Category: English

I am the only daughter of the billionaire Vance family, pampered to no end by my three gorgeous, incredibly successful older brothers. I thought I would live the life of a princess forever. Until one day, I received a letter from my future self: “Chloe, Your oldest brother, Carter, will sign a high-stakes valuation bet for a female secretary, wiping ten billion dollars off the Vance Group’s market cap. Your second brother, Julian, will be framed by a female secretary and kicked out of the board, completely penniless. Your third brother, Dominic, will give up his entire inheritance for a female secretary, leaving the Vance family utterly ruined.” I panicked. I immediately investigated every single female secretary in my brothers’ offices. But I found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. That was until Victoria Sterling, a new secretary, was suddenly dropped directly into Carter’s executive suite. She glanced at me, her voice sweet but her eyes cold as ice: “Sweetie, the executive suite isn’t a playground. If you want to play, please get the hell out.” I looked her up and down. She was gorgeous, I’d give her that. But she seriously underestimated how much my brothers adored me. I let out a cold laugh. “The one who needs to get the hell out is you.” Carter, the ultimate sister-protecting CEO of the company, was about to walk through that door any second. …….

I still had a piece of durian halfway to my mouth. There were five people in the VIP lounge. Even the one with the shortest tenure had been with Carter for six years. Right now, their expressions were hilariously identical. It was that perfect mix of wanting to speak up but being terrified of saying the wrong thing, wanting to drag someone back but not knowing who to grab. Brenda, the senior admin, was the first who couldn’t sit still. She let out a forced laugh. “Ms. Sterling, this is Mr. Vance’s…” “I know, his sister,” Victoria interrupted, not even sparing Brenda a glance. When she said the word “sister,” her tone pitched upward slightly, carrying a subtle, mocking disdain. “But even a sister shouldn’t be eating, drinking, and playing in the executive suite, right?” “The smell of durian is so strong. What if a client comes by later?” She glanced at the food container in front of me, her brows knitting together. “Besides, today is my first day. The rules of the executive suite need to be established.” “When Mr. Vance is away, I coordinate the daily affairs here.” She smiled, tilting her head to look at me like she was talking to a spoiled toddler. “Be a good girl, pack up your things, and I’ll have the receptionist call an Uber to take you home, okay?” Brenda panicked, her voice raising half an octave: “Ms. Sterling, you really don’t understand the situation. This lounge was specially set up by Mr. Vance for—” “It doesn’t matter who it was set up for.” Victoria turned around. Her voice was still sweet and gentle, but every word carried an undeniable authority. “Brenda, you’ve been with Mr. Vance for so many years. You should know better than anyone that the executive suite represents the image of the entire Group.” “If she’s in here eating smelly exotic fruit and word gets out, what will people think of the Vance Group?” Marcus, the Operations Director, finally couldn’t help but speak up as he set down his coffee cup. “Ms. Sterling, I highly suggest you wait until Mr. Vance gets back before you—” “Marcus,” Victoria cut him off, her smile unchanged as she turned her head. “Mr. Vance authorized me to manage the daily affairs of the executive suite. This falls directly under my responsibility.” “Or are you suggesting that Mr. Vance’s authorization is questionable?” Marcus opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again. I picked up a napkin and slowly wiped my fingers, my movements completely unbothered. “What did you say earlier? Told me to get the hell out?” Victoria’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. “I didn’t use those exact words,” she said. “I said ‘go play somewhere else.’” “Oh,” I nodded. “So you mean you get to decide where I can stay?” “Chloe, everyone in the company knows Mr. Vance spoils you. But business is business…” “By the way,” I interrupted her. “The keypad on the door? The passcode is my birthday, 0816. You can ask anyone in this room.” “Technically speaking, this lounge belongs to me.” Brenda nodded furiously beside me, looking like a woodpecker. Victoria fell silent for two seconds. She took a deep breath, resetting her expression. This time, she wasn’t smiling anymore. “Chloe, every word I say today is for the good of the Vance Group. It’s nothing personal.” She turned to Brenda, her tone shifting into that of a cold corporate director delivering an order. “Brenda, notify reception. Starting today, any non-staff members entering the executive suite must register and get pre-clearance.” She paused. “No exceptions for anyone.” Brenda’s face instantly went pale. “Ms. Sterling, this rule… I’m afraid only Mr. Vance can…” “Mr. Vance gave me the authorization,” Victoria cut her off coldly. “I don’t need to consult him on every minor detail.” Then she turned back, her gaze landing on me once more. This time, she didn’t even bother to keep up her sweet, gentle facade. “Chloe, your behavior in the executive suite today has already disrupted our normal workflow.” “As the administrative coordinator of this office, I have the right to handle this.” She walked to the door, opened it, and nodded to the two security guards standing in the hallway. “Please lock this lounge temporarily.” She looked at me, her voice quiet but crystal clear. “You can stay here for a bit, Chloe. Cool your head.” “Once I report today’s situation to Mr. Vance, I’ll let you out.” “Consider it… a little lesson.” Brenda snapped, jumping to her feet: “Victoria! How dare you!” Victoria raised a hand to stop her, the chill-inducing smile returning to her face. “Don’t get so worked up, Brenda. I’m doing this for Chloe’s own good.” “A spoiled little girl needs someone to teach her some rules, right?”

The security guards closed the door. The lighting in the lounge didn’t change, but the atmosphere felt like it had been plunged underwater. Victoria stood by the door, clapping her hands lightly as if she had just disposed of some minor garbage. “Alright,” she turned to Brenda, her voice returning to that sweet tone. “Brenda, please organize the minutes from this afternoon’s meeting and send them to me. Mr. Vance will want to review them later.” Brenda didn’t move. “Ms. Sterling,” she said, her voice incredibly low. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” “I do,” Victoria said. “I am maintaining order in the executive suite.” “And Brenda, I’m not asking for your opinion.” Brenda snapped her head up, her eyes rimmed with red. She had been with Carter for eleven years, starting when the Vance Group was just a mid-sized company. She had never dealt with this kind of audacity before. She took a deep breath, about to speak… But Victoria had already turned away, pulling out her phone and dialing a number. The call was answered almost instantly. A deep, commanding voice came through the line. “Victoria, what’s wrong?” Victoria’s tone softened by seventy percent in a second. “Uncle Richard, I just arrived at the executive suite, but I ran into a bit of trouble. I wanted to report it to you.” The name “Uncle Richard” sent another wave of silence through the lounge. Robert’s coffee cup rattled slightly, and Marcus’s expression shifted. The “Uncle Richard” Victoria was talking about was none other than Richard Harrison. He was a founding board member of the Vance Group, a close ally of my late father, and the current Head of the Compliance Committee. Victoria explained the situation, her tone dripping with victimhood. Her words were precisely crafted to paint herself as a diligent worker and me as a spoiled, unreasonable sister throwing a tantrum. “…I really had no choice. With Mr. Vance away, the office was in chaos. I had to enforce the rules.” “Uncle Richard, did I do the right thing?” There was a two-second silence on the other end of the line. “Victoria, you did nothing wrong. The executive suite needs rules.” Richard’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone in the room to hear. “I’ll call Carter later and tell him to get his sister under control.” “Running around the office all day—it’s highly unprofessional.” Victoria looked up, her eyes sweeping over everyone in the room as a smirk crept onto her lips. “Thank you, Uncle Richard. I knew you were the most reasonable one.” Hanging up, she slid her phone into her pocket and stood tall. Her entire aura was completely different now. Before, she still felt the need to maintain a polite facade. Now, she didn’t even bother. She turned back to me. “Chloe, you’re a smart girl, so I won’t beat around the bush.” She folded her hands over her knee, her tone calm. “I didn’t join the Vance Group to make an enemy out of you. But rules are rules.” “If you cooperate with me today, I’ll say some good things about you to Carter. In the future, when you come here, I’ll turn a blind eye.” “Isn’t that a win-win?” I looked down at my durian. Then I looked up, preparing to speak. Footsteps echoed from the hallway. “Who gave the order to lock this door?” It was the Chief Executive Assistant, my brother’s shadow.

