Category: English

All because Ethan Cross was obsessed with absolute fairness. For the five years of our marriage, every single decision in our household had to be decided by the roll of a die. Until my best friend, Chloe, texted me. She said Ethan was out on the streets, mobilizing a massive search party to find his first love’s lost dog. “That’s impossible!” I replied instinctively. “I just won the roll against him.” “He promised he would personally escort our son’s donor heart from the docks to the hospital. He should be arriving any minute.” But a phone call from our contact at the harbor slapped me right in the face. “Dr. Miller, I still haven’t seen Mr. Cross! We can’t delay young Leo’s surgery!” “There are too many dangerous eyes on this donor heart. It’s only safe if Mr. Cross escorts it himself.” Ethan’s phone went straight to voicemail. Left with no choice, I tracked his GPS location and drove out to find him. When I arrived, I saw him holding a sobbing Scarlett Vance tightly in his arms, while directing a fleet of luxury SUVs to fan out across the streets. “If you don’t find Buster—mine and Scarlett’s baby—you all know the consequences!” Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. This man, whose very life I had saved with my own medical skills, wasn’t worth it anymore. I was done.

As the search fleet sped away, Ethan turned to get into the driver’s seat. I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Ethan!” He spun around, startled. “Vivian? Why aren’t you at the hospital?” “I should be asking you that!” I grit my teeth, fighting back tears. “You promised me you would go to the docks to get Leo’s heart!” Leo was our four-year-old son. He inherited a congenital heart defect and had been on the transplant waiting list for a year. If his condition hadn’t suddenly taken a turn for the worse last month, we wouldn’t have had to spend millions coordinating a private international organ transfer. Ethan avoided my gaze, looking slightly guilty. “Vivian…” “You know how many competitors are waiting for this heart to fail! Why are you wasting crucial time helping this woman find a dog?” Hearing my words, the girl clutching his coat stopped crying. She shrank back into Ethan’s chest, trembling like a victim. “Watch your mouth, Vivian! Scarlett is a dear friend of mine!” Ethan’s voice turned cold. “Buster isn’t just a dog. He is our baby!” “If anything happens to him, Scarlett will break down!” Our baby? I carried Leo for ten months, nurtured him through four agonizing years of sickness, and he didn’t even rank above a dog in Ethan’s eyes? “No! I don’t care what you say today, you are going to the docks and bringing that heart to the hospital!” I blocked his car door with my body. “Once I’m in the operating room saving Leo, you can go find whatever dog you want—” “Stop being hysterical!” Ethan grabbed my collar and shoved me aside. I stumbled, nearly crashing onto the hard pavement. “Ethan!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “What happened to your absolute fairness? I won the roll this morning!” The winner calls the shots. That was Ethan’s golden rule. When we got married, he wanted me to resign from the hospital to be his private on-call doctor. I lost the roll, so I resigned. The day I went into labor, he got a call saying Scarlett was injured. He wanted to leave. We rolled, and I lost again. When my mother was rushed to the ER with a severe concussion, Scarlett’s car happened to break down on the highway. I rolled, and I still lost. But today, for the first time in three years, I finally won. He had agreed to cancel his plans of fixing Scarlett’s clogged toilet and promised to fetch Leo’s life-saving heart. Yet, he was breaking his word. “Play fair!” I blocked him again. “Are you going to break your own sacred rule?” Ethan paused. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his signature golden die, and handed it to me. “You win, you call the shots. Same as always.” He was so calm, so detached. My hands shook as I took the heavy gold metal. *I have to win,* I prayed in my heart. *Please.* The die rolled across his palms. The seconds felt like hours, sweat slicking my hands. But when it stopped, the single red dot facing upward made my vision go black. Before I could process it, Ethan snatched the die back. “No, that doesn’t count!” I fell to my knees on the gravel, grabbing his coat. “The asphalt is uneven! Let’s roll again, please…” “Vivian, you play, you accept the loss.” He took a step forward. I clung to his leg desperately. “I’m begging you, Ethan. Please!” “In the eight years I’ve known you, I have never begged you for anything. If Leo doesn’t get this surgery today, he will die!” Ethan paused. He didn’t look back, but he pulled out his phone. “Carter, take a car and fetch the boy’s transplant box from the docks.” Then he looked down at me. “Are you satisfied now?” “No!” My eyes were bloodshot. “The docks are dangerous. Only you, Ethan Cross, have the authority to get that heart out safely!” “Even if Carter drives your car, everyone knows you’re here looking for a damn dog! Do you think our enemies are stupid?” “Ethan, is that dog really more important than your own son’s life?” “Yes!” Ethan snapped. “Buster only responds to my scent and Scarlett’s!” He pointed a finger at my forehead. “Vivian, the more time you waste throwing this tantrum, the less of a chance your son has to survive!” With that, he brushed me off and slammed the car door shut. The words “your son” froze me to the core. I chose this man. I gave birth to this child. And I rolled the die myself. Who else could I blame for my rotten luck? The SUV roared to life, leaving me in a cloud of dust. As the dust settled, something caught the streetlights. I leaned down and picked up the golden die he had dropped in his haste. I shook it instinctively, and my heart sank into an abyss.

Carter drove like a maniac, clutching the steering wheel as the cooler box sat secured in the passenger seat. I checked my watch. We could still make it! At sixty miles an hour, we were only thirty minutes away from the hospital. The freezing wind whipped through the cracked window. I shoved my hands into my pockets and felt the cold weight of the golden die. Ethan had carried it for twenty years. Its edges were worn smooth. He always spoke of fairness, and I had almost convinced myself that his obsession was just a harmless quirk of his dangerous lifestyle. But just now, when I shook it in the quiet car, I felt a tiny, faint click from inside. “Carter,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “You’ve been with Ethan for ten years, right?” “Yes, Mrs. Cross.” “Do you know how to rig a die?” Carter answered honestly, suspecting nothing. “It’s simple, ma’am. You just drill a tiny hole and insert a sliding lead pin inside.” “Whichever number you want to roll, you just tap the pin to the opposite side. Gravity does the rest.” I froze. My fingers trembled as I lightly tapped the die against my palm. I felt the subtle shift of weight. I rolled it onto the dashboard. It stopped perfectly on the number 3—the exact number I wanted. The blood in my veins turned to ice. There was never any fairness. The outcome had always been in Ethan’s hands. What he rolled simply depended on what he valued. He didn’t value my career. He didn’t care about my safety during childbirth. He didn’t care if my mother lived or died. To him, I never had any privilege. “Mrs. Cross, the road ahead is blocked.” The sudden screech of brakes pulled me back to reality. I leaned out the window. There was a barricade ahead. Along with the traffic cops, I immediately recognized Ethan’s men. One of them was handing a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills to a driver, who smiled and turned his car around. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Ma’am,” the guard said, recognizing me. “Mr. Cross had the police department shut down this street. No vehicles are allowed through.” Ethan had connections with the local precinct. Shutting down a minor street in this district was easy for him. But this was the fastest route to the hospital. “Move!” My voice shook violently. “My son’s heart is in this car! If anything goes wrong, your life won’t be enough to pay for it!” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cross. Mr. Cross’s orders are absolute. The road stays closed until Buster is found.” Buster. That damn dog again. With shaking hands, I dialed Ethan’s number. He picked up, his tone utterly dismissive. “Just take a detour, Vivian,” he sighed impatiently. “I need to find Buster before it gets dark.” “A detour will add an hour and a half! The donor heart will decay!” But on the other end, he was already distracted, murmuring sweet words to soothe a crying Scarlett. “You have a heart condition too! You know how painful a heart attack is!” I screamed into the receiver. “Ethan, do you not care if Leo dies?” “If he can’t even handle a little pain, he doesn’t deserve to be a Cross!” The man’s harsh roar left me stunned. Right. I had forgotten. He had always been like this—a ruthless, arrogant tyrant. Yet, his very life was something I had dragged back from the gates of hell. I was the one who found him collapsed and suffocating in a casino bathroom years ago. I was the one who risked my medical license, performing an emergency bypass in a locked-down clinic at three in the morning. I was the one who bore the insults of my own family, running through dangerous neighborhoods to source his black-market cardiac meds, even offending local syndicates for him. On the night he proposed, he had pulled out his golden die for the first time. He gave me a playful wink. “If you roll a higher number, I’ll give you a week to think about it. If you lose, you put on this ring and become Mrs. Cross right now.” Until today, I actually believed that night was a beautiful twist of fate. It turned out that for five years, I was just a clown being played in the palm of his hand. “Let’s roll a virtual die on Snapchat,” I said, closing my eyes. “If I win, you open the road. If you win, I’ll turn around.” “No way,” he said coldly. “I only trust real dice.” Suddenly, a sharp scream came through the receiver. “Scarlett!” Ethan’s voice panicked—a tone I rarely heard. “Why did you climb up that dirt slope? Did you hurt your ankle?” I hadn’t heard him speak with such tenderness in years. The call went dead. The dial tone beeped in my ear, cold and mocking. “Take the detour, Carter,” I whispered. *** I didn’t get home until midnight. I walked into the quiet house, turned on the lights, changed my shoes, and began picking up Leo’s scattered toys from the living room floor. The front door clicked open. The moment Ethan saw me, the exhaustion on his face morphed into pure rage. “Why the hell weren’t you answering my calls or texts?” I blinked, pulling out my phone. I had over a hundred missed calls from him. “You found Buster, I assume. That’s good,” I said, my voice completely hoarse. “Make sure to buy him some expensive treats. I’m going to take a shower.” My legs were shaking so badly I had to lean against the wall to stand. “Vivian, I’m talking to you!” Ethan marched over and grabbed my shoulder. “How is Leo? Was the surgery a success?” My throat tightened, a metallic taste of blood rising in my mouth. It physically hurt to breathe as I forced the words out. “He’s dead.” Ethan’s pupils contracted. His grip on my shoulder tightened. “What… what did you say?” “Our Leo is dead,” I said slowly, looking him dead in the eyes. “The donor heart decayed because it took too long. He went into cardiac arrest, and he didn’t make it.” Ethan’s mouth opened, but no sound came out except a strained, choked gasp. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength and pushed his hand off me. “I want a divorce.”

Ethan stumbled back a step, nearly losing his footing under the double blow. “Our son just died, and you want a divorce?” Looking at the devastation in his eyes, I found it hilarious. “You were the one who had to find a dog. You were the one who ordered the roadblock. And now you’re blaming me?” “I didn’t know it would be this serious!” his eyes welled with tears. “Right. You didn’t know,” I said, my voice dead and flat. “After all, every time Leo had an episode, you managed to win the roll and leave to be with Scarlett.” Ethan choked on his words. “Vivian, you’re grieving. You can blame me all you want,” he said, reaching out to pull me into his arms. “But there’s no need to talk about divorce. We’ve been together for five years.” “We’ve been married for five years, and we dated for seven before that,” I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “In all those years, did you ever once break your ‘rules’ for me?” “I wanted to go back to the hospital, but you forced me to be your private doctor.” “I was in labor, and you left to bandage Scarlett’s sprained ankle.” “My mother got a concussion, and you were busy changing Scarlett’s flat tire.” “Ethan, as your wife, I never received an ounce of your care.” My voice felt incredibly heavy. “Living under your version of ‘fairness’ has exhausted me.” Ethan stared at me for a long time. The guilt in his eyes slowly hardened into cold arrogance. “Are you sure about this?” I nodded. I didn’t even have the energy to say “yes” anymore. “Then we do this the old-fashioned way.” His voice was freezing. “If you win the roll, I’ll sign.” He held out the golden die. The same die I had quietly slipped back into his coat pocket earlier. “To keep it fair, you roll first.” Under his confident gaze, I rolled. For the first time in our marriage, it landed on a perfect 6. “How is that possible?” His eyes went wide. “How did you roll a six?” “Why not? What did you expect me to roll, Mr. Cross? A one?” I casually manipulated the hidden pin inside the metal, rolling it again. It stopped precisely on the single red dot. Ethan stared at me, dumbfounded. “Just tell me what number you want. I can make it land on whatever you desire.” I slammed the die onto the marble coffee table, picked up a heavy metal trophy, and smashed it to pieces. A tiny metal pin rolled out and stopped near his shoe. I picked it up and held it in front of his face. “Five years, Ethan. You used this cheap trick to toy with my life for five years.” He opened his mouth to defend himself, but I raised a hand to cut him off. “Save your breath. You play, you accept the loss. I’ll have the divorce papers sent to your office once I sign them.” “Fine. Great.” Ethan laughed bitterly, his pride wounded. “Then pack your bags and get the hell out of my house. You want a divorce? You leave with absolutely nothing.” I never planned on taking a single dime of his dirty money anyway. But as I dragged my suitcase toward the door, he called out to me. “I just called the hospital,” he said coldly. “Leo’s body belongs to me. You have no right to touch him.” “What did you say?” “He carries the Cross name. And you’re just an unemployed housewife,” Ethan sneered. “You don’t even have the money to buy him a proper casket. What makes you think you’re qualified to handle his funeral?” I marched back and slapped him across the face. “Are you even human? You’re using our son’s body to force me back?” “So what if I am?” Ethan wiped a smear of blood from his lip. “If you take back the divorce, I’ll let you attend his funeral.” “Go to hell!” My chest heaved. “You are the monster who killed Leo. You don’t deserve to touch him!” “Fine,” Ethan shrugged. “Let’s make a bet. Winner calls the shots.” “Three days from now, on the VIP cruise ship in the harbor. I’ll be waiting.” He stepped closer, whispering in my ear, “But the buy-in is five hundred thousand dollars. Can an unemployed doctor like you even afford the seat?” That night, I dialed the international line for St. Mary’s Hospital in Germany. “Five hundred thousand dollars for a three-year contract, plus my exclusive patent for the cardiac formula. You get me and the formula. It’s a win-win.”

Three days later, I walked into the VIP lounge of the luxury cruise ship, carrying a briefcase. Ethan was lounging on the center leather sofa, surrounded by a thick cloud of cigar smoke. When I dumped the five hundred thousand dollars in cash onto the green felt table, the surrounding crowd erupted into laughter. “Mr. Cross, your ex-wife is hilarious. Does she not know we don’t play for petty cash here?” *Smack!* A loud slap echoed through the room. The man who had spoken was sent stumbling, a bright red handprint burning on his cheek. Ethan sat back down, casually rubbing his palm. “Remind me, what did you just call her?” “She’s… she’s your wife, sir…” the man stammered, clutching his face in terror. Scarlett Vance walked in, wearing a low-cut red silk dress and towering stiletto heels. “Just take the cash,” she purred, brushing her hand against Ethan’s jaw. She blew a puff of cigarette smoke into his face. “Consider it a little gift from Vivian to buy Buster some treats. Right, Ethan?” Ethan smiled, silently giving his consent. I turned away from them, checking the leather cup and the dice. “Everything looks fine. Let’s begin.” First round. Liar’s Dice. Ethan called three 3s. I raised it to four. He leaned forward, staring at me intensity. “When Leo passed away… did it hurt?” The cup in my hand wobbled slightly. “You should know,” I said, looking up. “You have the same condition.” “Did it hurt as bad as my attacks?” he pressed on, his voice dropping. “Like someone reaching into your chest and crushing your heart into pieces?” I closed my eyes, my palms slick with sweat. “Five 3s,” I called. “Show them,” Ethan said instantly, revealing his dice. I lost the first round. “You’re distracted,” Ethan leaned back on the sofa. “Focus on the next round.” The second round began. I played defensively. But Ethan kept raising the stakes, pushing from three 4s all the way to six 4s. “The morgue called me, asking when to cremate him,” he said casually. “I told them to wait until I finish this game.” “Seven 4s,” I said, keeping my voice dead steady. He revealed his dice. He didn’t expect me to actually have them. I won the second round. “One to one,” the dealer announced. By the final round, Ethan’s hand was shaking slightly as he shook the cup. “I actually went to see him after he died,” Ethan murmured softly. “He looked so much like you. Especially with his eyes closed.” The cold sea breeze swept through the open deck doors, making my spine shudder. “Three 6s,” I called. “Four,” he followed. “If I hadn’t closed that street that day, what would we be doing right now?” Ethan choked slightly. “Would you still be my wife? Would the three of us still be a happy family?” “Five 6s,” I raised my voice. “Six.” Suddenly, the sound of rolling wheels echoed from the corridor outside. Through the glass partition, I saw a small, brown wooden coffin being rolled by. It was only four feet long, covered in a white sheet. My hand slipped. The cup tipped over. Reveal. I had two 6s. He had three. But I had called six. “I win,” Ethan said, lifting his cup with a complicated look. “Vivian, you still can’t beat me.” “Make your choice,” he stared at me. “Tear up the divorce papers, and we’ll bury Leo together.” “Or get off my ship. You won’t be allowed near his funeral.” Right then, the heavy double doors of the VIP room were kicked open by heavily armed SWAT officers. “Nobody move! Hands in the air! We have a warrant for illegal high-stakes gambling!” “What a joke!” Ethan slammed his hand on the table. “My ship is in international waters. And this is a private game with no money exchanged. You have no jurisdiction here!” “International waters?” the captain took off his mask, smirking. “Mr. Cross, I suggest you take a look outside.” Ethan rushed to the deck. The glowing neon skyline of the harbor was right in front of him. “Actually, I had five hundred and twenty thousand dollars,” I whispered, walking up behind him. “The extra twenty thousand was more than enough to convince your captain to turn the ship back.” “And one more thing.” I patted his shoulder. “The five hundred thousand dollars Scarlett took from me? That counts as a monetary transaction. It’s officially a crime.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442017”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

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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On the night of our engagement banquet, in front of the entire high society of New York, Julian Vance handed over “The Siren’s Lament”—a priceless, legendary violin—to his childhood sweetheart, Bianca Frost. “Bianca is starting her world tour tomorrow. She needs this violin more than you do,” he said. “You’ve always been the sensible one, Valerie. Just bear with it this once.” I looked at the man I had loved for five years and nodded calmly. “Okay.” Half an hour later, in the empty backstage dressing room. Bianca didn’t just smash that legendary violin to pieces. She also had her thugs stomp on my right hand, crushing the bones. Julian’s cousin, Tyler, held my head down, forcing me to kneel and beg Bianca for forgiveness. Julian’s mother slapped me so hard my eardrum ruptured, calling me a greedy, low-class gold digger. They ruthlessly trampled on my dignity and destroyed my dreams. Because in their eyes, I was just a penniless orphan with no background. But what they didn’t know… I wasn’t just a prodigy violinist. I was also the sole heiress of the Sterling family—the most powerful old-money empire in New York—who had been searching for me for twenty years. My hand is ruined. And the Vance family’s century-old empire has officially reached its end.

