table. When he saw the suitcase in the living room, he froze. “Are you going on a business trip?” I stepped out of the bedroom, holding my phone. “Yeah. The agency has an emergency project,” I said, keeping my voice completely flat. Ethan let out a sigh of relief and stepped closer to hug me. “For how many days? Can you skip it? There’s so much to do around the house, and you know I’m terrible with kids.” I stepped back, dodging his arms. “I have to go. Someone has to pay the mortgage.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Just make it quick. Oh, by the way, about that money…” “I transferred all of it to my best friend, Sarah,” I said. Ethan’s eyes widened. “What? Why the hell would you do that? I need that money right now!” “Chloe’s kid is getting discharged, and they’re short on cash. Transfer it back immediately!” “Sarah is sick. She’s in the hospital and needed a loan,” I lied smoothly. Ethan lost his mind. “Her parents can pay for her! Our money is for emergencies! How can you be so incredibly selfish?” “Chloe is a single mother. It’s hard enough for her. What if they stop her kid’s medication?” He lunged forward to grab my phone. “Give me the phone. I’ll transfer it back myself!” I took a step back, clutching my phone tightly. Hearing the shouting, Leo peeked his head out from his room. “Daddy…” Ethan didn’t even look at him. His face was twisted in pure rage. “Go back to your room! Stay out of grown-up business!” Leo flinched and slammed the door shut. I stared at Ethan’s ugly face. To pay for his bastard daughter’s private clinic bill, he was willing to rob his own son of emergency funds. “The transfer went through. I can’t get it back,” I said coldly. Ethan kicked the couch in frustration. “Claire, you are absolutely out of your mind! Fine! You want to play dirty? Don’t expect me to help you with anything ever again!” He snatched his car keys off the counter and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. *Bang.* The apartment fell into a dead silence. I walked over to Leo’s room and pushed the door open. Leo was clutching his backpack, tears welling in his eyes. “Mommy, are we leaving?” He had seen the suitcase. I knelt down and wiped his tears away. “Yes, sweetie. We’re leaving.” “Is Daddy coming with us?” “No.” “So… do I never have to wear old hand-me-downs again?” My throat tightened. I nodded fiercely. “Never. From now on, you only get brand-new clothes.” I grabbed our suitcase, took Leo’s hand, and walked out of the apartment we had lived in for five years.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442018”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On the day my dad walked out on us for another woman, my mom bought a pig. The pig was named Joy. I was also named Joy. Whenever she was angry, she would grab a wooden switch, go to the pen, and whip the pig. “Joy, why aren’t you dead yet?” I would squat nearby, listening to the thud of the wood hitting flesh, unable to tell which Joy she was screaming at. When she was tired of beating it, she would scoop out the exact same amount of food for the pig and me. “Good girl, Joy. As long as you eat more and get fat, Mommy will be happy.” To make her happy, I ate uncontrollably until I hit 250 pounds. But then, my mom only looked at me with disgust. “Look at you. What company would ever hire you looking like this? Are you planning to just be a couch potato and leach off me forever?” Later, my mukbang live streams blew up, and I started making ten grand a month. But my mom called just to curse at me. “You don’t care about your reputation, but I care about mine! You’re as fat as a pig, and you’re showing your face to the whole world? Aren’t you embarrassed?” I hid my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis under my pillow. Mom, I’m using my life to buy your approval. Will that finally be enough?