Jeremy Ross stood at the door, still holding the spare key. He was in his early forties and had been with Carter for thirteen years, since the very first office the Vance Group ever leased. Everyone in the company knew an unwritten rule: when Carter wasn’t around, Jeremy’s word was Carter’s word. His gaze swept from the locked door, across everyone in the lounge, and finally locked onto Victoria. “I’ll ask one more time,” he pushed up his glasses, his tone as flat as if he were verifying meeting minutes. “Who gave the order to lock this door?” Victoria didn’t answer immediately. She sized Jeremy up for two seconds, her gaze lingering on the ID badge pinned to his chest. “Chief Executive Assistant: Jeremy Ross.” “I did.” When she said those two words, her chin lifted slightly, devoid of any guilt. “There was an incident in the executive suite. I used the authority granted to me by Mr. Vance to handle it temporarily.” Jeremy didn’t say a word. He walked past her, straight to me. “Chloe, are you okay?” I shook my head. “I’m fine.” Jeremy nodded, then turned to Brenda. “Go get some seafood soup ready. Mr. Vance knew Chloe was coming today and specifically ordered it.” Brenda looked like she had just been granted a presidential pardon. She quickly gasped an “On it!” and turned to leave. “Wait.” Victoria’s voice cut through the air. Brenda’s footsteps halted. “Mr. Ross,” Victoria stepped forward, positioning herself right between Jeremy and Brenda. “As I just stated, non-staff members are not allowed to dine in the executive suite. This rule is effective immediately.” “Having someone fetch food now—are you trying to overrule my decision?” Jeremy turned to look at her. “Ms. Sterling,” Jeremy began, “I handled your onboarding process myself. I know your authorization limits better than you do.” “Mr. Vance authorized you to coordinate the daily administrative affairs of the executive suite.” He paused. “That does not include HR, it does not include security dispatch, and it certainly does not include… locking doors.” Victoria’s expression stiffened. But she recovered quickly, even letting out a soft laugh. “Mr. Ross, those are just terms on a piece of paper.” “But do you honestly believe Mr. Vance brought me to the executive suite just to do busywork?” “You’ve been with him for thirteen years. You should know better than anyone…” “Mr. Vance doesn’t hire people based purely on a job description.” She tilted her head, her voice adopting an almost intimate undertone. “The relationship between Mr. Vance and me is not something that can be summarized by a mere authorization letter.” “Mr. Ross, you’re a smart man. I shouldn’t have to spell this out for you.” As soon as she said this, Robert almost dropped his coffee cup. Marcus turned his face away entirely. Brenda stood by the door, her mouth opening and closing in sheer disbelief. Jeremy simply pushed up his glasses, his expression completely unfazed. “Ms. Sterling, regardless of your personal relationship with Mr. Vance, within the office space of the Vance Group, everything goes by the rules.” “And those rules were set by Mr. Vance himself.” He turned back to Brenda, his tone unchanged. “Go. Get the food.” Brenda didn’t hesitate this time. She turned and practically bolted down the hallway. Victoria watched Brenda disappear, the smile on her face vanishing inch by inch. She turned to face Jeremy directly. This time, the polite mask was entirely gone. “Mr. Ross, I respect your seniority, which is why I’ve been speaking to you nicely.” “But undermining me in front of everyone today makes things very difficult for me.” Jeremy remained silent. “I locked this lounge because Chloe’s behavior was actively disrupting the workplace,” Victoria sneered, her voice dropping, forcing out each word. “Even Board Trustee Richard Harrison has already expressed his support on this matter.” “Are you saying a mere assistant is more powerful than a board trustee?”

Jeremy tucked his iPad under his arm, his voice still as flat as a dead pond. “Ms. Sterling, Mr. Harrison is indeed a senior trustee, responsible for supervising compliance.” “But the human resources and daily management of the executive suite have never fallen under the board’s jurisdiction.” He paused. “That is written in the company bylaws in black and white. It is not up to me, nor is it up to Mr. Harrison.” Victoria’s eyes turned absolutely icy. “Jeremy,” she said, addressing him by his first name for the first time, dropping even the polite “Mr.” “Do you have any idea who you are talking to?” “I do,” Jeremy said. “Victoria Sterling, the newly hired secretary of the executive suite. Today is your first day.” The words weren’t loud, but they stung. She turned around and looked at me. Realizing she couldn’t break Jeremy, she decided to shift her pressure back to me. “Chloe,” she walked over, her voice barely a whisper. “I am giving you one last chance.” “Cooperate with me on today’s matter, and I’ll act like nothing happened.” “You can keep coming to the executive suite, I won’t stop you. We can stay out of each other’s way.” “But if you keep pushing this…” She paused, her eyes scanning my face. “I won’t hesitate to have Mr. Harrison handle this personally.” “If things blow up, it won’t end well for anyone.” I pushed the plate of durian aside and looked up at her. “Victoria,” I said, “how long have you been in this lounge today?” Victoria frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Just curious,” I said. “You walked in, locked the door, brought up your backer, threatened the chief assistant, and now you’re trying to negotiate with me.” I tilted my head. “Do you honestly think you have any leverage left?” The look in Victoria’s eyes shifted instantly. It wasn’t anger; it was the sudden panic of someone whose bluff had been called, leaving her completely cornered. But she masked it quickly. She took a deep breath, forcing a cold smirk onto her lips, her gentle disguise entirely shattered. “Chloe, you’ve got a sharp tongue.” “I’ve been like this since I was a kid. My brothers are used to it.” “Brothers?” Victoria repeated the word, her tone dripping with mockery. “Your brothers aren’t here right now.” “And no matter how much they spoil you, they can’t shield you from this.” She took a step closer. “So, Chloe, you’d better think carefully.” She raised her hand, pointing toward the door. “Now, are you going to walk out yourself, or should I have security escort you out?” Jeremy stepped forward. “Ms. Sterling—” “Jeremy, if you stop me again,” Victoria turned, her voice dropping to a freezing register, “I will call Mr. Harrison right now and have him ask you why an assistant is repeatedly obstructing the administrative management of this office.” Jeremy stopped. Victoria turned back to me, keeping her hand pointed toward the hallway. “Let’s go, Chloe.” I looked down at her outstretched hand. I stared at it for about three seconds. Then, I raised my eyes, looking past her shoulder toward the doorway. Sensing my gaze, Victoria frowned and slowly turned around. Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. The door swung open. Carter was standing at the entrance. “What,” he spoke, his voice dangerously level, “is going on here?”

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That night, Justin Lane pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window, his movements charged with an almost uncontrollable intensity. His phone rang. He answered it in German. “Yes. My marriage to Stella was only a sham. Yesterday, I officially registered my marriage to Chloe.” Every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. He thought I couldn’t understand German. He even smiled at me, pressed a kiss to the side of my neck, and never paused what he was doing. How ridiculous. Ten years of love, and it turned out our marriage had only ever been a façade. After hanging up, he claimed there was an urgent matter at the office and left. A few minutes later, I saw Chloe’s Instagram post: 【He told me that whenever I need him, he’ll always be there.】 The photo showed a man’s hand wearing a watch. The Patek Philippe on his wrist was the one I had given him. Just two hours earlier, that very hand had been roaming over my body. What he didn’t know was that I’d spent six months teaching myself German just so I could read his medical records. What he also didn’t know was that I’d already signed the stock transfer agreement and booked a flight to San Francisco. Fifteen days. That was the final deadline I was giving this relationship.