The brilliant crystal chandeliers lit up the hotel grand ballroom as bright as day. Today was the anniversary celebration of the Vance Group. It was also the day Julian had promised to formally propose to me. I stood quietly at the edge of the stage, wearing a haute couture white gown. My fingers tightly gripped the sheet music I had spent six months preparing. Originally, I was supposed to play a song for him tonight on “The Siren’s Lament,” the legendary antique violin he had bought at an auction. But now. That $45 million masterpiece was resting quietly in Bianca Frost’s arms. Under the spotlight. Julian stood in his sharp black tuxedo. His features were cold and handsome, looking like a god. He was leaning down, gently adjusting the violin strings for Bianca. Standing together, they looked like the perfect couple. The guests below whispered among themselves. “I thought Mr. Vance was proposing to that orphan girlfriend of his, Valerie Sterling, tonight?” “What do you know? Miss Frost is Julian’s childhood sweetheart. She just got back from her studies in Vienna last month.” “Exactly. A penniless orphan doesn’t belong in a prestigious family like the Vances anyway.” “And ‘The Siren’s Lament’ is a masterpiece. Only a high-born lady like Bianca deserves it.” Every single word. Like a blunt, rusty knife. Slowly and cruelly carving into my heart. I took a deep breath. I forced down the bitterness in my throat. I turned around and walked silently into the dimly lit backstage. There were no spotlights here. No mocking glances. Only endless, suffocating coldness. I sat in front of the vanity mirror, looking at my pale reflection. Five years. I had been by Julian’s side for five long years. From when he had absolutely nothing, to his massive success today. I thought my warmth could finally melt this glacier of a man. But the moment Bianca returned. All my sacrifices became a pathetic joke. Outside the door, a light patter of footsteps approached. Accompanied by the sharp click of high heels. The dressing room door was pushed open.

Bianca walked in, wearing the red gown that was originally tailored for me. The diamonds on the skirt were still blindingly bright even in the dim light. She carried “The Siren’s Lament” in her hand. Like she was holding a cheap toy. She walked up to me. Looking down at me with pure disdain. “See this, Valerie?” “Julian’s heart has always belonged to me.” “So what if you stayed by his side for five years?” “All it takes is one look from me, and he willingly hands this violin over.” I raised my eyes. I looked at her calmly. There was no anger, no hysteria. “Since he gave it to you, keep it.” “It’s what he owes you, and it’s what I’m done paying him.” “From now on, Julian and I are completely even.” Bianca froze. She clearly didn’t expect me to be this calm. Her heavily made-up face instantly contorted with rage. “Even?” “What makes you think you’re worthy of talking about being ‘even’ with Julian?” “You were just a temporary plaything to cure his loneliness. A cheap substitute who could never be shown in public!” The more she spoke, the more agitated she became. She suddenly raised the violin high in the air. “Don’t you call yourself a prodigy violinist?” “Didn’t you want to use this violin to show off tonight?” “I will never let you have your way!” Before she finished her sentence. With all her might. She slammed the $45 million antique violin hard onto the solid marble floor.

“SMASH!” A sickening, heavy crash echoed through the empty dressing room. Wood splinters flew everywhere. The strings snapped with a sharp hiss. “The Siren’s Lament”—a masterpiece that had survived centuries of history and was treasured by legendary musicians. In an instant, it was shattered into pieces. Reduced to a pile of worthless scrap wood. I stood up abruptly. My pupils dilated. My heart felt like it was being squeezed to death by an invisible hand. That wasn’t just a violin. It was a treasure of the musical world. The soulmate I had dreamed of playing for countless days and nights. “Bianca, are you insane?!” I grit my teeth, my voice trembling violently. Looking at the mess on the floor. Bianca’s eyes suddenly turned red. Heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. She threw herself onto the floor. Covering her face, she began to wail hysterically. “Valerie, I know you hate me for taking this violin.” “But how could you smash it?!” “Julian spent a fortune at the auction for this!” “How could you be so cruel?!” I watched her pathetic acting with cold detachment. I felt utterly disgusted. Right then. The dressing room door was kicked open with a loud bang. Julian’s cousin, Tyler Vance, rushed in with several burly bodyguards. He immediately saw Bianca crying on the floor. And the shattered pieces of wood. Tyler’s face darkened instantly. He stormed over. Pointing a finger right at my face, he roared. “Valerie, are you out of your mind?!” “Julian was nice enough to let you work in his company, and you dare to bully Bianca?!” “You even smashed such an expensive violin!” “Can you even afford to pay for this, you worthless gold digger?!”

I looked at Tyler with cold eyes. This was the man who used to call me “sister-in-law” with a fake smile. Now, he was barking like a rabid dog. “She smashed it herself,” I said. My voice was flat. Without a single shred of emotion. “Cut the crap!” Tyler roared. “Bianca is too sweet to ever destroy something Julian gave her!” “You’re just consumed by jealousy! If you can’t have it, you destroy it!” Bianca sobbed right on cue. She leaned weakly against Tyler’s leg. “Tyler, don’t blame Valerie.” “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the violin.” “If I hadn’t taken it, Valerie wouldn’t have gotten angry, and the violin wouldn’t be broken.” Her manipulative words. Instantly set Tyler’s anger ablaze. “Bianca, you’re too kind. That’s why trash like her dares to step all over you!” Tyler turned back. His eyes gleamed with malice as he glared at me. “Valerie, get on your knees!” “Bow down and beg Bianca for forgiveness!” “And then, you will pay back every single cent this violin is worth!” I felt like I was hearing the most ridiculous joke in the world. I couldn’t help but chuckle coldly. “Make me kneel?” “Who do you think you are, Tyler?” “Even if Julian stood right here, he wouldn’t have the right to make me kneel!” “SLAP!” Before I could finish my sentence. A heavy slap landed brutally on my face. The sheer force of it. Knocked me straight to the ground. My ears rang violently. The taste of metallic blood filled my mouth. Holding my bruised cheek, I looked up. And saw Victoria Vance, Julian’s mother, walking in.

Victoria was wearing a dark red designer dress. A priceless emerald necklace hung around her neck. She looked down at me. Her eyes were filled with absolute disgust and contempt. “You ungrateful rat!” “You’re at death’s door and you still dare to talk back!” “Our family has supported you for five years, and this is how you repay us?” “Smashing my son’s violin and bullying Bianca!” “Today, I’ll teach you some manners since your dead parents clearly failed to do so!” Saying that, she raised her high-heeled foot. And kicked me squarely in the shoulder without hesitation. I groaned in pain. My body flew backward. My spine crashed heavily against the sharp corner of the vanity table. Agonizing pain shot through my entire body. “Victoria, please don’t get angry. It’s not worth ruining your health over her,” Bianca fake-whispered, stepping forward to support Victoria. But a smug, nasty smirk flashed across her face. “Bianca, sweetheart, you’re always so thoughtful.” Victoria patted Bianca’s hand. When she looked back at me, her eyes turned vicious again. “Tyler, pin her down!” “If she doesn’t get on her knees and beg Bianca for mercy today, she isn’t walking out of this room!” Hearing this. Tyler immediately signaled the bodyguards behind him. Two massive bodyguards rushed forward. They grabbed my shoulders from both sides, pinning me down. They dragged me brutally across the floor and forced me in front of Bianca. “Let go of me!” I struggled with everything I had. But against their sheer physical strength. I couldn’t break free. “Kneel!” Tyler stepped up behind me. And kicked me violently in the back of my knees.

“THUD.” I was forced onto the freezing marble floor. My knees crashed directly onto the shattered wooden shards of the violin. Sharp wooden splinters stabbed deep into my flesh. Blood instantly stained my white dress bright red. I clenched my teeth. I forced my spine straight. Refusing to bow my head. “Quite a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Tyler sneered. He reached out, grabbed my hair, and yanked it backward with brutal force. A tearing pain shot through my scalp. I was forced to look up, meeting Bianca’s malice-filled eyes. “Valerie, aren’t you supposed to be so proud?” “Didn’t you think you were so special just because you can play the violin?” Bianca walked up to me. She slowly squatted down. Lowering her voice so only the two of us could hear. “To be honest, yes, I smashed the violin.” “I just wanted you to know that as long as I want it, everything that belongs to Julian is mine.” “Including your dignity, and your pride.” “I can step on them and crush them into dust whenever I want!” She stood up, instantly switching back to her fragile, pitiful act. “Valerie, just apologize.” “If you apologize, I’ll pay for the violin for you.” “You’re just an orphan. How could you ever afford $45 million?” Victoria sneered. “Bianca, you’re just too soft-hearted.” “An ungrateful stray like her deserves to rot in prison!” “Tyler, since she refuses to bow.” “Give her a real lesson!” “Make sure she never forgets this!”

A cruel excitement flashed in Tyler’s eyes. He let go of my hair. His gaze fell directly on my right hand resting on the floor. That was a hand praised by countless music critics as “kissed by God.” Slender, pale, perfectly proportioned. A hand born solely for the violin. “Julian said your hands are the most important thing to you.” Tyler smiled wickedly. “Since you ruined Bianca’s violin.” “I guess you won’t be needing these hands anymore.” He raised his heavy leather shoe. Aimed right at my right hand. And stomped down with full force. “No!” My eyes widened in pure terror. Fear completely consumed me. I desperately tried to pull my hand back. But the two bodyguards pinned my arms down flat. I couldn’t move an inch. “CRACK!” The sickening sound of bones shattering. Echoed clearly in the dead silent dressing room.

“AHHHHHHH!!!” A piercing scream ripped from my throat. The pain of my fingers being crushed. Instantly shot through every nerve in my body. My mind went completely blank. My vision began to blur. Tyler kept twisting his boot on my hand. As if he were crushing a pathetic insect. “Does it hurt?” “Good!” “That’s what you get for crossing Bianca!” Blood. Bright, hot blood. Oozed from my crushed fingers. Dripping onto the cold marble floor. Like blooming red roses on snow. My body convulsed in agony. Cold sweat drenched my back. Even my breath tasted like thick, copper blood. My hand… The hand I valued more than my own life. Was completely ruined. “Stop… please… stop…” I gasped out, my voice trembling and weak. But nobody showed a shred of mercy. Victoria watched with cold indifference. As if she were watching a boring movie. Bianca stood behind Tyler. A savage, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “You brought this on yourself, Valerie.” “Aren’t you a genius?” “Let’s see you hold a cup after this, let alone a violin!”

Tyler finally lifted his boot. My right hand was a bloody, mangled mess. My finger bones were twisted at horrific angles. Swelling rapidly. I collapsed onto the floor like a ragdoll. Gasping heavily for air. Every single breath sent waves of unbearable agony through my body. Despair. Suffocating, absolute despair swallowed me whole. The dream I took pride in. The passion I lived for. At this very moment, was stomped into nothingness. “What is going on here?” Suddenly, a cold, deep male voice came from the doorway. It was Julian. He pushed the door open and walked in. Followed by several high-level executives from the company. When he saw the shattered violin and me lying in a pool of blood. He froze in his tracks. His pupils shrank. “Valerie…” He instinctively stepped toward me. But Bianca, like a frightened bird, threw herself into his arms. “Julian!” “You’re finally here!” “Valerie… she went crazy!” “She didn’t just smash the violin you gave me, she even tried to attack me!” “If Tyler and Victoria hadn’t arrived in time, I don’t know what she would have done to me…” She sobbed hysterically. Her body trembling in Julian’s embrace.

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My husband, Sean Sterling, pressed his face gently against Jessica Vance’s belly. She was wearing my maternity dress, sitting on the sofa I bought with my own money, living in the home that used to be mine. I floated right above the crystal chandelier, watching them, completely bored. Three years ago, I was pregnant with his child too. Seven months along. The baby had just started kicking me. But then, a thin steel wire was choked into my throat, and my baby bled out into nothingness before I even drew my last breath. It was Jessica—his current, precious wife—who did it. Sean had no idea. He thought I was just a cold-hearted Mafia princess who ran off with millions. He thought I betrayed his partner. He thought I was evil incarnate. I was kicked out of my own family for him. My brother Jayden went blind trying to save his life. But Sean never believed me. He only believed Jessica. So, after I died, my soul became trapped by his side. It had been three years. But today was a little different. In the police interrogation room, a cold case had just been cracked open. Someone pointed at Jessica’s name and called her the real traitor. When Sean heard this, he squeezed the glass in his hand so hard it shattered. Blood dripped from his palm, staining the interrogation table. I counted the drops. Seven drops. My baby was exactly seven months old when he died. I wondered if it was just a coincidence, or if God had finally remembered me.

“A woman like Vivian Hall has blood all over her hands. You think she’s worth framing Jessica for?” Sean’s voice was ice-cold. He pulled out a handkerchief and calmly wiped the glass shards from his bleeding knuckles. Ghost, chained to the interrogation chair, burst into a hysterical laugh. His handcuffs rattled loudly against the metal table. “You really think that little Mafia princess ran away with your money, Detective?” Ghost spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm. “Your lovely wife paid me two million dollars to drag Vivian to Warehouse 3. When I choked the life out of her with a wire, she was still carrying your kid in her belly!” Sean didn’t stop wiping his hands. He didn’t even blink. A mocking sneer played on his lips. “Vivian Hall? She’s a mob boss’s daughter. Criminality is in her blood.” “Three years ago, she stole thirty million, betrayed my partner Marcus, and fled. That’s exactly who she is.” “If you’re going to make up a story, at least make it believable.” “Meanwhile, Jessica is an honors graduate from the Police Academy. Clean record, bright future.” “One belongs in the gutter; the other lives in the light.” “You think the wild rants of a junkie like you can twist the truth? You think you can drag a cop’s wife into the mud?” He tossed the blood-stained handkerchief onto the table. “Keep interrogating him. Don’t stop until he tells the actual truth.” Sean pushed open the heavy iron door and walked out. I floated in the air right above the hallway, following him. He walked into the restroom, turned on the faucet, and washed his hands over and over again. The mirror reflected his sharp, handsome face. He looked completely unbothered. He said Jessica lived in the light and I belonged in the gutter. But he was once the man who held my hands and told me he loved my rebellious soul. He had said he would gladly step into the gutter just to be with me. When Marcus’s undercover identity was exposed, he was brutally murdered on the street. Sean held his cold body and sat in a pool of blood for an entire night. That was when Jessica appeared. Crying, she handed him a few blurry photos and heavily edited audio recordings. Every single piece of “evidence” pointed to me. Faced with his brother’s blood, Sean’s love for me shattered instantly. After that, his eyes held nothing but hatred for me. He didn’t arrest me, nor did he ask for a divorce. Instead, he systematically destroyed my life to prove his loyalty to the badge. He took down my father’s business piece by piece, tearing our family empire apart. My younger brother, Jayden, was blinded by rivals while trying to protect Sean. Yet, Sean dismissed Jayden’s sacrifice as a cheap, manipulative trick to win his sympathy. Later, Jayden was cornered by enemies again, hovering between life and death. I ran to the precinct to beg Sean. I knelt in the pouring rain for an entire night. When dawn broke, he finally walked out. He held a black umbrella, shielding Jessica from the storm. The rain beat down mercilessly on my face. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a disgust I had never seen before. “Vivian, this is what your family owes Marcus.” That was the last time I ever saw him alive. A few days later, I was dragged to Warehouse 3. Sean had walked into the breakroom now. Jessica was sitting on the bench, holding a warm cup of milk. Seeing him enter, she stood up immediately. “Sean, what happened to your hand?” She took his hand, her eyes turning red with worry. Sean held her hand back and gently guided her back to the seat. “It’s nothing. Just dropped a glass.” “Did Ghost confess?” Jessica asked tentatively. Sean let out a cold laugh. “He’s just a junkie trying to get a plea deal. He’s pointing fingers at everyone.” He reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “He actually claimed you hired him to kill Vivian.” Jessica’s body froze for a fraction of a second. But very quickly, tears began to stream down her face. “Sean… how could I ever do something like that? I know Vivian hurt Marcus, but I always thought she was just confused.” “When she took the money and left the country back then, I was honestly happy for her. I thought she was finally getting a fresh start.” Sean’s eyes darkened. “Don’t even say her name. It dirties your mouth.” He pulled Jessica into his arms, gently stroking her back. I hovered right above the vent, watching Sean protect Jessica’s stomach so carefully. I reached down and touched my own empty belly. Before that cold wire tightened around my neck, there was a tearing pain in my lower body. A tiny heartbeat, which had started before mine, disappeared from this world first. Ghost’s mocking laughter echoed in my memory. He had told me Sean thought my baby was dirty. I looked at Sean’s hand as he wiped away Jessica’s tears. I remembered a rainy night in Brooklyn years ago when I was cornered in an alley by a rival gang. It was this very hand—warm and firm—that pulled me into a dark alleyway behind some trash cans. He had shielded me with his body, his grip so tight it almost crushed my wrist. Mixed with the smell of blood and rain, he had whispered, “Don’t fear.” That hand used to be my only sanctuary in a dark world. Now, it was gently comforting my killer. I reached up and touched the invisible scar on my neck.