Maria, the office cleaning lady, asked me with concern, “Sweetie, you’re throwing up so much blood. You should go to the hospital.” I waved my hand, using the sink to push myself up. Outside, the voices from the cubicles dropped slightly. “Is she serious? Killing herself just for some internet money.” “Well, she makes more in one stream than we do in half a month.” “Still, it’s terrifying. I heard her throwing up just now. It sounded like a pig being slaughtered.” “She must have been a pig in her past life. She eats literally anything.” Just then, my phone rang. To my surprise, it was my mom. “I’m at the bus station. Where do you live?” I froze. It had been three years. This was the first time she had ever come to see me. “Mom, stay there. I’m coming to get you right now.” At the station exit, my mom was standing there. “Mom, let’s go. I’ll take you home.” I picked up her heavy luggage and walked her back to my place. She stood in the middle of my living room, looking around. Her eyes locked onto the empty takeout containers I hadn’t had time to throw away. “Is this what you eat every day?” “Sometimes I’m just too busy to cook…” “You make so much money, yet you live in a dump like this?” I choked up a bit. “Mom, this apartment is fifteen hundred a month. It’s actually pretty nice…” “Nice? My foot,” she interrupted. “On the bus ride here, I googled you. I saw your live stream.” She didn’t look at me. She just stared out the window. “All those people watching you stuff your face with tons of food. You look ridiculous.” “The folks back home saw it too. If you’re not embarrassed, I am.” I stood by the kitchen door, still holding the fresh groceries I had bought for her. “Mom, I do this to make a living…” “A living?” She whipped her head around. “What happens when you eat yourself to death?” “If you collapse, who’s going to take care of me when I’m old? You’re my only daughter. Who else can I rely on?” “Richard’s eldest son just got into a prep school, and he has another baby now. Both of them are more successful than you’ll ever be!” She sat on the couch and wiped her face. “Fine. I’m hungry. Go make dinner.” Fried fish, garlic shrimp, and chicken soup—I cooked a whole table of food. But she didn’t even look at me. She picked up her fork and started eating. Watching her eat, I let out a soft laugh. She paused, her fork hovering in the air. “What are you laughing at?” “Nothing,” I said. “Eat up, Mom. It won’t taste good once it gets cold.” She gave me a suspicious look. I leaned back in my chair. My hand slipped into my pocket, touching the crumpled diagnosis sheet that said I had late-stage stomach cancer. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

I was about to stand up to clear the dishes, but she stopped me. “Sit down.” She carried the bowls to the kitchen. “I’m staying here from now on to look after you.” I sat there, stunned. “These past years haven’t been easy for me. That bastard Richard just packed up and left, leaving the two of us.” “I raised you all by myself. You saw how much I suffered.” I sat at the dining table, silent. “When you were in college and had to pay those fees, I scraped every penny together for you.” “Back then, I was washing dishes at a diner for eight dollars an hour. I didn’t spend a single cent on myself. I gave it all to you.” In all these years, this was the first time I had ever heard her say this. “Mom…” She rinsed the bowls, put them on the rack, wiped her hands, and walked out. “So, stop doing those stupid eating streams.” I froze. “Mom, this makes good money. I need to support you.” “Support me?” She glared at me. “Is money all you care about now? Do you even care about me as your mother?” “That’s not what I—” “Then did you ever consider my dignity?” Her voice escalated. “Do you know what the neighbors back home are saying?” “They say you’re on the internet acting like a glutton, stuffing food down your throat like a pig. It’s humiliating.” “If this gets to Richard’s new wife, who knows how she’ll mock us.” I looked at her. “Dignity, dignity. That’s all you ever care about.” “Does dignity put food on the table? I have to make money while I still can. When my body gives out, I won’t be able to make a dime!” “What do you mean by that?” She glared at me. I shut my mouth. “What do you mean your body is giving out?” She walked over, standing right in front of me. “Are you hiding something from me?” “No.” I turned my face away. “I’m just saying, this job doesn’t last forever. I have to make as much as I can now.” She didn’t say anything. She sat back down on the couch. “Fine. Do whatever you want,” she said, her eyes dull. “But all the money you make has to go to me. I’ll keep it safe for you, so you don’t blow it.” When I was little, my mom’s eyes used to smile. Now, they never did. After a long silence, she whispered, “If you hadn’t been born a girl, your father would have never cheated with that woman.” “Mom, I was only seven when Dad cheated.” She went rigid. “Do you know what the saddest day of my life was? It wasn’t the day he left. It was the day he came back to visit me.” “He came back once a year to bring me snacks and buy me clothes.” “Whenever he came, you were happy. When he left, you cried. And after you cried, you would grab a switch and beat the pig.” My throat tightened. “Sometimes, when you beat the pig, I would squat right next to you and listen.” “Every time the pig squealed, I would flinch.” “You screamed, ‘Joy, why aren’t you dead yet?’ and I would wonder… should I be dead too?” Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. “Later, I realized you weren’t screaming at the pig. You were screaming at me. You were screaming at him,” I said. “But you couldn’t keep him, so you kept me. You took all your anger out on me.” She fell completely silent. That night, lying in bed, my phone buzzed. I scrolled down and saw a direct message. “Hey Joy, I’m a big fan of yours. Please take care of your health during your streams. Don’t eat too much. It breaks my heart to watch sometimes.”