Stella’s POV The rain in New York came out of nowhere, heavy drops slamming violently against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our sixty-sixth-floor penthouse. The bedroom was pitch black, illuminated only by the flashing neon lights from the city below. Justin pressed me against the cold glass. Behind me was the freezing window. In front of me was his burning chest. His kisses were wild, almost desperate, as if he wanted to consume me whole. I tilted my head back, my hands gripping his broad shoulders tightly. As wave after wave of pleasure washed over me, I closed my eyes, feeling this man’s absolute, raw desire for me. Just as we reached the peak, right at the second our sanity was about to snap, a phone suddenly buzzed frantically from the pocket of his jeans thrown on the carpet. It was Justin’s private, encrypted phone. Frustrated by the interruption, Justin cursed under his breath, his eyebrows knitting together. Still, he paused. Keeping one arm wrapped tightly around my waist, he reached down with the other to grab the phone. The moment he saw the caller ID, I felt his body stiffen. A subtle, split-second change, but I caught it. He pressed answer, pulling me flush against his chest and resting his chin on top of my head. Carter’s panicked voice came through the speaker, muffled by the loud background noise of a bar. “Justin, are you out of your mind?” Justin’s expression shifted instantly. He cut Carter off, speaking in fluent, freezing German. “I’m not alone. Speak German.” The other end went dead silent for two seconds. Then, Carter took a sharp breath. He switched to German, though the shock and anger in his voice were still palpable. “Did you really sign marriage papers with Chloe in LA?” “What the hell are you thinking?” “When you got into that car crash and ended up in a wheelchair, your company almost went under. Chloe treated you like garbage. She fled the country to marry some rich guy.” “Now she is divorced, back in town, and needs a legal husband to secure her family trust fund. And you just hand yourself over?” Those German words felt like frozen icicles piercing through the receiver straight into my ears. My brain instantly translated them into crystal-clear English. In that single second, the blood in my veins ran completely cold. An icy chill started from the soles of my feet and rushed straight to my heart. Justin didn’t notice my stiffness. He just unconsciously tightened his grip on my waist, his voice remaining cool and detached. “Chloe is in a dangerous spot right now. If she doesn’t get that trust fund, she will be buried in massive debt. I can’t just watch her drown.” “Then what about Stella?” Carter roared through the phone. “When you were paralyzed, who gave up her career as a commercial pilot to become a risk management expert just to protect your company? Who spent over a thousand hours helping you with physical therapy? She loves you more than her own life. Now you have married someone else. What is she to you?” Hearing my name, Justin’s breath hitched. A trace of impatience crept into his tone. “I’ll keep this from her. Once Chloe’s crisis is resolved, we’ll get a divorce. As for Stella… I’ll give her the grandest wedding in a few months. She won’t care about a piece of paper.” “How long do you think you can hide this? If she finds out…” “She won’t,” Justin cut him off coldly. “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t tell a soul.” With that, he hung up and tossed the phone back onto the carpet. He leaned down, kissing the side of my neck again. His warm lips tried to soothe me, and his movements became passionate once more. “Sorry, babe. Just a quick emergency with the company,” he whispered hoarsely against my ear. I didn’t say a word. I just kept my eyes wide open, staring at the reflection of our tangled bodies on the glass window. Justin had no idea. During the years he was paralyzed, in order to help him understand the medical files from top German neurosurgeons, I had stayed up late for six months straight just to learn German. So I had understood every single word he just said to Carter. To save his ex, he married her. And he planned to use a fake, legally void wedding to deceive me, the woman who had stood by him for five years. My body kept moving with his. We even reached the peak together at the very end. Panting, Justin carried me back to the bed, kissing my forehead gently, as if I were a precious gem. “Stella, I love you,” he murmured, eyes closed in satisfaction. I stared at the ceiling. My eyes burned, but not a single tear fell. I forced a faint smile, my voice as quiet as a whisper. “Yeah. I know.” I knew he loved me. But I also knew his love for me would always play second fiddle to Chloe.

Stella’s POV The next morning, I woke up to the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Justin was already fully dressed. His tailored suit made him look tall and commanding, his legs long and straight. Looking at him now, no one would ever guess that this man, who now dominated the New York business world, had been confined to a wheelchair for three long years. He walked to the bedside holding a cup of black coffee, leaning down to press a soft kiss on my lips. “Morning, beautiful. I have to fly to Los Angeles,” Justin said, his long fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His eyes were so warm they could melt ice. “There’s a merger deal that needs my signature. I’ll be gone for about three days.” I leaned against the headboard, holding the warm mug. My gaze fell on his right hand. It was bare. No ring. But just yesterday, he had signed marriage papers with Chloe in LA. “Okay,” I said, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. The bitterness slid down my throat, settling heavy in my stomach. “Don’t push yourself too hard. Keep your legs warm.” “I will. Wait for me at home,” Justin said, ruffling my hair before turning to stride out of the penthouse. The heavy door clicked shut, leaving the massive penthouse in a silence as heavy as a grave. I set the coffee mug down and got out of bed. Instead of heading to the bathroom, I walked straight into the study. I unlocked the safe and pulled out a pre-drafted equity transfer agreement from the very bottom, along with a sleek business card. The card read: Arthur Lane, Chairman of the Lane Group. Justin’s grandfather. No one in the Lane family had ever accepted me. To them, I was just a thrill-seeker who liked extreme sports, a girl from a common background. Even though I had given up flying for Justin, and even though I had forced myself to become a top Chief Risk Officer to stabilize their family empire, Arthur still saw me as a gold-digger trying to climb the social ladder. I picked up my phone and dialed Arthur’s number. It rang three times before a cold, commanding voice answered. “Miss Stella, if you’re calling to beg for Justin, don’t waste your breath.” “I agree to the terms you proposed last month,” I said, my voice completely flat, devoid of any emotion. “I will hand over my ten percent stock options in the Lane Group, along with all the core data from the risk management department.” There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a mocking chuckle. “So you finally woke up? Finally realized you don’t belong in Justin’s world?” “Yes, I don’t belong,” I said, looking out at the gray New York skyline. “But I have two conditions. First, approve my transfer to the San Francisco branch immediately, with maximum executive authority. Second, give me fifteen days to wrap things up here.” “Fifteen days? Fine,” Arthur replied, his voice dripping with the satisfaction of a man who had finally cleared a nuisance. “But after fifteen days, I want you gone from New York forever. Never show your face to Justin again.” “Don’t worry. I won’t look back.” After hanging up, I let out a long breath. Fifteen days. That was the deadline I was giving to this five-year relationship. I opened my phone. At the very bottom of my contact requests was an invite from yesterday. The profile picture was Chloe, a woman in a white ballet tutu, sporting a radiant, perfect smile. Chloe’s latest Instagram story was posted at 2:00 PM yesterday. It was a photo of a massive bouquet of red roses sitting next to two official marriage certificates. Although the names were carefully blurred, the corner of the photo captured a man’s hand. On his wrist was a Patek Philippe watch. The very watch I had bought Justin for his birthday last year. Her caption read. “He said as long as I need him, he’ll always be there. Thank you, fate, for bringing you back to me.” This story was set to be visible only to me. I stared at the photo, my chest completely numb. The pain had been replaced by a cold, calculating detachment. I wasn’t even angry. I just found it pathetic. I closed Instagram, opened the Federal Aviation Administration website, and logged into my account. A prompt popped up on the screen. “Your Commercial Helicopter Pilot License has been inactive for five years. Would you like to apply for reinstatement and schedule a re-evaluation?” Without a second thought, I clicked “Yes.” Justin didn’t need me anymore. It was time to take back my own sky.