During the precinct briefing, the lead investigator from the federal task force slammed a stack of files onto the table. “Detective Sterling, the suspect, Ghost, keeps insisting that Jessica Vance hired him for the hit.” “According to protocol, Jessica must be placed under internal investigation.” Sean leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen in his hand. He didn’t even look at the files. “Agent Miller, I know the protocols.” “But if we start investigating a detective’s family just because some street thug opened his mouth, how are my guys supposed to do their jobs?” He stopped the pen with his fingertip. “I closed Vivian Hall’s missing person case three years ago myself.” “The travel records are crystal clear. She took thirty million dollars from the mob and took a boat to the Caribbean.” “Ghost claims she was killed in Warehouse 3. Where is the body?” Sean stood up, leaning his hands on the table, staring down the federal agent. “No body, no financial paper trail, just the word of a junkie.” “Agent Miller, if you want to investigate my wife, bring me real evidence.” I floated near the whiteboard, watching Sean defend my killer. I smiled silently. He would never know that his “innocent” wife was actually the daughter of the head of the Vance Syndicate—the city’s most ruthless crime family. She was the deepest mole ever planted in the NYPD. She had framed my father’s family—who never touched drugs or took innocent lives—for all the bloody crimes committed by the Vances. And that “travel record” Sean was so sure of? It was nothing but a cruel bargain Jessica forced upon me. The night Jayden was stabbed while shielding Sean, he was left clinging to life. But Sean had used his police connections to block every medical channel that could have saved my brother. Desperate, I knelt before Jessica. In the sterile white hallway of the hospital, she stood in her crisp uniform and tossed a plane ticket and a written confession at my feet. Her voice was as sweet as honey. “Sign it.” “Admit that you betrayed Marcus, and I’ll get the best surgeon in New York to save your brother.” I signed it. But the surgeon never came. Instead, someone unplugged Jayden’s ventilator. Though Jayden survived, the lack of oxygen caused permanent brain damage. He lost his sight completely, cast into eternal darkness. Jessica had stepped on my face with her polished boots, crushing my dignity into the cold tiles. She had leaned down and whispered in my ear: “Vivian, I forgot to tell you. Sean hates betrayal more than anything.” “Do you think he’ll believe a confession signed in your own hand, or will he believe me?” Back in his office, Sean locked the door. He loosened his tie and pulled open his bottom drawer. He took out the file at the very bottom—my missing person case from three years ago. He stared at my photo, his thumb unconsciously brushing against the corner of the paper. After a long time, he closed the file, his expression unreadable. He pressed his hand flat against the folder, his knuckles turning white as if trying to erase my name from the earth. But after a long struggle, all that came out of his tight jaw was a raspy whisper. “Vivian… you better stay gone.” I floated down in front of him, looking at the hatred and conflict in his eyes. “Because if you come back, I’ll put you behind bars myself… or will I go crazy for you all over again?” A wave of deep sadness washed over me. He didn’t know that I could never come back. I was already dead. The desk phone rang. He took a deep breath, and his voice instantly softened. “Hey, babe. Is the baby kicking again?” On the other end, Jessica’s voice sounded perfectly vulnerable. “Sean, I was cleaning out the storage unit and found an old gray sweater Vivian left behind.” “It makes me feel really uneasy. Can I just pack it away in a box?” Sean’s eyes went cold. “Her trash should have been thrown out long ago. Don’t touch it. I’ll come home and handle it.” He hung up, grabbed his keys, and rushed out. I followed him back to the apartment. Sean strode into the storage room and snatched the gray sweater out of Jessica’s hands. I had knitted that sweater for him, stitch by stitch, by his hospital bed when he was shot during an undercover operation. He held the sweater, his fingers lingering on the uneven stitching near the chest. Then, he threw it into the hallway trash can. The edge of the trash can caught a loose thread, pulling the fabric apart to reveal a faded paper amulet sewn inside. I had waited in line at a cathedral all night just to get that blessing for him. He had laughed at me back then, saying cops didn’t believe in superstitions. But then he had pulled me close and asked me to sew it into his favorite sweater so he wouldn’t lose it. He said he was afraid of losing his luck.

On the weekend, Sean took Jessica for her prenatal checkup. Driving past a local bakery, Jessica said she wanted a cheese bagel from the street vendor outside. Sean parked the car and went down to buy it himself. The bagel vendor was a limping old man who had once been helped by my father. As he packed the bagels, he looked up at Sean. “Detective Sterling, I haven’t seen you with Vivian in a long time.” Old Ben sighed. “She used to come here to learn how to bake these just for you. Her hands got blistered from the steam, but she kept going even while crying from the pain.” “That sweet girl loved you so much. Are you guys doing okay?” Sean’s hand froze mid-air as he reached for his wallet. His face darkened. “Ben, she’s gone. That’s in the past.” He slammed the cash on the counter, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t mention her to me again.” He grabbed the box and walked away without looking back. I sat on the roof of the car, watching the old man’s confused face. I looked down at my own ghostly right hand. There was indeed a deep scar from a burn on the back of it. Sean got back in the car and handed the bagels to Jessica. She took a bite and frowned. “Sean, this is so tough and dry.” Sean immediately took a napkin and wiped her mouth. “Spit it out if it’s bad. I’ll take you to the Rosewood for high tea.” He took the box of bagels and tossed them out of the window. Right then, his phone rang. It was the lead detective from the homicide squad. “Sean, we have a situation.” The voice on the line was frantic. “The harbor police were dredging the bay near Warehouse 3. They pulled up a metal drum sealed with concrete.” “There’s… there’s a skeleton inside.” Sean gripped the steering wheel, his voice flat. “It’s just a mob dumping. Let forensics handle it.” The detective paused. “Sean, the preliminary report says the victim is female. Her neck bones were crushed by a thin wire.” “It matches Ghost’s confession… perfectly.” The car fell into a suffocating silence. Jessica clenched her fists, her hand slowly covering Sean’s knuckles. “Sean, what’s wrong? I heard something about a warehouse on the phone?” Her voice trembled slightly. “Is it about Ghost? He’s just lying to cause trouble, right? He isn’t making things hard for you, is he?” Sean turned his head, his gaze landing heavily on her face. The fleeting suspicion in his eyes made Jessica’s heart skip a beat. But he quickly looked away and squeezed her hand. “It’s nothing. Just a minor case. It’s already handled.” He started the engine and drove toward the Rosewood Hotel. “Nothing is more important than you and the baby.” I sat in the back seat, watching his tight jaw and the darkness behind his eyes. He said it wasn’t important, but his foot pressed harder and harder on the gas pedal.

The recovery site was sealed off with yellow police tape. In the end, Sean still came. He had left Jessica at the hotel, making an excuse about urgent paperwork at the precinct. He stood outside the yellow tape, lighting a cigarette, watching the officers use a circular saw to cut open the metal drum. Dr. Evans, the medical examiner, walked over and took off his gloves. His face was pale. “Sean, we have the preliminary findings.” “Female, late twenties.” “Cause of death was ligature strangulation with a thin wire, causing cervical fracture and asphyxiation.” Sean flicked the ashes off his cigarette, his tone still seemingly detached. “A body dumped in the bay? Just check the recent gang wars.” He turned to leave. “Sean, there are some unique skeletal features,” Dr. Evans called out. “She had three broken ribs and a old penetrating wound on her right wrist that damaged the nerve.” The cigarette slipped from Sean’s fingers. It fell onto his hand, burning his skin, but he didn’t even flinch. A wrist wound. Three years ago, during an internal mob dispute, someone had lunged at him with a knife. I had blocked the blade with my bare right hand. Sean slowly turned around, his eyes blown wide, though his voice remained defensive. “A lot of women have injured wrists. That doesn’t prove anything.” Dr. Evans sighed and pulled two evidence bags from his kit. He handed the smaller one to Sean first. “We found this on her right ring finger.” Sean’s gaze drifted down. Inside the plastic bag was a tarnished, blackened silver ring. On the inside of the band, the name “Sean” was crudely engraved—something he had carved himself while drunk years ago. Sean stared at the ring, his breath catching in his throat. He reached out to take it, but his fingers shook so violently he couldn’t grasp it. Seeing his pale face, Dr. Evans pushed the second bag into his trembling hands. “Also, we found this in her pelvic cavity.” Inside the bag was a cluster of tiny, fragile bones. “Based on the bone development, it was a fetus. About seven months old.” Seven months. I remembered the seven drops of blood that had dripped from his hand when he broke the glass. “This is impossible…” Sean’s voice was barely a whisper. “Vivian was greedy… she ran… how could she…” He suddenly looked up at Dr. Evans, his eyes bloodshot. “This must be a setup by Ghost! He found a matching body!” “Run a DNA test! Right now! Use her family’s DNA from the database!” He screamed, turned, and stumbled over a rock. He scrambled up and fled like a terrified animal.

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After giving blood to Mason’s adoptive sister for the three-hundredth time, they still didn’t let me go. That day, they dragged me to the hound yard. Opposite me was the giant black mastiff I feared the most. “If you survive this, we’ll let you reunite with your parents.” The next second, the dog, hyped up on some drug, lunged at me. With nowhere to hide, I could only let the beast tear into my flesh. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, Mason showed up. He ordered his men to beat the dog back, looking down at me with pure disgust. “Have you learned your lesson yet? Apologize to Windsor, and I promise we’ll get married right away.” In his arms, Windsor’s eyes filled with tears at his words. “Angel, I don’t blame you.” I stayed completely silent. My silence pushed Mason over the edge. “If it weren’t for you, Windsor wouldn’t have been assaulted by those thugs! She wouldn’t have ended up infertile, and she wouldn’t need constant blood transfusions!” “And now, you won’t even give her a simple apology?” “I guess you really don’t want your parents to live much longer, do you?” If this were in the past, I would have dropped to my knees and begged him. But now, there was no need. Because an hour ago, my parents had already died.

“Look at her, acting all tough. Mason, looks like your scare tactics aren’t working anymore. Angel doesn’t even care.” The mocking laughter from Mason’s friends made him frown. “Angel, did you lose your tongue?” Everyone could feel his growing anger. To suck up to him, one of his friends threw a glass bottle straight at me. The heavy glass shattered against my forehead. Instantly, I smelled the copper tang of my own blood. In the next second, Mason jumped down into the yard, suddenly looking panicked. “What happened?” Meeting his worried eyes, I felt a brief moment of daze. Did he actually care about me? But then, a cold sneer appeared on Mason’s face. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m only worried you’ll bleed out. If you die, who’s going to give Windsor her transfusion today?” So that was it. I was just being pathetic again. Ever since Windsor’s assault three years ago, I had been labeled the villain. Everyone said, “It was Angel. She thought Mason was sleeping with Windsor, so she hired those men to ruin her.” Mason didn’t even ask. He just believed it. Since then, they had subjected me to endless torture. Whenever Windsor needed blood, I had to drain myself. If I hesitated even a little, they would target my parents. My parents’ health was already failing. After years of Mason’s harassment, they were at their breaking point. Before they dragged me here today, the hospital had called me. “Miss Angel, you should start preparing for your parents’ funerals.” That phone call felt like a lightning strike. All my years of silent suffering felt entirely pointless. And an hour ago, Mason’s men brought my parents to the hound yard. They said they wanted my parents to watch me fight the black mastiff. In that moment, I had begged them. “Please, no. My parents are too old. Their hearts can’t take this. Please, don’t do this.” When I knelt and begged, I saw a flash of panic in Mason’s eyes. But it didn’t stop them. My parents were still forced to watch. When they saw me being pushed toward the raging dog, they smiled at me. Their smiles were so pale, so final. It was their last goodbye to me. The next second, they took their own lives right in front of me.

“Angel, can’t you just behave for once? Think about your parents…” Mason’s voice pulled me back to reality. I stared at him, my voice completely flat and hollow. “There’s no need, Mason. If you want me dead so badly, I’ll just die.” I turned and walked straight toward the black dog. Everyone in the yard gasped in shock. But I didn’t die. Mason grabbed my arm and yanked me back. “You’d go this far just to avoid saving Windsor? You think this threat works on me?” “Let me tell you, if you dare to die, I’ll make sure your parents die first!” Faced with his threat, I said softly, “My parents are already dead.” “Angel, how can you be so evil? Just to get out of giving me blood, you’re actually cursing your own parents?” Windsor looked at me with a heartbroken expression. Her words instantly turned Mason’s brief panic into absolute rage. “Angel, I really underestimated how vile you are.” “Fine. You want to see your parents die? I’ll make it happen.” Mason gritted his teeth and dialed his assistant’s number on speakerphone. “Cut off all medical treatments for Angel’s parents right now. Inform the hospital that no one is allowed to sell them VIP life-support medication.” On the other end of the line, the assistant hesitated. “But, Mr. Bryant, about that…” “What? Did Angel buy you off too?” Mason snapped, cutting him off. I knew why the assistant was hesitating. He wanted to tell Mason that my parents were already dead. But with Mason’s paranoid temper, the assistant didn’t dare to say another word. So, after Mason hung up, the assistant immediately sent me a message on Snapchat. [Miss Angel, does Mr. Bryant really not know that your parents passed away?] How hilarious. He was Mason’s top assistant, yet he was asking me—the family’s “human blood bag”—for details. If I actually mattered to Mason, would I have been tortured like this? Hanging up the phone, Mason smirked at me. “Still want to play tough?” “Mason, let’s get a divorce.” “Angel, you’re getting bold. Now you’re trying to threaten me with divorce?” “You think a divorce absolves you of your sins?” “I’m telling you, you owe Windsor. You can’t pay that debt back even if you spend the rest of your life trying.” Mason grabbed my collar tightly, his eyes looking like he wanted to tear me apart. But I only repeated quietly, “I told you, it wasn’t me.” I had said those words a thousand times over the years. From screaming it hysterically in the beginning, to now speaking it with absolute indifference. “Angel, if it wasn’t you, are you saying I staged my own assault?” Windsor stood there, looking as fragile as a leaf in the wind. Her single sentence fueled Mason’s hatred for me even more. Even though Windsor didn’t actually need a transfusion today, Mason still ordered his men to drain 800cc of my blood. Already physically exhausted, my vision went dark, and I collapsed. Before I blacked out, I was still pleading with him. “Help… my parents…” I wanted to tell him that my parents’ bodies were still lying outside the hound yard. I didn’t want them to be left out there like trash. But Mason thought I was begging him to resume their medical care. He just sneered. “When you sincerely apologize to Windsor, that’s when I’ll let your parents back into the hospital.”

When I opened my eyes, I was back at the Bryant mansion. A maid saw me waking up and spared me a cold glance. “You’re awake?” I shook my pounding head and struggled out of bed. I had to go back to the hound yard to find my parents. But the maid blocked my way. “Mr. Bryant said we’re celebrating Windsor’s big win at the National Design Awards tonight. You are to prepare the dinner.” “I have to go.” I tried to push past her, but she grabbed my arm tightly. “Can you stop making trouble for everyone?” “If you run off, Mr. Bryant will skin me alive!” Looking at the maid’s frustrated and resentful face, I lost my voice. She wasn’t lying. Once, when I refused to give blood to Windsor, everyone in the mansion’s staff got punished because of me. Even though they treated me poorly, I didn’t want to drag innocent people down anymore. So, I forced myself to stay calm. “I’ll talk to Mason myself.” With that, I walked downstairs. As soon as I reached the living room, I saw Mason’s sister, Natasha. She was presenting a gift to Windsor. “Windsor, I still think you’re the perfect match for Mason. Once you marry him, we’ll finally be a real family.” “Oh, don’t say that, Natasha. If Angel hears you, she’ll think I’m trying to steal her husband!” “Her? She’s not even worthy of wiping Mason’s shoes.” Natasha rolled her eyes dramatically. Then, she spotted me. Her sneer grew wider. “Oh, look who’s still breathing. Fainting after just 800cc? How pathetic.” “Why didn’t you just play dead? Maybe Mason would have felt a tiny bit of pity for you.” I ignored Natasha and looked around, but Mason wasn’t there. “Are you looking for Mason?” Windsor asked gently. When I didn’t deny it, she continued: “He went out to pick up a special gift for me. If you need something, you can tell me. I’ll pass it along.” Since Mason wasn’t here, nobody could stop me from leaving. I turned to walk out of the villa. But Natasha wasn’t done with me. She followed me out to the driveway. “Angel, if I were you, I would have signed the divorce papers ages ago. Isn’t it exhausting clinging to a man who hates you?” Hearing this, I couldn’t help but laugh. Since the day Mason forced me to become Windsor’s blood donor, I had brought up divorce countless times. But every single time, Mason would explode in rage, shouting, “In your dreams!” At first, I foolishly thought he couldn’t let me go because he still loved me. Later, I realized he just didn’t want to lose his leverage over me. “What are you laughing at?” Natasha snapped. “If you’re so eager, go convince Mason to sign the papers. Otherwise, stay out of my way.” I gave Natasha a freezing glare and walked away. Before, I tolerated their abuse because of my parents. But now, I had nothing left to lose. As I walked down the street, I could still hear Natasha screaming curses behind me. “Fine! Go ahead and act tough! Let’s see if you come crawling back to beg the Bryant family when your parents are dying!” I took one last look at the Bryant estate and whispered, “Never again.” I rushed back to the hound yard. But no matter where I searched, my parents’ bodies were gone. I found the manager of the yard. The moment I mentioned the bodies, his face went completely pale. “Don’t talk nonsense! We don’t have any dead bodies here!” They blocked me from searching further. Left with no choice, I called the police. Once the flashing police lights arrived, the owner of the yard finally panicked and let us view the security footage. When I saw my parents’ bodies being thrown into the industrial meat grinder used for dog food, my entire world shattered. “Why?! Why would you do that to them?!” I screamed, completely losing my mind. With the police standing right there, the owner was terrified. He dragged the employee in charge of the grinder over to face us. The young kid had never seen police officers before. He was so scared he was shaking.

“I… a woman gave me a stack of cash! She told me to get rid of those two heavy bags!” “I didn’t know! I swear to God, I didn’t know there were people inside!” The boy was crying so hard he practically wet his pants. With trembling hands, I pulled out a photo of Windsor from my phone. “Was it her?” “Yes! Yes, that’s her!” “I want to file charges!” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “They killed my parents, and they destroyed their remains!” This was a heinous criminal offense. The police immediately took action. They took the boy to the station for questioning, while I led a group of officers back to Mason’s villa. When we arrived, Mason was holding a beautiful velvet box. He was carefully lifting a stunning necklace out of the box and fastening it around Windsor’s neck. The moment I saw that necklace, I lost all control. I lunged onto the stage like a madwoman. “Give that back to me!” My parents weren’t wealthy, but my mother’s best friend was Blair, the world-renowned fashion designer. This necklace was a one-of-a-kind piece Blair had custom-made and gifted to my mother. It symbolized peace and protection. Before my mother passed, when she knew she couldn’t protect me anymore, she gave it to me. She said, “I hope you have a peaceful life, my sweet girl.” No one else knew its value, but Mason knew exactly how much it meant to me. My wild appearance startled Mason. But before he could say anything, Windsor shrieked and collapsed to the floor. “Oh, Angel… why do you hate seeing me happy so much?” Seeing Windsor crying on the floor, Mason’s protective instincts kicked in. He grabbed my throat and slammed me down. “Angel, do you want to die?” Then, he threw me ruthlessly down the stairs of the stage. The police officers quickly ran over to help me up. “Are you okay, ma’am?” They glared at Mason with deep disapproval. Windsor pointed at the officers, acting shocked and disappointed. “Angel, what is this?” “Just to ruin my celebration dinner, you actually hired actors to pretend to be cops?” Windsor’s words made Mason finally notice the uniforms. Even though the officers immediately showed their badges, Mason chose to believe Windsor without hesitation. “Angel, you’ve gone too far this time.” Mason gave me a disgust-filled look before turning to the officers. “How much did she pay you to pull this sick stunt? Do you know that impersonating police officers is a federal crime?” Mason turned to his assistant. “Call the actual police.” The assistant pulled out his phone to make the call. Seeing how absurd this was getting, the lead officer spoke up in a booming voice, “We *are* the actual police.” Then, under Mason’s stunned gaze, the officer looked directly at Windsor. “Are you Windsor Bryant?” “I… Yes. What do you want?” “You are under arrest for the illegal disposal of human remains. Please come with us to the precinct.” “What?!” Mason gasped. It was the first time I had ever seen such a look of pure shock and confusion on his face. Windsor began shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, that’s not true! I didn’t do anything!” “Mason, it’s Angel! She’s framing me! She set this up!” “Angel…” “Mason,” I interrupted, my voice dead and cold. “My parents died because of you. Wasn’t that enough?” “Did you have to order her to feed them to the dogs too?” “What did you say?” Mason stumbled back, nearly losing his footing. His assistant had to catch him. Mason turned his head slowly to his assistant, his voice trembling. “What did she just say?” The assistant swallowed hard. “Sir… Her parents are dead.” The room went dead silent. Mason’s face drained of all color. He began to mumble incoherently. “That’s impossible… how? I only cut off their VIP treatment…” “It’s only been a few hours. How could they be dead?” “Angel, are you still trying to play mind games with me?” Windsor shrieked, panic taking over. “You say your parents are dead, and you have these fake cops accuse me of destroying their bodies? Where is your proof?!” I didn’t bother answering her. The police officer simply pulled out an arrest warrant and a tablet showing the evidence. “Miss Windsor, we wouldn’t be here executing an arrest warrant if we didn’t have solid proof.” Hearing the officer’s firm words, Mason turned to Windsor, his eyes filled with disbelief. “Is this true, Windsor?” “No! No, Mason, you have to believe me!” Windsor sobbed hysterically. Then, as if a lightbulb went off, she pointed at me. “I know…”

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That night at the gala, just as I raised the abortion pills to my lips, a baby’s cry rang out in my head. “Mom! Don’t swallow! If you get rid of me now, Julian will never have kids! He has severe fertility issues!” My hand froze instantly. His first love had just returned to the country. Julian was helping Chloe to her seat. He looked up at me, his eyes cold and warning, telling me not to cause a scene. Over the past three years, I had learned to read that look perfectly. Every time he looked at me like that, I was supposed to obediently step back and hold back my tears. But this time, right in front of everyone, I slipped the two pills back into my clutch. I looked at Chloe, a faint smile on my lips. “Since you’re back, I’m done serving him.” “I’m leaving. Bye.” The whole room was stunned as I stood up and left. Julian ordered me to stop. I didn’t look back. Since God had let me hear my baby’s voice, I wasn’t going to give this game up to the Pierce family. I would make everyone who wanted to see me as a joke regret this for the rest of their lives.

