Category: English

I was a top-tier lawyer at a Big Law firm, and I had never lost a case. But today, I saw my husband’s name on the courthouse docket screen. Under “Plaintiff” in today’s trial schedule: Dominic Hayes. The defendant was a luxury postpartum retreat center. Reason for suit: service dispute. But I wasn’t pregnant. I pulled the court filing and found out he’d booked a $40,000 postpartum package for some woman. Under “Emergency Contact,” it read: “Husband: Dominic Hayes.” Apparently, the woman was unhappy with the service, so Dominic sued the retreat center. I stood in the courthouse lobby and laughed. The intern beside me frowned. “Ms. Sterling, is everything okay?” I flipped my ID badge over, revealing the wedding photo taped to the back. “File a new case for me.” “Plaintiff: me. Defendant: Dominic Hayes. Cause of action: divorce.” I touched my face. My makeup was still intact. When I walked into the courtroom, my steps were steadier than they’d ever been. … I filed the case on the spot. The intern, Lina, looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Ms. Sterling, are you sure you want to file for divorce? The defendant… is your husband?” I told the clerk, “The evidence is clear and sufficient. Please schedule the hearing as soon as possible.” She recognized me, paused for two seconds, then stamped the paperwork. I took the receipt and walked out of the filing office. In the restroom at the end of the hallway, I splashed water on my face. The woman in the mirror had perfect makeup and dry eyes. But my hands were shaking. I used my attorney access to pull the full case file for Dominic’s lawsuit against the retreat center. The filing date was three days ago. I flipped to page seven. It’s a VIP Client Services Agreement. Client name: Mia Kensington. Emergency contact: Husband, Dominic Hayes. The signature was his handwriting. I knew it too well. Straight lines, the final stroke tilting slightly upward. I closed the file and walked to a quiet corner of the courthouse lobby. I dialed Dominic’s number. “Dom, my stomach hurts again.” A woman’s voice came through in the background, soft and whiny. “Be good. Give me a second.” Dominic lowered his voice. Then he spoke to me. “Elena, what’s up? Aren’t you in court today? Go do your thing.” His tone was casual. I didn’t mention the case file. “Can you come home for dinner tonight? My mom’s not doing well. I wanted to talk to you about transferring her to a different facility.” He went silent for two seconds. “Can’t tonight. Work dinner.” In the background, the woman spoke again. “Thank you, Dom~” The call ended. I stood there holding my phone, thinking about last month. I’d had a stomach flare-up that left me doubled over on the floor. I called him. He said, “Just take a pill. I’m in the middle of something.” Now, a woman said her stomach hurt. And he said, “Be good.” That afternoon, I used my attorney access to look up Mia Kensington’s information. Her registered address was out of state. But her current residence, I read three times: 188 Lakeshore Drive, Harborview Towers, Unit 2301. The lakefront penthouse Dominic had bought three months ago, supposedly for “employee housing.” He’d even asked me to co-sign the mortgage. I’d stood beside him when I signed. He kissed my forehead and said, “Thanks for doing this.” The apartment I co-signed for—he’d set up another woman in it. Dominic and I had been married for five years. We still lived in the cramped apartment he’d bought before the wedding. I’d suggested upgrading once. He said, “The place is fine. Save the money for the company.” I thought he was right. So I transferred my entire savings—$500,000—into his company. Then he turned around and bought another woman a lakefront penthouse. I scrolled through the details of the postpartum package: $40,000. The luxury tier. Postpartum recovery treatments, private nutritionist, 24-hour care specialist, private suite with a view. When my mom was hospitalized last year, Dominic said, “The costs are too high. Should we look at something more basic?” My mom’s care was $1,500 a month. The woman’s $40,000 package, he didn’t even blink. Near the end of the workday, the receptionist at the firm called my extension. “Ms. Sterling, someone’s here to see you.” I walked to the front desk and saw Dominic. Next to him stood a woman with a pregnant belly, one hand on her stomach, the other looped through Dominic’s arm. Dominic looked furious. He was gripping a court summons in his hand. The first words out of his mouth weren’t an explanation. They were an accusation. “Elena, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what a divorce lawsuit will do to my company’s reputation?” The pregnant woman stood behind him and looked up at me. There was no guilt in her eyes. Dominic had never come to my firm before. In five years of marriage, I’d won Best Trial Lawyer three times. I invited him to every ceremony. He said, “It’s just an award ceremony. What’s the point?” Today, because of a divorce summons, he showed up. He could sue a retreat center over a woman’s postpartum package. But he couldn’t show up for my achievements once. My gaze dropped to Mia Kensington’s belly. Dominic followed my line of sight, and his expression flickered. “I can explain this.” I was about to respond when Richard Croft, the managing partner, walked over. He pulled me aside and lowered his voice. “Elena, Mr. Hayes is friends with several of our biggest clients. Calm down. You’re wrapping up a state-level case right now. Filing for divorce at this moment could hurt your evaluation.” He wasn’t wrong. I was in the running for Top 40 Under 40 Trial Lawyers, the youngest in criminal defense. Any negative press could destroy my chances. I looked at Dominic. The corner of his mouth twitched. He knew I’d back down. In this marriage, he knew me too well. Every time, I was the one who gave in. I looked away and said to Richard, “I understand.” Then I turned and walked toward my office. Behind me, I heard Mia say softly, “Dom, she’s so scary. I’m afraid.” Dominic’s voice was low, but I heard every word. “Don’t be. I’m here.” I closed my office door and didn’t turn on the light. And stood in the dark for a long time.

Dominic came home at ten that night. It was the first time in a month he’d been home before ten. He sat on the couch with his legs crossed, his attitude unusually calm. “Elena, drop the divorce petition first. Let me explain.” He said Mia Kensington was his college junior. She got pregnant by her ex-boyfriend, who abandoned her. She had nowhere to turn, so she came to him for help. He was just helping her out of sympathy. “The baby isn’t mine.” I looked into his eyes, searching for any trace of a lie. His expression was sincere, as sincere as when he’d proposed five years ago. My heart wavered for a moment. Maybe this really was a misunderstanding? “If that’s true,” I said, “why did you write ‘husband’ as the emergency contact?” He paused. “The retreat center required married status for a discount. I just filled it in without thinking. It doesn’t mean anything.” “What about the lakefront penthouse?” “She’s alone with a baby on the way and has nowhere to live. I couldn’t just let her end up homeless.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” He was quiet for a long time. “I was afraid you’d overthink it.” Last year, his female assistant sent him suggestive messages at midnight. I saw them and asked about it. He said, “You’re a lawyer. Why are you so paranoid?” Now he said he was afraid I’d overthink it. So he hid a woman, an apartment, a $40,000 postpartum package, and a lawsuit he filed as her “husband.” I said, “I’ll think about it.” He thought I was giving in. He reached out to touch my hair. But I moved away. His hand hung in the air, then dropped. The next morning, I ran into the judge overseeing the retreat center case in the courthouse hallway. He knew me. He came over to say hello, hesitated, then said something. “Ms. Sterling, your husband’s case—opposing counsel submitted evidence. Photos of your husband and that woman together, intimate photos spanning over two years. Your husband’s attorney confirmed the authenticity in court.” Over two years. Two years of intimate photos. Every word he said last night was a lie. In five years of marriage, Dominic and I had fewer than twenty photos together in my phone. They had enough intimate photos over two years to submit as evidence. Back at the firm, I pulled Dominic’s financial records from the past two years. Monthly flower deliveries. Recipient: Mia Kensington. Holiday luxury purchases. Not a single one shipped to our address. Last Valentine’s Day, I waited for him at home. He said he was working late. The records showed he spent $1,500 at a Michelin-starred restaurant that night. Dinner for two. I printed everything out and filed it neatly into a folder. My hands had stopped shaking. At noon, I went to see my mom at the hospital. She was lucid today, a rare moment of clarity. She grabbed my hand and suddenly said, “Elena, the last time Dom came to see me, he brought a girl with him. He said she was his sister. But I didn’t think so. The girl had a big belly.” My blood rushed to my head. He’d brought that woman to see my mom and lied to an Alzheimer’s patient and called her his “sister.” When I walked out of the hospital entrance, I saw Dominic’s car parked by the door. He was helping Mia Kensington out of the car. She had one hand on her lower back, the other looped through his arm. Dominic saw me and froze. Mia saw me too. She tightened her grip on his arm. Dominic tried to pull his arm away. Mia suddenly clutched her stomach and crouched down. “Dom, my stomach hurts so bad.” Dominic immediately crouched down to support her. “What’s wrong? Should we go to the ER?” He didn’t even glance at me again. I stood there and watched for ten seconds. Then I walked over, crouched down, and used the calmest voice of my entire legal career. “Ms. Kensington, when is your due date?” Mia looked up at me, tears still clinging to her lashes. “If you conceived during the period of my marriage to Dominic Hayes, I will subpoena you as a third party in the divorce proceedings. Your personal information will become part of the evidence in the judgment.” “Divorce judgments are public record.” Mia’s face went white. Dominic looked up at me, his lips moving. I stood up, took out my phone, and right in front of him, called the court clerk’s office. “Hello, this is Elena Sterling, attorney. Case number 2024-CV-3867. I’m filing to add a third party to the proceedings.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, Dominic called my name. But I didn’t look back.

When I got back to the firm, I started systematically organizing evidence for the divorce. Asset inventory, proof of infidelity, dissipation of marital assets—I documented everything. Five years of marriage. I’d invested $500,000 of my life savings into Dominic’s company. Lost income from cases I’d turned down, promotions I’d missed— I calculated it all and wrote it down on paper. That afternoon, Richard Croft called me into his office. “Elena, Mr. Hayes called the firm today.” “He said if you don’t drop the lawsuit, he’ll pull all his referrals from us. You know how connected he is.” Richard wouldn’t look at me. “Also, the recommendation letter you need for Top 40 Under 40—I have to sign it. Think carefully.” Richard had watched me go from intern to partner. Three years ago, I’d worked through the night on a death penalty defense case that won the firm a national award. He’d clapped me on the shoulder and said, “You’re the pride of this firm.” Now he was using my career to pressure me on Dominic’s behalf. I said, “Richard, you don’t have to sign the letter. But if the firm uses this to force me to drop the lawsuit, I’ll file a complaint with the bar association.” Richard’s face flushed red. He waved me out of his office. Three days later, Dominic came home again. This time, he brought flowers. White lisianthus was my favorite. He said, “Elena, I dropped the retreat center lawsuit. See? I’m making compromises.” I took the flowers. “What about Mia Kensington?” “I’ll handle it gradually. Just give me some time.” “Has she moved out of the lakefront penthouse?” “She’s far along now. It’s not a good time for her to move.” “Whose baby is it really?” “I had a paternity test done. It’s not mine.” “Where’s the report?” “At the office. I’ll bring it tomorrow.” “Do you have a digital copy on your phone?” He hesitated, unlocked his phone, scrolled for a while, then said he couldn’t find it. I reached out and took his phone. He instinctively pulled back, but then handed it over. I didn’t look at his messages with Mia Kensington and opened his Notes app. The top reminder was dated last month. “Mia’s due date in two months—book OB-GYN specialist. Right below it:Refill Elena’s stomach meds.” Two reminders, side by side. One was for another woman’s due date. One was for my prescription. He did remember me, but he’d put me second. I handed his phone back and dropped the flowers in the trash. He stared at me throwing them away, stunned. I said, “Dominic, do you know why I’ve never lost a case?” He didn’t answer. “Because I only take cases I can win.” I looked into his eyes. “But this marriage—I can’t win anymore.” He reached out to grab me. I stepped back, then went to the study and started packing to move out. I didn’t cry because I was past the point of crying.

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The day Chicago got its first snow of the season, Ethan Mercer told me he was getting married. Seven years. I knew the rules of that world. A woman who made her living in front of cameras had no place at the threshold of a family like his. The night we ended things, we were strangely calm. “The apartment and the car are yours,” he said. “The projects I promised you still stand. And that check for three million — I added a zero.” “Anything else you want?” “No.” I took his settlement money like the sensible woman I was, and disappeared from his life. Until three months later, on a live celebrity panel show, when Bianca Holt told the entire internet I was pregnant. …… “Zara — oh my God, are you pregnant?!” The studio erupted. The live comment feed went insane. [ ??? ] [ Did Bianca actually just say that on live TV? What is WRONG with her ] [ That’s just Bianca being Bianca, she’s so real for this ] [ The only thing I care about: who’s the father ] [ Who else? Her billionaire, obviously ] [ Bianca is SO cooked. Zara’s guy will bury her ] [ … ] I was facing the screen. I read every single one. The host broke into a sweat and stepped in. “Bianca, are you sure you didn’t mix something up?” Bianca was already doubling down. “I’ve been watching her all week — she hasn’t touched a drink, she went pale during the afternoon break, and she’s been pressing her hand to her stomach when she thinks no one’s looking.” She smiled at me. “I know the signs. I’m right, aren’t I, Zara?” Three months. I did the math. It would have been the last night before Ethan and I ended things. Seven years together, and we’d always been careful. He was consistent; when things went further than planned, I took care of it after. That last night, maybe because we both knew it was the last night, we didn’t stop until morning. I went straight to set the next day. In the chaos of filming, I forgot. Across the table, Bianca was still waiting for my answer. I slid my wrist out of her reach and said nothing. At the level I was at now, she wasn’t worth the energy. The host laughed nervously and dragged the conversation somewhere else. By the time I got into the car after filming, my publicist had her phone in my face before I’d even buckled my seatbelt. Twitter trending, top three: #ZaraVossPregnant #WhoIsZaraVossBillionaire #MercerGroup Ethan had always kept a low profile. But when it came to making sure the industry knew I was protected — that I had someone behind me — he’d never been subtle about it. That someone was him. It started the year I broke into the industry, when a well-connected actor used a scene as cover to slap me eighteen times across the face. I was too green to know it wasn’t about my performance. I didn’t even think I deserved to be upset. Ethan was furious. He said I was an idiot. Gently. The next day, the actor was blacklisted. I’d asked quietly, “He has people behind him. Are you sure you want to do that?” “The people behind him should be worried about crossing me,” he said. For seven years, he poured every resource he had into my career. Oscar winners cast as my co-stars. The best directors offering me first pick of their projects. On the red carpet, industry veterans stepped aside. “My Zara should only ever be at the top,” he used to say. I hadn’t let him down. I’d made myself a household name. Which meant that with an influence like mine, a trending topic about a pregnancy was almost certainly going to reach Ethan Mercer. It did. His number lit up my screen the second I walked into my agency. I stared at those digits — ones I knew by heart — and let it ring out. When it went to voicemail, I sent three texts. I’m going to the hospital tomorrow for a proper test. If I am, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. I won’t make this your problem.