Stella’s POV For the next few days, my life ran like a perfectly calibrated machine. During the day, I handled the complex handover process at the office. As the Chief Risk Officer of the Lane Group, I held the keys to virtually all of the company’s core secrets. I slowly deleted the encrypted data from my personal drives, packed them up, and prepared to hand them over to the transition team Arthur was sending. At night, I returned to the penthouse filled with memories of Justin and began erasing my presence piece by piece. Twelve days left. Chloe updated her Instagram again. This time, it was a photo of a candlelit dinner. Justin’s face wasn’t in the frame, but his hands were visible as he cut a steak, a bottle of Romanee-Conti resting on the table. The caption. “My favorite person across from me, my favorite wine in hand.” I had just finished a brutal four-hour simulator retraining session at the flight center. Drenched in sweat, I sat on the locker room bench, sipping ice-cold water. I looked at her story and calmly tapped the heart icon to leave a like. Five minutes later, a message from Justin popped up on Snapchat. “What are you up to, Stella?” I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a second before typing. “Just finished some overtime, heading home. How about you? Is the merger going well?” “Very smooth. I’ll be back in New York tomorrow,” Justin replied instantly, followed by a voice note. I tapped it. His deep, soothing voice echoed in the quiet room, with soft piano music playing in the background. “I miss you so much, Stella. I got you a gift. See you tomorrow.” I listened to his voice while my eyes remained fixed on the glass of red wine in Chloe’s Instagram post. I typed back a single word. “Okay.” Eleven days left. Justin arrived back in New York half a day early. I had just shredded a highly confidential file when my office door was pushed open. Justin walked in hurriedly, not even taking off his coat. He locked the door behind him, strode over to my desk, and spun my chair around to face him. He braced his hands on the armrests, leaning down to kiss me. It was a possessive, aggressive kiss, carrying his signature cedarwood cologne… and a faint, sugary scent that belonged to another woman. My stomach churned with a sudden, violent wave of nausea. I jerked my head to the side, dodging his lips, and pressed my hands against his chest to push him back. “Justin, we’re in the office.” Justin froze, a flicker of annoyance passing through his eyes, though it was quickly masked by his usual warmth. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. “I couldn’t help it. I missed you.” He nuzzled against me like an eager puppy, then straightened up, pulling a small, navy-blue velvet box from his pocket. “Open it.” I took the box, my fingers cold. With a soft click, the box popped open. Inside lay a breathtaking diamond bracelet. The design was intricate, featuring a rare, brilliant pink diamond as the centerpiece. “I saw it at an auction in LA and thought it would look perfect on you,” Justin said, his eyes filled with anticipation. “Do you like it?” I stared at the bracelet, but all I could see was the Instagram story Chloe had posted this morning. In Chloe’s photo, she was wearing a diamond necklace with the exact same design. Her caption had been. “He said this is his exclusive love for me.” So, his so-called “exclusive” love was just a buy-one-get-one-free deal. I looked up, meeting Justin’s affectionate gaze, and forced a smile. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Instead of putting it on, I closed the box and tossed it into my desk drawer. Justin’s brow furrowed slightly. Usually, whenever he got me a gift, I would put it on immediately and wrap my arms around his neck. Today, I was far too detached. “Is something wrong? Are you just tired from work?” Justin reached out to touch my forehead. “Yeah. The quarterly risk reports are due soon. I haven’t been sleeping well,” I said, casually dodging his hand as I stood up. “You just got back. Go rest in your office. I have a meeting to run.” Justin stared at my cold demeanor. He looked like he wanted to say something, but seeing my blank expression, he swallowed his words. “Alright. Let’s grab dinner tonight.” Once his back was turned and the door closed, I took the blue velvet box out of the drawer and tossed it straight into the trash can. Garbage belonged in the trash.

Stella’s POV Nine days left. Chloe came to New York. I had just walked out of the conference room when I spotted a woman’s silhouette standing in the hallway of the executive suite. Chloe was wearing an oversized men’s trench coat. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing her thin wrists. She was looking at the company’s corporate history wall, her long hair falling over her shoulders. She looked delicate and gentle. I recognized that coat instantly. It was Justin’s. I had accompanied him to London last winter to have it custom-made at a century-old tailor on Savile Row. Hearing the sound of my heels, Chloe turned around. We stood face-to-face. A flash of provocation gleamed in Chloe’s eyes, but her face instantly shifted into an innocent, apologetic expression. She walked over to me quickly, her voice so soft it sounded like it could blow away in the wind. “Stella, it’s been a while.” I stopped, my eyes scanning the trench coat she was wearing. My voice was entirely flat. “Chloe. Can I help you?” Chloe instinctively pulled the coat tighter around herself, biting her lower lip. “I’m so sorry… I just arrived in New York yesterday and my luggage got lost at the airport. It was freezing last night, and Justin didn’t want me to catch a cold, so he lent me his coat. Please don’t misunderstand, Stella. Justin and I are just friends now.” Just friends. I scoffed inwardly. Friends who sign marriage certificates? “It’s just a coat. You don’t need to be so tense, Chloe,” I said, my gaze cold and precise, as if evaluating a worthless spreadsheet. “Though the size is clearly too big for you. You look like a toddler wearing her father’s clothes. Next time, if you need something, just call Justin’s assistant. He can buy you clothes that actually fit.” Chloe’s face stiffened. She clearly hadn’t expected this reaction. She probably thought I would scream, throw a tantrum, or lose my mind like a jealous lunatic. Right then, the door to the CEO’s office swung open. Justin stepped out. When he saw the two of us standing in the hallway, his face paled. Instantly, he rushed to Chloe’s side, shielding her behind his back, his eyes locked onto me with intense wariness. “Stella, what are you doing here?” Justin’s voice carried a nervous tremor. Looking at his protective stance, I found it hilarious. I was his actual girlfriend, yet he was guarding his fragile ex-wife from me as if I were a threat. “Just walking back from my meeting,” I said, waving the folder in my hand with a casual smile. “Carry on. I have reports to review.” Without giving Justin another glance, I clicked my heels and walked past them. Justin froze. Suddenly, he pushed Chloe aside and caught up to me, grabbing my wrist. “Stella!” Forced to stop, I turned back to look at him. “Do you have a work-related question, Justin?” Addressing him by his first name so formally drew an instant, icy boundary between us. Justin lowered his voice, his tone almost pleading. “Don’t be mad. Chloe just got back to the country and is facing a lot of trouble. I’m just helping her out. There is absolutely nothing going on between us.” I looked into his anxious eyes. Those were the eyes that had been blind for six months after his car accident. During those six months, I had held his hand, guiding him back into the light step by step. I used to believe those eyes would only ever look at me. “I’m not mad,” I said, gently pulling my wrist from his grip, my lips curving into a flawless smile. “I mean it, Justin. She’s in trouble, and it’s nice of you to help. Go back to her, don’t keep her waiting.” My tone was completely tranquil. He probably would have preferred me to throw a fit or slap him across the face. Anything would be better than me looking at him like a total stranger. I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I turned and walked straight through the glass doors of the risk management department. The moment the doors shut behind me, the smile died on my face, leaving only a cold, dead silence.