Vivian’s POV On the night of the Pierce Family Charity Gala, I sat in my seat, clutching two abortion pills tightly in my hand. In the center of the ballroom, Julian was shielding Chloe from a glass of wine, drinking it for her. The chandelier light fell on his broad shoulders, and also on the tear-stained corners of Chloe’s eyes. The guests cheered, whispering about how their childhood romance was meant to be, after all. Someone glanced at me maliciously and raised their voice. “Then what about Miss Vance? She can’t keep occupying the position of Mrs. Pierce forever, right?” I looked down at the warm water in my glass, about to put the pills in my mouth. Suddenly, a childish, sharp wail echoed in my belly. “Mom! Don’t swallow! If you get rid of me now, that scumbag Julian will be childless for the rest of his life!” My hand froze. The voice was still screaming in my belly. “He has low sperm motility. The baby in your belly is his only chance of having a child in this lifetime. He is playing the hero for his first love now, but in the future, even if he kneels at your door begging for a glance, he won’t even get a number.” My pupils dilated in shock. My nails dug deep into my palm. Julian helped Chloe back to the VIP table and looked up at me. His gaze was extremely cold, carrying his usual warning, as if reminding me not to make a scene. For the past three years, I was a master at reading this look. I had always thought I was just a placeholder. When Chloe left the country, I came; now that Chloe was back, I had to leave. Tonight, I wanted to end it cleanly. Abort the baby, cut ties, and leave myself a shred of dignity. But the little thing in my belly refused. “Mom! Don’t look at his handsome face, he’s just a blind fool! As long as you keep this pregnancy, the entire Pierce family will have to revolve around you in the future! In my past life, you aborted me, and in the end, they drove you crazy and you died in a mental asylum!” My heart hammered violently. Past life memories? If what this child said was true… Chloe walked over with a glass of juice, pretending to smooth things over. “Vivian, everyone was just joking tonight. Don’t take it to heart. Julian is just taking care of me. We grew up together, he’s used to it.” Someone immediately chimed in nearby. “Chloe is so generous. Anyone else would have kicked the uninvited guest out long ago.” Everyone was waiting to see me swallow my pride. But I raised my head, and in front of everyone, I put the two abortion pills back into my purse. I looked at Chloe, my lips curving into a cold, sharp smile. “Miss Sterling is right. Being ‘used to’ something is indeed a habit that needs to be broken.” The smile on Chloe’s face froze instantly. Julian frowned, his voice displeased. “Vivian.” “I’m going to get some fresh air.” I stood up, not even granting him a glance. “You guys enjoy your habits.” The moment I walked out of the ballroom, the voice in my belly let out a long sigh of relief, then said urgently: “Mom, beautifully done! But whatever you do, don’t go back to the villa, and don’t tell Julian I exist! Chloe, that venomous snake, has her eyes on you. You have to stay alive so I can live!” I looked back at the half-closed heavy doors of the ballroom. Inside, glasses were still clinking, celebrating Julian’s reunion with his first love. I touched my flat belly, my eyes becoming more determined than ever. “Okay,” I said softly in my heart. “I’ll take you away. I’ll save you once, and you have to help me fight for my life.” “I will!” The little voice was full of energy. “Mom, let’s survive first, and then make them regret everything!” I did not go back to Julian’s villa.

Vivian’s POV I stopped my car at a street corner. Pretending to go into a pharmacy for stomach medicine, I slipped right out through the back door. I pulled out my phone’s SIM card, threw it into the storm drain without hesitation, and turned around to buy a cheap, prepaid burner phone with cash. My counter-surveillance moves were seamless. The little guy in my belly was stunned. “Mom… you’re so good at this… Next, go south, go find Mary!” Deep in the lower east side, the alteration shop was tucked away in a narrow alley. The owner, Mary, was someone my grandmother had once helped. After hearing my story, she didn’t say a word and hid me in the secret attic on the third floor. Just as I sat down, loud, urgent banging came from downstairs. “Is Miss Vance inside? Mr. Pierce is looking for her.” The man’s voice outside was polite, but it carried a suffocating pressure. My whole body tensed up. Just as I was about to jump out of the back window, the voice in my belly suddenly screamed: “Don’t move! That’s not Julian’s man, that’s Sienna’s! She saw you holding the pill box tonight. She suspects you’re pregnant and wants to drag you for a blood test to kill me directly!” A cold sweat broke out across my back. Sienna Sterling, Chloe’s half-sister. The older sister played the sweet, innocent first love, while the younger sister did all the dirty work in the shadows. They had long seen me as a thorn in their side. Even if it was just a suspicion, they wanted to wipe me out. “There’s no Miss Vance here! I only do clothing alterations!” Mary argued loudly downstairs. The man outside sneered. “Mrs. Higgins, this is Sterling family business. You’d better know what’s good for you.” I stood in the dark stairwell, my eyes icy. I didn’t hesitate anymore. I grabbed a ring of keys left by my grandmother, crossed from the third-floor window sill to the neighbor’s balcony, and slipped into an empty building. Half an hour later, I changed into an oversized, worn-out black puffer jacket, put on a face mask and a beanie, and blended completely into the bustling crowd of the local fish market like a drop of water. The quiet, pretty, submissive Vivian died tonight. Mary sent me an encrypted text on Snapchat: They left. They said not to dream of running. I sneered. Dreaming? Let’s see whose dream shatters first. The rain poured down. I took shelter in an abandoned workshop in north Brooklyn. The place was drafty, but hidden enough. I spread out the old ledger my grandmother had left on the wooden table, turned to the last page, and found a yellowed business card: Dr. Evelyn Carter. Before my grandmother passed away, she told me that if I was ever pushed into a corner, I should find this gynecologist. “Mom, call her quickly! In my past life, you went too late, and those two evil Sterling sisters dragged you onto the operating table!” The voice in my belly carried deep fear. I didn’t panic. First, I wrote down my current situation, the people I had contacted, and the possible risks of exposure on a blank piece of paper. I could no longer rely on Julian to solve things like I did in the past three years. From now on, I was the only protector for myself and my child. At 3:00 AM, I used my new burner phone to call Dr. Evelyn Carter.

Julian’s POV By the time I found the alteration shop on the lower east side, it was already noon the next day. I was still wearing yesterday’s suit, my eyes bloodshot, radiating a dark, uncontrollable anger. “Has Vivian been here?” I glared at the woman behind the counter. The woman didn’t even look up. “Mr. Pierce, didn’t anyone teach you to say hello before barging into a shop?” My assistant behind me took a step forward, trying to intimidate her. The woman pointed directly at the security camera above her head. “Touch me and see what happens! Let the whole city see how the Pierce family bullies ordinary people!” I raised my hand to stop my assistant, forcing down my rage. “She was emotional last night. I just want to take her home.” “Why was she emotional? Don’t you have any idea?” Mary sneered. “You seemed to enjoy having girls on both arms last night, and now you’re here playing the devoted partner?” Her words felt like a hard slap across my face. I knew what she meant. At the gala last night, Chloe had leaned in and grabbed my arm, and I hadn’t pushed her away immediately. In Vivian’s eyes, that was probably a silent confirmation, a betrayal. Proof that I had chosen Chloe over her. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. It wasn’t because Mary was wrong, but because she was entirely right. The moment I failed to push Chloe away was the moment everything started to crumble. When Vivian left last night, I even thought she was being “mature.” But when I returned to the empty villa and found she had taken all her IDs, leaving behind every piece of jewelry I had ever bought her, a terrifying panic gripped my chest. Just then, Chloe called. “Julian, did you find Vivian? Sienna said she looked pale last night, she’s really worried about her…” “Sienna is worried about Vivian?” My voice turned freezing cold, cutting her off. “Chloe, keep your sister in check. If anything happens to Vivian, I will hold the Sterling family personally responsible.” I hung up, and my assistant handed me a blurry surveillance screenshot. In the picture, she was wearing a worn-out puffer jacket, walking into a crowded market with her head down. I stared at the photo, my heart squeezing painfully. She wasn’t throwing a tantrum. She was hiding from me. She was running as if escaping a mortal danger, using every trick she had to get away from me! Vivian’s POV Inside Dr. Evelyn Carter’s private clinic. “It’s early, but the baby is stable. Right now, you need nutrition and rest.” Dr. Carter pushed the ultrasound image toward me. I touched my flat stomach and asked in a low voice, “What if someone wants to steal the baby, or kill it?” Dr. Carter looked at me deeply, her voice sharp. “Then remember this: you are an independent mother, not someone’s breeding tool. If you want to protect him, you must first arm yourself to the teeth!” Those words ignited a fierce fire in my chest. At dusk, I was having toasts at a small bakery near the clinic. I had only taken two bites when Sienna Sterling, flanked by two bodyguards, arrogantly pulled back a chair and sat opposite me. “You really know how to hide, Vivian, coming to a trashy place like this.” Sienna’s venomous eyes swept over my stomach. “My sister is kind-hearted, but I’m not. If you’re carrying some bastard you shouldn’t be, you’d better get rid of it now. Otherwise, I’ll make your life a living hell.” The little guy in my belly shook with anger. “Mom! That’s exactly how she smiled when she drove you crazy in my past life! Tear her apart!” I raised my eyes. “Does your sister know you’re doing her dirty work?” Sienna’s expression changed slightly, but she quickly laughed it off. “Don’t try to drive a wedge between us. My sister is soft-hearted, but I’m not. Vivian, you’ve been with Julian for three years, you must have gotten a lot of money, right? Learn to be content.” “What I got was given by Julian, not the Sterling family.” I pushed the hot bowl of soup away. “If you want me to be content, keep your hands out of my bowl first.” Sienna didn’t expect me to talk back so directly. Her smile vanished completely. One of the men behind her took a step forward, trying to intimidate me. But I set my phone upright on the table, screen facing outward. It was in the middle of a call. Dr. Carter’s voice came through the speaker: “Vivian, I’ve already sent your location to Mary. Stay put. The shop has cameras, and I’m recording this call.” Sienna narrowed her eyes. “You think this will save you?” “At least it keeps you from doing anything stupid tonight.” I stood up. “Miss Sterling, if you’re really that capable, stop fighting other people’s battles. If you want something, say it directly.” Sienna stared at me, lowering her voice. “I want you to disappear from Julian’s life.” “What a coincidence.” I picked up my coat. “So do I.” I walked out of the bakery, only to see Mary rushing over on a scooter, a pair of heavy fabric shears sitting in her front basket. Mary threw a helmet into my arms. “Get on the back, don’t look back!” I climbed onto the passenger seat. The wind whipped past my ears, and the baby in my belly let out a tiny laugh. “Mom! You were so badass back there!” I held Mary’s waist tightly. The running was over. From today on, I would make everyone who belittled and plotted against me pay in full! When we got back to the workshop, I didn’t sleep right away. I wrote down everything Sienna had said, word for word, including the height, clothing, and accents of the two men behind her. Mary walked in with hot water. Seeing my hands trembling as I wrote, she cursed in pity, “Why are you still writing this down right now?” “So there won’t be any confusion later,” I said. I had suffered too much from not having proof in the past. A simple “misunderstanding” from Chloe, a “stop causing trouble” from Julian, or an “be more generous” from bystanders was all it took to erase my pain. I didn’t want to use tears to beg for belief anymore. I wanted to keep a record of everything, even if it seemed tedious right now. The baby in my belly nudged me gently, as if in response. I looked down, pressing my palm against my stomach, finally feeling a solid warmth toward this sudden twist of fate.

Vivian’s POV Mary handed me a bowl of hot soup. “People make stupid decisions when they’re hungry.” Mary bolted the door. “Eat first. If you want to cry, do it after you’re full.” I held the bowl, the steam making my eyes sting. I hadn’t taken much when I left Julian’s villa. I didn’t touch any of the expensive jewelry, but I held my grandmother’s old ledger close to my chest. Mary flipped open the ledger, pointing to a few faded lines. “Your grandmother used to tailor clothes for a lot of wealthy ladies back in the day. Some of them still remember her craft. If you’re willing, I can introduce you. You can start taking orders. You can’t just hide forever.” Hiding wasn’t a long-term solution. I understood that. I needed money, a stable place to live, and an identity that could explain my whereabouts. Compared to the unlimited credit card Julian had given me, the money earned from individual orders was meager, but it allowed me to sleep peacefully. Starting the next day, I began taking orders to repair vintage clothes. My first client was a retired school teacher who brought in a wrinkled silk shirt, saying it was a gift her late husband had bought her when they were young. As I bent my head to thread the needle, the baby in my belly suddenly went quiet. After a long while, he said: “Mom, when you’re working, you’re different from your past life.” “How so?” “In your past life, you were always waiting for someone else’s approval. Now, you reach for what you want yourself.” My fingers paused for a second before I continued sewing. I didn’t want to take those words as a compliment, because it meant the other version of me had lived a life that was far too exhausting. As I was wrapping up for the night, a black town car pulled up outside. Julian got out of the car, standing at the door of the workshop, his expression darker than the night sky. Mary blocked the doorway. “You’re not welcome here.” Julian’s gaze bypassed her, landing on me. “Come out. I need to talk to you.” I put down my needle and thread. I didn’t hide. I was wearing a loose sweater, my hands covered in fabric dust, looking completely different from the elegant woman people compared at the gala. Julian looked at me, his throat moving. “If you need money, you can tell me. You don’t have to live in a place like this.” “Even if this place is old, it’s my choice,” I said. “No matter how nice your place is, it’s not mine.” Julian’s face darkened at my words. “When did I ever say it wasn’t yours?” “You never said it was mine.” I raised my eyes. “Julian, you gave me a place to live, clothes, and a credit card, but you never gave me a choice. Now that I’ve made my own choice, you’re angry?” Julian was silent for a moment, his voice softening. “Come back with me. I’ll handle Chloe.” The voice in my belly instantly exploded: “Don’t believe him! ‘Handling it’ to him just means stalling! Stalling until your heart softens, stalling until the baby can’t be hidden anymore, and then the Pierce family will dictate your entire life!” I looked at Julian and suddenly asked, “What if I don’t go back?” Julian’s eyes went cold. “Do you have to make things so difficult?” “You see,” I smiled faintly. “You didn’t come to take me back. You came to reclaim something that went out of your control.” I stepped back into the warm light of the workshop. As the door closed from the inside, Julian was still standing there. Through the glass, I saw him reveal a lost, bewildered expression for the very first time, as if he had finally realized the other end of the rope he held was completely empty. Julian didn’t knock on the door again that night. I didn’t get up to see if he had left. Mary told me later that he stood at the door for a while, then sat in his car checking his phone messages, but didn’t let the driver start the engine. I didn’t know what he was looking at, but I remembered the messages I used to send him over the years. Almost every one of them was short and restrained: What time are you coming back? Should I save dinner? The stomach medicine is in the left drawer. I never asked who he was with, and I rarely complained. I used to think that silence was maturity, a form of understanding. Now, looking back, those messages were like receipts, recording how he slowly drained my affection. I wondered later if he would call. But I didn’t wait. Whether he dialed and hung up, I didn’t know. All I knew was that he had probably never gone through my old messages word-for-word the way he was doing tonight. What did he want to say? I didn’t know. Because even I suddenly realized that every “come here,” “stop acting up,” and “be good” he had ever said to me were commands, not conversations. I finished repairing the client’s shirt, pressed it, and packed it. Only after doing all this did the tightness in my chest slowly begin to dissipate. It turned out that not responding was also a choice.