It was already March, and the snow hadn’t stopped. Snow like this — thick and relentless — always brought me back to the night I first met Ethan. I was nineteen. A sophomore at NYU Tisch. He was the kind of investor that made school administrators straighten their spines and smile too hard. I was chosen to attend the fundraiser dinner. The reward was a supporting role in an upcoming production. A few glasses of whiskey in, the gentlemen in the room stopped pretending. They started pushing drinks on me. Ethan was at the head of the table. He tapped one finger against the side of his glass, unhurried. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.” Just that. No one pushed another drink on me for the rest of the night. I looked up, startled. He glanced over at the same moment. One second, in a room full of noise and flattery. Our eyes met. I thanked him and didn’t think much of it. A man like that had no reason to ever cross paths with someone like me again. But after that night, he kept appearing. Always the one rescuing me. A role stolen by the dean’s daughter — one word from him and it was returned. A blizzard night when I couldn’t get a cab — he drove me back to the dorms himself. My father’s surgery, the hospital out of O-negative blood — Ethan Mercer, in his tailored suit, donated four hundred cc’s without being asked. He was too good to me. Good enough to scare me. I was afraid it was just boredom. That I was a distraction for a man who had everything. I was the one who broke first. “What do you want?” I said. “Is it to sleep with me? Then let’s get it over with.” I reached for my buttons. “After that, we’re even.” He stilled my hands. Pulled my shirt closed. Let out a quiet breath. “Zara. What do you want?” My lashes trembled. I made myself hold his gaze. “I want to be loved like I’m enough,” I said. “Can you do that?” Ethan went still. Then, slowly, a smile. He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. His voice was soft enough to undo a person. “Yes.” He wasn’t lying. He loved me the way I’d asked to be loved. But love isn’t everything. It wasn’t strong enough to close the distance between where he came from and where I did. Class is a wall you can’t charm your way through. No matter how high I climbed, I couldn’t make it disappear. The day we ended things, Chicago was under its first snow of the year. The night before, we moved through every room of the apartment. He cooked dinner. When I finished eating, he said: “I’m getting married.” A few seconds of silence. Then I set down my chopsticks and said, “Okay.” We sat there for a long time. The food went cold. Eventually he spoke. “The apartment and the car are yours. The projects I promised, still yours. That check — I added a zero.” “Anything else?” “No.” Ethan nodded. He stood, turned, and walked out into the snow. I watched his back until it was gone. Somewhere in that moment, I felt the faint pull of something I couldn’t name. We’d been together seven years and I didn’t think I’d ever said it out loud. Those three words. Seven years. Snow after snow after snow. I’d let myself believe we might grow old in it. I let myself believe there would still be time. What a shame. The snow thickened. His silhouette dissolved into white. My vision blurred. I touched my face, slow and dull, only then registering the cold. Tears.

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“I told you to SEDUCE Prince Alaric, not let him fuck you!” The whole kingdom knew Lycan king’s only son, Prince Alaric, was savage, bloodthirsty and coldly indifferent to women. Alpha Rowan feared his precious Seraphina would suffer if she married Alaric, so he forced me to pretend to be Seraphina and seduce him. “Just act slut enough, and Alaric will be so disgusted and dissolve the arrangement. Then I’ll come bring you home.” The morning after that one feral, ruinous night, I walked out of the Lycan Prince’s palace with one hand pressed flat against my lower back just to stay upright. Rowan rushed up to check my neck—no claiming mark, but covered in dark red bruises—and he exploded in rage. “I told you to perform,” he snarled, shaking where he stood. “Who told you to actually give yourself to him?!” “Are you that desperate for a male? You’d bait a man who kills without blinking?!” I met his fury with quiet, smoothing my collar back into place. “Alpha Rowan, you are wrong.” “Prince Alaric was…” I held his gaze. “…quite gentle.” Rowan lunged. His hand locked around my throat, grip designed to crush. “Gentle?” His voice cracked apart. “The man who put three Fated Mates in the ground—and you call him GENTLE?” “I sent you there for Blackwood Pack’s future. Not so you could offer yourself like some willing sacrifice!” “You belong to me. How DARE you let him touch you?!” I was forced to tilt my head back, face flushing red from the pressure building at my throat. But I didn’t fight him. I simply lowered my lashes and watched the rage consuming his face. “Alpha Rowan…” My voice stayed level. “Since the task is complete… the money you promised me…” He released me like I was something rotten, a sharp fling of his wrist. My legs buckled and I stumbled backward, colliding hard with the storage shelves behind me. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped his fingers. Then dropped the cloth into the fire basin at his feet—watched the fabric curl, blacken, dissolve. Three years ago, when my family was convicted of treason, it was him who had knelt in the snow outside the Council Hall for three days and three nights, begging his father to spare my life. He had promised—no title, no formal bond, none of that mattered. He would protect me for the rest of my life. And now he had sent me into another male’s bed—and wouldn’t honor the money he’d promised. He stared at me, pain and jealousy churning raw in his eyes. “If Grandfather hadn’t demanded the Alliance, and if Seraphina hadn’t been too terrified of Alaric to go herself, I never would have—” He caught the blankness on my face. Saw I was looking only at the purse at his belt. The guilt in his expression curdled immediately into rage. He ripped the purse free and hurled it at me. “You only want money? Fine. Consider it a reward.” Coins exploded across the floor, rolling into the dust at the room’s edges. “Take it and go scrub yourself clean.” “Alaric is dangerously perceptive. If he suspects the deception, don’t come crying to me.” He turned to leave. I braced against the shelves and slowly lowered myself to the floor. My fingers moved across the cold stone. One coin. Two. I gathered each coin, blew the dust from them, and pressed them carefully against my chest. Rowan stopped at the door. Looked back. The contempt on his face sharpened into something vicious. “Of course. A traitor’s daughter—even if it’s money earned from selling yourself, you still treasure it.” It does. Because this gold keeps Caden breathing. I looked at him steadily and said nothing else. “Alpha Rowan. The birth control pill—” Rowan went still. He turned. Something complicated moved through his eyes. Fleeting. As if remembering the ghost of the girl I used to be—who once dazzled the kingdom at banquets with a single look. Then my poverty stabbed him, and the flicker hardened into deeper revulsion. “What—afraid you’re carrying the Lycan Prince’s pup?” He almost laughed. “Relax. The pack healer said your body ran cold too long in captivity. You’ll never carry a pup. Not in this lifetime.” “Stop worrying about impossible things.” The den curtain slammed shut behind him. Cold wind flooded in. I clutched the gold tighter against my chest. This amount—added to what I’d saved before—was just enough for one month of Caden’s medicine. I pulled myself to the small table, poured a cup of tea that had long gone cold, pressed a pinch of cheap pain-dulling herbs to my tongue, and swallowed both together. Bitterness spread across my throat. I didn’t care what Rowan thought of me. As long as Caden survived, I would gladly spend the rest of my life as Alaric’s unseen slave.

Before dawn had even broken, rough hands were dragging me off my bed. “Leah. Alpha Rowan’s orders—there’s a Royal Banquet at the Royal Palace today. You’re to attend as the Miss Seraphina.” The servant’s grip was steel. It bruised. I held down the discomfort rising from yesterday’s injuries and let them paint my face. Seraphina was Rowan’s treasured childhood sweetheart—delicate and easily overwhelmed. She couldn’t endure the pressures of a Royal Banquet. Rowan had long used me as her stand-in—we were close enough in build that behind a veil, no one looked twice. In the carriage, Rowan sat with his eyes closed and gave me nothing—not a look, not a word. Only when we reached the royal palace’s gate did he speak, cold and precise. “Alaric will be there. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.” “If you let him see through the deception, you can start preparing a grave for your father.” At the mention of my father, my body went rigid. Father had been dead in prison for half a month—Rowan knew it, yet still used it to threaten me. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Caden still needed medicine. The fiction had to hold. “Yes,” I said quietly. The royal banquet was a sea of wine and conversation. I sat beside Rowan, eyes downcast, peeling grapes from the plate. A burning gaze never left my skin. I didn’t need to look up to know whose it was. Lycan Prince Alaric sat at the hall’s head—black robe, dark hair, an untouchable ferocity that his handsome did nothing to soften. He turned his goblet in slow circles. His eyes tracked every inch of me, without shame and without apology. He raised the goblet toward Rowan in a languid toast, but his gaze dragged across my body like a slow deliberate touch. “Alpha Rowan has excellent taste,” he said, faintly amused. “Your female companion may be fragile—but this figure…” “I feel as though I’ve encountered it before. Quite… memorable.” Rowan’s jaw turned to iron. He raised his cup and drank anyway, smiling through the humiliation. Under the table, his fingers drove a brutal pinch into my thigh. The pain jolted through me; my hand jerked and the grapes scattered to the floor. “Useless,” Rowan hissed under his breath. Three rounds of drink in, Lycan Prince Alaric rose from his seat. When he passed our table, his steps slowed almost imperceptibly. A jade pendant slipped from his sleeve—smooth, warm-toned, carved with a wolf sigil—and dropped precisely at my feet. Rare jade. Worth a year of medicine. The surrounding guests were all engaged in pleasantries, no one paying attention. I bent without thinking. The moment my fingertips touched the pendant, it was still warm from his skin. Alaric hadn’t moved on. His fingers lifted my chin, his thumb traced ambiguously across the corner of my lips. “These hands know exactly how to please a man.” “Keep this as your reward. Take it back and practice well.” Rowan’s grip on his goblet shattered the stem. Wine bled down his wrist. I kept my eyes down and said nothing. That jade could cover three years of Caden’s medicine. On the ride back, I tucked the pendant into my sleeve with care. “Hand it over.” Rowan’s voice cracked the silence. I stilled. I had no choice. I placed it in his open palm. Rowan held the jade pendant, then let out a cold laugh. “A jade pendant? Alaric’s being generous.” He glanced at me sideways. “You think this is a declaration? It’s how he collects females. A trick. You’re naive enough to treasure it.” He flicked his wrist. The pendant arced through the open carriage window and vanished into the dark drainage channel below the road. “No—that was—” I lurched for the window before I could stop myself, and Rowan caught me, yanking me back against his chest. “Shut up! It’s just a broken stone. Now it’s in the gutter where it belongs.” I pressed against the window frame, staring at the dark below. Cold flooded from my feet straight up through my skull. That wasn’t jade. That was Caden’s medicine. That was Caden’s last thread—the rope he was white-knuckling at death’s door. Rowan watched my devastation with something that looked like satisfaction. “Remember what you are,” he said quietly. “you’re just a substitute.” “Alaric wants Seraphina—the Pack Princess, the Alliance contract. Not you, Leah.”

By the time we returned to the Blackwood packhouse, it was the dead of night. Before I’d even reached my room, I heard it—the low, suppressed coughing from inside. Caden. My chest seized. I pushed the door open and was at his side in four steps. He was curled into himself on the narrow cot, his frame skeletal, cheeks blazing with fever-flush. “Leah…” he whispered, half-conscious, reaching for nothing. I pressed my palm to his forehead. Burning. The medicine was gone. The healer had been clear—without Moonflower to sustain him, he would not survive the winter. I turned out every pocket, every fold of my clothing. Only the few coins Rowan had thrown at me. Not enough to buy even a shred of Moonflower. I stood up, set my teeth together, and walked directly to the main house. Seraphina’s chambers blazed with lamplight. I knelt on the cold stone outside, forehead toward the door. “Alpha Rowan. I beg you. Caden won’t last the night—” “You promised me. You said if I followed your orders and went to Prince Alaric, you would keep Caden safe.” “Please. One Moon flower. Just enough to keep him breathing.” “As long as Caden lives, I will do whatever you ask of me—without a word of complaint.” Laughter and conversation drifted from inside the room. After a long silence, the door finally opened. Rowan walked out with Seraphina on his arm. Seraphina wore a thick fur cloak, her face rosy—where was there any sign of illness? “Leah. What scene are you making now?” I moved forward on my knees and caught the hem of Rowan’s coat. “Alpha Rowan. My brother is critical. He needs Moon flower to survive.” “I beg you—for the sake of how many times I’ve taken Miss Seraphina’s place—please save him!” Rowan’s brow creased faintly. “The storehouse does have several stalks of moonflower…” Seraphina cut him off with a soft, well-timed cough, pressing one hand to her chest. “Alpha Rowan, the healer said I must keep the moonflower tonic for my own strength.” Rowan’s attention snapped to her immediately. His hand steadied her elbow. “Seraphina’s health comes first. Naturally those Moonflower are reserved for her.” He looked back down at me, his tone turning almost gentle—the cruelty pressed beneath reason. “Caden’s illness is a bottomless pit, Leah. Moon flower only delays it. It’s a bottomless well.” I stared at him, unable to speak. I stared at him in disbelief. Seraphina only had a few coughs, while Caden was dying. “Alpha Rowan—Seraphina only needs the moonflower for recovery. My brother needs it to stay alive—” Rowan waved one hand without looking at me. “Seraphina’s worth cannot be weighed against your brother’s cursed life. Not one Moonflower—even if it’s the entire pack’s supply of medicine, as long as Seraphina needs it, she gets priority!” Seraphina leaned into his arm, tilting her gaze down at me. That small, winning smile. “Leah. it’s not that I won’t help you, but I truly cannot go without the moonflower tonic.” “How about this—I’ll have the kitchen save the used herb dregs for you, they should still have some medicinal properties.” Humiliation. Cold, deliberate, total humiliation. I pulled myself to my feet and wiped the tears from my eyes. “Don’t bother.” Rowan wouldn’t give me a way to survive—someone else would.