Stella’s POV Six days left. A rare, violent storm hit New York. I left the office early and returned to the penthouse. There were still too many things to clean out. I grabbed a large black trash bag and began purging the place of my existence. In the bathroom: our matching electric toothbrushes. Tossed. In the walk-in closet: the limited-edition silk tie I spent an entire month’s salary on for him. Tossed. In the study: the Lego model we spent a month building together. I knocked it over without hesitation and swept the pieces into the bag. Finally, I walked over to the display cabinet in the living room. Inside sat a custom-made flight helmet. It was the first gift Justin gave me after he recovered. On the side, he had hand-painted an eagle soaring through the clouds, with the words. “To my Queen, Stella.” I used to treat this helmet like a holy relic, polishing it every single day. But now, looking at that eagle, it just felt like a cruel joke. I had clipped my own wings for him, and he had painted me an eagle. With a blank expression, I opened the cabinet, pulled the helmet out, and threw it right into the trash bag. At 10:00 PM, Justin came home reeking of alcohol. I heard his heavy footsteps entering the penthouse. He had been out drinking, but I would never again brew him warm milk and gently scold him like I used to. When he opened the bedroom door, all he found was darkness. I hadn’t left a light on for him, hadn’t prepared any hangover soup, and wasn’t waiting on the sofa. I heard Justin flip on the lights and stumble around the living room. Then, his frantic footsteps began pacing around the penthouse, searching for something. He must have noticed. The helmet was gone, the toothbrushes were gone, the mugs had been downsized to one, and even his favorite tie had vanished. “Stella!” Justin burst into the bedroom. I was propped up against the pillows, reading a book. I didn’t even look up at his voice. “What?” “Where is the helmet?!” Justin’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and sheer panic. “The flight helmet I got you! Where is it?!” I flipped a page, my voice as casual as if I were commenting on the weather. “Oh, that. I accidentally cracked it while cleaning the other day. It was ruined, so I threw it out.” “You threw it out?!” Justin stared at me in disbelief, as if looking at a complete stranger. “That was our first-anniversary gift! That was our memory! Even if it was cracked, we could have fixed it! Why would you throw it away?!” I finally closed the book and looked up at him. My gaze was clear, sharp, and freezing, cutting right through his lies. “Justin, when something is broken, it’s broken,” I said softly, yet ruthlessly. “You can’t fix a crack. Keeping a broken object only risks cutting yourself. It’s much easier to just throw it away.” Justin looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He stared into my eyes, trying to find any trace of spite or jealousy. But there was none. There was only absolute calmness. A calmness that bred despair. “Do you…” Justin’s throat bobbed with difficulty, his voice raspy and terrified. “Do you know something?” Looking at his guilty face, I only felt pity. I didn’t even have the energy to expose him. “I know you’ve been stressed lately,” I said, reopening my book and returning to my professional, distant tone. “Go take a shower and get some sleep. I have to meet with the San Francisco team tomorrow. Goodnight.” Justin stood frozen by the bed, watching me look back down at my book. He didn’t say another word. I wasn’t going to argue with him. I was just preparing my quiet exit.

Stella’s POV Three days left. I went to the salon and chopped off the long hair I had kept for five years. Justin used to love playing with my long hair, saying it felt like fine silk. Because of that single compliment, I had kept the same hairstyle for five years, spending thousands of dollars a month on hair treatments. But now, looking at my sleek, shoulder-length bob in the mirror, I felt lighter than ever. Leaving the salon, I met my only close friend in New York, Nora, at a Michelin-starred restaurant. “Are you really doing this?” Nora looked at my short hair, her eyes red. “Moving to San Francisco? What about Justin? You literally almost died for him, and now you’re just handing him over to that ex on a silver platter?” I raised my wine glass and downed it in one go. The burning liquid slid down my throat, settling into a dull ache in my chest. “Nora, he’s not worth fighting for,” I said, setting the glass down with a self-deprecating smile. “He already married Chloe on paper. If I stay, what am I? His mistress?” Nora’s eyes widened in shock. She slammed her hand on the table. “That piece of trash! I’m going to the Lane Group headquarters right now and exposing him to everyone!” “Don’t,” I said, catching her hand. My eyes were cold and focused. “Arthur gave me full authority over the San Francisco branch, plus a massive payout for my stock options. Trading a garbage man for all of that is a steal. If we make a scene, the deal might fall through.” As a risk expert, I always knew how to minimize losses. My heart was bankrupt; I couldn’t afford to lose my financial leverage too. Just then, my phone buzzed on the table. It was an Instagram notification. Chloe had posted. In the photo, Chloe was wearing an extremely luxurious custom wedding gown, standing in front of a massive mirror. Reflected in the background was Justin, sitting on a sofa, waiting for her. The caption. “He said even if it’s just a formality, he wants me to be the most beautiful bride.” I stared at the post and calmly pressed the heart icon. Less than a minute later, Justin’s call came through. I answered and put it on speaker. “Stella, where are you?!” Justin’s voice was filled with panic and desperation. “Let me explain! Chloe has a charity gala next month and needed to borrow a dress. I only came along to help her choose. It’s not what you think!” His voice carried a guilt he didn’t even realize he was projecting. I leaned back in my chair, looking up at the restaurant’s chandelier. My voice was sweet and perfectly calm. “I know. The gown is gorgeous. It suits her perfectly. You’ve always had great taste.” The other end of the line went dead silent. Only Justin’s heavy, erratic breathing filled the quiet air. “Stella…” Justin’s voice began to tremble. “Don’t talk to me like that. Please, just yell at me. Don’t use that tone…” “Justin, I’m having dinner with a friend. I have to go.” Ignoring his unraveling sanity, I hung up. Half an hour later, the door to our private dining room was slammed open. Justin stood at the threshold, drenched in sweat, his tie askew, his eyes bloodshot. When his eyes fell on my short hair, all the strength seemed to drain from his body. He had to grip the doorframe to keep from collapsing. “Your hair…” His voice shook, his eyes wide with terror. “It was getting too long and was a pain to wash, so I cut it,” I said, standing up and grabbing my coat from the chair. I looked at him as if nothing were wrong. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you helping Chloe with her dress?” Justin suddenly lunged forward, locking me in a suffocating embrace. He held me so tightly, as if trying to fuse me into his bones. “I’m done helping her. No more dresses, ever again,” Justin sobbed, burying his face in my shoulder. His voice cracked. “Stella, let’s get married. Let’s go register tomorrow! I’ll transfer all my shares to your name. Just marry me!” I let him hold me, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides. I stared at the painting on the restaurant wall, my heart completely flat. Register tomorrow? Did he forget he was legally another woman’s husband? Bigamy is a felony. He could go to prison for that. “Sure,” I said, gently patting his back. My voice was as sweet as a dream. “But not tomorrow. I have to hand over my final risk assessment reports tomorrow. Let’s do it in a few days.” Justin pulled back, his eyes lighting up with joy. “Okay. In a few days, I’ll plan everything. I’ll give you the most romantic proposal ever.” I looked down, hiding the mocking smirk in my eyes. Too bad you don’t have a few days left.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “431748”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