Vivian’s POV Three days after Julian left, a red paper bag appeared at the door of the workshop. Inside was a white baby onesie, with a few words hastily scribbled on the front in red marker: “YOU DON’T DESERVE HER.” The fabric at the chest of the onesie had been slashed open, right over where the heart would be. Mary cursed when she saw it, reaching out to burn it. I stopped her, keeping both the bag and the security footage. At the very bottom of the bag was a card with a single sentence: Don’t bring this curse into the world. My fingers went cold. The baby in my belly didn’t yell this time. He was silent for so long that I had to speak first. “Are you keeping secrets from me?” The tiny voice sounded choked. After a long time, he said, “Mom, I didn’t just want to be the heir.” I sat by the sewing machine, the light casting a pale glow over my face. “In my past life, you kept me too. You believed Julian once and moved into the private estate he arranged for your pregnancy. It had the best doctors, the quietest rooms, and locks on the doors. After you gave birth to me, the Pierce family said your health was failing, and they took me to the main estate. Every time you wanted to see me, you had to ask for their permission.” My breathing slowly became heavy. “I didn’t find out you were my mom until I was five. Before that, they made me call you ‘Aunt Vivian.’ Then, one rainy night, you ran to the kindergarten gates just to catch a glimpse of me. The security guards stopped you, and you fell gravely ill after going back. After that, I never saw you again.” The little voice was very quiet, but it couldn’t hide the tears. “On my eighth birthday, I fell down the stairs at the main estate. Everyone said it was an accident. But I remember someone had scattered marbles at the top of the stairs. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the moment where you had to decide if you wanted me.” The only sound left in the workshop was the low hum of the sewing machine. I suddenly remembered the long hallway of the Pierce family estate, where the lights were bright but entirely devoid of warmth. I used to think I was just unaccepted. Now I realized that being unaccepted was the best-case scenario. What was truly terrifying was that they would sever my child from my life, and then tell me it was for his own good. Mary couldn’t hear the whole story, but seeing my pale face, she asked anxiously, “What’s wrong?” I packed the baby shoes I was making into a clear bag. “Mary, I need a lawyer. And a doctor who can ensure my medical records can’t be accessed by anyone else.” Mary was stunned for a second. “You’re finally ready to fight back?” “Yes.” I sealed the bag. “I used to think about running away. That’s not enough anymore. I need them to know that I am not someone who can be quietly swept under the rug.” I contacted Dr. Evelyn Carter, and through her, I found Audrey Lawson. Audrey was a lawyer who specialized in family law and women’s rights. She spoke quickly, her eyes sharp. After hearing my story, she only asked one question: “Do you want to protect the child, or do you want to protect yourself?” I said, “Both.” Audrey nodded. “Then stop negotiating with them using emotions. You need a registered address, an income, prenatal records, and evidence. You also need a visible social circle. A person hidden in the dark is the easiest to manipulate.” I looked out the window. Julian had offered me the most beautiful cage, and Sienna wanted to seal the outside of it. But I chose to walk right into the light of the crowd. Audrey didn’t ask about the baby’s voice, nor did she press about the past life. I only told her I had a very long nightmare, a nightmare where I lost my child and my name as a mother. After hearing this, Audrey didn’t laugh. She just capped her pen. “Then we prepare for the worst-case scenario. Many tragedies in real life don’t happen because people don’t love their children enough, but because they have no boundaries, no evidence, and no way out.” I engraved the word “boundaries” into my mind. I used to think that loving someone meant asking for less and making things easier for them. But my child’s past life was like a bucket of cold water, waking me from my delusions: love without boundaries is easily taken for granted, until there is nothing left of you. When I left the law firm, I bought a new notebook downstairs. On the first page, I wrote one sentence: No more disappearing. I wanted to make sure my name appeared on ledgers, contracts, medical records, and in the memories of my neighbors. The more clearly I existed, the harder it would be for anyone to erase me.

Vivian’s POV Audrey listed three things for me to do. First, transfer all prenatal records to a private clinic affiliated with Dr. Carter, where any information request required my personal authorization. Second, immediately register my residence and employment so my life would no longer look like a blank space that could be deleted at any moment. Third, keep all evidence of threats and harassment, but never meet anyone alone. I followed her instructions perfectly. I rented a small storefront on a busy street in the old neighborhood. It was tiny, previously a flower shop, with water stains still visible on the walls. Mary thought it was too run-down, but Audrey loved it. “It’s on a busy street, there are neighbors, cameras, and customers. The more ordinary, the safer.” I named the shop “Renascent.” My grandmother loved that word. I missed her. There were no grand floral arrangements on opening day, only an apple pie baked by Mary. The retired teacher came by with her repaired shirt and introduced two of her friends on the spot. By the afternoon, my back was aching, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid. At dusk, a young woman carrying a gift box walked into the shop, saying she wanted to repair a gown. She wore a mask, but her eyes kept darting to my stomach. The baby in my belly warned me immediately: “Mom, she’s not here to fix clothes. She has a recording pen in her bag. She wants to bait you into admitting you’re pregnant with Julian’s baby.” My heart went cold, but I kept my face blank. “Leave the gown here. Come back in three days,” I said. The woman smiled and asked, “Isn’t it hard running a shop alone, Miss Vance? I heard you used to be close with Mr. Pierce. Why did you suddenly stop talking? Are you pregnant and trying to extort him?” Two aunts waiting for their clothes looked up at the same time. I pushed the registration book forward. “Name and phone number for alterations. Personal matters are not registered here.” The woman, unwilling to back down, raised her voice. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m just worried about Chloe. She and Julian are childhood sweethearts, and they’re about to get married. It looks bad for you to be caught in the middle.” I smiled. “Whoever told you to say that, go talk to them about how it looks.” I picked up the landline phone on the counter and dialed Audrey’s number right in front of her. “Audrey, there’s someone in my shop asking about my personal information using Chloe and Julian’s names. The camera is on, and there are witnesses here. Should we call the police now, or send a cease-and-desist first?” The woman’s face paled. She grabbed her gift box and bolted. A car was parked outside, the window rolled halfway down, revealing Sienna Sterling’s icy side profile. She clearly hadn’t expected me to stop taking her insults quietly. I looked through the glass, not hiding, but not chasing either. That night, Julian called. I didn’t pick up. I sent him a text message: Keep the Sterling family in check. If this happens again, I will release all the names publicly. Julian replied almost instantly: Where on earth are you? I looked at the screen, and the baby in my belly said quietly, “Mom, don’t tell him.” “I know.” I deleted the chat and pulled down the metal shutter. The streetlights flickered on, casting the shadow of my little shop onto the ground. I suddenly felt that although my world was small, it finally had a door, and the key was in my own hands. Before going to bed, I counted the day’s earnings three times. It wasn’t a lot of money, not even a fraction of what Julian used to spend on a dress for me. But every bill carried the warmth of my customers’ hands and my own labor. When I put them into the tin box, they made a soft, reassuring sound, as if confirming one thing: I didn’t need Julian to survive. Mary called to ask if I was tired. I said yes, but it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that had no end. Mary laughed on the other end. “The kind of tired that lets you sleep is a good kind of tired.” The baby was sleepy too, his voice soft. “Mom, are we opening the shop tomorrow?” “Yes.” I turned off the light. “The more they want me to hide, the more I will open my doors.” After saying this, I laughed. In the past, I was afraid of being seen. Now, I began to understand that what truly protected me was not the dark, but the bright light where everyone could see how I lived my life.

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On the day we were supposed to sign our marriage license at City Hall, Austin didn’t show up. When he finally picked up the phone, his voice was low and rushed. “Vivian is doing her first brand runway today. I can’t leave her. We can do this another day.” I watched the couples hugging at the entrance of City Hall. My throat felt tight. “Austin, do you still want to marry me?” Silence. That silence on the other end of the line was more humiliating than any fight we had ever shared. Ever since Vivian appeared in his life, I meant nothing to him anymore. I let out a bitter laugh and tested the waters. “Then let’s break up.” I didn’t expect him to reply almost instantly. “Fine.” Seconds later, Vivian posted a photo on Snapchat. She was standing on the stage, wearing his designer suit jacket over her shoulders. Her eyes were red. Her caption read: So glad I have you. I stared at our wedding rings for a very long time. Then, I threw them into the trash. Some promises are incredibly real when they are made. But when they fall apart, that breakdown is just as real. Austin, loving you is too exhausting. I give up.

Chloe’s POV Today was supposed to be our sixth anniversary. Three months ago, Austin slipped the paperwork for our marriage license into my hand. He told me that from this day on, we would celebrate this date under a new status. I believed him. I took the day off work. I wore the white silk blouse he once told me looked beautiful on me. I even packed the velvet ring box in my purse. But the appointment time passed. Austin never showed. When I called him for the third time, the line connected. I could hear applause in the background. A girl’s voice, thick with tears, whimpered, “Mr. Vance, can I really do this? I’m so scared I’ll ruin the show.” Austin’s voice was hushed. “Vivian is doing her first big brand runway today, Chloe. I can’t leave her. We can sign the papers another day. It doesn’t have to be today just because of some anniversary.” I watched a young couple laughing and hugging near the steps. My fingers slowly let go of my purse. I had been with Austin for six years. I knew better than anyone how much he used to care about milestones. He used to remember the anniversary of my mother’s passing. He would buy me flowers every time I wrapped up a major project. He planned every anniversary to perfection. But this year, that devotion found a new owner. When Vivian said she was afraid of the dark, he drove across the city at midnight to help her adjust the lighting in her studio. When Vivian said she didn’t understand camera angles, he canceled our dinner plans to personally review her video scripts. It turned out the date itself was never important. What mattered was who he wanted to spend it with. I asked, “Austin, do you still want to marry me?” The phone went dead silent. That silence was a slap in the face. I folded the appointment sheet in half. My voice was barely a whisper. “Then let’s break up.” It was as if Austin had been waiting for those exact words. He answered almost instantly. “Fine.” Six years of love. A morning that was supposed to make us husband and wife. To him, it ended with a single, effortless word. Right after I hung up, Vivian sent me a snap. In the photo, she stood on the runway stage. Austin’s blazer was draped over her shoulders. Her eyes were shiny with tears. Austin stood beside her, leaning in to adjust her microphone. The caption was short: So glad I have you. I stared at it for a long time. Then, I typed back: Good luck with the show. I blocked Austin’s number immediately. As I stood up, a wave of nausea hit me. I grabbed the back of a bench, forcing the sick feeling down. The Uber driver asked where to. I looked at the city lights blurring outside the window. My voice was hoarse. “Home. I need to pack.” Halfway there, a text popped up on my laptop from Austin’s iCloud: Stop throwing a tantrum. Let’s talk when I get home tonight. I looked at the screen and wanted to laugh. To him, my forty minutes of waiting, the sound of another woman’s voice, and my breaking point were all just a “tantrum.” He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t ask how long I had waited. He just assumed I would be waiting at the apartment. He assumed I couldn’t let go of him. He assumed six years of habit would drag me right back to his feet. I shut my laptop. I didn’t reply. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror and handed me a tissue. I took it, but I didn’t cry. I pulled the ring box out of my bag and opened it. The ring was simple. I had picked it out myself. Austin had promised he would slide it onto my finger at City Hall. Now, he didn’t have to. I snapped the box shut and put it in my coat pocket. Not because I couldn’t let go, but because I wanted to remind myself: some promises are real when they are made, but they rot just as quickly. I couldn’t pretend something wasn’t dead just because it used to be alive. When I reached our building, I didn’t go up right away. The windows of our penthouse were dark. I knew what was inside. The sofa we bought together, the plush rug he insisted on buying because he hated the cold winter floors, the floor plan of the nursery we had passionately discussed. Those things were still there. But our future was gone. Standing in the cold wind, I opened our shared Google Calendar. One by one, I deleted the events: Sign marriage license, wedding ring fitting, dinner with parents. Finally, my phone prompted: Do you want to keep the shared photo album? I stared at the prompt. I tapped Keep. Not out of sentiment, but because I didn’t have the strength to process six years of memories today. You can’t rip out a deep wound on day one. I just needed to pack my things, get out of that apartment, and slowly crawl out of the wreckage of my past.

Chloe’s POV The apartment was still filled with the ghosts of our upcoming wedding. Matching slippers sat by the door. A medical checklist for our pre-marital checkup was pinned to the fridge. On the dining table lay the shopping list I had written last night. I had planned for us to go ring shopping right after City Hall. Now, every bullet point looked like a joke. Austin came back at dusk. He rang the doorbell instead of using his keys. In his hand was a hot container of clam chowder from my favorite bistro. He looked tired, a familiar, practiced exhaustion on his face. “Eat something first. I’m sorry about noon, Chloe. But Vivian really couldn’t handle it alone. It was her first time in front of a crowd. She was shaking.” I didn’t reach for the soup. “I’ll have your things packed and sent to your office.” Austin frowned. “You’re the one who called for a breakup.” “Yes. That’s why I’m handling the logistics.” He looked taken aback by my calm tone. Whenever we argued in the past, I always left room for reconciliation. Austin would say a few sweet words, and I would let it go. I couldn’t bear to lose six years of history. I couldn’t let go of the boy who used to look at me like I was his entire world. But that boy was long gone. Austin set the soup down on the console table. “Take a couple of days to cool off, Chloe. Don’t burn your bridges over a temporary mood.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “You agreed so quickly on the phone. Isn’t this what you wanted all along?” A flash of guilt and panic crossed Austin’s face. The moment the door shut behind him, I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I thought it was just my stomach acting up from the stress. But the next morning, the smell of the cold soup made me gag all over again. By the time Maya rushed over, I was sitting on the floor, pulling photos out of our scrapbooks. I was sliding Austin’s pictures out one by one. My movements were slow, like I was conducting a quiet funeral for a dead relationship. Maya snatched the album away. “Stop doing this. Why do you look so pale?” I shook my head. “Just didn’t sleep well.” Maya stared at me for a few seconds. “Chloe… when was your last period?” My hand froze in mid-air. The last time Austin and I were intimate was two weeks ago. He had been a little drunk. He held me tight, whispering that he wanted a baby. He said he wanted a little girl who would be as smart as me. I believed him that night. I even thought that if I got pregnant after City Hall, it would be a beautiful new beginning. But now, Austin didn’t want me anymore. Maya pulled me up from the floor. “We’re going to the clinic. Now.” When the lab results came back, the doctor’s voice was gentle. “The pregnancy is very early. You need to keep your stress low and get plenty of rest. Does the father know?” I looked at the slip of paper. My throat felt like it was blocked by concrete. “He doesn’t need to know.” I already loved this tiny life inside me. But it had arrived too late, and at such a painful cost. It felt like a final anchor Austin had left in my body, trying to drag back a woman who had already decided to run. Outside the clinic, Maya asked, “What’s the plan, Chloe?” I folded the ultrasound and tucked it into my bag. “Just get through today.” I couldn’t make life-altering decisions while I was at my weakest. I had to pull myself out of the mess Austin and Vivian had created first. Maya stayed with me the whole way back. We didn’t talk about the baby, and we didn’t talk about Austin. We just stopped by the pharmacy to pick up the prenatal vitamins the doctor prescribed, and ordered some light chicken broth from the diner downstairs. I sat at the table, taking one slow sip at a time. My stomach was still in knots, but I forced myself to keep it down. Maya’s eyes grew red as she watched me. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, you know.” “If I don’t hold myself together, who will?” I murmured. The room went dead silent. Austin used to shield me from the storms. Or at least, I thought he did. When I was drowning in overtime, he would wait downstairs with coffee. When I was grieving my mother, he would cancel his meetings to hold me. But if a man’s reliability only lasts as long as his feelings, it isn’t reliability. It’s just charity on a good day. I touched my lower abdomen. For the first time, I seriously wondered: If I keep this baby, can I raise them alone in a world where we don’t have to beg for Austin’s attention? I didn’t have the answer yet. But I knew I needed an escape route. That night, I couldn’t sleep in our bed. His pillow still smelled faintly of his sandalwood cologne. I took a light blanket and slept on the living room couch. In the middle of the night, the nausea woke me up again. Maya sat on the floor next to me, fighting sleep, her eyes half-closed as she muttered curses at Austin. “He better not show his face here, or I’ll smash him with a frying pan.” I let out a weak laugh, and only then did the tears finally spill over. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But I finally understood that even if it hurt, I could never run back to Austin’s arms. That embrace was now reserved for Vivian’s tears and drama. It was no longer a safe place for me.

Chloe’s POV When I returned to the marketing agency after three days of leave, I found my desk had been moved. I was no longer by the window. That window seat was a spot I had earned inch by inch, working my way up from an intern to a senior creative director. Now, my plants were gone, my project drafts had been shuffled through, and even the framed photo of my mother and me at the old pier was missing from my desk. Inside the glass conference room, Vivian was standing there. She was wearing my custom-designed forest green blazer. That blazer was a prototype I had created for our pitch to renovate the SoHo Leather Factory. I had designed it using my mother’s vintage leatherwork techniques as inspiration. I wanted to pitch turning that abandoned factory into a community exhibition space for heritage crafts. It was a project I had poured my heart into for over eight months. Vivian spotted me and immediately jogged out of the room. “Chloe. You’re back. I thought you needed a few more days off. Mr. Davis said I should take over as the lead presenter for the SoHo project for now. Please don’t be mad. I’m just stepping in to help.” I stared at the blazer on her. “Take it off.” Vivian blinked, taken aback. “What?” “That’s my custom prototype,” I said, my voice cold. “It’s not company property.” The chatter in the office died down instantly. Vivian’s eyes welled with tears on cue. “Chloe, I just thought this blazer matched the theme of today’s pitch so well. Austin… I mean, Mr. Vance also said that you haven’t been in the right headspace lately, and that it’s better if you don’t present.” I finally looked into the conference room. Austin was sitting in the client’s chair, Vivian’s presentation slides open in front of him. Seeing me, his brows knit together. He looked at me with warning eyes, as if blaming me for making a scene. Mr. Davis stepped out of the room, whispering, “Chloe, don’t do this now. The Vance Group is the primary investor for this exhibition. Austin wants Vivian to lead this. You’ll still get credit behind the scenes.” Behind the scenes. I was the one who had made dozens of trips to the dusty factory ruins. I was the one who interviewed the retired craftsmen, archived the old leather samples, and scanned my mother’s hand-drawn blueprints page by page. Now, Vivian was wearing my design, speaking my words, and stealing my spotlight. And I was supposed to be satisfied with “behind-the-scenes credit.” Without another word, I reached out and yanked the blazer off Vivian’s shoulders. Vivian gasped, stumbling back as tears streamed down her face. “Chloe! I know you’re hurting because of you and Austin, but you can’t bring your personal drama into the workplace!” Austin stood up, his chair scraping loudly. “Chloe.” I draped the blazer over my arm, keeping my voice steady and clear. “If you’re going to steal my pitch, at least don’t wear my clothes to do it.” Nobody dared to breathe in the open office. Austin’s face darkened. “Vivian is a junior. She needs this opportunity.” “Opportunities are built, Austin. Not stripped off my back.” Vivian sobbed louder. I didn’t give them another glance. I walked over to my new cramped desk, opened my laptop, and got to work. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t quit on the spot. Instead, I backed up every single file of the SoHo project. The original concept drafts, the interview recordings, the licensing agreements for my mother’s designs, and the prototype manufacturing records. I had already lost my relationship. I was not going to let them steal my life’s work. Once the backup was complete, I didn’t leave immediately. I walked into the archive room and began packing my personal belongings and my mother’s vintage design books. Seeing how quiet and methodical I was, my coworkers kept their distance. Vivian watched me through the glass, her smugness slowly giving way to anxiety. Mr. Davis came over to placate me. “Chloe, we’re all colleagues here. No need to burn bridges. Vivian is young, she doesn’t know the industry rules yet.” I looked up. “If she doesn’t know the rules, why is she leading a multi-million dollar project?” Mr. Davis choked on his words. I packed my mother’s sketches into a waterproof bag, filled out a property release form, and made the receptionist sign it. In the past, I ran on loyalty. I never kept strict receipts because I thought of this agency as my second home. Now I realized: a home doesn’t move your desk the second you take three days off, nor does it hand your mother’s legacy to another woman. I saw Austin standing by the door of the conference room. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he ultimately remained silent. I carried my storage box right past him, not even letting my sleeve brush against his. A colleague next to my old desk whispered, “Do you need help, Chloe?” I shook my head. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mud with Austin and Vivian. But she quietly pushed an empty cardboard box toward me and whispered, “Make sure you didn’t leave any original sketches behind.” That simple gesture almost made me break down. I realized that not everyone in this office was blind. Many saw the injustice. They were just too afraid to speak up. I finished copying the last interview tape and placed my mother’s photo at the top of the box. Vivian could steal the spotlight on stage, but she could never fake the soul of the work.