At eight o’clock the next night, I started my stream on time. The moment the camera turned on, the chat began to flood. I smiled at the camera and picked up a piece of fried chicken. “Good evening, everyone! Thank you so much for the gifts. Today, your favorite curvy mukbanger, Joy, is eating fried chicken and spicy noodles!” The chat scrolled rapidly. “Joy looks a bit pale today…” “Eat up, eat up!” “Don’t eat too spicy, it’s bad for your stomach!” I tore off a piece of a chicken drumstick and took a bite. My stomach churned violently. I forced it down. As I was eating, the screen suddenly exploded with flashy animations. The chat went wild. “Ten thousand dollars! Oh my god!” “Thank you to the big boss!” I was stunned. I put down the chicken leg and stared at the screen. The user ID of the sender was “Richard.” A direct message popped up on my phone. “Joy, it’s Dad. Please stop the stream. Don’t eat anymore. I’m begging you.” I stared at the words. The screen exploded again—he had sent another ten thousand dollars. “Your mom took all the money I sent you in the past. I know that now. From now on, I’ll transfer it directly to you.” “Get off the stream, please. I’m begging you. Brenda is throwing a huge fit at home because of this.” My nose stung. I quickly lowered my head and chewed on the chicken. Then, another account sent fifteen thousand dollars. A DM followed. “Joy, it’s Brenda.” “Listen to me, sweetie, stop the stream. The relatives are all pointing fingers at me, saying I’m a horrible stepmother to you.” “Your dad and I made some good money in business these past two years. If you need money, just ask me.” The chat was still flying by. “Joy finally got some sugar daddies! You made it, girl! *crying emoji*” “Why is Joy crying?” I touched my face. It was wet. Just as I was about to speak, the door to the streaming room was kicked open. I turned around and saw my mom standing at the entrance. She was panting, her face bright red. Two staff members from my agency were behind her, trying to stop her but too afraid to grab her. “Mom, you…” She lunged forward and slapped me across the face. “When did you get back in touch with that cheating bastard?” “Huh? I raised you all these years, and you crawl back to him the second he throws some petty cash at you?” I held my burning cheek and looked at her. “Mom, I didn’t contact him…” Another slap. “Is that homewrecker Brenda there too? Did you call her ‘Mom’ yet?” I tried to speak, but she slapped me again. The live stream chat went completely chaotic. My mom grabbed me by my collar, dragging me in front of the camera, and screamed, “Look at this! This is the wonderful daughter I raised!” “Her dad cheated and abandoned us years ago. Now he comes back, throws a few dollars at her, and she’s wagging her tail like a dog to call him Daddy!” “And the homewrecker is here too! A happy little family reunion! What about me? What am I to her?” “She would rather give all her money to their new family than stay and take care of her own mother!” The chat was going insane. “Is this scripted or real?” “Wait, the big donor is her cheating dad?” “Stop hitting her!” The agency staff finally ran in to pull her away. My mom broke free, pointing at the camera and screaming, “Richard, you absolute piece of trash!” “Why are you acting like a saint now?” “And you, Brenda! You actually have the nerve to show up? You stole another woman’s husband. You’ll burn in hell!” Suddenly, the screen went black. The tech team had cut the stream. I stood there, my face burning, my ears ringing. My mom stood there panting, adjusting her clothes, and gave me a venomous look. I knew that look. That was the exact look she gave the pig when she beat it. The door pushed open, and Sarah, the operations director, walked in. She looked at my mom, then at me. Her expression was incredibly grim. “Joy, come to my office.”