From elementary school onward, I spent sixteen years chasing after Julian Vance. I went from being an unnoticed little shadow trailing behind him, to his personal assistant, and finally, his secret girlfriend. At last, I had earned his attention. But the moment Maya came back, she became the only person he could see. “Julian, you’re so afraid her future will be ruined… but aren’t you afraid of ruining mine?” During an emergency surgery, Maya made a fatal mistake that caused the patient to suffer massive hemorrhaging. And Julian actually expected me to take the blame for her. With obvious impatience, he said, “As compensation, we’ll get married next week. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all these years?” I spent more than a decade loving and following him, only for him to use marriage as a bargaining chip—to convince me to shoulder a crime that would destroy my entire future for another woman. I let out a bitter laugh. “Let’s break up.” Chloe’s POV I chased Julian Vance for over ten years. I went from being his quiet little shadow to his first surgical assistant, and finally, to his girlfriend. But just three months after we officially became a couple, I decided to let go. “Mom, I want to come home. I’m going to resign from my job here in Boston.” On the other end of the line, my mother sounded incredibly shocked. “Aren’t you and Julian dating now? Did you guys have a fight? Does he know about this?” “It took you so long to finally be with him. Don’t do anything impulsive, sweetheart.” I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over and kept my voice steady. “I’m not being impulsive, Mom. We didn’t fight either. I’ve just thought it through.” “I have to go, Mom. Let’s talk another day.” Before she could say anything else, I hung up. I had to. If I stayed on the line any longer, I wouldn’t be able to choke back my sobs. Since we were kids, everyone around me knew I loved Julian. My parents, teachers, classmates, colleagues. It was obvious to everyone. After high school, I abandoned my dream of studying literature and applied to medical school just to follow him. At the hospital, I gave up opportunities to lead my own surgical team and perform solo surgeries. Instead, I willingly worked as Julian’s assistant. I did that for five whole years. I didn’t just assist him at work. I took care of every single detail of his personal life. After every late shift or overnight surgery, no matter how late it was, a hot bowl of homemade soup was always waiting on his desk. Before work every morning, his clothes were ironed, perfectly matched, and hung in front of the mirror. In the operating room, our chemistry was flawless. Our colleagues called me Julian’s perfect match on the table. To our co-workers, I was already someone special to him. Julian, a medical prodigy with an extreme neat-freak personality, never allowed anyone inside his private lounge. Except for me. Julian, who was always cold and distant to everyone, would occasionally smile just for me. But what was the reality? Every time I entered his lounge, it was only to clean and disinfect it. The moment I finished, I left. I never even dared to sit on his bed. And those rare smiles? They were just polite gestures. He was well-mannered, and he smiled out of basic courtesy for my endless efforts. Not to mention, absolutely nobody knew we had actually become a couple three months ago. And this hidden relationship wasn’t because Julian had suddenly fallen for me. It was something I bought with half my life. Three months ago, our department admitted a critical patient in the middle of the night. By the time the patient arrived, they had missed the optimal surgical window. Julian operated for over ten hours, but the patient died on the table. The patient’s son refused to accept the outcome. Drunk and furious, he rushed into Julian’s office wielding a knife. Exhausted after the surgery, Julian couldn’t even react. I threw myself in front of him and took the blade. The stab wound was less than half an inch from my spleen. I spent three days in the ICU. When I finally opened my eyes, Julian, who was always meticulously neat, had messy hair and a wrinkled shirt. He held my hand, his voice raspy. “Be my girlfriend.” Having known him for twenty years, I could read his eyes. I saw fear, and I saw guilt. But there was not a single spark of love. He didn’t want to date me. He just felt like he owed me his life, and he wanted to pay me back. But I nodded anyway. Back then, I thought that even if he didn’t love me, I would be satisfied just staying by his side forever. Too bad my romantic bubble burst after only a month. Because Maya Mitchell appeared. Just before clocking out today, the big screen in our department was broadcasting a live stream of the International Medical Forum that Julian was attending. This forum was an annual event. In the past, I had asked Julian if I could go with him. His answer back then was, “You aren’t a lead surgeon. You don’t have the credentials.” But Maya wasn’t a lead surgeon either. Right now, Maya was sitting next to him on the screen. She leaned in to whisper something, and Julian tilted his head closer, offering her a warm, gentle smile. My colleagues were gossiping excitedly. “Maya is so lucky. Her dad is the Chief of Medicine, and she has Julian mentoring her. She gets to attend this kind of international forum during her residency!” “That’s nothing. Look at Julian’s face. He’s never even looked that close to Chloe. If you ask me, there’s definitely something going on between them.” Someone noticed me, cleared their throat, and cut the conversation short. The looks they threw me were filled with pity. Everyone knew I liked Julian, but nobody knew I was his actual girlfriend. I looked at the screen, a bitter taste in my mouth. I couldn’t blame them for thinking they were together. Even I thought so. Usually, Julian smiled at me too. But that smile was always polite, reserved, and distant. But his smile toward Maya was natural, effortless, and warm. I used to think Julian was just a naturally cold person. But the moment Maya showed up, his coldness melted away. Maya was the Chief’s daughter. After graduation, she was placed directly into Julian’s surgical team. She was bubbly, outgoing, and completely ignored social boundaries. She didn’t care about Julian’s personal space or his neat-freak habits. She dared to grab food directly from his plate, and she even napped in his private lounge. Julian would, at most, scowl a little. He never said a harsh word to her. But he was never like that with me. Once, when we were walking, I stepped slightly too close and brushed against his sleeve. His face immediately darkened, and he stopped talking to me for the rest of the day. The contrast was brutal. I had to face the truth: he really didn’t love me. Not even a little. I pulled my thoughts back, stood up, and started packing my things. Actually, I didn’t have much to pack. This was Julian’s apartment. I had moved in after we made things official. I just wanted to make it easier to take care of his daily life. But Julian’s apartment was so aggressively minimalist that buying even a decorative mug felt like a crime. Even so, I had managed to add two potted plants, two throw pillows, a small rug, and a few colorful plates over the months. I had hoped to slowly blend into his life. I just didn’t expect it to end so quickly. I had just packed these things into a cardboard box, intending to throw them out, when the front door opened.

Chloe’s POV Julian was back. “You didn’t make soup tonight?” The man asked as he kicked off his shoes at the door. Indeed, I hadn’t. And I never would again. Ever since Maya joined the team, most of the soup I left on Julian’s desk ended up in her stomach anyway. I held the cardboard box and kept walking. “I didn’t feel like making any.” “Wait.” Julian called out. I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. Julian glanced at the box in my arms. “What are you doing with those?” “They’re old. Time to get rid of them,” I said, and walked out the door. Julian stood by the entrance, watching me carry the box to the trash chute. He didn’t say anything else and went back to his room. Even though I had lived here for three months, we slept in separate bedrooms. We never disturbed each other. The next morning, I arrived at the hospital and went straight to the Chief of Medicine’s office instead of my department. I was there to hand in my resignation. Dr. Mitchell listened to me, thought for a moment, and said, “Chloe, I highly respect your work ethic. But I won’t interfere with your personal choices.” “However, Maya just joined the team, and she still needs to get used to working with Julian. The resignation process takes thirty days. During this month, could you stay and help Maya out?” He paused, then added, “Let Maya take over as the First Assistant. You can work as the Second Assistant. What do you think?” Dr. Mitchell was Maya’s father. It was no surprise he wanted me to act as his daughter’s training wheels. I nodded. “Okay.” I stood up to leave. Just as I reached the door, Dr. Mitchell’s voice came from behind me. “I’ll approve your resignation directly. There’s no need to tell Julian. I don’t want this affecting his surgeries.” I paused for a fraction of a second, then let out a dry laugh. “Understood, Chief.” I hadn’t planned on telling Julian anyway. When you decide to let go, you don’t need a grand announcement. I didn’t even need Julian to know. When I walked back to our department, I could hear Maya’s laughter before I even opened the door. She was sharing stories from the medical forum with our colleagues, talking about a cutting-edge surgical technique she had seen. Everyone was listening intently. The moment I walked in, Maya greeted me with a bright smile. “Chloe! Julian was complaining about stomach pain after his surgery last night. I went to his lounge to grab some soup for him, but I couldn’t find any. Did you forget to make it?” The room went dead silent. Everyone looked at me with different expressions. Some felt pity, some were curious, and others quickly looked down, pretending they hadn’t heard. I ignored the unspoken drama in the room. I met Maya’s gaze, my voice calm but crystal clear. “I’m Julian’s surgical assistant, not his housekeeper. Late-night meals aren’t in my job description. If you want to make it yourself, Maya, I can send you the recipe.” Maya’s smile froze on her face. She looked incredibly embarrassed. “Get back to work, everyone,” Julian’s voice cut through the awkward silence as he stepped into the room. But his scanning gaze immediately landed on me. In the past, colleagues often teased me about acting like Julian’s personal maid. Julian always ignored it. And I never defended myself. This was the first time I had ever fired back, and I had done it so formally and coldly. “Chloe, in my office. Now.” I followed Julian into his office. Once the door clicked shut, he turned to face me. His tone was the same as always, like a boss checking in on an underperforming employee. For a moment, I was speechless. I didn’t know where his question came from, nor did I know how to answer. Seeing my silence, Julian actually attempted to explain. “Taking Maya to the forum was just to help her gain experience. You don’t need to be petty about…” I lost all patience to hear him out. So, he thought I was throwing a tantrum because he took Maya to the forum, and that was why I didn’t make him soup. I laughed at myself in my head. What a pathetic excuse. Years ago, when I was the one who lacked experience and knowledge, he had never offered to take me to help me “gain experience.” “Julian.” I cut him off. This was the first time in over ten years I had ever interrupted him. Julian had a beautiful voice, and he didn’t talk much. Whenever he spoke, I used to listen intently. Even if he was scolding me, I never had the heart to cut him off. Julian was visibly stunned. “I don’t care about that,” I swallowed the bitterness in my throat, trying my best to sound calm. “Let’s end this relationship.” I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word “breakup.” Only people who were actually in love had the right to use that word. Had he and I ever truly been together? I was just his girlfriend in name only.