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I spent ten years at Hades’s side helping him, for love. Ten years, from the moment he was nothing — a fallen son of a forgotten bloodline, wandering the mortal roads with cracked sandals and an empty stomach — to the day he ascended Mount Olympus and claimed his seat among the gods. And through all of it, he called me Sister. Then came the day he led his chosen bride through the golden gates. And I fell ill. On the night I lay dying, he knelt at my side and gathered my cold, wasting hands in his. His eyes were rimmed red, and his voice, for all his divine power, cracked like a mortal man’s. “If the Fates grant us another life,” he swore, “I will give you your proper name. I will make you mine — before all of Olympus.” The Fates heard him. They gave me another life. I came back in the bloom of my sixteenth year, born once more into the House of Selen — a family of ancient and noble blood, revered across the divine realm. My father had decreed a sacred rite: I would stand upon the high balcony of our temple-house and cast the Golden Apple into the crowd below. Whoever caught it would become my husband. The courtyard was full. Demigods, heroes, young gods in their finest robes — all of them jostling and laughing and craning their necks toward me. And then I saw him. He was standing near the center of the crowd, just as I had known he would be. My fingers released the apple. It arced through the air — golden, gleaming, falling precisely where I had aimed it. Directly into his arms. But he stepped aside. A single, casual sidestep. And the apple tumbled past him and landed in the lap of a filthy, hollow-cheeked vagrant crouched in the shadows behind. The cheering stopped. Silence swallowed the courtyard whole. Every eye moved between me on the balcony, Hades standing still as marble in the crowd, and the stunned vagrant clutching the sacred apple with shaking hands. Hades lifted his face and looked up at me from across the distance. And in that moment, the memory struck me like lightning. I had lived this before. In our first life, we had grown up together — two children of neighboring divine houses, running through the same sunlit gardens. When his family’s power crumbled and he was cast out, left to wander without resources or patrons, I had quietly bled the treasuries of the House of Selen to fund his studies. I had fed him, sheltered him, believed in him. And something had grown between us. Something that felt, then, like love. He had promised me. He had said: I want to spend eternity with you. So when my father announced the apple-casting rite, I pulled Hades aside and asked him — begged him — to stand in the center of the crowd and catch what I threw. And I threw it perfectly. I calculated every breath of wind, every inch of distance. But he stepped aside. And the apple went to the vagrant. Just as now. In our first life, I had stood on that same balcony, burning with shame as the crowd murmured and stared. I had refused to honor the rite. I had rejected the vagrant — humiliated him, humiliated myself — and faced my father’s fury for it. Father made me kneel on the cold stone steps of the ancestor shrine for three days and three nights as punishment. And for what? For Hades’s sake. For his soft, practiced excuses. He had come to me afterward with red-rimmed eyes, clasping my hands, and told me the story of the woman named Minthe — daughter of the noble House of Su, who had saved his life on the road to his trials. She had asked for nothing except that he honor her with marriage. He had given his word. So he could not marry me. He was bound. Honorable. Sorry. And then he became everything I had helped him become. He won the Three Sacred Trials — the highest honor in the divine realm. He rose. He shone. And the woman he brought home in her gleaming white robes and golden crown was Minthe. I stood in the crowd and watched the man I had given everything to lead another woman beneath the laurel garland. Before I even had time to grieve, disaster found my own house. My father, facing political ruin, arranged a hasty marriage for me — a man older than my father, but stable, safe. And Hades appeared at my chamber door. He extended his hand and told me I deserved better than a rushed union. He told me he would protect me. He told me the House of Selen — that I — had been too good to him for him to allow this. So he brought me into his house. Not as a wife. Not as even a consort. Only as his Sister.

His new bride, Minthe, was less than pleased. Even under the pretense that I was merely Hades’s benefactress — his honored Sister, his childhood guardian — she looked at me as though I were a splinter lodged in her divine flesh. At first, I could not fully understand it. After all, it was Hades who had insisted on bringing me in. Hades who had defied gossip and whispers to install me in the east wing of his divine palace. By rights, her fury should have been aimed at him. But that is the way of things, even among the immortals. When a woman cannot reach the god who wronged her, she turns to the only other target within range. I will say this for Minthe: her methods were not subtle. She cut my allowances. She reduced my household to near nothing — jewels, fine cloth, even the most basic provisions. She left me stripped of comfort in what was, by all appearances, a palace of abundance. I might have endured it in silence. But the winter came, and she withheld the sacred fire. The eternal flame that warms an immortal’s wing was simply… not refilled. My handmaiden fell gravely ill with the cold. I had no choice but to go and ask. I found Minthe seated beside a roaring hearth, wrapped in furs, cracking open the roasted chestnuts that Hades had prepared for her with his own hands. She did not look up when I entered. “Oh — Sister has come to call,” she said, her voice airy and pleasant. “Have the servants been neglecting you?” I kept my tone even. “The eternal flame in the east wing has gone dark. My handmaiden has taken ill.” She laughed softly, tossing a shell into the fire. “Do forgive us, Sister. My lord has only recently secured his throne. There are so many offerings to make, so many alliances to maintain — the household has simply run short.” She looked up then, and her eyes were full of challenge. “I thought surely you, of all people, would understand. You were so generous with the House of Selen’s resources for so many years. Surely you don’t mind extending that generosity a little longer?” Her smile curved. “After all — Sister is a guest here. One ought to be grateful, ought one not?” Every word was a blade dressed in silk. I opened my mouth to answer. “My lord has returned.” Hades stepped through the door, still wearing his traveling cloak, snow-dusted and wind-cold from the outer reaches of Olympus. He saw me. He paused. Minthe rose immediately and folded herself into his arms. “My lord,” she said, her voice gone soft and wounded. “Sister has come to scold me for the household accounts. I have tried so hard to manage wisely, but there simply isn’t enough —” Hades frowned. He looked at me. “Sister,” he said, with the careful patience of someone managing a delicate situation, “Minthe bears a great many burdens. Please be patient a little longer. I will see to it that your needs are met.” I stared at him. He had the power to rearrange the very stars. And this was his answer. I said nothing. I said only: “Of course.” And I walked back to the dark and frozen east wing alone.

From that day, Minthe and I were at war. Not over Hades. I want to be clear about that. It was about dignity. Whatever I had once felt for that man, whatever foolish love had bound me to him in our first life — I did not come to his house for him. I came because I had nowhere else to go. And having come, I found I was owed at least the basic respect due to someone who had built the ground he stood upon. I had sustained him when he was nothing. The House of Selen had funded his rise. I would not be treated as a beggar in the halls I had helped to fill with light. So when she docked my provisions, I went to the treasury steward and argued my case. When she spread whispers about me among the serving nymphs, I confronted her directly. Every time, I was overruled. Hades’s law was simple: Minthe’s word was final. Once, she accused me of stealing her golden hairpin — made a scene that rattled the entire palace. I uncovered the truth within an afternoon: one of her own handmaidens had mislaid it. I brought the evidence before Hades and laid it out, clear and incontrovertible. He was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Sister, she is young. She does not always think before she speaks. Please — do not hold it against her.” I looked at him for a long moment. I felt something shift in me. When he had been a forgotten and powerless wanderer, I had shielded him from every slight. I had stood in front of him when others mocked him, and refused to let anyone diminish what I believed he could become. And now, enthroned and magnificent, he asked me to absorb every wound his wife inflicted and repay her with patience and grace. I began to understand that the world runs not on love, but on what is convenient. On what men are willing to protect when it costs them something. The worst came when Minthe poisoned me. It was not meant to kill. Only to humiliate — to leave me doubled over, weak and gasping, during a gathering of divine households. A small cruelty, carelessly deployed. When I discovered the source, something in me finally broke. I crossed the palace in three strides and struck her across the face. She screamed. She ran to Hades. That evening, Hades came to the east wing. He told me I must kneel before her and beg her forgiveness. I am Persephone of the House of Selen. My knees bend for the sky, for the earth, for my parents. For no one else. I refused. So Hades gave the order. His attendants surrounded me. They took up the iron-banded staves kept by the door. Once. Twice. Three times. The blows came down across my legs, and the pain finally drove me to my knees. Through blurring vision, I saw Minthe standing over me, and the corner of her mouth was curved into a smile. That night, Hades came alone to the east wing. He looked at my legs, which had lost all feeling. He sighed and reached for my hand. I pulled it away. He sat in silence for a moment. Then he spoke. “Sister. I am sorry for today. Truly.” “But Minthe — she saved my life, once. I swore an oath to her. I swore I would never allow her to suffer.” I looked at him. Saved your life. That is the coin she holds. And who carried you home through the winter storm when you collapsed, starving, in the road? Who sat with you through three nights of fever? Who poured the last of the family’s tungsten steel into the raging fire to forge the most resilient weapon for you? What coin do I hold? I did not say it. I was too tired. The cold and the injury worked together, and I sickened. Each day I grew weaker. The finest healers of Olympus came, and none of them could turn it back. The day I died, snow fell beyond the window like a blessing I no longer wanted. Hades knelt beside my bed, gripping my hand as though he could hold me to this world through sheer will. “Sister,” he said. “Forgive me. This life — I failed you completely.” “If the Fates grant another — I swear I will bring you home properly. With ceremony, with honor. I will give you your name.” I looked at him. My heart was perfectly still. What had I answered? I remembered. I used the last of my strength to pull my hand free, finger by finger. “Hades,” I whispered. “In the next life — let us never meet at all.” I closed my eyes. I heard him cry out behind me — a raw, torn sound, the voice of a god stripped to something human and helpless. And then I woke up. Back at the beginning. Standing on the temple-house balcony, the Golden Apple warm in my palm.

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My husband, Cole, and I had been together for seven years. He was a penniless orphan, and I was the sole heiress to the Franklin empire. I fought my entire family to marry him, and today, I finally did. The wedding was grand and perfect. He looked at me with the same deep, adoring eyes he always had. But late that night, in our brand-new bridal suite, I found a leather-bound journal he had accidentally left behind. Inside, he had documented everything. From our very first day in college, he had meticulously planned every single encounter, every conversation, and every milestone of our relationship. It was a perfectly calculated trap. The very last entry was dated yesterday. “Antoinette finally took the bait. Once the wedding is over tomorrow, everything the Franklins own will be mine.” Our wedding was incredibly lavish. My father spared no expense. Cole, the man I had loved for seven years, was now my husband. He grew up as an orphan, so my family covered every single wedding expense. My father didn’t mind at all. He just wanted me to be happy. Throughout the ceremony, Cole was incredibly attentive. The way he looked at me was filled with pure adoration. I believed his love was real. Seven years of history couldn’t possibly be a lie. All the guests were whispering about how lucky we were, calling us a match made in heaven. And I believed them. Until late that night, after the last guest had left. I sat on our bed, which was covered in red rose petals, anxiously waiting for Cole to return. He had gone to see off our last few friends and told me to head up and rest first. Our master bedroom was huge, decorated in warm, romantic lights. That was when I noticed a black, hardbound journal lying on the carpet near the nightstand. I recognized it instantly. It was Cole’s diary. He had always mentioned his habit of journaling, but I had never read it. He told me it was just boring, day-to-day stuff. I wanted to respect his privacy, so I never pried. But tonight, for some inexplicable reason, I picked it up. It wasn’t locked. I opened it easily. The first page was dated seven years ago—September 1st, our very first day of college. The handwriting was definitely Cole’s. But the words felt like they belonged to a total stranger. “Antoinette Franklin. The sole heiress to the Franklin Group.” “My target starts today. I will make her fall in love with me.” My heart instantly dropped. Refusing to believe it, I kept flipping the pages. September 15: “Bumped into her at the library today. A perfect accident. She is exactly like the files said—sweet, innocent, and a little naive.” “Step one: success.” October 3: “She agreed to be my girlfriend. Everything is going exactly according to plan.” “She has these pure, doe-like eyes. Sometimes when she looks at me, I almost fool myself into thinking this is real love.” December 24: “Christmas Eve. She told me she loves me.” “Phase two: complete. Up next: long-term companionship and deep integration into her life.” I flipped through page after page. It felt like I was reading a horror story about my own life. Cole and I were the main characters, but the tone was as cold and calculated as a corporate takeover. Every date, every fight, every makeup session was listed as a milestone, followed by a post-event analysis and the next step of his strategy. My hands began to shake violently. Our seven-year romance was nothing but a highly engineered scam. I was the idiot playing her part in his script. I reached the very last page. The entry was from yesterday. “Seven years. This show is finally coming to an end.” “Antoinette finally took the bait. Once the wedding is over tomorrow, everything the Franklins own will be mine.” “Father, your vengeance is at hand. I am about to reclaim what is ours.” My brain went entirely numb. Tears streamed down my face, but I didn’t feel sad. I just felt cold—an icy, bone-chilling numbness that spread from my chest to my fingertips. Right then, the bedroom door clicked open. Cole walked in with his signature warm, gentle smile. When he saw me sitting on the floor with his journal in my hands, his smile froze for a fraction of a second. But he recovered almost instantly. He walked over, kneeling beside me, and reached out to pull me up. “Why are you sitting on the floor, sweetheart? It’s cold.” His voice was still so soft, so familiar. I looked up at him. This face, which I had loved for seven years, now looked completely foreign and terrifying. I held up the journal right in front of his face. “What is this?” My voice was so raspy I barely recognized it. Cole’s eyes changed. The warmth and tenderness vanished. In their place was a cold, calculating gaze, mixed with a hint of annoyance at being caught. He stood up, looking down at me coldly. “Well, since you’ve read it, I guess there’s no point in playing pretend anymore.” He admitted it. Just like that, without a single shred of hesitation. My entire world shattered into pieces. “Why?” I squeezed out the question with every ounce of strength I had left. “Why?” He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You should ask your dear father. Ask him what he did to the Miller family twenty years ago.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. Through the rising smoke, his face looked incredibly cruel. “Toni, I wanted to give you some dignity.” “If you had just played the part of a happy housewife and handed the company over to me, I would have made sure you were taken care of for the rest of your life.” “But you had to be stupid and dig this up.” He pointed his cigarette at the journal in my hands. “Now, the game is over.”

I don’t even know how I survived that night. Cole didn’t touch me. He slept in the guest room. I lay alone on the cold bridal bed, staring at the ceiling until dawn. Every single word from that journal was burned into my brain. My youth, my love, my entire life—all of it was a massive joke. But I couldn’t just give up. Not for myself, and definitely not for my family. The next morning, Cole sat at the dining table, eating breakfast as if nothing had happened. When he saw me walk downstairs, he even offered a small smile. “You’re awake. Come have some breakfast.” I forced down the wave of nausea hitting my throat and sat opposite him. I told myself: Toni, you cannot panic. Do not let him see you break. From this moment on, you are the one who has to act. “Cole, are we still going on our honeymoon?” I did my best to make my voice sound normal. He looked at me, slightly surprised. “Of course. The tickets are already booked, aren’t they?” “Great.” I forced a smile. “I really want to go to Paris. You promised you’d take me there.” He nodded, a hint of suspicion lingering in his eyes. “Sure. Whatever you want.” After breakfast, I made an excuse to pack my bags and locked myself in the bedroom. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. Julian Vance. He was our family’s legal counsel, and the man my father trusted most. The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. “Hello?” Julian’s voice was professional but carried a hint of morning tiredness. “Julian, it’s me. Toni.” There was a brief silence on the other end. “Toni? Happy wedding day. Is everything okay? It’s pretty early.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. “Julian, I need some legal advice.” “If… hypothetically, a friend of mine found out that her new husband only married her to steal her family’s wealth… what should she do?” Julian let out a soft chuckle. “Toni, you should really stop watching those lifetime dramas.” “Without concrete evidence, accusations don’t mean anything in court.” His tone was detached, purely professional. I knew he wouldn’t believe something so wild without proof. “Evidence… I’ll find it.” After hanging up, my heart sank. If even Julian thought I was being paranoid, how was I going to find proof? Then, I remembered the last line of Cole’s diary. “Father, your vengeance is at hand.” Cole’s father? I thought Cole was an orphan? Also, the diary mentioned a few other details—meetings with friends, and some unusual bank transfers. I opened my phone and started checking our joint bank accounts. Most transactions were normal living expenses. But one stood out. Three months ago, there was a fifty-thousand-dollar wire transfer to a completely unfamiliar name. The memo read: “Personal loan.” Cole never lacked money. My father had given him a black card with a massive limit. Why would he need to borrow fifty thousand dollars from a stranger? I quickly took a screenshot of the transfer and sent it to Julian. Then, I texted him: “Julian, please run a background check on this account owner. I will cover the fees.” As soon as the message sent, I deleted all call logs and texts. I walked out of the room. Cole was leaning against the living room couch, scrolling through his phone. Seeing me, he looked up. “All packed?” “Yeah.” “Great. Let’s head to the airport.” He stood up and naturally reached for my hand. I flinched, pulling away instinctively. The air in the room instantly froze. Cole’s eyes darkened. “Toni, don’t play games with me.” I forced myself to meet his cold gaze and smiled. “I’m just… still adjusting. We’re actually married now.” He stared at me for a few agonizing seconds before letting it go. But I knew. He was starting to doubt me. This game was getting incredibly dangerous.