I followed Sarah into her office. She closed the door and pointed to a chair. “Sit.” “I’ve heard some things about your family.” She poured a glass of water and set it in front of me. “It must be hard.” I didn’t say anything. “But business is business. What happened today is terrible for the company’s image.” “Joy,” her voice softened, “take a week off.” “Go home and sort out your family issues.” “The company employs a lot of people. We can’t let one person’s personal life ruin the entire business. You understand, right?” I raised my head to speak, but she waved her hand. “I know it’s not your fault.” She paused. “The cleaning lady told me she saw you throwing up blood in the restroom. More than once. I know about your health.” She pulled a card out of her drawer and slid it across the desk. “This is for the medical center our company partners with. Go get checked out.” “Health comes first. You can always make money later.” I looked at the card, my eyes welling up with tears. “Thank you…” Suddenly, the door burst open. My mom was standing there. “Director, I am so sorry, so sorry. I was just too emotional.” She bowed slightly, rubbing her hands together nervously. “I have a bad temper, and when I get anxious, I lose control. I’m so sorry for causing trouble.” Sarah didn’t say a word. My mom rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Joy, quick, get down on your knees and apologize to the director.” I didn’t move. She yanked me, but I remained still. The fake smile on her face stiffened. “This child, she is so stubborn.” She smiled apologetically at Sarah. “Director, please don’t mind her. She’s never known how to behave. I’ll teach her a lesson when we get home.” I used the desk to pull myself up. My stomach suddenly cramped violently. The pain was so intense that my vision blurred. I gripped the edge of the desk, my palms dripping with cold sweat. “Mom…” “What are you whining for?” She glared at me. “Apologize right now!” “Do you want to lose your job? If you lose this job, how are you going to support me?” Sarah ignored my mom, rushed over to me, and held my shoulders. “Joy? Joy, are you okay?” My mom sneered, “Director, don’t worry about her. She’s just acting. She always pulls this ‘I don’t feel well’ card.” “She’s been like this since she was a kid. Whenever I asked her to do chores, she’d suddenly have a headache or a stomachache…” “Actually, Director, if we put this family drama online, it would generate a ton of traffic, wouldn’t it?” I stared at her. Her mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear the words. Everything in front of me began to fade into a dark haze. I reached out, desperately grabbing my mom’s wrist. She looked down at me. “Mom… I just want to ask you one thing…” “What now?” “Are you proud of me?” “Can you… just once… tell me I did good?” She looked at me, blinking. “Of course I am!” I stared at her, thinking I had finally gotten what I wanted. The next second, she shook off my hand and muttered, “Look, our pig back home is named Joy. We fatten it up to sell it for cash. You eat to make money. In my eyes, you’re both the same. You’re both my pride and joy.” I let out a hollow laugh. She frowned. “What are you laughing at?” The taste of copper rushed up my throat. Before I could even lower my head, I opened my mouth and sprayed a fountain of blood right onto her face. My mom froze. The dark red blood dripped down her chin. Her face turned deathly pale.

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One year into my marriage, I was cornered, stripped of my clothes, and pinned against a wall. The woman turned on her phone to start a livestream, then slapped me hard across the face. “You filthy homewrecker! How dare you seduce my husband!” She had the strength of an ox. I couldn’t fight back. All I could do was cover my chest and scream in denial: “You have the wrong person! I’m married! I don’t even know your husband!” The woman sneered and threw a marriage certificate at my face. It was a certified copy of a marriage license, complete with a photo of her and my husband, Liam! “Liam and I got married three years ago. Maya, you are the mistress here. Get it?” My mind went completely blank. Overnight, my life was ruined. I lost my promotion at the TV network, and I was blacklisted from the entire industry. Depressed and broken, I walked out onto the balcony of our penthouse. Just as I was about to jump, I heard voices outside the door. A woman laughed. “Liam, you are truly ruthless.” “We’ve only known each other for three months, yet you let me use a fake marriage license to destroy her just to make me happy.” Liam’s voice was filled with adoration. “As long as you’re happy, babe. You can play with her however you want.” I stared at the closed door, my heart shattering into pieces. The living hell I had been through was nothing more than a game he played to make his new girl laugh.