Chloe’s POV The first dry run of the SoHo exhibition was scheduled at the old factory’s central warehouse. This place was where my mother had worked when she was a young designer. After she passed, I rarely came back. But for this project, I had loaned my company her vintage tailor rulers, leather swatches, and handwritten journals. I wanted people to see the beauty of the old craftsmanship. During the dry run, Vivian stood on the stage, reciting my opening remarks. “Every vintage piece is not waste. They are simply pushed into the shadows by time…” Standing in the crowd, a sharp pain flared in my stomach. Vivian delivered the lines with practiced emotion, but she mispronounced the basic leather terms my mother had coined. Several retired craftsmen sitting in the front row frowned, their faces turning grim. Mr. Davis frantically approached me, begging, “Chloe, please. Go up there and save the pitch.” I didn’t budge. Austin walked over, whispering in my ear, “You know this part best. Go up and help her.” I looked at him. “Isn’t she the lead?” “Chloe, stop being childish. Not now.” “I’m not being childish.” I looked at the stage. “I’m just letting the lead present her own work.” On stage, Vivian completely froze. She looked at Austin, tears pooling in her eyes. Austin instinctively took a step toward the stage, but the museum curator stood up first. “Miss Vivian, you mentioned this vintage tailor ruler belonged to your grandmother?” My head snapped up. Vivian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “Yes… she used it to support our family back in the day.” That ruler was my mother’s most precious possession. Blood rushed to my ears. I walked straight up to the stage, took the ruler out of the display case, and looked Vivian dead in the eye. “Vivian. Say it again. Whose is this?” Vivian’s face drained of color. Austin was stunned. “Vivian?” Vivian immediately burst into tears. “I didn’t mean to! The script wasn’t clear, I thought it was just a generic story we were using for the brand! Chloe, don’t be so mean… I really didn’t know it was your mother’s!” I turned to Austin. “Hear that? She can’t even memorize the story she stole.” Austin’s face was incredibly tense, but his first instinct was still to step in front of Vivian. “We’ll discuss this back at the office.” “No.” I put the ruler back into my box. “We discuss it here. I am officially pulling out of the SoHo project. My mother’s legacy, my drafts, and my personal items are leaving this building right now.” Mr. Davis panicked. “Chloe, don’t do this! The exhibition has already been approved by the city board!” “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” I hugged the wooden box of my mother’s things and turned to walk out. Vivian ran after me, grabbing my sleeve. “Chloe, please! I really didn’t mean to! You’re going to ruin the entire project!” I jerked my arm back to get away from her. But Vivian lost her footing, slipping and crashing straight into the temporary lighting rig beside the stage. The rig wobbled violently, and a heavy, rusted metal sign came crashing down. Instinctively, I curled my body to protect my mother’s box. But my lower abdomen slammed hard against the sharp edge of the display counter. A sharp, blinding pain exploded deep inside my belly. My face went completely white. Warm blood began to run down my legs. By the time Austin rushed over, I was too weak to stand. He reached out to cradle me, but I used every ounce of my remaining strength to push him away. “Don’t touch me.” Austin froze, his hands trembling in the air. Clutching my mother’s wooden box, I slid down to the cold floor. I saw Vivian standing a few feet away, her face filled with horror, but she didn’t step forward. When the wail of the siren echoed outside, my vision finally went black. I realized then that love doesn’t always die slowly. Sometimes, it is stomped into the dirt, over and over, until there is nothing left to save. Before the ambulance doors slammed shut, Austin finally caught up, panting. I had never seen him look so terrified. He kept reaching out, trying to grasp my hand. But the paramedics blocked him. Maya stood in his way, her eyes wild with anger. “Get the hell away from her!” Maya screamed at him. “Now you care? Where was this urgency when you were busy protecting Vivian?” Austin’s lips parted, but not a single sound came out. Inside the ambulance, the pain kept dragging me into unconsciousness, but I refused to let go of the wooden box. The paramedic tried to take it, but I shook my head fiercely. That box held my mother’s tools, her designs, and the last piece of myself I had left. Outside, Vivian was being comforted by a coworker, weeping softly. She kept saying she didn’t mean to, but her very first question wasn’t about me. It was asking Austin if he was mad at her. Everyone heard it. The lights of the old factory faded in the distance. The banner outside still read: New Life for Old Things. But what I lost in that warehouse would never have a new life. In the ambulance, the doctor asked if I had any family members present. Maya immediately grabbed my hand. “I’m her family.” I couldn’t speak, but a tear slipped from the corner of my eye. For six years, I thought Austin was my home. But when my world fell apart, the one standing in front of the storm wasn’t my fiancé. It was my best friend. Maya squeezed my hand tightly. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, Chloe. Stay with me. You have to get through this, so we can watch those two rot in hell.” I tried to nod, but only a faint gasp escaped my lips. The nurse finally took the wooden box and handed it to Maya for safekeeping. As my eyes closed, the doctor’s warning flashed through my mind: Keep your stress low. I had tried so hard to stay steady. But they had pulled the rug right out from under my feet.

Chloe’s POV The baby was gone. The doctor said the pregnancy was too early, and my body was already severely exhausted from stress. The impact was just the final trigger. When Maya heard the news, she sobbed in the hallway until she couldn’t breathe. But I was dead silent. I was so quiet, it felt like I had left my voice back at that warehouse. The next morning, Maya brought a fresh container of clam chowder. Seeing Austin standing outside my hospital room, she slammed the food down on the counter. “Oh, look who decided to show up. Where were you when she was waiting at City Hall? Where were you when they were stealing her work? When she was bleeding, your first instinct was still to check if Vivian had a scratch!” Austin’s voice cracked. “I just want to see her.” “She doesn’t want to see you. Ever.” Inside the room, I heard every word, but I didn’t say anything. I stared out the window, my palm resting flat against my empty stomach. I had spent nights agonizing over whether I should bring this child into the world. But losing them left an ache that stripped away any remaining dignity I had. It felt as though a tiny hand had briefly touched mine, only to be violently ripped away by this nightmare. In the afternoon, I asked Maya to bring me my laptop. Maya’s eyes were puffy. “You just had surgery. Can’t this wait?” “If I wait, they’ll write the narrative for me,” I said softly. “I’m not letting them call me ’emotionally unstable’ again.” I sent a formal email to the agency, the museum curator, and my lawyer. The email was simple: I was revoking all licenses. My mother’s estate, the interviews, the scans, and the blazer design. All use was to stop immediately. As for the warehouse accident, I demanded a full investigation into the safety of the lighting rig and the contractor responsible. After sending the email, I asked Maya to help me move my things out of our apartment. I wanted my car and a few boxes of files moved to a secure location. I left all further communication to my lawyer. Maya blinked. “Where are you going to go, Chloe?” “The warehouse.” It was an old, dusty storage unit my mother had left me in Queens. Austin had always looked down on it, calling it a useless piece of junk. But it was mine. I didn’t have the energy to sort through six years of life right now. But I could hide there to heal, far away from any place Austin could find me. Two days later, I checked out of the hospital. I didn’t go back to the penthouse. I went straight to Queens. Maya came with me. I handed my old phone over to my lawyer and set up an auto-forward for Austin’s emails. While Austin was still guarding the empty hospital lobby, my car was already heading out of the city. I didn’t say much on the drive. Maya, worried I was freezing, draped her coat over my lap. To keep my mind off things, she blasted a loud, trashy pop song on the radio. I listened to the beat and actually fell asleep for fifteen minutes. When I woke up, the sun had set. The highway lights flashed past, cutting my past into distant, fading frames. Maya asked, “Any regrets?” I shook my head. Of course, I was scared. The warehouse was cold, my body was weak, and I had no idea how I was going to make a living or deal with the grief. But I knew one thing for sure: staying where Austin could reach me would only drag me back into the mud of his guilt and Vivian’s malice. Leaving wasn’t about being brave. It was about survival. The Queens warehouse was in worse shape than I remembered. The iron door was rusted, the roof leaked, and moss grew in the corners. Maya frowned the moment we stepped inside. “Are you sure you want to stay here? The wind at night is going to sound like a horror movie.” I stood in the center of the dusty room. For the first time in days, I felt grounded. There were no matching slippers here. No trace of Vivian’s perfume. No one asking me why I couldn’t just “be the bigger person.” It was run-down, but every square inch of it belonged to me. I decided to turn the warehouse into my new independent studio. For the first few days, my body was still recovering, so Maya forbid me from doing any heavy lifting. We hired a contractor to fix the roof, change the locks, and paint the walls. I sat on a folding chair, sipping my warm herbal tea, organizing my mother’s old leather patterns. I placed her wooden box on the highest shelf. Inside, I slipped a small post-it note: I’m sorry. I will live a good life. I didn’t write a name. The baby was too small. Too small to have ever been called by a name in this world.

Chloe’s POV My first client came through Maya. An old, prestigious boutique in Soho was planning their 20th-anniversary exhibition. The budget was tight, but the standards were incredibly high. The owner, Valerie, came to see my warehouse in person. She noticed my pale face and asked bluntly, “Is your health going to be an issue?” I looked her in the eye. “If there’s something I can’t handle, I’ll tell you upfront. What I promise to do, I will deliver perfectly.” Valerie smiled. “I like that. Realistic over idealistic.” She gave me a shot: I had three days to pitch a concept for their heritage collection. I took it. For those three days, I didn’t pull any all-nighters. The doctor said I needed rest, so I broke the work into small chunks. When I was tired, I stopped. Maya took care of my meals. When I finally emailed the deck to Valerie, her response was short: You’re hired. Staring at the screen, my eyes filled with tears. I didn’t become useless just because I left Austin. I had simply returned to my own battlefield. Once the contract was signed, I installed the first proper light fixture in my warehouse. When the bulb flickered on, the dust motes in the air became visible. Maya pinched her nose, but I stood in the light for a long time. I remembered how my mother used to repair leather bags under a similar light when I was a kid. We weren’t rich, but she always said that whether an old item can be saved doesn’t depend on how damaged it is, but on whether someone has the patience to stitch it back together. I used to apply that logic to my relationship, and it ended up destroying me. N ow, I finally knew the difference: things can be repaired, but a rotten heart is better left in the trash. As we prepared for the first mini-exhibition, my body still had moments of sudden weakness. Valerie didn’t rush me; she simply pushed the launch date back by two days. Around that time, the name Julian first appeared in my inbox. He was a non-profit director Valerie had introduced, and he sent over a very detailed, professional partnership proposal. My first instinct was to put up my guard. I realized Austin had conditioned me to be afraid. I was so used to being controlled that when someone offered a genuine, equal partnership, I immediately looked for the catch. After Valerie left one afternoon, I sat by the warehouse door, letting the cool breeze hit my face. The salty air from the East River made my stomach ache slightly. Maya handed me a hot water bottle, lecturing me, “If you overwork yourself again, I will literally tie you to the bed.” “Deal,” I smiled. My quick agreement caught Maya off guard. In the past, I hated bothering people. Even with a high fever, I would tell everyone I was fine. Now, I was finally learning to accept care. Not because I was weak, but because I realized that if you want to stand back up, you can’t do it while pretending your wounds aren’t bleeding. That night, I wrote down the first rule for my new studio: No sacrificing health for a deadline. I stared at the sentence. It felt like a final farewell to the girl who used to destroy herself just to please everyone else. Once the deposit cleared, I felt a sense of relief I hadn’t felt in years. This money was mine. It wasn’t a payout from Austin, and it wasn’t a corporate bonus. It was earned by my own hands. I used some of it to patch the rest of the roof and saved the rest in a business account. Maya asked why I was being so strict with the finances. “No matter what happens,” I told her, “this studio needs to have at least three months of runway to survive on its own.” It sounded like business talk, but it was actually my safety net. That night, as I sat alone in the warehouse filing invoices, I found myself smiling. Austin had gifted me expensive jewelry in the past, but none of it ever made me feel this secure. Real peace of mind doesn’t come from the price tag. It comes from knowing exactly how it was earned, and where it’s going.

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Adrian was cheating on me. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find his mistress. In the steam-filled bathroom, severely depressed, I lay in the bathtub, letting the blood from my wrists drip into the water, watching my life slip away. It was my sister, Natalie, who kicked the door open and saved me. It was Natalie who later drove her car straight into Adrian, leaving him half-dead, forcing him to get on his knees in front of my hospital bed to beg for my forgiveness. From that day on, Adrian changed. He stopped staying out late at elite clubs. He came straight home from work every single day. Even if he ran into other women on the street, he would literally step thirty feet away to keep his distance. I thought our marriage had finally reached a turning point. Until today, when I received a FaceTime call from myself—ten years in the future. Looking at the pale, sickly “me” on the screen, I frowned and asked, “But he stopped cheating, didn’t he?” The future me didn’t say a word. She just flipped the camera. On the screen, Adrian was gently caressing Natalie’s swollen, pregnant belly. His eyes were filled with an agonizing, suppressed pain. “It’s been ten years, Natalie. Please, don’t abort this baby again, okay?” “How much longer are you going to punish me?” Natalie was sobbing, tears streaming down her face. “We betrayed Chloe. This baby… we don’t deserve to keep it.” I froze, my blood turning to ice. The mistress I could never find, the woman my husband was sleeping with, was my beloved sister. Adrian had hidden her so well. He hid her so well that she was pregnant, and I hadn’t suspected a thing. The camera flipped back to my future self. Ten years later, I stared at myself with a wild, crazed laugh. “Do you hear them?” “Adrian never loved you.” “Just pull the trigger. End it now. Set them free.”

I lowered my eyes and slowly picked up the pistol from the desk. I pressed the cold metal barrel against my temple. “Adrian is a total germaphobe, Chloe. Why do you think he suddenly volunteers to take out the trash every single day? Did you really think Natalie was staying with us just to help watch him?” “Don’t be stupid. Go look at the blind spot behind the garage. Those ten minutes when he takes out the trash is the only time they get to escape your suffocating presence.” “They use that time to make out like animals!” The front door clicked open. Adrian was home. Seeing the gun pressed against my temple, his face instantly went dead white. “Chloe! What the hell are you doing?!” He didn’t even take off his shoes. He lunged forward like a madman. The voice on the phone kept screaming: “Look at his wrist! You know how severe his OCD is. Look at him right now!” Adrian had severe germaphobia and OCD. His shirt cuffs were always folded back exactly three times, perfectly neat, exposing his wrists. But right now, his cuffs were messy and unbuttoned. There was even a faint smudge of red lipstick on the edge of the fabric. My gaze drifted past him, landing on Natalie. Her makeup was slightly smeared. Clank. My hands lost all strength. The gun slipped, almost grazing my ear as it hit the table. Adrian stopped dead in his tracks, his hands raised in the air, speaking in a trembling, soothing voice. “Chloe, put the gun down. Please. Don’t hurt yourself.” I stared at his messy cuffs, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Who is she?” Adrian froze. He quickly unlocked his phone, opened his Snapchat location history, and thrust it in front of me. “I just went down to empty the trash bin. It was right outside. It took less than ten minutes.” A deep, exhausting weariness washed over his eyes. “Chloe, that incident happened three years ago. How much longer are you going to keep dragging me through this hell?” “I am so tired from taking care of you every single day. Please, stop being so paranoid.” As he spoke, he stepped forward, trying to grab the gun. I waved the pistol wildly, stepping back. “Don’t touch me!” The gun knocked against the edge of the desk. In my panic, my finger pulled the trigger. A loud bang echoed through the room. The bullet grazed my palm, and bright red blood spurted out, dripping heavily onto the hardwood floor. “Chloe!” Natalie screamed and rushed forward to stop me. But she ran too fast, twisting her ankle and crashing hard against the side cabinet. “Natalie!” Adrian lunged forward almost instinctively to catch her. But just as his hands were about to touch her waist, he seemed to realize something. He froze in mid-air, forcing his hands back. Natalie looked at my bleeding hand, turned around, and slapped Adrian across the face. “You bastard! You pushed her again! You know she is sick!” The slap was incredibly loud. Adrian’s head snapped to the side. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, fighting to control his exploding emotions. When he turned back to look at me, all the frustration and disgust in his eyes had vanished. He was back to being the submissive, gentle husband again. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper. Chloe, you’re bleeding. Let me bandage it.” Adrian knelt in front of me, but his eyes were glued to Natalie’s swollen ankle. After quickly wrapping my hand, he naturally handed the first-aid kit to Natalie. His voice was incredibly hoarse. “Put some ice on that ankle. Now.” Watching his pathetic, secretive tenderness toward her, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and locked myself in the bedroom. Three years ago, when I first caught Adrian cheating. I had searched every hotel room like a lunatic, but I couldn’t find a single strand of that woman’s hair. In utter despair, I locked myself in the bathroom and slit my wrists. It was Natalie who drove her car into him, dragging his bloodied body to my bedside to confess. That day, the proud Adrian had knelt before me, crying like a child who had lost his entire world. “Chloe, I beg you. You can’t die. I love you.” That heartbreaking display made me believe he actually loved me. But now, a phone call from the future had shattered every beautiful lie I lived in.