On the flight to Paris, Cole and I barely spoke. I kept my eye mask on, pretending to sleep, while my mind raced to find a way out of this. I had to get enough evidence to ruin him before he realized I was on to him. Once we landed, Cole checked us into a luxury hotel. He played the role of the doting husband perfectly, arranging everything. But it only made my skin crawl. That night, he claimed he had to meet a “French business partner.” I knew it was a lie. He was meeting his accomplice. Right after he left, my phone buzzed. It was an encrypted text from Julian. It was an image of the bank account holder’s details. The account belonged to a man named Douglas, registered in a remote town. But it was Julian’s note below that made my heart race: “This man owns a shell company. It was registered six months ago. No actual business operations.” My heart hammered against my ribs. Douglas… shell company… I immediately connected it to a name in Cole’s journal. He had mentioned needing “Douglas” to move some funds. It was him! Julian sent another message right after. “Toni, this is much bigger than you think. Where are you? We need to meet.” His tone had completely changed. He was no longer the detached lawyer. He believed me. I sent him my hotel address in Paris. He said he would get there as fast as he could. Waiting for Julian was agonizing. I was terrified Cole would walk in at any moment. I wiped my chat history with Julian, muted my phone, and hid it under my pillow. About two hours later, there was a knock at the door. I peered through the peephole. It was Julian. He was wearing a sharp, tailored suit, looking slightly exhausted from the travel, but his eyes were incredibly sharp. I opened the door and let him in. “Toni,” he greeted, nodding. “Julian, thank you for coming.” “Don’t worry about it. It’s my job.” He sat down on the sofa, getting straight to business. “Now, tell me everything. No more ‘hypothetical friend’ stories.” I didn’t hold back. I told him about finding the journal, the revenge entries, and everything Cole had admitted. I tried to stay strong, but my voice cracked when I spoke about our seven years being a lie. Julian listened quietly, never interrupting. When I finished, he remained silent for a long moment. “Toni, I am so sorry you have to go through this,” he said, his tone softening. “But from this moment on, you cannot let your emotions guide you. You need to stay calm, and you need to trust me completely.” I nodded. “Cole’s target is the Franklin Group,” Julian explained, his expression grave. “Based on what you’ve shown me, he’s likely planning a hostile takeover or trying to siphon the company’s core assets.” “We have to stop him before he makes his move.” “How?” I asked. “Step one: keep him calm. He can’t know that you’re onto him. You have to keep acting like the happy bride for the rest of this honeymoon.” “Step two: we need more concrete evidence. A journal entry and one wire transfer aren’t enough to hold up in court. We need proof of corporate embezzlement or insider trading.” “Step three: I will dig into Cole’s real family background. We need to find out what this ‘vengeance’ is actually about.” Julian’s logic was flawless. It brought a sense of calm to my chaotic mind. “I understand.” “And one more thing,” Julian said, looking into my eyes. “From now on, only contact me through this secure, encrypted app. I’ll show you how to use it.” We talked late into the night. Shortly after Julian left, Cole came back. He smelled of alcohol, but his eyes were completely sober. “How was your meeting?” I asked casually, pretending to read. “Good. Just talked some business.” He shrugged out of his coat, his eyes scanning the room as if checking for anything out of place. Finally, his gaze landed on my face. “You seem… different tonight.” My heart leaped into my throat.

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On the day of our college graduation, my parents held up their cameras, taking photo after photo of my boyfriend and my best friend. Through the lens, Ethan smiled and kissed Chloe on the cheek. He even dropped to one knee, pulling out a ring to fake a proposal. My parents stood by, watching with warm, indulgent smiles. Yet, I was their actual daughter. And Ethan was the guy I had been dating for four years. Dressed in my graduation gown, I stood alone in the corner. I waited for a long time, but my mom never once called my name. Once Chloe finished her photoshoot, she sighed and complained about not finding a good job yet. Naturally, Ethan forgot all about me, immediately leaning down to comfort her. “Come work at my company. Be my personal assistant. What do you say?” My brother, Marcus, walked over with a cold bottle of water. He only handed it to Chloe, then wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulders, giving Ethan a sharp glare. “Chloe, come to my company instead. Be my personal assistant!” Two men, fighting over my best friend. My parents laughed, saying we were all just one big family anyway. I stood to the side, my fingers tightening into fists. It felt as though Chloe was their real daughter, and Ethan was her boyfriend. Since that was the case, I would sign the job contract for the place furthest away from home, and never come back.

An email notification popped up on my phone. It was from the company Chloe had interviewed with. They rejected her. Chloe’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Am I really that useless? I can’t even get a basic job.” My mom immediately pulled her into a comforting hug. “What nonsense are you talking about? Maybe Natalie is useless enough to not find a job, but not you.” “You’ve been perfect in everything since you were a kid, Chloe. How could you not find a job?” After saying that, she glanced back at me. “That company just lacks vision. Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll take our time finding a better one.” I stood there, having done absolutely nothing, yet once again being used as the foil to prove Chloe’s superiority. Growing up, I had doubted countless times whether I was the one who was adopted, and if Chloe was their biological child. But unfortunately, the DNA test I secretly took showed no issues. Later, I thought it was because of my personality. Maybe I wasn’t smart or charming enough. So, I worked myself to the bone to prove my worth. Yet, by the time I finally achieved things that should have made them proud, I realized their favoritism toward Chloe had already become a deep-rooted habit. Just like now, they were used to ignoring me. They knew I’d always find my own way home anyway. I stood there, watching Ethan whisper sweet nothings to comfort Chloe. Meanwhile, my dad was on the phone, calling the HR manager of Aegis Group on the spot. After hanging up, he made a confident promise. “I’ve sorted it out for you. Your first job is crucial. You can’t just settle. A major corporation like Aegis is the bare minimum.” There was always a safety net beneath Chloe’s feet. The moment she slipped, everyone rushed to catch her. During our freshman year, she failed a core course. My mom pulled strings to find a senior tutor, paying three hundred dollars per session and booking twenty sessions in advance. That same semester, I scored a ninety-five on my final exam. Full of anticipation, I showed my grade to my mom, hoping for a single word of praise. But all I got was criticism. “I thought you said you worked hard? Why did you lose five points?” After that, I stopped sending my grades home. During our junior year, I had a sudden bout of acute gastritis. The pain was so intense I collapsed at the entrance of the lab building, unable to stand. I called Ethan, begging him for the first time to take me to the hospital. But the other end of the line was quiet for a moment. “Chloe has a big presentation tomorrow. She’s really nervous right now and needs me to help her practice.” “Natalie, you’ve always been independent. You can call an Uber yourself, right?” That day, the Uber driver saw how pale I was and personally helped me walk into the ER. A complete stranger knew I needed a hand. Yet Ethan thought I was perfectly fine on my own. Maybe it was because I had been too sensible for too long. When you never complain, people assume you don’t feel pain. It was only much later that my mom casually asked about my job hunt. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could answer, my dad waved his hand dismissively. “With her major, what kind of good job can she get? Just find some random desk job and call it a day.” Marcus glanced at me, frowning. “Yeah, just get a job. Don’t think you’re going to live rent-free at home after graduation.” Ethan even chime in, “If you really can’t find anything, I can ask if our company’s front desk is hiring.” He said it so naturally, as if he was genuinely doing me a favor. I looked down and unlocked my phone, opening the acceptance email. The Cairo Institute of Deep Space Materials. Excellent benefits, highly prestigious, but located over five thousand miles away. For the past seven days, I hadn’t confirmed the offer. I was waiting. Waiting for my mom to ask me where I wanted to stay. Waiting for my dad to make a call for me too. Or waiting for Ethan to remember our promise to stay in the same city after graduation. But with only six hours left on the confirmation countdown, not a single person asked. I tapped “Confirm.” A message popped up on the screen. Welcome to the Cairo Institute of Deep Space Materials, Natalie Sinclair! At that moment, the first sincere welcome I received came from five thousand miles away.

The next morning, my mom dragged us all to the mall. She said since Chloe was joining a big company, she needed a brand-new wardrobe. A six-thousand-dollar designer suit, a fifteen-thousand-dollar work bag, and five-thousand-dollar high heels. Every time Chloe looked at a price tag in hesitation, my mom would smile and tell her not to worry about the cost. “You’re going to be working at a top firm. You need to look the part.” My dad happily handed over his credit card at the register. Marcus, his hands full of shopping bags, asked Chloe if she wanted some designer perfume too. Ethan knelt down, gently feeling the back of Chloe’s new heels. “The leather here is a bit stiff. Let’s try another pair. I don’t want you getting blisters on your first day.” I stood a few paces away, watching his gentle profile. During our four years of college, I had walked miles in ill-fitting shoes just to keep him company. When my heels bled, he only laughed and said I was being dramatic. It turned out he knew shoes could hurt. It was just that when those shoes were on my feet, it wasn’t worth his concern. Passing by a luggage store, I stopped. My suitcase was ten years old, and the corners were cracked. I had wrapped layers of duct tape around it, and the wheels were completely uneven. I picked the cheapest one in the store. One hundred and twenty-nine dollars. Instead of taking it straight to the counter, I walked over to my dad. “Can I get this?” Perhaps, even now, I still held onto a stupid shred of hope. They had just spent over thirty thousand dollars buying luxury clothes, shoes, and bags for Chloe. A hundred-dollar suitcase shouldn’t be too much to ask for, right? Maybe I just wanted to prove that I still held some tiny fraction of a place in their hearts. But my dad only frowned. “Don’t we have suitcases at home?” “That one is ten years old, Dad. It’s broken.” “Just because it’s broken doesn’t mean it’s unusable. Do you think your parents’ hard-earned money is for you to throw away like this?” My mom walked over, scoffing. “Chloe got a prestigious job, so of course she needs nice things.” She glanced at the suitcase in my hand, her tone filled with annoyance. “What kind of job are you going to get that warrants a fancy suitcase like this?” “You’ll probably end up as a receptionist somewhere. Nobody cares what bag you bring. Just make do with the old one.” Marcus chuckled from the side. “She’s just jealous. She saw Chloe buying things, so now she wants to compete.” My hand froze on the handle. Slowly, I put the suitcase back. Chloe stood outside the store, her fifteen-thousand-dollar bag on her shoulder, surrounded by shopping bags. “Natalie, aren’t you buying anything?” “No.” I looked down at my worn-out canvas tote bag. It wasn’t that the family was broke. And it wasn’t that appearance didn’t matter. It was just that whenever it came to me, everything became “unnecessary” and “wasteful.” That evening, my mom booked a private room at a nice restaurant to celebrate our graduation. A massive cake sat in the center of the table. The moment I walked in, the icing caught my eye. Congratulations on Graduation, Chloe! Wishing you a brilliant future! Chloe looked slightly embarrassed. “Helen, did you forget to write Natalie’s name?” My mom didn’t even look up. “She doesn’t like cake anyway. It doesn’t matter.” Actually, I loved cake. She had just never bought one for me. During dinner, my dad handed a recommendation letter to Chloe. “I’ve already spoken to my contact. You can report to Aegis Group next week. The office is close to home, and the pay is great.” Chloe’s eyes turned red. “You guys are too good to me. I don’t know how to repay you.” My mom squeezed her hand. “Oh, sweetie, don’t talk about repaying us. We already think of you as our own daughter.” Watching them hold hands, I suddenly felt like an intruder sitting at the wrong table. The warm, family scene was so blindingly bright that my presence felt like a stain on their perfect picture. When the bill came, my mom paid for Chloe’s share. But a second later, a Snapchat split-bill request of $136.50 popped up on my phone. Sent by my mom. Only I was asked to pay. “Natalie, you’ve graduated now. You can’t keep relying on your parents’ money.” “From now on, you’ll need to pay your share for dinners, rent for your room, and utilities.” I stared at the split-bill request down to the cents. I didn’t say a word. I just quietly clicked pay.