The wind on the balcony was howling, but their voices cut through it, hitting my ears with brutal clarity. I closed my eyes tightly, remembering the nightmare of the past month. After being labeled a “homewrecker,” I had posted screenshots of my chat history to prove I had been deceived. But every explanation only brought viler abuse. My colleagues avoided me like the plague. Strangers spat on the street when I walked by. “Look at her dressing like that. She’s definitely a homewrecker.” “I bet she slept her way to getting all those designer bags.” I tried my best to block out the rumors and focus on my work. But during a live broadcast, even the guest on my show asked me on air why I chose to destroy someone’s family. I finally broke down, crying and screaming, “I’m not! I didn’t even know he was married!” Nobody believed me. The clip of my breakdown was edited, went viral on TikTok, and triggered a new wave of cyberbullying. I lost my job completely and was blacklisted. Fear and nightmares haunted me every night. I swallowed more and more sleeping pills, and my hair fell out in clumps. It wasn’t until Liam returned from overseas with Vivian that I finally confronted him. He just looked at me with annoyance. “You only asked me if I had a girlfriend when I was studying abroad. You never asked if I had a wife. How did I lie to you?” The last string in my brain snapped. Death seemed like the only way out. But now, finding out the truth, I stood frozen. Since all of this was fake… What was the point of all the agony I had suffered over the past month? Anger, mixed with overwhelming grief, rushed to my head. I threw the door open. Liam’s laugh froze on his face. My words cut through the room like a blade: “Why would you do this to me?!” Frowning, he signaled Vivian to leave. Then he sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette. I was severely allergic to cigarette smoke and started coughing immediately. In the past, he would never smoke in front of me. But this time, he was completely indifferent to my discomfort. Liam said coldly, “Since you heard everything, I’ll be straight with you.” “Maya, I know you love me, but I’m bored.” “I’m bored of your unchanging hairstyle, bored of always having to baby you, and most of all… bored of your single position in bed.” “I need excitement. Vivian can give me what you can’t.” I took a few deep breaths to suppress my nausea and said, “Liam, how can you do this to me? Have you forgotten my mother, Helen?” At the mention of my mother, his expression stiffened. “It’s been so many years. You always use Helen’s death to guilt-trip me.” “I know she saved my life. Wasn’t marrying you enough to pay that debt?” Liam and I were neighbors growing up. Years ago, when the Sterling estate caught fire, his parents weren’t home, and even their nanny abandoned him. Only my mother rushed into the flames to save him. But in the end, she died from severe smoke inhalation. My mother’s death had always been a taboo topic between us. Bringing it up now, combined with the humiliation of the past weeks, broke me. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. “My mother died for nothing! She saved an ungrateful monster!” The slap left both of us stunned. Then, Liam actually let out a low chuckle. “This is the first time I’ve seen you this angry.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This expression on your face is actually quite hot.” “It’s literally turning me on.” “Since Vivian isn’t here, why don’t we try the bathroom?” His words made my mind go completely blank. I looked at him in utter disbelief. He felt like a complete stranger. Was this really the man I had loved since childhood? I grabbed the nearest vase and threw it at him, screaming at him to get the hell out. After he left, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. I wanted to go to the bedroom to sleep off the exhaustion. But the moment I opened the door, I froze. Our wedding photo had been ripped off the wall and thrown onto the floor. My face was defaced with black marker, with “Homewrecker” written next to it in bold letters. Worse, there were two distinct, dusty boot prints right on the photo. I took a step back, and my foot stepped on something slick. I looked down. It was a used condom. I gagged, but nothing came out. The pain consumed me. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t shed a single tear. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Liam had posted a new Snapchat story: *Finally returning to my real family. Excited to spend the rest of my life with my beautiful wife.* The attached photo showed him and Vivian standing side by side, watching the sunset. In an instant, my brain exploded. The tears finally broke through. Humiliation and fury rolled down my cheeks. A fierce desire for revenge ignited deep within my heart.