Chloe’s POV For a moment, Julian looked completely lost. He didn’t seem to comprehend what I was saying. “What?” Before I could reply, the office door was thrown open. “Dr. Vance, we have an emergency!” The only person who dared to enter Julian’s office without knocking was Maya. Julian’s attention shifted instantly. His expression turned dead serious as he strode toward the door. As he passed me, he said out of habit, “Chloe, prep for surgery.” Maya stood at the door. Her eyes lingered on my face for a second with a hint of smugness before she quickly hurried after Julian. I stood in the empty office, motionless. I was no longer Julian’s First Assistant. Prepping for surgery was no longer my job. The Chief had settled this morning, and though Julian didn’t know yet, it didn’t change the outcome. I slowly walked back to my desk and sat down, staring into space. My colleagues rushed in and out. Some were changing into scrubs, others were checking charts. Everyone was busy. Only I sat there, feeling like a gear that had been forcibly removed from a fast-spinning machine. I used to be the most precise part of his machine. Now that I was cast aside, I had no idea what to do. I somehow survived until clock-out time. To make matters worse, the moment I stepped out of the hospital, a torrential downpour slammed the city. Because of the rush hour and the terrible weather, the wait time on my rideshare app was over three digits. I didn’t have an umbrella. I had to hold my bag over my head, standing by the curb trying to hail a cab in vain. Rain ran down my arms, and within minutes, I was soaked to the bone. Julian had a car, but I had never once thought about hitching a ride with him. Even though we lived together, Julian had never suggested driving to work together. Since he never offered, I was too embarrassed to ask. Over time, this became our silent agreement. Suddenly, a sleek black Bentley pulled up smoothly in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Maya’s face in the passenger seat. “Chloe, get in! The rain is crazy. We’ll give you a ride.” We. That word, combined with the icy rain, made me shiver. “No, it’s fine. My clothes are soaked.” Usually, even when I had to ride in Julian’s car for work-related reasons, I was incredibly cautious. Before getting out, I would wipe down every surface I touched with disinfectant wipes. Looking like a drowned rat right now, I didn’t want to annoy his inner neat freak. A deep male voice came from the driver’s seat. “Get in.” The storm was getting worse, so I finally opened the door and climbed into the back. My dripping clothes soaked the leather seat. I sat stiffly, trying to minimize the contact area as much as possible. In contrast, Maya was completely at ease in the front seat. She turned around to look at me, smiling. “Chloe, where do you live? We’ll drop you off first.” I didn’t answer. Nobody knew Julian and I lived together. And nobody knew I was his girlfriend. An awkward silence filled the car. Finally, Julian spoke to Maya. “I’ll drop you off first.” The atmosphere returned to normal. Maya started chatting with Julian about today’s surgery. She talked about how nervous she was, how her hands were sweating, how her heart felt like it was going to explode during the suturing, and how she almost screamed with joy when the patient’s vitals stabilized. Julian smiled occasionally, responding softly without a trace of his usual impatience. When she mentioned her anxiety as the First Assistant, Julian actually offered a rare compliment. “You did great. Much steadier than Chloe’s first time on the table.” Maya laughed happily, turning her head back. “Really, Chloe?” I forced a silent smile. I was surprised Julian still remembered my first time on the operating table. But so what? He only remembered it to use as a negative contrast. He used my past struggle just to highlight how perfect Maya was. Maya casually turned on the car radio, and a lively pop song filled the car. It was definitely not the kind of music Julian listened to. Julian frowned slightly, but he didn’t turn it off. Maya hummed along with the melody, then opened the glove compartment. She pulled out a pack of cookies and offered one to me. “Want a cookie, Chloe?” I shook my head. I didn’t mean to spy on the glove compartment. But the space was too small. I couldn’t help but notice what was inside. There was a lipstick, a hairbrush, and a compact mirror. It was Maya’s personal drawer. Knowing how much Julian hated clutter, I never touched anything in his car, let alone left my personal items there. The brutal reality slapped me in the face once again. I had spent over ten years trying to blend into his life, and I failed. Maya did it in just two months. I had lost completely. Maya tore open the packaging and popped a cookie directly into Julian’s mouth. Julian froze for a split second, then slowly chewed. The sound of his chewing was painfully loud in the quiet car. I turned my head to look at the rain sliding down the window. When we reached Maya’s apartment complex, she ran into the building under her umbrella. She turned around to wave at the car, her smile incredibly bright. Julian waited until she safely entered the lobby before driving off. Now that it was just the two of us, the silence in the car became heavy. Then I heard him ask, “Why weren’t you the First Assistant today?” “Maya needs the experience,” I replied, staring out the window. Julian stayed quiet for a long moment before uttering, “It’s good that you can be understanding about this.”