When we got home, my mom stopped me just as I was about to go to my room. “Pack up your things. Chloe is moving in tomorrow.” “She starts at Aegis next week. Her family’s place is too far from the office, so she’ll be living with us.” I followed her gaze. In the hallway sat brand-new bedding and a vanity table that had just been delivered. All in Chloe’s favorite baby pink. “Where is she staying?” “Your room, of course. We don’t have any other spare rooms.” I froze. “Then where do I sleep?” My mom paused, pointing toward the storage closet near the entrance. “Clean out the storage room. A folding bed can fit in there. Chloe is our guest, so you’ll just have to deal with it.” The storage room was piled high with old furniture. The window was half-blocked by a cabinet, and there was mold on the walls. When we were kids and Chloe stayed over, I used to give up my bed and sleep there too. Back then, my mom would stroke my hair and say, “Our Natalie is the most sensible girl.” I had always thought being sensible would earn me a little bit of her love. Only later did I realize that the reward for being sensible was being expected to give up everything forever. “No, I won’t do it.” It was the first time I had ever said no. My mom’s face darkened instantly. “Chloe is going to be busy with her new job. She needs proper rest!” “You don’t even have a job lined up. What difference does it make where you sleep?” I whispered, “It’s my room.” My mom laughed as if she’d heard a joke. “Your room? Everything in this house was given to you by us. What’s wrong with you giving up a room for a bit?” I stared at her and suddenly asked, “What if the job I got is better than Chloe’s?” My mom frowned. “Natalie, it’s one thing to have no talent, but don’t lie just because you’re jealous.” I had wanted to tell her that I was accepted by the Cairo Institute. But the words died in my throat. My dad finally snapped in irritation, “If you don’t want to sleep in the storage room, then pack your bags and get out. Nobody is stopping you.” I looked at them and nodded. “Okay.” They thought I was just throwing a tantrum. My mom didn’t even try to stop me. She only warned me to clear my things out completely so I wouldn’t delay Chloe’s move-in tomorrow. I found a cheap hostel nearby. A six-bed dorm, top bunk, thirty dollars a night. Every time the person next to me tossed and turned, the entire metal frame shook. But the moment I lay down, I felt more at peace than I ever had at home. At least this bed was truly mine, paid for with my own money. The next day, I went back to pack the rest of my things. When I opened my jewelry box, I realized the sapphire cross necklace left by my grandma was gone. Grandma Eleanor was the only person in that family who had ever truly loved me. When I had a high fever as a kid, my mom was away at Chloe’s dance recital. It was Grandma who carried me to the hospital on her back. She told me, “Our Natalie isn’t fearless. She’s just too scared to cry because there’s no one to comfort her.” After Grandma passed away, that cross necklace became my only comfort. I marched into the living room, clutching the empty box. “Mom, where is my necklace?” My mom paused her hands while stripping the bedsheets. “It’s just an old cross. How should I know where you put it?” The moment she finished speaking, a photo popped up in the family Snapchat group. My dad had set up a dinner with his friends to introduce Chloe to the executives of Aegis Group. In the photo, Chloe was wearing the new designer dress we bought yesterday. And around her neck was my sapphire cross necklace. I shoved the photo in front of my mom’s face. Seeing she couldn’t lie her way out, she doubled down, completely shameless. “Chloe was meeting executives today. Her neck looked too bare, so I gave it to her.” “You never wear it anyway. Why let it gather dust?” “That was Grandma’s!” My mom’s expression went cold. “I’m your mother. Do I need your permission to take something from this house?” “Besides, your grandma adored Chloe too when she was alive. If she knew you were throwing a fit over a piece of jewelry, she’d think you were incredibly petty.” “Grandma wouldn’t.” Tears fell without warning, and my voice began to tremble. “Grandma was the only person in this family who never forced me to give up my things to Chloe.” I turned to head to the restaurant, but my mom blocked the door immediately. “The executives are still there! If you go now, are you trying to ruin Chloe’s career?!” While we were arguing, the front door swung open. Chloe was back. She touched the sapphire cross on her chest. “Natalie, are you looking for this?” She unclasped the chain and held it out in her palm. “I didn’t know this was from your grandma. Helen told me it was a graduation gift.” I walked over and reached out my hand. “Give it back.” I was still two paces away from her when she suddenly let go. The necklace crashed heavily onto the tiled floor. The blue sapphire in the center of the cross shattered into pieces. Chloe took a step back, tears streaming down her face first. “I’m so sorry… you rushed at me so fast, I got scared…”

I knelt down, gathering the shattered pieces into my palm. The sharp edges of the broken metal cut into my finger, blood seeping into the cracks. On my eighteenth birthday, Grandma Eleanor had placed this necklace around my neck. Her hands had been weak, taking several attempts to secure the clasp. “Our Natalie always gives in to everyone else.” “When Grandma is gone, make sure you keep the things you love. Don’t let yourself suffer anymore.” I had hugged her back then, giggling and saying that as long as I had her, I’d never suffer. But then Grandma passed away. And in this house, there was no longer anyone who saw me as a girl who felt pain, got sad, or deserved to be loved. I couldn’t even protect the last thing she left me. The only love I had left was taken by them to please Chloe, only to be smashed to pieces right in front of my eyes. “Natalie, I really didn’t mean to.” Chloe covered her face and sobbed. My mom immediately shielded her in her arms. “Don’t cry, sweetie. It’s not your fault.” She glared at me. “If she hadn’t rushed at you like a maniac, why would your hands shake?” But I hadn’t even touched Chloe. Marcus sighed in annoyance. “Just take it to a jeweler and get it fixed. It’s not like it’s worth that much anyway.” Ethan pulled out a tissue, gently wiping the tears from Chloe’s face. Nobody noticed my hand was bleeding. Or maybe they did. It was just that compared to Chloe’s tears, it didn’t matter. I tightly clenched my fist around the broken cross. In the past, whenever I was wronged, I would scream and explain myself. I used to believe that if I just explained clearly, they would understand. But at this moment, I didn’t even have the energy to speak. I slipped the broken necklace into my pocket and walked out. My mom screamed after me, “If you walk out that door, don’t you dare come back! You’re an adult and you still have such an attitude! Who would ever put up with you?!” I didn’t look back. She didn’t know that I had no intention of ever returning. I went back to the hostel. My flight to the Cairo Institute was the day after tomorrow. I packed my remaining clothes. At one in the morning, a message from Ethan came through. Chloe cried the entire night. Are you happy now? I stared at the screen for a long time. I wanted to explain, but halfway through typing, I deleted everything. He didn’t care. Just like he never cared why I left. Chloe’s tears required everyone to comfort her all night. My pain only earned me a complaint about my “bad attitude.” I blocked every single one of them. Then, I dragged my broken suitcase to the train station to head to the airport. At the security check, the wheel of my suitcase got stuck. A kind older woman helped me lift it. “Traveling alone, dear? No family to send you off?” I smiled, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “They have someone more important to take care of.” As the train pulled away from the platform, I looked at the broken necklace in my hand and finally let my tears fall in the silence of the cabin. I wasn’t crying because I missed them. I was crying for my younger self—the girl who had stupidly believed that if she was just a little more sensible, someone would finally love her back. Before turning off my phone, I saw a few incoming texts. They were still demanding that I “be sensible” and come back to apologize to Chloe. But they didn’t know. The Natalie Sinclair who was always sensible, who always waited for their approval, was gone. And she was never coming back.

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My dad is the most feared mafia boss in New York. My mom is an elite heiress from one of the city’s oldest billionaire families. And then there’s Julian—my genius older brother who used to spoil me to death. When I was five, my dad’s enemies kidnapped me. They wanted to trade my life for his. To save him, I found a chance to escape. But I ended up falling off a cliff, losing all my memories, and growing up as an unadoptable orphan in a foster home. The kidnapper, wanting to torture my dad, lied and told him he’d thrown me to the sharks. From that day on, my name—Seraphina King—became a forbidden word in New York. Twenty years later. My boyfriend’s side chick ran me over with her car, sending me straight to the ER. Standing by my hospital bed, she threw a black credit card at my face. “My adoptive dad is a mafia legend. My adoptive mom is a New York socialite. My adoptive brother is a world-class scientist.” “Who do you think you are to compete with me?” And my boyfriend, the guy who swore he’d love me forever, stood there with cold, indifferent eyes. “Mia, you can’t give me anything. Just let me go, okay?” I clutched the card and whispered, “Okay.” Every cloud has a silver lining. That car crash actually brought my memories back.

“Glad you know your place. Otherwise, if my family stepped in, you wouldn’t just be dealing with three broken ribs.” Chloe stood there in a custom Chanel tweed suit, a matching handbag dangling from her arm, and diamond-encrusted heels. She looked every bit the spoiled, pampered princess she was. She tilted her chin up, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Leave New York within three days. I don’t want to live in the same city as my boyfriend’s pathetic ex. It ruins my mood.” I kept my eyes down. She was just as ruthless and unreasonable as the rumors said. I had three broken ribs. I couldn’t even leave the hospital in three days, and she wanted me out of the city? I looked at Ethan, who was standing nearby, hoping he would tell this brainless brat to give me some time. But when Chloe saw me looking at him, she flew into a jealous rage. She swung her expensive Chanel bag and slammed it right into my face. “You bitch! You took my money and you’re still drooling over my man!” Blood started seeping through my head bandages. I clutched my forehead, my face turning pale from the agonizing pain. Chloe wasn’t done. A cruel smirk played on her lips as she walked toward me on her stilettos. Ethan instinctively reached out to stop her, but after a moment of hesitation, his hand dropped back to his side. “Chloe, don’t take it too far. The hospital has too many eyes. It’s bad for your reputation.” “Reputation? Who cares?” Chloe grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling so hard I felt like my scalp was ripping off. “I am Chloe King! No one in New York dares to cross me!” “Even if my reputation is trash, people will still beg to be my dogs.” With that, she slapped me hard across the face. Just when I thought I was going to die right there in that bed… A tall, incredibly handsome man appeared at the door. “Chloe!” Chloe froze. She immediately let go of my hair, her vicious snarl instantly turning into a sweet, innocent smile. She ran over and wrapped her arms around his. “Julian! What are you doing here?”

Julian affectionately ruffled Chloe’s hair. “Are you bullying people again?” He sighed, looking helpless. “When are you going to grow up?” The arrogant brat was gone, replaced by a sweet, pouty little girl. “I don’t want to grow up. With you, Mom, and Dad protecting me, I want to be your little princess forever.” The moment I heard Chloe call him “Julian,” my heart stopped. I struggled to turn my head to look at him. But Chloe’s rough handling had aggravated my broken ribs. The pain was so intense I started blacking out, cold sweat dripping down my back. I couldn’t even make a sound. If it weren’t for the burning desire to reunite with my brother, I would have passed out right then. But… my brother, whom I hadn’t seen in twenty years, was standing just feet away. Yet, I couldn’t reach him. I had to watch him shower Chloe with all the warmth, gentleness, and protection in the world. He wasn’t Chloe’s brother. He was mine. He was five years older than me. He used to spoil me rotten, giving me all the best food and toys. When we were kids, he loved to ruffle my hair too. He would smile gently and say, “You will always be happy, Seraphina. I’ll be your knight forever.” But now, all that tenderness belonged to someone else. A wave of bitter resentment washed over me. Why did they adopt Chloe? Why did they give all the love that belonged to me to another girl? Was that fair to me? I struggled on the bed, letting out muffled whimpers, desperately trying to get his attention. And I did. Through my blurry vision, I saw him slowly walk over to my bed. He stopped right beside me. “Miss, I apologize on Chloe’s behalf.” “She’s young and spoiled by our family, so she can be reckless. But she doesn’t mean any real harm.” He pulled a black card from his pocket and placed it on my pillow. “There’s two million dollars in here. I hope this covers your trouble.” Looking at Julian—his face expressionless, his voice cold and detached—my heart shattered alongside my body. “Julian, I already gave her two hundred thousand! Why give her more? A charity case like her isn’t worth that much if she sold her soul!” “Chloe.” Julian scolded her, but his voice was filled with indulgence, completely different from the icy tone he used with me. Chloe stuck her tongue out playfully and sneered at me. “Stop playing dead. I barely touched you. At most, you have a couple of scratches.” Julian looked at my pale face and the cold sweat on my forehead. He seemed to realize something was off. Maybe… I wasn’t faking it. But so what? To him, I was just a stranger. And Julian King never cared about the lives of strangers. He turned and took Chloe’s hand. “Let’s go. Today is Seraphina’s memorial day. We need to visit the cemetery.” Chloe gasped, hitting her forehead. “Oh my god, I almost forgot! Seraphina won’t be mad at me in heaven, right?” “I’m sure she won’t. You’re sweet and kind. Besides, she was the one who sent you to us. Why would she be mad?” Julian smiled warmly, pinching her cheek. “Exactly. You’re the little princess Seraphina sent us.” “Eighteen years ago today, we went to her grave and found you, a three-year-old, sleeping right by her tombstone.” “The moment we saw you, we thought Seraphina had come back to us.” “Especially your eyes. They look just like hers.” Julian’s eyes went distant, as if he were looking through Chloe at the little sister he missed so desperately. After a long moment, he pulled himself back and sighed. “Let’s go.”

Just a second before Julian turned to leave, I forced myself through the agonizing pain and grabbed his sleeve. “Julian…” “What did you call me?” Julian froze. His eyes locked onto my face. Then, his pupils shrunk. “Your eyes…” Suddenly, his gaze turned ice-cold, and he violently shook my hand off. “Your eyes do look like Chloe’s, and they look like my late sister Seraphina’s. But not everyone with those eyes is allowed to call me Julian.” He pushed my hand away so hard that my wounds ripped. I shook violently from the pain, helplessly watching him lead Chloe out of the room without looking back. The massive room fell dead silent, leaving only me and Ethan. Ethan looked down at me as I writhed in pain, condescendingly reaching out to press the call button. “People move up, Mia. Don’t blame me for being heartless.” “But that baby in your womb… you really can’t keep it.” My heart stopped. I looked at Ethan in absolute disbelief. I thought he didn’t know I was pregnant. I thought that was why he let Chloe run me over. Ethan looked down, slowly adjusting his cuffs, avoiding my eyes. “I found the ultrasound report in your drawer weeks ago. You wanted to surprise me, didn’t you?” “If it weren’t for Chloe, maybe I would have been happy.” “But a man has to prioritize his career. Chloe can give me everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” “You and that unborn kid can’t give me anything!” It felt like my chest was being ripped open. A suffocating pain engulfed me. The sweet, loving boy from college—when did he become this monster? Or maybe he was always this selfish and cold. I was just too blind to see it. Vaguely, I heard a nurse’s furious voice. “The patient has broken ribs and is going through a miscarriage! Any movement causes agonizing pain! Are you her family? Do you even know how to look after her?” “I have nothing to do with her. I just saw the accident and brought her in out of pity. I’m leaving now.” My heart was sliced open again. Seven years of love, and to him, I was just a stranger he helped out of pity. Tears fell silently. He abandoned me and our child for Chloe to climb the social ladder, right? Fine. I’d wait for him to reach the top. And when he’s at his proudest, I will stand before him. I’ll show him that the one standing at the very top—the one who can crush him and Chloe like bugs—is the “orphan” they threw away and humiliated.