Over the next few days, I spent every waking hour gathering evidence of his infidelity, determined to ruin him. But the more I uncovered, the colder my heart became. Three months ago, on my birthday, I sat alone in the dark waiting for him until dawn. He spent the entire night setting off fireworks with Vivian. Two months ago, I went to the hospital and found out I was pregnant. I tried to call him to share the joy, but he was unreachable. He was busy taking care of Vivian because she had menstrual cramps. One month ago, when my reputation was ruined and I miscarried in the hospital due to stress, he was in Iceland with Vivian, watching the Northern Lights. I let out a bitter laugh. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up again. I threw up until there was nothing left but bile, and only then did the numb pain in my chest ease a little. The next day, I sent all the evidence to a prominent media contact, waiting for them to break the story. When I got home, I forced myself to sit down and draft the divorce papers. As I wrote, my eyes welled with tears. We were childhood sweethearts. We had crushes on each other for years. When we graduated high school, we promised that once he finished his degree abroad and came back, we would be together. In the beginning, no matter how late I worked, he would always pick me up. When I was sick, he would cancel multi-million-dollar meetings just to cook soup and take care of me in the hospital for six hours. On the day I got promoted, he spent over a million dollars at an auction to buy a diamond ring and propose to me. I didn’t want people to say I was using him to climb the social ladder, so we kept our marriage a secret. But I never expected that this secrecy would become the perfect cover for his affair. Tears blurred my vision. Before I could understand when exactly he had changed, I fell asleep from pure exhaustion. When I woke up, the trending topics on Twitter were exploding. But the moment I opened my phone, I almost fainted. The evidence of his affair had been twisted. It was released as my “confession” of being a homewrecker! They had used AI to clone my voice for a fake audio apology and even generated my handwriting! The internet went into a frenzy again. My photos were maliciously photoshopped with “Homewrecker” labels and circulated everywhere. Not only that, but all my social media accounts were banned, and my phone number was leaked. Harassment calls and disgusting text messages flooded in. Some called me a whore and told me to die. Others asked how much I charged for a night to be their side chick. I laughed out loud, a sound full of misery. In that instant, I realized this was Liam’s retaliation. Whenever I faced negative comments at work in the past, he was always the first to shut them down, protecting me from any hurt. But now, for the sake of Vivian, he had personally dragged me into this hell. The door opened, and Liam walked in. My rage burned away all remaining sanity. I grabbed a glass cup and hurled it at him. “Liam! I am not the mistress! She is! I want a divorce!” He dodged the glass, stepped forward, and grabbed my throat, pinning me against the wall. Even as my eyes bloodshot and physiological tears spilled over from the pain, his grip didn’t loosen. Only when I was on the verge of suffocating did he finally let go. “Are you calm now? Do that again, and I’ll make sure it hurts more.” “Maya, a little jealousy is fine, but if you keep making scenes, I’ll get annoyed. Stop using these cheap tricks to get my attention.” “You love me to death, and I need a wife who knows her place. We both get what we want, don’t we?” He glanced at the divorce papers on the laptop and sneered. “You want a divorce? Do you even have the guts? Now that you have no job, who else can you rely on besides me?” “Be good. Once I’m done having fun, I’ll clear your name.” I coughed violently, but he ignored me. “Vivian cried until her eyes were red. She wants me to throw a massive wedding to make it up to her. And she wants you to personally apologize to her at the wedding before she forgives me.” Before leaving, he turned back. “Whether you show up is up to you. But if Vivian is unhappy, I don’t mind giving you another little punishment.” After he left, my vision was still swimming in darkness. I started laughing hysterically. And then, I cried. That night, Liam paid to push a new topic to the top of the trending list: *The Reformed Playboy! The Sterling Group Heir Spends $100 Million on a Century Wedding to Make His Wife Happy!* The comments section was flooded, and people even started shipping them. [Real couples are the best! It must have been that other woman who seduced him! A famous TV host acting as a homewrecker, how disgusting!] [Does Maya have a shortage of men? She’s so desperate! I hate homewreckers! Go die already!] [Her mother died early, so she was raised without any manners. No wonder she has no morals.] After reading these, I leaned over the trash can, feeling like I was going to throw up my entire stomach. In my fading consciousness… I remembered him kneeling on one knee, his ears bright red, carefully sliding the ring onto my finger and swearing to love me forever. When I raised my head again… Except for the nausea and the burning sensation in my stomach, the sadness suddenly vanished. Everything about Liam seemed completely meaningless to me now. My phone vibrated, and a text message lit up the screen: *I saw what you sent me. When can we meet and talk?*