This wasn’t just a corporate office. It was a perfect, one-to-one replica of our master bedroom. The dark green velvet sofa. The floor lamp in the corner that Adrian had personally picked out. Even the fresh lilies on the coffee table were identical to the ones we had at home. But there was one major difference. The wall where our wedding photo should have hung was covered in hundreds of photos of Natalie. Natalie cooking in the kitchen. Natalie sleeping on the sofa… Every photo was shot with breathtaking lighting and warmth. Even through the paper, I could feel an overwhelming, suffocating love. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I remembered our honeymoon. I had spent two hours on my makeup, happily begging Adrian to take a photo of me. He had just clicked the shutter twice, completely distracted, leaving me with two blurry, ugly pictures. It turned out he didn’t hate taking photos. He just saved all of his patience and love for Natalie. Footsteps echoed outside the door. I snapped out of my daze and hid inside the walk-in closet. The door pushed open. “Let go of me!” Natalie choked back a sob, trying to shake off Adrian’s grip. But Adrian held her tightly, pressing her against his chest like a madman. “Natalie, I can’t do this anymore!” “When she held that gun today, all I could think was… if she just pulled the trigger, would we finally be free?” Natalie slapped him hard. “You monster! She is your wife!” “But I don’t love her!” Adrian’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice dripping with despair. “You have no idea how much I suffocate sleeping next to her every night.” “Natalie, let me just tell her the truth. If she agrees to a divorce, I will give her every single penny I own!” Natalie broke down crying. “No! If you tell her now, you will kill her!” Adrian buried his face in her neck, clinging to her like a drowning man. “What about me? You worry about her, but who is going to save me?” Natalie wept as if her heart was breaking. “When we were ten, she pushed me out of the way of that speeding truck. I swore I would protect her with my life. But I fell in love with her husband!” “And when you pissed off those thugs for your business deal, she was the one who got cornered in the parking lot for you…” “If it weren’t for us, Chloe wouldn’t be sick. How can we do this to her?” Adrian trembled, kissing her tears away. Inside the dark closet, my nails dug deep into the wound on my palm. The blood started flowing again, but I couldn’t feel any pain. So that was the truth. How beautiful. How romantic. One betrayed her own heart to repay a life-saving debt. The other carried a heavy cross out of guilt. In their grand, epic, tragic love story, what the hell was I? After what felt like an eternity, the room fell silent. I crawled out of the closet and walked out of the office building, stumbling like a ghost. The freezing winter wind slashed my face, drying my tears. I suddenly remembered the day Adrian had thrown the divorce papers at me, screaming that he wanted out even if it meant losing everything. But then, he suddenly stopped mentioning it. He wasn’t staying for me. He was terrified that my death would stain his hands, and that Natalie would never be able to live with the guilt. Since they were in so much pain, I decided to set them free. I pulled out my phone and dialed my lawyer’s number. “Marcus, please draft a divorce agreement for me. As fast as possible.” The line went dead silent for a long time. “Chloe, is this a joke?” Marcus’s voice was filled with confusion and pity. “There is no marriage record for you and Adrian in the county system.” “Chloe, in the eyes of the law… you are still single.”

I stood on the freezing street, my mind going completely blank. So, Adrian gave me a diamond ring, a lavish wedding, and took care of me daily. But he kept his legal status absolutely clean and single for Natalie. Even when he was acting out this marriage with me, he was saving his legal wife spot for her. I laughed. I laughed until my face was soaked with tears. Yet, holding onto the very last shred of hope, I redialed the number from ten years later. “I want to know… did he ever love me? Even for a second?” The line was quiet for a long while. “Go to the VIP wing of the hospital right now. You’ll see how pathetic your question is.” I walked to the hospital like a hollow shell. Through the glass window of the private room, I saw Natalie throwing up into a basin, likely from a stomach bug. And Adrian—the man who couldn’t stand a speck of dust, the extreme germaphobe—was gently wiping the vomit from the corner of her mouth with his bare hand. My tears fell silently. Six months ago, when I threw up in the middle of the night due to my antidepressant side effects, what did he do? He recoiled as if he had been shocked, frowning as he called the maid to clean it up. Then he locked himself in the bathroom and took three showers. He didn’t look at me once as I lay gasping on the floor. But with Natalie, his germaphobia completely disappeared. Adrian came out carrying the basin. Seeing me, he immediately shut the door behind him. Seeing my bare feet and blue lips, his defensive stance relaxed. He took off his coat and wrapped it around me. “Are you insane? Running out like this in the middle of the night? Do you want to die?” Even now, he was still playing the dutiful protector. I stared at him, my voice eerily calm. “She’s in there, right?” Adrian’s face darkened, his grip on my shoulder tightening. “That’s an important client. You’re having an episode. I’m taking you home.” I shoved him hard and slammed the door open. “Chloe!” Adrian roared. The person on the bed gasped, quickly pulling the blanket over her head. I reached for the edge of the blanket. I could have ripped their lies apart right then and there, but my hand froze. Even at this point, I wanted to hear them admit it. Under Adrian’s terrified gaze, I pulled a small pocket knife from my coat. I pointed it directly at my chest. “Adrian, pull that blanket off. Tell me who she is.” “Or I will die right here, tonight.” “Your choice.” Adrian didn’t move. The patience in his eyes slowly turned into pure disgust. “Chloe, do you think threatening me with your life still works?” “For three years, every time something doesn’t go your way, you play the suicide card. Don’t you get tired of playing the girl who cried wolf?” The girl who cried wolf. So, every time I had reached out to him while drowning in depression, it was just a cheap performance in his eyes. The final spark of hope in my heart died. I gave a soft laugh and plunged the knife toward my chest. Adrian’s face deformed in horror. “Don’t you dare touch her!” Without even looking at where my knife was aimed, he lunged forward and kicked me squarely in the stomach. I flew backward, crashing violently onto the hard floor. A sharp, tearing pain exploded in my lower abdomen. But I didn’t cry. I just watched him wrap his arms around the woman on the bed, shielding her with his body, staring at me like I was a rabid animal. He thought I was going to hurt her. So he didn’t hesitate to break me. In that moment, I was truly, completely exhausted. “Adrian, the game is over.” “Let’s end this.” Adrian’s shock lasted only three seconds before he sneered. “Stop testing me. If you really wanted to leave, you would have done it years ago.” “This time, I mean it—” Crash. The person on the bed, trembling violently, fell off the mattress and landed straight into the shattered glass of a dropped water cup. A muffled cry of pain came from under the blanket. Adrian panicked. He scooped her up in his arms, rushing toward the door without a single backward glance at me. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you. Let’s find a doctor.” I lay on the freezing tile floor, watching a dark, terrifying pool of blood spread from beneath my legs.

Before I even knew I was pregnant, I had a miscarriage. Adrian sat by my bedside, his face filled with guilt. “Chloe, it just wasn’t the right time. Once you get better, we can try again.” I stared at him blankly, catching the subtle sigh of relief in his eyes. This was the second child we had lost. Three years ago, during my first pregnancy, Natalie had moved in to help take care of me. That was when she and Adrian started. After that, Adrian stopped coming home. On the night Natalie also didn’t return, I slipped in the bathroom and suffered a massive hemorrhage, losing the baby. It was after that night that I found his cheating evidence and tried to slit my wrists. How pathetic. My two unborn children were nothing but collateral damage in their grand romance. Adrian clearly recalled that night too. He couldn’t look me in the eye. He mumbled something about paying the hospital bill and fled the room. My phone screen lit up. “Do you really think you miscarried because of his kick? The pills he’s been giving you for years… they weren’t just antidepressants. They were laced with birth control. Even if you got pregnant by accident, you could never carry a baby to term.” “Chloe, let go. The longer you stay alive to block them, the stronger their love grows. Only your death can pin them to the pillar of shame forever.” I silently hung up the phone. No screaming. No crying. After being discharged, I was unnaturally quiet. I stopped checking his phone. I stopped asking questions. But the quieter I became, the more terrified they grew. Finally, Adrian couldn’t take the tension anymore. “There’s an emergency at the office. I need to go out of town for a week.” He watched me closely, bracing himself for an explosive meltdown. But I just nodded calmly. “Okay.” Then I looked at Natalie. “You must be tired of looking after me, Natalie. Take this week off too. I can manage.” Both of them froze. They hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. The excuses they had prepared died in their throats. Adrian tried to probe. “Chloe… that day at the hospital… did you see something?” I looked at him. “See what?” Seeing my blank face, he let out a huge sigh of relief. His eyes softened. “When I get back, I’ll take you to Switzerland to see the Alps, okay?” Switzerland. For three years, I had begged him to take me. He had always refused, saying it was too far, that I was too sick, and that I would only be a burden. And I had waited for three years. I whispered, “Okay.” That night, the guest room door wasn’t fully closed. Natalie’s soft crying floated down the hallway. “Adrian, are we being too cruel to Chloe? She just had a miscarriage…” Adrian’s voice was cold and absolute. “I’m doing this to save all of us.” “If she stays here, she will eventually drive us both insane. Sending her to a private sanatorium in Switzerland is the best choice for everyone.” So that was his plan. It was never about fulfilling my dream. It wasn’t an apology. They wanted to dump me in the freezing snow of a foreign country forever, clearing the path for their beautiful love. I smiled silently. Why go through all that trouble? I walked back to my room, turned on the faucet, and filled the bathtub to the brim. As the blade sliced through my vein, the blood bloomed in the water like beautiful silk ribbons. For the first time in three years, I felt entirely free.

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For our college graduation trip, my boyfriend, Justin, my best friend, Hailey, and I went to the Swiss Alps. By the lake at the foot of the mountain, an elderly Swiss couple walked over with warm smiles. In broken English, they offered to take our picture. The old lady pulled Justin and Hailey toward the wooden railing, gesturing for them to lean their heads together. Then she waved at me, handing my phone back to me. “You take the shot, sweetie. The light is perfect.” I held up my phone, framed the two of them looking so perfect together, and pressed the shutter. Justin didn’t say a word. Hailey took the phone, glanced at the screen, and smiled. “Great shot. Let’s do another one.” Later, when we checked into our chalet resort, the receptionist glanced at the reservation and handed the key card for the king-size double room to Justin and Hailey. A single room key was pushed toward me. “This lady’s room is at the very end of the third floor.” I said, “I’m actually his girlfriend.” The receptionist froze for two seconds, then looked down to re-check the booking sheet. Back in my room, I soaked in the tub alone, listening to the muffled laughter leaking through the wall from the next room. During our three-day trip, we were mistaken for the wrong couple four times. I was treated like a third wheel seven times, and a personal photographer eleven times. How many times did Justin set them straight? Zero. I sat on the bed wrapped in a bathrobe, opened my United Airlines app, and rebooked my flight back to New York for the day after tomorrow. The end of my graduation trip didn’t have to be the peak of the Alps.

“Chloe, can you take a picture of Justin and me? That backlit angle you found earlier was amazing.” Hailey shoved her phone into my hand. Her freshly done French tips caught the morning sun. I took the phone and said nothing. This was the third time today. During the forty-minute Uber ride from the hotel to the base of the mountain, they sat together in the back while I sat alone in the front seat. The driver asked me in Swiss-German, “Your friends are so sweet together, aren’t they?” I understood him. I just smiled and didn’t translate it for them. “A little to the left. Yes! Justin, don’t move. The light on your face is gorgeous.” Hailey rested her hand on Justin’s shoulder, tilting her head to smile at the lens. Justin glanced at me, his lips twitching, but in the end, he said nothing. Click. I handed the phone back. Hailey swiped through her screen and suddenly frowned. “Chloe, you made my chin look kind of round.” “Let’s do another one. Squat down lower this time so my face looks smaller.” I crouat down. My knees scraped against the rough cobblestone path. It stung. In the viewfinder, Justin finally spoke up. “Hailey, that’s enough.” Hailey playfully slapped his arm, acting cute. “Just one more, please?” She turned to me, her voice bubbly. “You don’t mind, right, Chloe? I’m just used to you taking my photos. You’re seriously the best.” I said, “It’s fine.” I had said those words at least fifty times over the last three days. It’s fine, you guys go ahead, I’ll grab my bag. It’s fine, you guys order, I’m not picky. It’s fine, one room is enough, I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s fine. At lunch in a cozy Alpine chalet, the waiter brought over our food. Naturally, he placed the cheese fondue for two right between Justin and Hailey. My mushroom risotto was placed in front of me. Hailey didn’t even notice. She leaned in, sharing the long fondue fork with Justin, dipping bread into the cheese, taking bite after bite. I cut into a potato and chewed slowly. It tasted like nothing. In the afternoon, we went to a little chapel in the Lauterbrunnen valley. Outside, there was a stand with wooden wish tags for tourists to hang. Hailey finished writing her wish and excitedly held it up for Justin. “Justin, look! I wrote: ‘I hope we can travel together like this every year!’” She stopped herself, letting go of Justin’s arm, and stuck her tongue out at me. “Haha, don’t think too much, Chloe. I just think this place is so romantic.” Justin gently let her hand drop, but his movement was slow. I looked down at my own wooden tag. It had only one sentence: Hope to learn how to let go. I hung it in the darkest, most unnoticeable corner. On the way back to the resort, Hailey walked in the middle, arm in arm with Justin on one side and me on the other. Passing a souvenir shop, she stopped, pointing at a pair of matching cowbell keychains in the window. “Justin, buy those! One for each of us. They’re so cute.” Justin asked, “For whom?” Hailey said, as if it were obvious, “For you and me, duh! And I’ll buy Chloe two snowflake keychains so we can have bestie matches.” I looked at the cowbells. One red, one blue, engraved with Swiss Alps. Justin paused, his eyes drifting toward me. I spoke first. “You guys get them. I’m going to the convenience store next door for some water.” As I turned away, I heard Hailey’s cheerful voice behind me. “Thanks, Chloe! You’re the best!” The AC in the store was freezing. I stood in front of the drinks, looking at my blurry reflection in the glass door. My phone buzzed. It was a Snapchat from Justin. “Are you okay?” One sentence. His first private message to me in three days. I stared at the flashing cursor, typed a response, deleted it, and finally sent the words he always heard. “I’m fine.” Hailey had already clipped the blue cowbell onto Justin’s backpack zipper. The red one was on her own purse, swaying right next to her designer lipstick. Back at the resort that night, Hailey said she was heading to the hotel’s spa. “Chloe, you coming?” “No, I’m a bit tired.” “I’ll go by myself then. Justin, grab me a towel, will you?” Justin agreed, grabbing a towel, and walked down the hallway with her. I stood at my door and swiped my key card. Third floor, end of the hall, single room. The window faced the parking lot. I sat on the bed and opened my camera roll. One hundred and twenty-seven photos. Eighty-nine of Justin and Hailey. Zero of Justin and me. I closed the gallery and opened the airline app. When the confirmation pop-up appeared, I tapped “Confirm.” My phone buzzed again. It was Hailey in our Snapchat group chat. “Tomorrow, Jungfraujoch! Chloe, can you take some snowy mountain photos for us? I need something to post on Instagram!” I put my phone down and turned off the light. In the dark, footsteps and hushed giggles echoed from the hallway. They were back from the spa. A door clicked next door. Then, silence. A long, suffocating silence.

“Chloe, how about this one today?” The next morning, Hailey pushed my door open, holding two jackets. One was her white windbreaker, and the other was Justin’s dark blue North Face jacket. “I think wearing Justin’s jacket would make the photos look more aesthetic. You know, like boyfriend-style. What do you think?” She quickly added, “Oh, I mean, the colors just match better.” I sat under the duvet, my hair messy, looking at her. “You look good in anything.” I meant it. Hailey was five-foot-six, with long, wavy hair, a perfect oval face, and dimples when she smiled. In college, guys lined up from the dorms to the library to ask her out. And me? I was five-foot-three, short hair, round face, the kind of girl they called “plain.” The kind of girl no one noticed at first glance. “You’re always the sweetest!” Hailey sat on the edge of my bed, naturally picking up my hairbrush to brush her hair. Her own hair, of course. “By the way, Chloe, we’re going to Jungfraujoch today. Can you bring your telephoto lens? I read online that it makes the snowy mountains look incredible.” I said, “That lens is really heavy.” “It’s fine, you’re strong!” She checked her reflection in my vanity mirror, satisfied, and zipped up Justin’s jacket. The oversized dark blue jacket swamped her. The sleeves hung past her hands, so she rolled them up, showing her slender wrists. “I’m heading down for breakfast. Justin’s probably already in the dining area.” The door shut. I slowly got dressed, stuffed the heavy lens into my backpack, the straps digging into my shoulders. When I walked downstairs, I saw Justin and Hailey sitting opposite each other by the window. Two coffees and two plates of American breakfast sat on the table. I walked over and sat down. Justin looked up. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I didn’t order for you.” Hailey chimed in, “Chloe, your taste is so hard to guess. Every time we ask, you just say ‘whatever.’” I said, “It’s fine. I’ll get it myself.” Walking to the buffet, I found the hot food was almost gone. Only cold toast and tiny butter packets remained. I brought two slices of toast back. Justin looked at my plate and frowned. “Is that all you’re eating?” “It’s enough.” Hailey reached over and picked up a piece of bacon from her plate. “Here, let me share.” But instead of putting it on my plate, she dropped it onto Justin’s. “Oops, wrong plate! Justin, you give it to Chloe.” Justin paused for a second, then pushed the bacon toward me. I didn’t touch it. On the cogwheel train up to Jungfraujoch, I sat in a single window seat in the back. Two rows ahead, Hailey and Justin sat shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing a pair of AirPods. She giggled occasionally, turning back to me. “Chloe, you have to listen to this song, it’s so good!” But she never offered me the other earbud. At the viewing deck, the wind was howling. I trailed behind them, carrying the heavy camera bag, watching them stand side-by-side. Hailey wore Justin’s jacket, her hair blowing wildly in the wind. Justin reached out, gently tucking her stray hair behind her ear. The gesture was effortless. Like he’d done it a thousand times. I took out my camera. Nobody asked me to take a photo. But I knew Hailey would turn around in a second. Three. Two. One. “Chloe! Quick, take a picture! The Alps look stunning from here!” The shutter clicked four times. As I lowered the camera, a tourist carrying a hiking backpack walked over and asked me in English if I was a professional photographer. I blinked. He pointed to the heavy camera around my neck and the bulky bag. “You look like a professional.” I smiled bitterly and said I was just their friend. He nodded politely, though a flicker of confusion crossed his eyes, and walked away. Justin heard him. He looked at me, his lips parted. I waited three seconds. He said nothing. Hailey laughed. “Haha, Chloe, look how professional you look! Even tourists think you’re our photographer.” “You should seriously do travel photography. I’ll be your first client.” The wind carried her voice away, but every word hit me with crystal clarity. I raised the camera again. In the viewfinder, the snow-capped peaks of the Alps gleamed a blinding silver under the sun, glaciers stretching into the horizon. My fingers, however, were freezing, almost numb from the biting mountain wind.