To avoid any more trouble from Chloe, I used the money she and Julian gave me to hire two private nurses. On the third night, I booked a private medical transport and had myself transferred to a top private hospital in Boston. It took six months for my body to fully recover. A week ago, I finally contacted my dad. Even though he was a feared mafia boss, reaching him wasn’t hard. He had a private number known only to the four of us in our family. When I was a kid, he made me memorize it. He knew he had too many enemies and feared we might get separated. He told me that as long as we were alive, we could always reach him through this number. Stepping out of the JFK airport back in New York, the warm sunlight hit my face. I finally felt alive again. My dad’s men were on their way to pick me up. I was no longer a helpless orphan. I was going to take back everything Chloe took from me, piece by piece, and become the one person in New York no one dared to touch. “Mia? Why are you back in New York?” A familiar, annoying voice broke my thoughts. It was Ethan. His face twisted with annoyance. “We are over. Can you stop stalking me?” Without warning, Ethan shoved me. “Get out of here before Chloe sees you. She’ll get jealous and start a fight.” “What is going on here?” A sharp female voice shrieked. It was Chloe. She marched over and shoved me hard, sending me sprawling to the ground. “You cheap whore, trying to steal my man again…” Chloe stopped mid-insult, squinting at my face. Then, she let out a loud sneer. “Oh, it’s you. You took my money and you dare to come back to New York to harass my boyfriend? Do you think I’m soft?” She raised her hand to slap me, but paused, looking at the crowd gathering around us. She immediately put on her elegant heiress mask. A wicked grin spread across her face. “Throw her into my van. I want to catch up with my old friend!” Her two burly bodyguards immediately stepped forward, grabbing my arms to drag me toward her black Mercedes van. But right before they could force me inside… A fleet of dozens of luxury black SUVs pulled up in a perfect, intimidating line right at the airport curb. Dozens of men in sharp black suits stepped out, marching straight toward us.

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At seven years old, I got lost in the city. That was when I met Vivian, who was starving on the streets. I lied to my mom, telling her I wanted a sister. Because of that lie, my mother adopted her. Eighteen years later, Vivian graduated from an Ivy League school, became the darling of high society, and had countless suitors. But she never dated. She always told everyone that love was a distraction for the weak. Until I accompanied her on a business trip, and our plane hit once-in-a-century severe turbulence. Thinking my life was ending, my hands shook as I dialed my fiancé, Julian Vance. I wanted to tell him that if I survived this, I wanted to marry him as soon as possible. I called him one hundred and thirty-two times. Not a single call went through. Just as I was about to record my final voicemail in despair, Vivian started sobbing hysterically from the row in front of me. “Julian, I regret it… I regret rejecting your confession back then just because I didn’t want to hurt Clara!” Julian’s voice came through her phone. It was filled with a panicked, desperate worry I had never heard before. “Don’t be scared, baby. The moment you land, we’re going public. Nobody is going to stop me from marrying you.” At that moment, my blood ran cold. The two people I loved most in the world had been screwing around behind my back all along.

The plane shook violently. Screams echoed through the cabin. Luggage tumbled from the overhead bins, mirroring the collapse of my entire world. I clutched my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. The screen still showed the call log of my unanswered dials. In the row ahead, Vivian’s loud crying gradually died down into soft whimpers. “But what about Clara? She’s my best friend…” Just then, the PA system crackled to life. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have successfully cleared the turbulence. We expect to land at JFK in twenty minutes.” The cabin erupted into cheers of relief. Some people hugged and cried. Others folded their hands in prayer, thanking God. Vivian instinctively turned around. The moment our eyes met, she panicked and tried to cover her phone screen. “Clara… how much of that did you hear?” I pressed my lips together. “Every single word.” Even without the speakerphone on, I could hear Julian’s frantic voice bleeding through the receiver. “Vivian? Don’t be scared! I’m already contacting emergency services—” I snatched the phone from her hand and spoke into it, my voice icy. “The plane is stable, Julian. Nobody is dying.” “But since you’re both so lively, tell me—when did this start?” The other end fell into a long, heavy silence. When he finally spoke, his first instinct was still to protect Vivian. “I fell for Vivian first. If you want to blame someone, blame me.” “The wedding in three months is off. I’ll pay whatever compensation you want.” Yet just yesterday, when I excitedly told him I was coming to see him, Julian had counted the days on his fingers. He had whined like a lost puppy, saying he hadn’t seen me in a month and three days. Suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind. During our last FaceTime call, Vivian had been sitting on the edge of my bed, drying her hair. Julian’s gaze had seemed so intense, but it had never actually focused on my face. At the time, I thought he was just busy with work while talking to me. But now I realized that deep, passionate look staring through the screen was actually focused on the blurry silhouette behind me. Vivian snapped out of her shock and stumbled over, throwing herself at me. “Clara, please don’t misunderstand!” “I was just so terrified… my hands were shaking and I dialed the wrong number!” “Julian and I… there’s nothing between us!” Julian must have heard the commotion over the line. His voice raised defensively. “Clara Miller! Don’t you dare take this out on Vivian. This was all my doing.” “If you want to scream, scream at me. Don’t hurt her!” I hadn’t even raised my voice, yet Julian was already convinced I was going to abuse Vivian. With a cold laugh, I shoved the phone back into her hands. I went back to my seat, pulled the blanket over my head, and let my tears fall in the dark. The year my mom adopted Vivian, she held me and cried, saying she finally had a real family. A year ago, when Julian and I got engaged, his eyes had welled up as he swore I was the only woman he would ever marry. But three people in a relationship is just too crowded. The two people who only met because of me had now locked me out of my own life.

Twenty minutes later, the plane taxied smoothly onto the runway. As we slowed down, Vivian poked my shoulder through the blanket. “Clara, are you still mad at me?” “Take the blanket off, you’re going to suffocate.” Her voice was soft, carrying her usual submissive, apologetic tone. I didn’t answer. The moment the seatbelt sign dinged, I grabbed my carry-on and was the first to walk out of the cabin. Through the massive glass windows of the airport, I spotted Julian standing by the arrivals gate immediately. Usually the picture of aristocratic composure, he was now anxiously pacing, checking his watch every five seconds. As if sensing my gaze, he looked up. When his eyes met mine, a flash of disappointment crossed his face. It was quick, but I caught it. Then, he saw Vivian walking out behind me. In an instant, his anxiety melted into pure, unadulterated tenderness. “Vivian!” Julian pushed right past me, rushing to wrap a sobbing Vivian into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? You must have been so scared!” I had just survived the same near-death experience. Yet Julian didn’t even spare me a glance. “Julian Vance,” I called out, my voice flat. Julian stiffened, finally remembering I existed. “I admit I did you wrong, Clara. But now that it’s out in the open, I’m not marrying you.” “Besides, when our families arranged this merger alliance, they never specified it had to be you.” “Vivian is also a daughter of the Miller family. Swapping brides won’t affect the business deal.” Swapping brides? So he and Vivian could live happily ever after in the light. And what about me? Was I just supposed to quietly accept being betrayed by both my fiancé and my sister? Was I supposed to become the laughingstock of New York high society? A fire raged in my chest, burning my throat. I raised my hand and slapped Julian across the face, hard. He froze, utterly shocked that I had dared to lay a hand on him. Vivian shrieked, instantly dropping to her knees in front of me. “Clara, hit me instead!” “It’s all my fault! I’m the shameless one. I fell for someone I shouldn’t have!” Julian quickly hauled Vivian up from the floor, shielding her behind his back. “Clara Miller! Have you lost your mind?” “Do you have any idea that six months ago, Vivian aborted our baby just to spare your feelings?!” I froze. A loud ringing filled my ears. Six months ago, Vivian had come to me crying, saying she was pregnant. I asked her who the father was. She said they had no future and that she wanted to get rid of it. I had cried tears of sympathy for her. I scolded her for not using protection while simultaneously booking her the best private OB-GYN in the city. To protect her reputation, I had signed the abortion paperwork under my own name. After the surgery, I was the one who stayed by her bedside, nursing her back to health for a solid month. I even went to church every Sunday for a month to light candles for her unborn child. And now, Julian was telling me that the baby was his. I had literally nursed my fiancé’s mistress back to health after her abortion, and prayed for their dead bastard. My hand flew up again. But Julian grabbed my wrist, throwing me to the side with utter disgust. “I took the first slap because I owed you that.” “But do you know how much I wished you would just find out about us sooner?” “I would rather you hit me and curse at me than force Vivian to keep living as my secret lover in the shadows!” My elbow slammed violently into the hard marble floor. The skin scraped open, and blood began to seep out. But that pain was nothing compared to the feeling of my heart being ripped to shreds. I should have seen the signs. Whenever Julian came to visit me, he always “accidentally” went to Vivian’s room first. Whenever our dates became outings for three, they would talk about things I didn’t understand. Whenever he bought me a gift, he always brought a duplicate for Vivian… But I had been blinded by trust. I had mistaken Julian’s kindness to Vivian as him loving me enough to love my family.

I didn’t go to the hotel we had booked. Instead, I sat in the airport lounge and booked the earliest flight back home. My phone vibrated. It was my dad. “Clara, did you meet up with Julian?” I choked back a sob. “I’m calling off the wedding.” My dad asked cautiously, “Did you two have a fight?” I wiped my nose. “He’s cheating on me. With Vivian.” The line went dead silent for so long I thought the call had dropped. “Clara, don’t take it too hard,” When my dad’s voice returned, he sounded almost… relieved. “You can’t force these things.” “You know how Vivian is. She’s had a hard life since she was a kid, and she’s always had a strong personality.” “If they fell for each other, it just means they were meant to be.” I froze. My fingers tightened around the phone. “Dad, what are you talking about?” I shook with rage, my voice turning sharp. “Meant to be? Vivian seduced my fiancé! That’s called being a shameless home-wrecker!” My dad’s tone turned accusatory, as if I were the one in the wrong. “Clara, don’t be so selfish. Since they love each other, why can’t you just bless them and step aside?” My temples throbbed violently. I couldn’t believe these words were coming from the father who had spoiled me my entire life. “She stole my fiancé, and I’m the selfish one for not giving him to her?” “Dad! I’m your biological daughter! Vivian is just an outsider we adopted!” My dad sighed, his voice dripping with forced helplessness. “Silly girl. How could Vivian be an outsider?” “She’s your older half-sister.” The noisy chatter of the airport seemed to fade into absolute silence. But my dad kept twisting the knife. “Vivian’s mother was my first love. After we broke up, she kept the pregnancy a secret and raised Vivian alone.” “The year you ‘accidentally’ got lost at seven years old? I planned that. I needed you to find Vivian and beg your mother to adopt her.” “She suffered so much in her childhood. Just let her have this one.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. So that was it. No wonder Vivian was my dad’s favorite the moment she stepped into our house. No wonder every time we argued, I was always the one who got scolded. No wonder after my mom passed away, my dad treated Vivian like she was his entire world. “Clara? Are you listening? Just let this go. Don’t make a scene and make our family look bad.” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth before finding my voice. “You and Vivian… you really are father and daughter.” “One is a cheating bastard, and the other is a husband-stealing whore!” I slammed the phone down and canceled my flight home. While waiting for an Uber, my phone chimed with an Instagram notification. Vivian had just posted. It was a photo of a man cutting a steak for her. The caption read: [It feels so good to finally love each other out in the open.] The likes below the photo included my dad, Julian, and all of our mutual friends from our social circle. They were all leaving comments, wishing the “happy couple” the best. So, everyone knew about their affair. Only I, the stupid fool, had been celebrating my “perfect” life of friendship and love. I turned off my phone, completely unable to sleep. The moment I closed my eyes, memories of Julian’s “love” filled my head. Last month, when I had a fever, he ran out in the pouring rain at midnight to buy me stomach medicine. He had come back soaked to the skin, but the medicine was kept dry in his jacket. But as I replayed the scene in my mind, I remembered the bag didn’t just have stomach medicine. It was mostly filled with Ibuprofen for menstrual cramps. Vivian had laughed when she saw it. “Clara, Julian is so sweet. He bought every medicine you could possibly need.” Back then, my heart had melted, and I had handed the Ibuprofen to her. “Here, you can use these too!” Vivian had taken them and fallen silent. I thought she was just jealous of my attentive boyfriend, so I told her that when she found a boyfriend, he would treat her like a princess too. Vivian had just stroked my hair with a bitter smile. “Clara, even if I love someone, we can never be together in this lifetime.” I asked her why. She just clutched the box of Ibuprofen and refused to answer. I didn’t get it then. I just thought she was being dramatic. But now I understood. The man Vivian loved was Julian. And the “casual hookups” she always talked about had only ever been one person.

A wave of intense nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom, but I could only dry heave. My phone buzzed again. It was a Snapchat from Vivian. It was a photo of her and Julian’s fingers intertwined. During our five years together, Julian had always refused to hold my hand or kiss me. Whenever I tried to initiate intimacy, he would gently push me away, saying he wanted to respect me and save it for marriage. But in reality, he was saving all his intimacy for Vivian. Then came a voice message, her tone dripping with smugness. “Oh, Clara, I’m so sorry! I meant to send that to someone else. My hand slipped.” “It’s been over a minute, so Snapchat won’t let me unsend it. Sorry!” I recorded a sixty-second voice reply. Using every vile curse word I knew, I wished those two disgusting pigs a painful death. Less than a minute after I sent it, a loud, angry pounding shook my door. I opened it to find Julian, his face dark with fury. “Do you have any idea how hurtful your words are?!” “Vivian only has you as a friend. Can’t you be a little kinder to her?!” Hearing his self-righteous accusations, I lost all my sanity. “Did I lie? Her mother was a home-wrecking mistress, so of course her daughter is—” Before I could finish, Julian’s palm crashed against my face. “Clara Miller! Shut up!” “Vivian’s mother met your dad first! Vivian was born before you!” “If we’re talking about who came first, your mother was the mistress, and you are the bastard!” The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but it paled in comparison to the agony in my chest. I held my burning cheek, staring in absolute disbelief at the man I had loved for seven years. Julian took a step closer, his eyes cold and mocking. “So, what are you crying about? Go apologize to Vivian right now!” I bit my tongue, my voice hoarse. “You want me to apologize to the woman who stole my fiancé and sent me photos to mock me?” “Go to hell, Julian. In your dreams!” Julian let out a cold sneer. “Don’t regret this.” By midnight, a massive scandal erupted on social media. Rumors flew that I had a wild sex life and had secretly undergone an abortion six months ago. The medical records I had signed to protect Vivian became the “indisputable proof” of my loose morals. The entire internet was screaming abuse at me. Before I could even draft a response, my door was kicked open by men in dark suits. My dad stormed in, grabbed my phone, saw my draft statement, and smashed it to pieces. “Julian was right. You won’t behave.” “Since you want to ruin our family’s reputation, you can spend some time reflecting on your actions!” I fought back frantically, my fingernails scratching deep marks into the floorboards, but I was no match for the professional bodyguards. In the end, they dragged me back to our estate in the Hamptons and locked me in a room. Fearing I would do something drastic, my dad forced me to swallow pills that left my limbs weak and useless. I stared at the framed portrait of my late mother, tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so useless.” On the eighth day of my confinement, Vivian walked in, holding a designer bridesmaid dress. “Clara, we promised each other when we were kids. Whoever got married first, the other would be the maid of honor.” “So, you’ll do this for me, right?” My instinct was to scream at her. But looking at my dad and Julian standing right behind her, I forced a fake smile. “Of course. I wish you both the best.” The wedding venue was lavish, drowning in the scent of fresh roses. It was exactly the grand wedding I had always dreamed of. My dad stood at the altar, smiling from ear to ear. He leaned in and whispered to me, “Clara, make sure you give your sister a beautiful toast later. Let’s put this whole drama behind us.” I nodded submissively. “I will. I actually prepared a very special wedding gift for her.” My dad waved his hand, dismissing me to go get it. Taking advantage of the distraction, I slipped away and climbed up to the high balcony overlooking the outdoor venue. After being betrayed by love, friendship, and family, I didn’t want to live anymore. But if I was going down, I was going to leave them a gift they would never forget. Below me, the officiant’s voice boomed through the speakers: “You may now kiss the bride.” At that exact, spotlighted moment, I whispered into the empty air. “Mom, I’m coming to see you.” I closed my eyes and jumped. Amidst the collective, blood-curdling screams of the guests, I crashed violently onto the center of the stage.