The trending topics stayed active for several days. The number one topic was Liam and Vivian’s wedding of the century. The second was my fake confession. A small group of netizens attacked Liam, accusing him of cheating. He responded directly with a video on Instagram. “Yes, I admit I made a mistake, but please do not attack Vivian.” “She is innocent, kind, and fragile. She can’t handle this. I will take all the responsibility.” “I only hope that when we get married, everyone can give her their most sincere blessings.” As soon as the video was released, the doubts vanished, and people started praising him for being “responsible.” Then, they turned around and launched an even more vicious attack on me, calling me a shameless husband-stealer. I locked my phone, finding the whole thing incredibly ironic. That night, Liam came back. He sat across from me and cleared his throat. “The date for my wedding with Vivian is set. It’s the day after tomorrow. Remember to show up.” The day after tomorrow… Was the anniversary of my mother’s death. I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. “I don’t have time. I’m going to visit my mother’s grave.” “And when are you going to sign the divorce papers?” He completely ignored the divorce and sneered, “Your mother has been dead for years. What is there to visit? Vivian’s parents are coming too. You can just pay respects to her mother.” I thought I was completely numb, but my heart still took a sharp hit. Seeing my reluctance, he pulled out my mother’s necklace. “This is Helen’s necklace, right? If you don’t go and you make Vivian unhappy, this necklace might…” I clenched my teeth so hard they ached. Just as my anger was about to boil over, a vibration from my phone pulled me back. I pinched myself hard, forcing myself to calm down. After glancing at the message, I said flatly: “Liam, do you really want me to congratulate Vivian in front of all those reporters?” He laughed. “Of course.” Before leaving, he looked back at me. “It seems dead people’s things are still useful.” “And about the day after tomorrow, you know what to say and what not to say.” On the day of the wedding, Liam indeed invited a crowd of reporters. In the dressing room, Vivian was standing in front of me in a custom haute couture wedding gown. Her corsage read “Bride.” Liam’s read “Groom.” And mine, which Liam tried to pin on my chest, read “The Homewrecker.” Vivian shed a few tears, and Liam immediately tried to force the corsage onto me. I blocked his hand, but he didn’t care. The sharp pin scratched my hand, drawing blood, but he successfully pinned it to my dress anyway. I clenched my fists. “Are you sure you want to do this to me?” He frowned. “Vivian just asked you to wear a flower. What’s the big deal?” Seeing me wearing it, Vivian said triumphantly: “Later, you will read every single word of the apology slides I prepared.” “Then, you will get down on your knees, beg for my forgiveness, and say ‘I am a homewrecker, I shouldn’t have ruined your family, please forgive me.’” “You have to stay on your knees until I tell you to get up. Do you understand?” I didn’t say a word, just stared at her. Seeing Vivian get annoyed, Liam grabbed my jaw tightly. “Don’t be ungrateful.” I slapped his hand away and glared at him. Before I could speak, the door opened. Reporters with cameras and guests flooded in. They surrounded Vivian and Liam, praising her dress and saying they were a match made in heaven. But when they saw the “Homewrecker” corsage on my chest, their expressions turned into pure disgust. “I really don’t understand how some women can be so cheap, always trying to steal other women’s husbands.” “Exactly. Showing up on such a happy day… Vivian is too kind. If it were me, I would have slapped her already.” Their stares felt like knives cutting into my skin. I ripped the corsage off. “I am not the mistress! Vivian is!” Nobody believed me. Their looks grew even more contemptuous. “I’ve never seen someone so shameless. Acting like she’s innocent when she’s a home wrecker. Where does she get the nerve?” Liam stood aside, not saying a single word to defend me. He only asked Vivian if she was tired or hungry. Seeing this, the onlookers grew even more envious of Vivian and aggressive toward me. Just as I was about to defend myself, Liam grabbed my arm tightly where no one could see, pinching me hard to shut me up. Cold sweat poured down my forehead from the pain, but he ignored it. Vivian played the victim perfectly. “Please don’t talk about Maya like that. She just loved Liam too much. He is so amazing, I can understand her.” “Maya is here to apologize today. I hope everyone can forgive her later.” Shortly after, the ceremony began. They went up to the stage under the cheers of the crowd, exchanging emotional vows. Finally, after they exchanged rings, I was called up to the stage. But the moment the giant screen behind us lit up, Liam’s face turned deathly pale

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