“Chloe, have you noticed Justin acting kind of weird around me lately?” The night we got back from the mountain, Hailey showed up at my door in her silk pajamas. She held two cups of hot cocoa from the vending machine, her face wearing a look of carefully crafted distress. I let her in. She sat cross-legged on my bed, took a sip of cocoa, and sighed. “Like… he keeps looking at me, but he doesn’t say anything. Sometimes when I joke with him, he just smiles and stays quiet.” She looked up at me, her eyes slightly red. “Do you think he has feelings for me?” I took a sip of my cocoa. It was scalding hot. “He’s my boyfriend.” Hailey blinked, as if suddenly reminded of something, and waved her hands in a panic. “I know, I know! That’s not what I meant! I’m just… confused.” “Should I keep my distance from him? But we’ve always been like this. If I change suddenly, he’ll think it’s weird, right?” Always. The word sounded so casual coming from her, but it felt heavy in my ears. Hailey and Justin grew up together in the same neighborhood, going to the same schools from kindergarten through high school. They parted ways for three years in college, only to end up together again right before graduation—because of me. In our sophomore year, Hailey transferred to my school and became my roommate. She was bubbly, gorgeous, and sweet to everyone. She was the one who told me that a guy named Justin from the other department was always looking at me. She was the one who passed my notes to him. On the day we made it official, she posted on Instagram: “My roomie is finally taken!” And then, she and Justin reunited. Then, everything became natural. Dinners for three, study sessions for three, trips for three. I never thought it was a problem. Until this trip. “Chloe, you’re not mad, are you?” Hailey leaned in, grabbing my hand. Her palm was damp. Her voice was soft, laced with a delicate, pleading tone. But when I looked into her eyes, there was no anxiety. Only calculation. Confirming that I wouldn’t get mad. Confirming that I was still the same Chloe who always said “it’s fine.” “No.” When I said those words, I suddenly remembered what the tourist had asked me. Are you their photographer? Yeah. What was I to them? “That’s a relief!” Hailey let out a sigh of relief, throwing herself backward onto my bed. “Oh, tomorrow is our last day. I want to go to the music box museum by Lake Brienz. Can you look up the route for me?” I said okay. After she left, I didn’t look up any routes. I opened my airline app and checked my flight details for tomorrow. 2:15 PM, Zurich to JFK. I wondered how long it would take them to realize I was gone. My phone buzzed. It was Justin. “Are you asleep?” I stared at the text for a while. What did he want to say? Yesterday it was “Are you okay?” Today it was “Are you asleep?” In four days, he hadn’t spoken more than ten sentences to me on his own. But with Hailey, I had witnessed at least fifty conversations today alone. I didn’t reply. Three minutes later, another message came in. “We’re going to the music box museum tomorrow. Do you want to go?” We. I didn’t know if that “we” included me. But I knew that at the museum tomorrow, it would only be him and Hailey. I typed out: “I want to sleep in tomorrow. You guys go ahead.” Send. He replied instantly: “Okay, get some rest. Do you need me to bring you anything?” Almost on instinct, I typed: “No, thanks.” Then I added: “Have fun.” The chat went silent. I turned off my screen, and the room fell back into darkness. In the distance, the faint sound of fireworks echoed, briefly lighting up a corner of my ceiling. I remembered when Justin and I first started dating in freshman year. He would walk twenty minutes in the rain just to save a seat for me in the library. He would give me his only umbrella and walk back to his dorm soaking wet. He would call me at exactly midnight on my birthday, and his first words were always: “Chloe, you’re a year older now.” What happened to that Justin? Then Hailey came. His attention began to drift, like water flowing around a pebble, naturally carving a new path. It wasn’t a sudden, violent change. Just a gradual shift. A millimeter at a time. So subtle that I almost convinced myself it was normal. He gave me less and less, but he never cut me off completely. Occasionally, he would still hold my hand, say goodnight, and ask “Are you okay?” So I kept telling myself: He still loves me. They’re just friends. Just friends. But friends don’t wear each other’s jackets. They don’t share AirPods. They don’t tuck each other’s hair back in the wind. And they don’t let their partner be treated like an outsider over and over again. My flight was at 2:15 PM tomorrow. I wasn’t going to say goodbye.

“Miss, would you like your breakfast delivered to your room?” When the hotel maid knocked, I had already packed my bags. Not much. Just a carry-on and a backpack. My camera and the heavy lens were packed at the very bottom of the suitcase, pressed flat beneath a dress I hadn’t worn. That dress was one Hailey had forced me to buy before we left. She had said, “Chloe, you need to dress up. These graduation photos are going to last a lifetime.” In the end, she picked out a floral dress that cost $180. I hadn’t hesitated to pay because she said it looked good on me. Four days had passed, and I hadn’t worn it once. Because there were no photos of me. I ate a few bites of toast, then pushed the tray outside my door. I checked the time. 8:30 AM. Justin and Hailey should have checked out and left by now. Sure enough, a string of messages popped up in our group chat from fifteen minutes ago. Hailey: “Chloe~ We’re heading out! Enjoy your sleep-in!” Hailey: “I’ll bring you back a cute music box souvenir tonight!” Justin didn’t say anything in the group chat. But five minutes later, he sent me a private text: “I’ll come find you this afternoon.” I stared at that message for a long time. By the time you come back this afternoon, this room will already be checked out. I didn’t reply. I dragged my suitcase downstairs. The receptionist was the same man who had handed over the wrong key card the first day. Seeing me alone with my bags, he asked in English, “Where are your friends? Do you need a cab?” “Yes, please.” As I settled the bill, he asked if he should notify my friends. I said, “No need.” The cab arrived quickly. The moment I got in, I took one last look at the chalet resort. The wooden entrance swayed in the wind. Over the past three days, I had walked through those doors countless times, always bringing up the rear. Goodbye. Ten minutes into the ride, my phone rang. It wasn’t Justin, and it wasn’t Hailey. It was my mom. “Chloe, are you having fun?” I said, “Yeah, it’s nice.” “Send me some photos! I want to see you and Justin together.” I paused for two seconds. “I’ll send them next time.” I hung up. Outside, the highway was flanked by rolling green fields and scattered cottages, the Alps shrinking in the rearview mirror. I reached Zurich Airport at noon. Security, waiting, boarding. I didn’t receive a single message the entire time. Justin and Hailey were probably still in the music box museum, taking photos that didn’t require me to press the shutter. I took my window seat in economy class and buckled my seatbelt. Next to me, an elderly couple sat. The husband helped his wife adjust her seatbelt, and she patted his hand gently. I turned my face toward the window. At takeoff, the ground fell away, and the buildings and trees shrank into tiny models. I switched my phone to airplane mode, the last message still lingering on the screen. “I’ll come find you this afternoon.” The captain announced the flight time. In a few hours, I would land in a different city. This trip was over. I closed my eyes as the plane pierced through the clouds.

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A gorgeous transfer student joined our class today, and she had the exact same name as me. Our dance teacher sighed. “We have two Chloes now. How should we tell you apart?” Zach, my childhood friend, was the first to raise his hand. He smirked, his voice dripping with malice. “Easy, Ms. Gable. The new one is ‘Skinny Chloe.’ The old one can be ‘Fat Chloe.’” “By the way, Ms. Gable, I can’t even lift ‘Fat Chloe’ anymore. Can I get a new partner?” The whole room burst into laughter. My face burned as I clutched the fabric of my leotard. But back then, I was stupid. I thought Zach was just being his usual teasing self. After all, dance partners need years to build chemistry, and Zach and I had been dancing together for six years. Until the selection for the upcoming Annual Showcase group dance. Without a second thought, Zach grabbed Chloe Brown’s hand. “This showcase is a big deal,” he said dismissively. “Representatives from Juilliard are coming. It’s not like our usual high school recitals.” “Letting a pig like you on stage would just embarrass our school.” And just like that, I was kicked off the performance list. But I refused to give up. I started starving myself like crazy, until I fainted in the dance studio. A guy I didn’t know opened the door to the nurse’s office. He looked at me and said, “If a dancer can’t appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart.” “Let me teach you how to show off your body.” The next second, he spun and leaped in front of me. His form was more professional than any dance teacher I had ever seen.

During dance class, Ms. Gable suddenly announced some exciting news. “For this year’s Annual Showcase, the admissions directors from the Juilliard School will be here. They’re going to select one outstanding student for a full-scholarship, one-month summer intensive in New York.” The studio erupted. “Oh my god, Juilliard!” “Are you serious? That’s basically a golden ticket to getting admitted early!” My heart hammered against my ribs. Juilliard had been my dream for as long as I could remember. And now, the opportunity was right in front of me. “Our group piece, ‘Chasing Light,’ will be the highlight of the showcase,” Ms. Gable continued. “The Juilliard directors will watch the entire thing. Whoever performs the best will have the highest chance of being chosen.” The new girl, Chloe Brown, suddenly raised her hand, looking at Ms. Gable with big, puppy-dog eyes. “Ms. Gable, since I just transferred here, I don’t have a partner yet. Does that mean I can’t participate in the showcase?” Ms. Gable looked troubled. “Well, Chloe, your situation is a bit tricky.” Since we shared the exact same first name, the teacher had started calling us by our last names. She was Brown. I was Miller. “The other students have been paired up for a long time. It wouldn’t be fair to break up established duos. Plus, you’ve just arrived, and you aren’t familiar with the choreography for ‘Chasing Light’ yet.” “How about you watch and learn this time? I promise to prioritize you for the next showcase.” Chloe Brown’s eyes immediately welled with tears. A few guys in the back looked completely heartbroken and rushed to comfort her. Right then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Ms. Gable, I’ll partner with her.” My head snapped up. It was Zach. Without even looking at me, he repeated, “I’ll partner with Brown for the showcase.” The studio went dead silent. Every single eye turned to me. I stood up abruptly, staring at Zach in utter disbelief. “What about me?” Ms. Gable frowned, looking back and forth between Zach and me with clear hesitation. “Zach, you’ve been partners with Miller for six years. Your chemistry is unmatched. The showcase is too important to swap partners at the last minute. Are you sure about this?” “Perfectly sure,” Zach replied coldly. “I want to dance with Chloe Brown. She’s disciplined. I’m sure her technique is way better than Chloe Miller’s.” “Besides—” He finally turned his gaze to me, wearing that familiar, nasty smirk. “With Chloe Miller’s current shape, putting her on stage would be an embarrassment. What if the Juilliard directors think our school only produces eyesores?” Harsh jeers and snickers echoed through the room. I froze, my fingers gripping the hem of my skirt so hard they turned white.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Chloe Brown said softly. “Ms. Gable, how about this? Chloe Miller and I can have a fair competition. Whoever meets the target weight gets to perform.” Ms. Gable brought out a scale and lined everyone up. One by one, the dancers stepped on. “118 lbs… 115 lbs… 123 lbs…” The numbers stayed consistently around the low 110s and 120s. Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the metal scale. The digital screen flickered before locking onto a number: 152 lbs. “Whoa!” Zach’s dramatic gasp echoed loudly across the studio. He covered his mouth in mock horror. “No wonder I couldn’t lift you! Over a hundred and fifty pounds? Seriously, Miller, are you trying to crush me to death?” The classroom erupted in laughter again. Ms. Gable’s expression soured. She frowned at me. “Chloe Miller, your weight is indeed over the limit for a dancer. You know what the professional standard is. Go home and get a grip on it. Stop being lazy.” I stood there, completely numb, and nodded. “Next,” Ms. Gable called. Chloe Brown stepped onto the scale with grace. A collective gasp filled the room. “Oh my god, only 110 lbs!” “That’s so light! Chloe, how do you keep such a perfect figure?” Chloe Brown blushed. “There’s no secret, really. Just eating less and practicing more. Dance is the art of expressing beauty, after all—” She paused, casting a subtle, mocking glance in my direction. “If you can’t even control your own weight, how can you claim to love dancing?” The studio fell quiet for a second before a wave of agreement washed over the room. “Exactly!” “Chloe Brown is amazing. So beautiful and disciplined.” Even Ms. Gable smiled, looking at Chloe Brown with pure admiration. Then, she turned her cold, disapproving gaze back to me. “Did you hear that? You both study dance, but she not only has a perfect body, she has the right attitude.” “Chloe Miller, your technique is solid, but what good is technique if your lines look like that on stage? The audience judges with their eyes first.” “Chloe Brown will take your spot for the showcase.” I lowered my head, my fingernails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. During the rest of the class, everyone paired up to practice “Chasing Light.” I was left standing alone in the corner, looking like a pathetic outsider. Zach’s enthusiastic voice drifted over to me. “Don’t worry, Chloe. With me as your partner, we’re going to own that stage.” After school, I snuck into the old, abandoned dance studio. And I danced. Over and over again. I refused to accept this. I had practiced “Chasing Light” for six years. Every step, every beat, was carved into my bones. I couldn’t just let it go. Deep down, a pathetic sliver of hope lingered. Maybe if Zach and Chloe Brown didn’t click, I’d still have a chance to dance with him. With no partner to lift me, I imagined his hands on my waist, leaping into the air on my own. My practice clothes were soaked in sweat. My calves cramped, and my knees throbbed with pain. But I didn’t stop. Only utter exhaustion could numb the humiliation eating me alive. “Practicing like this will only ruin your body.” A cool, calm voice echoed from the doorway. Startled, I spun around. A tall, handsome guy was leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

He looked strangely familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen him before. “This is a duet. You won’t get the right flow practicing alone,” he said, his expression neutral. I froze. Muttering a quick “sorry,” I grabbed my bag and bolted out of the room. When I got home, I threw my bag down and locked myself in my bedroom. My mom knocked and came in with a bowl of hot soup. When she saw the “Extreme Weight Loss Guide” on my desk, her face fell. “You’re 5’10” and 152 pounds, Chloe. Why on earth are you trying to lose weight?” “I’m too heavy,” I mumbled. “My partner can’t lift me.” My mom opened her mouth to argue, but seeing my stubborn face, she just sighed helplessly. From that day on, my extreme diet began. For days, I survived on nothing but a tiny breakfast. By the fifth afternoon, while practicing in the studio, the room suddenly spun, and everything went black. I reached out blindly and grabbed Zach to steady myself. “I… I don’t feel well,” I gasped. Zach shoved me off instantly. “Stop acting. You’re built like a tank. How could you be sick?” I crashed against the wall, my limbs feeling like jelly. A sneering laugh sounded from above. “Oh, I get it. Are you trying to act fragile and weak like Chloe Brown? She’s naturally delicate, Miller. You just look ridiculous trying to copy her.” The surrounding classmates snickered behind their hands. Before I could even explain, my vision failed completely, and I collapsed. When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in the nurse’s office. Zach was sitting in a chair nearby, scrolling through his phone. Did he carry me here? A rush of complicated emotions flooded my chest. Zach had a nasty mouth, but when things got bad, he was always the one who showed up. Just like when we were kids, and he’d call me stupid while scraping me up off the pavement. “Thank—” I started, but as soon as Zach heard me move, he looked up with a look of pure disgust. “You seriously need to lose weight, Miller. You’re as heavy as a pig. Carrying you over here almost broke my back.” The words died in my throat. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. Every ounce of warmth vanished. I looked down, the shame and hurt clogging my chest. “This is a recovery room. Keep it down.” A cold voice sounded from the doorway. I looked up to see the guy from the abandoned dance studio. “If you’re done talking, please leave. The patient needs rest.” Zach scowled, stood up, and stormed out. The room fell quiet. The guy walked over, his expression softening slightly. “Your blood sugar crashed. Have you been starving yourself?” I hung my head. “I’m trying to lose weight.” I braced myself for him to mock my size too. Instead, he looked at me with intense sincerity. “If a dancer can’t appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart.” I stared at him, stunned. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed something. “This is a healthy meal plan. You need to eat three times a day. Protein and carbs for breakfast, a normal lunch, and fewer carbs for dinner—but do not starve yourself.” “You don’t get fit by starving. Dancing requires strength.” My eyes stung with unshed tears. “Thank you.” “Also, I saw you practicing alone the other day.” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. “If you want, I can be your partner.”

My eyes widened. “You dance?” “I can handle a simple duet,” he said casually. I hesitated for a second before nodding. At this point, I had nothing left to lose. His name was Julian Brooks. The moment he stood beside me and placed his hand on my waist, I went rigid. His posture was flawless. Even more shocking was his incredible sense of rhythm. Without any prior practice, he fell perfectly in step with my movements. When we reached the lift, I instinctively tensed up. Whenever I danced with Zach, he would groan, roll his eyes, and complain about how heavy I was. Over time, I had developed a terrible habit of shrinking myself during lifts, terrified of being a burden. But Julian’s hands were steady and firm against my waist. “Open your body. Let yourself fly,” he commanded. “I… I’m worried I’m too heavy,” I admitted, embarrassed. He let out a soft chuckle. “If a male dancer can’t lift a 152-pound partner, he has no business being on stage.” I froze, looking up into his eyes. There was no judgment, no annoyance—only a calm, reassuring certainty. I took a deep breath, fully arched my back, and leaped. He caught me effortlessly. In that single moment, our coordination felt so natural, it was as if we had been dancing together our whole lives. For the next month, I followed Julian’s healthy nutrition guide while secretly practicing the duet with him in the abandoned studio after hours. Soon, the day of the Annual Showcase arrived. The auditorium was packed. The Juilliard representatives sat front and center in the VIP section. When I walked into the backstage dressing room, everyone was frantically doing their makeup. Seeing me, Zach scoffed. “What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, the Head of the Dance Department, Dean Vance, walked in. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Chloe Miller! Make us proud out there tonight.” Ms. Gable quickly stepped in. “Dean Vance, actually… Chloe isn’t performing tonight.” The Dean’s smile vanished. “Not performing?” she asked, incredulous. “She’s the top dancer in her year. Why isn’t she on stage?” Ms. Gable explained awkwardly, “Her partner requested a change. Since it’s a duet and she doesn’t have a partner, she had to be pulled.” Dean Vance’s face darkened instantly. She glared at Zach, who was standing nearby. “You’re Miller’s partner, right? You two have worked together for six years. How could you pull a stunt like this right before the showcase?” Zach crossed his arms, looking completely arrogant. “Dean Vance, partnership is a choice. There’s no rule saying I have to be tied to her forever.” “I found a better partner, and I have the right to choose who I perform with. No one can force me.” Dean Vance was red with anger. Just then, the announcer’s voice echoed from the stage: “Next up, our final performance of the night—’Chasing Light’.” Zach smirked at me. “Since the program is set, you’re extra weight, Miller. If you want to perform so badly, go find your own guy.” He leaned in, whispering maliciously, “But since you can’t, get out of the way. Don’t ruin our show.” The other dancers backstage whispered and stared. My throat tightened, and I bit my lip to keep from crying under the weight of their judgment. “Thank you, Dean Vance. The show is starting, I should go,” I whispered, my legs trembling as I turned to leave. “Wait.” A calm, commanding voice sliced through the chatter. Julian stepped out from the crowd, walking straight toward me. He looked at me, a soft smile playing on his lips, and extended his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be your partner.”

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