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My name is Haley Sterling. When I was seven years old, Julian Sterling brought me home from the orphanage. He saved me. He gave me a home. But when I fell hopelessly in love with him and kissed him, he coldly turned his head away. “Haley, you disgust me.” After waking up from a car crash, I lost my memories. Everyone let out a sigh of relief. But in the dead of night, Julian broke into my room. He bit my earlobe and whispered, “Haley, you’re just sick. That’s why you forgot about us.” I pushed him away. “Julian, I’m cured. Even my sickness of loving you is gone.” It hurt. My head throbbed so badly… Just before I opened my eyes and fully regained consciousness, I heard a polite, gentle voice. “Mr. Sterling, your daughter has minor head trauma. We can’t rule out the possibility of amnesia.” I froze. Amnesia? Images flashed through my mind. My parents’ disappointed eyes, a man’s cold indifference. And in the mirror, my own twisted, frantic face, filled with resentment and hatred. Then let it be amnesia. Forget everything, just like everyone wanted. I opened my eyes. A second later, several anxious figures rushed to my bedside. My mom held my hand, her eyes rimmed with red, her face full of worry. “Haley, how are you feeling? Does anything hurt?” I stared at her, my eyes blank and confused. “Who are you?” Shock flashed across her face. She frowned, panicked. “Haley, it’s me. I’m your mother.” I repeated the word softly. “Mother?” Then I shook my head, looking at her helplessly. “Mom, my head hurts so much. I’ve forgotten so many things. I can’t remember anything.” I leaned my cheek against her hand, rubbing against it like a stray kitten. “It’s okay, sweetheart. If you can’t remember, don’t force it. Mom is right here,” she soothed. I nodded obediently, then turned my gaze to scan the other people in the room. Looking at the man standing beside her, his powerful aura intact but his face softened with pity, I whispered, “Dad?” He wasn’t used to showing affection, but he still gave me a gentle nod. Suppressing the sting in my nose, I looked at the last man. His face was an icy mask, his brow slightly furrowed. His dark eyes were like a black hole, ready to swallow any emotion. “And you are?” The hospital room fell dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. Everyone’s expressions shifted, thick with tension. “It’s… it’s Julian, Haley,” my mom spoke up, breaking the suffocating silence. I let out a relaxed smile and called out obediently, “Julian.” My parents looked shocked. Tears of relief actually welled in my mother’s eyes. For some reason, I thought I saw a flash of emptiness on his cold face. My eyes, however, were completely calm. A peaceful surrender. Julian, in this life, I will be exactly what you want. I will be your sister. A sister who will never, ever cross the line.

My mom whispered a few more soothing words, but her eyes kept darting toward the door. Finally, she spoke softly. “Haley, Seraphina is outside. Do you want to see her?” I froze. My head started throbbing again, like someone was slicing it with a dull knife. In my mind, the screeching of tires and the violent crash echoed. All I could see was a blinding flash of red. But I still forced a sweet, obedient smile. “If you want me to see her, Mom, I will.” A relieved smile appeared on my mom’s face. Seraphina Vance walked in. She stopped at the foot of my bed, clutching her designer bag tightly, her face stained with tears. She started crying the moment she opened her mouth. “Haley, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you with my car, I swear! Please don’t hate me, and please don’t come between Julian and me. I love him so much. I’ll get down on my knees and beg you if I have to!” My heart felt ice-cold, but my face remained blank and innocent. She made a show of lowering herself to the ground, but her eyes kept darting to me. Her half-bent knees froze, making her look incredibly foolish. Eventually, Julian grabbed her hand and pulled her back up. Seraphina leaned into his chest, sobbing softly. His arm wrapped around her waist, but his sharp, piercing eyes were locked onto me. “You can’t entirely blame Seraphina for this. Haley ran out out of nowhere. Seraphina didn’t have time to brake.” Was that really what happened? When I ran into the street, your car was moving slowly. We were at least twenty feet apart. Through the windshield, I saw Seraphina’s face clearly. She was smiling. A cruel, triumphant smile. And what about you, Julian, sitting in the passenger seat? You looked at me with nothing but coldness and disgust. What were you thinking back then? Were you thinking that I would get out of the way out of fear? Or did you want this disgusting sister—the one who dared to love you and tried to stop your engagement—to just die? If Julian hadn’t grabbed the steering wheel at the last second and slammed on the brakes, I really would have died under those tires. I averted my eyes first, looking at the weeping, delicate Seraphina in his arms. “Seraphina, even though I’ve forgotten some things, Julian is right. I must have been at fault too. Why would I want to break you two up? We’re going to be family soon anyway.” Seraphina was so shocked she stopped crying. Pure joy flashed in her eyes. Julian still stood like a statue by my bed. He was tall, his expression dark. When those cold eyes looked down at me, it was like he was looking at something worthless. And he was right. My life was cheap. It was only because of the scraps of charity Julian had thrown my way that I became the heiress of the Sterling family. How could someone as lowly as me ever dare to crave someone so far out of reach?

Before I became the pampered Haley Sterling, I was just an orphan girl in a run-down shelter in this city. On the day the Sterling family came to adopt, the director gathered all the girls in the courtyard, lined up like products for inspection. I was small and malnourished. I was easily pushed into the very back by the bigger, healthier kids. Every child there knew that being chosen meant escaping hunger and cold. It meant a ticket to heaven. Gradually, I found it hard to breathe. Survival instinct kicked in, and I started waving my arms frantically, trying to be seen. After what felt like forever, the suffocating crowd suddenly parted. I opened my eyes, and Julian was standing right in front of me. I remember that day clearly. The old oak tree in the courtyard had just sprouted its first green leaves of spring. A gentle breeze swept across my face, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh grass. The young boy looked down at me, placing a pale, slender hand on my head. “Her. I’ll take her.” Those simple words, like a divine decree, changed my life forever. I went from an ugly duckling stuck in the mud to the high-society daughter of the Sterling family. Only later did I find out why Julian chose me. The Sterlings’ biological daughter, Angelica, had drowned. Before she went under, she had waved her arms helplessly, just like I did. My adoptive parents were always busy, and Julian didn’t really have any feelings for me. I was basically raised by the nannies. But while the nannies could provide gourmet meals and a warm, luxurious bed, they couldn’t stop the bullying at school. Back then, my classmates called me a charity case, a parasite, and a thief who stole someone else’s life. I kept my head down and let them drag me through the dirt. I knew protesting was useless; no one would stand up for me. Until the day Julian was sent by our mother to attend my parent-teacher conference. He saw them throwing trash and broken pencils at my head. He heard the vulgar insults they hurled at me. Only then was I rescued from that never-ending nightmare. The kids who bullied me were forced to kneel in a row, apologizing to me. They cried, slapping their own faces. But I knew they weren’t kneeling to me. They were kneeling to the terrifying, cold-faced teenager standing beside me. Julian had saved my life once again. When did I start developing those forbidden feelings? Was it when he shielded me from the bullies, holding my shoulders? Was it when his hand covered mine, teaching me my first piano piece? Or was it during my first extravagant birthday party, when he looked at me with such tenderness amid the crowded room? I wasn’t greedy or shameless. I never intended to expose this dirty, secret crush. If only that accidental, intoxicating kiss had never happened. That day, I thought I saw a glimmer of hope. Like a drowning person, I reached out, thinking he would save me again. But instead, I got his freezing words: “Haley, you’re sick. You disgust me.” Julian, you saved me, only to drag me down to hell with your own hands. You made me, and you destroyed me.

Except for my fake amnesia, my physical injuries weren’t severe. At my request, my mom handled the discharge papers and took me home. Up until the day I left the hospital, I never saw Julian again. It was an unspoken agreement. No one mentioned him in front of me. My forgetting him was a blessing the entire Sterling family was incredibly grateful for. After all, the elite Sterling family couldn’t afford a scandal about a twisted girl who fell in love with her own brother. On the day I got home, my mom and the chef prepared a massive feast. Julian showed up too. At the dinner table, Julian was a carbon copy of our stern, silent father. He kept his head down, acting mature and composed, not saying a single unnecessary word. Only my mom kept talking, trying to make me feel comfortable. But every time my eyes accidentally drifted toward Julian, she would tense up. I suppose the trauma of her adopted daughter falling in love with her biological son had left a deep scar. I felt a pang of guilt, which only solidified my decision. “Mom, Dad, I want to go to grad school in London.” The moment those words left my mouth, all clinking of silverware stopped. In my peripheral vision, I felt Julian’s pitch-black eyes locking onto me. My body stiffened, but I didn’t look at him. My mom put down her fork, looking puzzled. “Why the sudden decision to study abroad?” “I just want to further my education.” Honestly, when I graduated high school, my parents wanted to send me abroad. But back then, I only wanted to stay by Julian’s side. “Well, if that’s what you want, I…” Before my mom could finish, a deep voice cut her off. “No.” Everyone looked at Julian. His face was expressionless, but his throat bobbed with difficulty. “Mom, Haley just got out of the hospital. She hasn’t fully recovered, and her memory is still hazy. Are you really comfortable sending her across the world right now?” My mom nodded, turning to persuade me. I offered a reassuring smile. “I’m not leaving tomorrow. It’s only July. I wouldn’t leave until September at the earliest. Mom, please let me go.” My mom had always spoiled me. But that affection was never pure. Every time she looked at me, I felt like she was looking at someone else through me. Probably her poor, deceased child. She hesitated, glancing at Julian, but eventually, she sighed. “Alright, sweetheart.” She told me to pick a university soon so she could make the arrangements. “Are you really that desperate to leave?” Julian spoke, his eyes dark and unreadable. Julian, you wanted to get rid of me so badly. Now that I’m leaving, shouldn’t you be thrilled? I smiled. “Don’t worry, Julian. I’ll make sure to fly back for your wedding.” He froze. His grip on his fork tightened until his knuckles turned white. A flash of pure fury crossed his eyes before vanishing. “Do whatever you want.”

“Haley, did you really lose your memory?” In my bedroom, my best friend, Chloe Montgomery, was circling me, inspecting my head with deep concern. I blinked innocently. “Really.” She looked skeptical, tapping my forehead. “Then do you remember me?” I smiled. “Of course. You’re Chloe.” She looked even more confused. “Then what did you forget?” My smile faded. “Just some meaningless things. Things that only brought me pain.” She went quiet, understanding the unspoken implication. After a long pause, she asked cautiously, “So, are you going to Julian’s birthday party the day after tomorrow?” Julian’s birthday. In the past, I cared about his birthday more than he did. I would make his gifts by hand, never repeating a concept. I would design every detail of his party. He never cared, but I minded every little thing. I always felt Julian’s birthday held a sacred meaning for me. Because of him, my life had been saved. But this year, I had almost forgotten it. I guess no pain is too deep to be erased after a clean slate. Humans are wired to avoid pain, after all. “What are you planning to get him this year?” I thought about it. “I’ll just buy a watch from your family’s brand.” Chloe stunned, clearly not expecting this. For his birthday last year, I had literally flown to France to learn his favorite French recipes, and I even hand-designed a custom watch strap, hiring a master craftsman to make it. The contrast in effort was staggering. “What? Don’t want my money?” I teased. Chloe snapped out of it and laughed. “Are you kidding? I’d love nothing more than for a Sterling heiress to boost my family’s sales.” Julian, I hope you like this year’s gift. The birthday party was just a glorified networking event for the city’s elite youth. Julian was surrounded by a crowd, wearing his trademark polite but distant smile. He held his champagne glass high, looking like an undefeated general. He was always so powerful, so invincible. He navigated the room with effortless grace. The flashing lights were giving me a headache, so I put down my glass and slipped away toward the second-floor balcony for some fresh air. “Seraphina, I heard Julian’s adopted sister is a real piece of work. You won’t let her bully you once you marry into the family, right?” Behind the heavy green velvet curtains, I froze. “I heard about her too. Apparently, she’s obsessed with Julian. Is that true? He’s literally her brother. That’s so disgusting.” “She’s adopted, though. They aren’t blood-related.” “Still gross. Crushing on her own brother? She’s a freak.” Then came a malicious laugh. “She’s just a street rat playing dress-up. She actually thinks she’s a real Sterling. Imagine trying to seduce Julian. She should look in the mirror and see if she’s even worthy.” It was Seraphina’s mocking voice. “Shh, keep it down. If someone hears us… no matter what, she’s still a Sterling. We can’t afford to mess with them.” “What heiress? The Sterlings don’t care about her. I literally hit her with my car, and they didn’t do anything to me. Julian even defended me. That proves she has zero status in that house.” Even through the thick curtains, I could picture the smug sneer on Seraphina’s face. After a brief silence, a timid voice asked, “Wait… you mean you hit Haley on purpose?” “I only regret not hitting her harder. A freak like her who lusts after her own brother…” Before she could finish, I ripped the curtains open. I grabbed Seraphina by her hair and slammed her face straight into the brick wall. Thud. Her forehead split open, and blood began to trickle down her face. The balcony erupted into high-pitched screams. Someone tried to drag me off her, but I violently shook them off. I leaned down, whispering right into Seraphina’s ear, “Not hard enough, you say? Want to see if I have the guts to throw you off this balcony?”

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My mom had been blind for three years. My father, who supposedly loved our family more than life itself, brought his abused ex-lover, Scarlett, and her daughter, Violet, into our home. The moment they walked through the door, Scarlett’s toy poodle went wild and lunged at my mom. Scout, my mom’s guide dog, let out a fierce bark and scared the poodle back. Scarlett clutched her trembling poodle, her eyes welling up with tears. And my dad, pointing at the very guide dog he had personally trained, roared: “You filthy beast! Bark again and I’ll pull every single one of your teeth out!” I rushed home the moment I saw the security feed on my phone. By the time I arrived, Scout was lying on the floor, his mouth drenched in blood. His shattered teeth were scattered all over the ground. My dad looked at my mom and said: “Scarlett has suffered so much over the years. Now that I’m successful, I won’t let her and Violet suffer another second of misery!” When he spoke of Scarlett, his eyes were filled with an unshakeable tenderness. But he didn’t know that the “success” he was so proud of was entirely built on my back.

I pushed open the front door and saw Scout tied up on the scorching, sun-drenched balcony. A few bloody teeth lay on the concrete. Blood was gushing from the empty sockets in Scout’s mouth. My mom was holding Scout helplessly, her palms covered in raw scrapes. My heart instantly tightened into a knot. “Mom, what happened?” “Georgina, please help Scout. He got into a fight with Scarlett’s dog, and your dad…” I looked at the bloody pliers lying on the floor, and everything clicked. I stared dead at my dad. A flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes. A guide dog is incredibly hard to train. My dad had spent over two years personally training Scout just to protect my mom. Scarlett noticed his momentary guilt. She set down her coffee cup, slowly stood up from the lounger, and carried herself with the smug air of the new lady of the house. “Back where I come from, a dog this poorly behaved would have been put down. Pulling a few teeth is getting off easy.” Violet stroked her poodle’s head, chiming in: “Exactly. My mom cherishes this poodle your dad gave her. She can’t bear to see it get hurt at all.” I glared at them. “No one asked for your opinion.” Scarlett bit her lower lip, grabbed her suitcase, and made a show of leaving. “Christian, I told you your family wouldn’t welcome me. Why did I even bother coming here!” “Violet, pack your things. We’re leaving.” The guilt in my dad’s eyes vanished instantly. He rushed forward, snatched her suitcase, and pointed at the bruises on her arm, his voice thick with heartache: “Wyatt treated you like garbage, and you want to go back there to suffer?” “As long as I am breathing, I will never let you or Violet suffer again!” I let out a cold laugh, looking at this “saint” of a father. “Dad, Scout is Mom’s eyes. He is family.” “Did you forget? You were the one who said that.” He looked at me with a stern, cold face. “From now on, Scarlett and Violet are also our family!” “And as the man of this house, let me tell you this: I don’t care how spoiled you and your mother were before. From now on, you will respect them.” The midday sun was brutal. Scout’s mouth was still bleeding, and my mom’s clothes were soaked in sweat from the heat. I quickly untied Scout, preparing to rush him to the veterinary hospital. “Uncle Christian, what are these clothes?” Violet walked out of my room, holding a few of my lace designer dresses. Those were custom pieces gifted to me by a student I sponsored, who had won a prestigious fashion competition in Paris. Scarlett tutted, turning to my mom. “Betty, I don’t mean to criticize, but even if you’re blind, you can feel how expensive this fabric is.” “Georgina is a young girl. Wearing clothes like this…” “If word gets out, it just shows how much you’ve failed as a mother.” “Christian is a respected CEO now. She’s completely ruining his reputation.” With that, she handed a pair of scissors to my dad. He hesitated for a second, but took them anyway. He threw both the scissors and the dresses right in front of my mom. “Cut them up. Otherwise, neither of you is leaving this house today.” My mom’s hands trembled as she clutched her shirt, trying to explain for me: “Christian, it’s not what you think. These were a gift from a student Georgina helped…” “I don’t care what they are! You live under my roof and eat my food. Do I not even have a say in this house anymore?” My mom looked lost and helpless. Scout lay on the ground, whimpering in pain. Without another word, I picked up the scissors.

With a heavy heart, I shredded my student’s hard work into pieces and threw them at my dad’s feet. “Are you satisfied now?” My mom and I rushed Scout to the vet. After some treatment, the bleeding finally stopped. Though his life wasn’t in danger, Scout lay at our feet, his ears drooping sadly. Guide dogs are highly intelligent. They have dignity, and they feel emotional trauma too. My mom sighed softly. “Your dad is a good man. But whenever Scarlett is involved, he completely loses his mind.” From what I knew, Scarlett and my dad were childhood sweethearts. But Scarlett’s father, greedy for money, forced her to marry a wealthy man’s son. Back then, my dad was dirt poor. Heartbroken, he left his hometown to build a life from scratch. Now that he was a successful businessman and Scarlett was being abused by her alcoholic husband, Wyatt, my dad saw this as his golden opportunity to play the savior. When we got back home, I found Violet sitting at my laptop. She was downloading games while deleting my raw thesis files. That was three months of hard work and experimental data. I hadn’t even backed it up yet. I snatched the laptop away, my voice rising in anger. “That’s my thesis data! Don’t touch it!” Violet whimpered like a victim. “I’m sorry… I’ve never had a computer at home. I was just curious. I didn’t mean to…” Hearing the noise, my dad walked into the study and saw Violet tearing up. “Georgina, I was the one who let Violet use the computer.” “Violet’s father treated her terribly growing up. Who do you think you are, flexing your attitude on her?” Violet started crying even harder. My dad’s anger flared. He snatched my laptop and threw it straight into the fish tank. The screen went black instantly as water flooded the keyboard. One hundred days of grueling, sleepless work—gone in a flash. Even the three goldfish in the tank were struck by the heavy laptop and sank lifelessly to the bottom. Those goldfish were my mom’s prized possessions before she lost her sight. For three years, my dad had meticulously cared for them, feeding them and changing their water right on schedule. Now, he stared coldly at the dead fish, his tone filled with utter impatience. “Your mother is blind, but are you blind too? Didn’t you see how happy Violet was?” I helped my mom back to her room, feeling strangely grateful she couldn’t see the ugly, venomous sneer on my dad’s face. After pulling the ruined laptop out of the fish tank, I looked at him and asked, “Do you even remember why Mom went blind in the first place?” Three years ago was the most critical year of Christian’s career. On a night with torrential rain, my mom went out to deliver a crucial folder he had forgotten. A truck carrying steel rebar skidded on the wet road and plowed into her while she was waiting at a red light. The rebar pierced directly through her eyes. When the doctor declared her permanently blind, my dad knelt by her hospital bed and wept all night. He kept sobbing, “God, why couldn’t it have been me? Betty, I’m so sorry…” He promised her: “Betty, from now on, Georgina and I will be your eyes.” “As long as I have you and Georgina, I have everything I need.” Christian’s face went pale. His eyes drifted to the dead goldfish. He frowned and muttered, “I’ll just buy some new ones.” “Ah!” Suddenly, a sharp scream came from the guest room, followed by the rich aroma of chicken soup. We ran in to find Scarlett sprawled on the floor by my mom’s bed, hot soup spilled everywhere. She clutched her leg, her voice dripping with artificial sincerity. “Betty, if you didn’t want the soup, I could have made you something else. But how could you push me like that…” My dad rushed over, grabbing the medical kit to bandage Scarlett. Her leg was slightly pink, but upon closer inspection, there wasn’t a single blister. Scout barked twice, trying to draw my dad’s attention to my mom’s foot. He was pacing around anxiously, and his tail accidentally brushed against Scarlett. She immediately shrank into my dad’s arms, shrieking, “Christian, it’s going to bite me!” “Wyatt used to set his dogs on me like this… I’m terrified!” My dad kicked Scout hard in the ribs. The poor dog collapsed, struggling several times before he could stand back up. I couldn’t take it anymore. I violently yanked up my mom’s pant leg. “Scarlett, look at my mom’s foot! It’s covered in severe burns! Stop putting on a goddamn show!” Scarlett froze, then began to sob dramatically in my dad’s arms. “Christian, I didn’t mean to… I swear…” My dad flew into a rage and slapped me hard across the face. “Is this how I raised you? How dare you speak to Scarlett with such disrespect!” My mom started crying in panic. Being blind, she was completely helpless. She frantically reached out, grabbing my dad’s hand, taking all the blame: “Christian, it was my fault! I accidentally spilled the soup! It’s all on me!” “Don’t blame Georgina! Please don’t hit her…” When I was a kid, my mom fell off her bicycle while carrying me. We both scraped our limbs—I hurt my knee, and she hurt her elbow. Back then, my dad tenderly disinfected our wounds, looking a hundred times more pained than we were. Now, feeling the burning sting on my cheek and the ringing in my ears, I finally saw reality for what it was. I calmly looked at my mom and said: “Mom, don’t apologize.” “We don’t need him. We can live perfectly fine on our own.” Suddenly, a strong burning smell filled the air, and the deafening screech of the building’s fire alarm began to wail. Someone screamed in the hallway: “Fire! Run!”

Amidst the frantic wailing of the fire alarm, Scarlett clung to my dad, whimpering: “Christian, I’m so scared. We just found each other again… I don’t want to die…” My dad was deeply moved. “Scarlett, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He hoisted Scarlett onto his back and started rushing out, not forgetting to grab Violet and her toy poodle. We lived on the tenth floor. My mom was blind, and her foot was covered in agonizing blisters from the boiling soup. There was no way I could get her down ten flights of stairs by myself. “Dad!” In that moment of sheer terror, a tiny sliver of hope still lingered in my heart. Christian glanced back at me, his guilty eyes saying everything. Desperate, I yelled again, “Dad! What about us?” “Georgina, the fire is spreading fast. I have to get Scarlett and Violet down first!” With that, he turned around and fled without looking back. My mom stared blankly in the direction he had gone, her tears flowing endlessly. I had no time to cry. I grabbed Scout’s leash and put my mom’s arm over my shoulder. The stairwell was thick with choking smoke. People were pushing past us in a panic. From the tenth floor down to the eighth, my mom tripped and fell three times. By the fourth time she fell, I decided to carry her on my back. She refused vehemently. “Georgina, listen to me. You are young. You have so much ahead of you.” “You can’t escape if you’re carrying me. You surviving is my only wish…” My voice was steel. “Mom, we leave together. If you won’t go, Scout and I will die right here with you.” Scout seemed to understand. He let out two sharp, encouraging barks and nudged my mom with his snout. After a moment of hesitation, she finally relented. I hoisted her onto my back, realizing she was far lighter than I had ever imagined. Thick smoke swirled around us. Everyone else had already sprinted past. By the time we stumbled down to the second floor, our path was blocked. The ceiling had collapsed, sealing the exit door with heavy debris. I leaned out of a small hallway window and screamed, “Help! Somebody help us!” Through the window, I could see Christian sitting safely on the lawn below, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind Scarlett’s ear. The temperature in the stairwell skyrocketed. The black smoke grew suffocating. My mom coughed violently, and my eyes burned so badly I could barely keep them open. She slipped off my back again. Suddenly, Scout ripped his leash out of my hand. He threw his body repeatedly against the blocked exit door. Once, twice, three times… Just before my mom and I lost consciousness, the door gave way under Scout’s relentless weight. We stumbled out into the fresh, cool air. On the grass, Christian was busy feeding Scarlett water while carefully applying ointment to a tiny blister on Violet’s finger. He was so absorbed in his touching reunion with his first love that he had completely forgotten his wife and daughter were trapped in a burning building. I stared at the “happy little family.” Then, I pulled out my phone and sent a text. [Spread the word. Cancel all of Christian’s business privileges and patents.] In the midst of surviving the ordeal, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this Betty’s family? A matching cornea donor has just passed away.” “Time is of the essence. Please bring Betty to the hospital immediately for surgery.”

I had never believed in miracles, but in that moment, I wept with gratitude. I grabbed my mom’s hand. “Mom, we got a cornea! You’re going to see again!” Scout wagged his tail furiously, as if he understood every word. But I had underestimated the chaos of the fire. Half the city’s traffic was paralyzed. No cars could get in or out of our block. After begging a firefighter, I finally secured two seats in an emergency vehicle. Before we could get in, Christian blocked us. “Georgina, let Violet and Scarlett take those seats. They’re hurt.” I looked at the mother-daughter duo. Their cheeks were flushed and healthy. The only “injury” they had was a tiny blister on Violet’s pinky. I refused flatly. “Absolutely not. My mom needs to get to the hospital right now for a cornea transplant!” He threw a dismissive, cynical glance at my mom. “Are you still this naive? Last time you rushed to the hospital, the donor’s family backed out at the last second.” “People aren’t that selfless. Stop dreaming.” I stood firmly in front of my mom. “This time is different.” “It’s no different! The smoke is bad here. Let Scarlett and Violet go first!” The paramedic intervened. “There are only two seats left. Whoever needs emergency surgery goes first.” “Wait!” Christian pulled out his phone and showed the paramedic a digital copy of my therapy records. A while ago, I had struggled with insomnia because I was so stressed about my mom’s blindness. Christian had set up an appointment with a therapist, telling me I just needed to vent to a professional. “This is my daughter. She’s a pathological liar. There is no surgery. Her therapist says she has severe delusion issues!” The paramedic looked at the psychiatric record, frowned, and ushered Scarlett and Violet into the vehicle. My phone rang again. It was the hospital. “You must arrive within the hour.” “Otherwise, the cornea will go to the next patient on the waiting list.” “We’ll make it! We will be there!” I cried. Hanging up, I fell to my knees in front of Christian. “Dad, I beg you. Just let us go first. I’ll do anything.” “I’ll sign over the patent rights your company has been begging for.” Violet scoffed. “Aren’t you just a broke lab assistant? Since when do you own patents?” “Uncle Christian hates liars, you know.” Scarlett clutched her forehead, whimpering, “Christian, my head hurts so bad… Am I going to die…” Scout seemed to realize what was happening. He dragged his battered body forward and used his remaining teeth to gently tug on Christian’s trousers, pleading. “Get lost!” Christian kicked Scout away with brutal force. The dog’s head slammed directly into a wooden plank with a rusty, exposed nail. With a soft, pained whimper, Scout took his last breath. Christian guided Scarlett and Violet into the emergency vehicle and drove off. My mom cradled Scout’s lifeless body, weeping uncontrollably. She grabbed my hand, her voice filled with absolute despair. “Georgina, don’t beg him… I don’t want the surgery anymore.” “Mom, don’t say that!” A cornea donor is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. The emergency vehicle drove right past us. No matter how much I screamed, it didn’t stop. The crowd around us stared at me as if I were a lunatic. Just as I was about to spiral into total despair, the deafening roar of a helicopter filled the air. A private chopper landed right in the middle of the grass. An elegant, middle-aged man who bore a striking resemblance to my mom stepped out. He rushed over and grabbed our hands. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry I’m late…” Behind him, several police officers jumped out, immediately intercepting the ambulance and handcuffing Scarlett. “Scarlett Vance, you are under arrest for the murder of your husband, Wyatt Vance. Please come with us.”

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