Chloe’s POV Over the next few days, the three of us fell into a silent routine. As long as the surgery wasn’t overly complex, Maya took the role of First Assistant. I stepped back to Second Assistant. Nobody found this weird, even though Julian still had no idea I was resigning. This afternoon, right after I finished my rounds, I heard a loud commotion coming from around the corner. Dr. Sarah Miller, my closest colleague, was being cornered and screamed at by a heavily built male relative of a patient. “My mom has been in this hospital for a week, and she’s only getting worse! You guys are just trying to scam us! You useless hacks!” Beside him, a woman with curly hair screamed hysterically, “Exactly! She was fine before, just some chest tightness! You guys intubated her and hooked her up to machines, and now she’s dying! You did this on purpose!” Sarah’s eyes were bloodshot, and she tried desperately to explain. “The patient has severe aortic stenosis. When she was admitted…” “I don’t care about your excuses!” The man refused to listen. He grabbed Sarah by her collar and raised a fist to punch her. I rushed forward and stepped right between them. “Sir, please calm down. We can sit down and discuss this. Violence won’t solve anything. We can call the attending physician to explain the situation to you. If you continue to disrupt the hospital, we will call security and the police immediately.” “Who the hell do you think you are, lecturing me?!” The man redirected all his fury toward me. He grabbed a heavy metal IV pole nearby and swung it violently at my head. Sarah screamed, and the surrounding crowd gasped and scattered. There was no time to dodge. I could only grit my teeth and close my eyes, bracing for the impact. But the expected pain never came. A body shielded me, locking me into a tight, solid embrace. It was Julian. The heavy metal pole slammed hard against his back with a sickening thud. I stared in shock as cold sweat broke out on Julian’s forehead. He gasped in pain, but his arms remained locked around me, protecting me completely. Security rushed in and tackled the man to the ground. The hallway was a chaotic mess, with people running everywhere. Julian finally let me go. His expression had already returned to his usual cold mask, showing no signs of pain. I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. In my eyes, the way Julian looked right now, silhouetted against the hallway lights, overlapped with a memory from fifteen years ago. Back then, my family had just moved next door to Julian’s. As a new transfer student, I didn’t have any friends, and I always walked home alone. One day, at the corner of an alley, a group of older students blocked my path and demanded money. I was terrified. I couldn’t even speak; I just stood there sobbing. One of the bullies sneered, “Is this girl mute? Maybe a few punches will make her talk.” I closed my eyes, waiting for the blows, but a thin, teenage boy stepped in front of me. The bullies’ fists and kicks rained down. But that boy held me tightly in his arms, never letting go for a second. When they finally got tired and left, cursing, the boy slowly released me. I burst into loud tears. The boy, sweat dripping down his cold, handsome face, just muttered, “So annoying,” and walked away. I followed him blankly, only to realize we lived next door to each other.

Chloe’s POV Julian had been a prodigy since he was a kid. He was always at the top of his class and a favorite among the teachers. Because of his status, the school took the bullying incident very seriously. The older students were suspended, and they never bothered us again. I was safe. From then on, I walked home from school right behind Julian, keeping a short distance, acting like his little shadow. I was terrified he would find me annoying and push me away, so I never dared to initiate a conversation. Julian never spoke either, but he never ran me off. I wasn’t a genius like him, but I studied as hard as I could just to get into the same schools he chose. We walked like that from middle school to high school, and then to medical school. I really thought we would walk together for the rest of our lives. “Are you okay?” His cold voice snapped me back to reality. I blinked. “I’m fine. Thank you, Julian.” In that brief second, my heart wavered. “No need to thank me. You saved my life last time. Consider this payback,” Julian said coldly. His words felt like an icy bucket of water dumped over my head. So that was it. I took a knife for him, so he took an IV pole for me. We were even now. He didn’t owe me anything anymore. Julian, when you asked me to be your girlfriend, you must have been so reluctant, right? It’s okay. Soon, you won’t have to play the part anymore. You’re free. Suppressing the sharp pain in my chest, I nodded. “Right. We’re even now.” Julian stared at my face for a second, then turned and walked away without another word. With the aggressive family member escorted away and Julian relatively unhurt, the crisis was over. But the Cardiology Department was the crown jewel of the hospital, and Julian was their star surgeon. Naturally, Chief Mitchell had to come down to personally show his concern. After a few minutes of professional pleasantries, Dr. Mitchell said with fatherly concern, “Julian, you are the face of our hospital. You must protect yourself.” His eyes shifted to me as he continued, “Don’t just throw yourself in front of danger for anyone. Leave that to hospital security.” Julian didn’t say a word. Maya quickly stepped in to ease the tension, tugging at her father’s arm. “Dad, Julian was just looking out for his colleague.” Dr. Mitchell chuckled, looking at Julian warmly. “Julian, you’ve trained her well. Maya has been stubborn since she was a kid. She never listens to me, but she hangs onto your every word! I guess I’ll have to trouble you to keep looking after her in the future.” Anyone with a brain could hear that the Chief wasn’t just talking about work. Julian glanced over at me. I was holding my thermos, slowly sipping water, looking completely detached as if their conversation had absolutely nothing to do with me. Julian’s throat bobbed, and he finally spoke. “Dr. Mitchell is very bright and fast. She’s making great progress.” Silence meant agreement. The looks our colleagues exchanged became laced with romantic gossip, while some threw pitying glances my way. I kept my head down, sipping my water, pretending I was completely oblivious. A moment later, I went to the restroom. As I walked past the corner of the hallway, my footsteps suddenly froze. From the quiet corner came Maya’s cheerful, bold voice. “Julian, I like you. I’ve liked you since the first moment I saw you. Will you be my boyfriend?” Before he could answer, Maya leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Julian went stiff, his ears turning bright red. He was about to say something when his eyes caught mine standing a few yards away. I just stood there, watching quietly. I had tried to initiate physical contact with him before. I had tried to hold his hand. But the moment my fingertips brushed his, he would flinch away as if he had been electrocuted. Yet, when Maya kissed him, he didn’t push her away, nor did he flinch. It was just another piece of evidence confirming a truth I already knew all too well. I turned and walked away. Maybe too many things had happened today. As I walked away, my legs felt weak, and I stumbled slightly.

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On my wedding night, the giant screen in the ballroom suddenly started playing a video of me holding a woman and kissing her passionately. I stood there, completely defenseless, as my father-in-law, Mr. Miller, grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the venue, demanding an explanation. By the time I managed to prove that the video was a deepfake generated by AI, my bride, Chloe, had already slept with my foster brother, Tyler. My mother merely sighed, her face completely expressionless. “What’s done is done. You just have to accept it and never bring it up again.” Since that night, a thick wall of disgust had built up between Chloe and me. Every time she tried to touch me, I found an excuse to push her away. She cried and acted miserable for a long time. Eventually, unable to bear her tears, I started preparing myself to accept her again. But then, I accidentally overheard a conversation between her and her friends in a private lounge: “Chloe, you are literally a mastermind when it comes to relationships!” “You wanted to make up for lost time with Tyler when he got back to the country, so you used AI to make that fake cheating video of Ethan. You did it just so your dad would drag him out, giving you the perfect chance to sleep with Tyler!” “That was legendary!” “Your whole family and even his own mother knew about it. Only that idiot Ethan was kept in the dark.” Chloe placed her hand over her stomach. “And now, I’m pregnant with Tyler’s baby. I don’t even know how to tell Ethan.”

Maybe it was because she hadn’t been sleeping well, but there were dark circles under her eyes. This sudden pregnancy was clearly something she hadn’t anticipated either. Her best friend, Sarah, walked over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Chloe, you only have two choices now.” “First, break up with Ethan. Second, get an abortion and cut ties with Tyler forever.” These two options seemed to put Chloe in a tough spot. She was usually decisive, never one to hesitate like this. She cupped her stomach for a long time, unable to let go. “No, I won’t get an abortion.” “This baby is the symbol of what Tyler and I lost. Since I can’t be his wife, I’ll give birth to his child as a keepsake.” Standing outside the door, the blood in my veins turned to ice. So, the cheating video that ruined my reputation was Chloe’s doing all along. Her entire goal was to get rid of me so she could satisfy her lust with Tyler. Was their “regret” really just about sleeping together? I let out a bitter, silent laugh. What shocked me even more was that my parents-in-law and my own mother knew everything. They had teamed up to deceive me. I remembered when the video played on the screen. My mother-in-law had slapped me across the face, and my father-in-law had dragged me out by my hair. My mother had apologized to everyone in shame, calling me a worthless beast. And Chloe had wept, claiming I had broken her heart, promising she would make me pay. My fingernails dug deep into my palms until they bled. My chest felt suffocated, filled with an agonizing, choking pain. I leaned my back heavily against the wall, standing there like a hollow shell. Inside, Chloe had made her decision. “I won’t break up with Ethan. I know how to separate love from marriage.” “Ethan loves me. He caters to my every whim, and he’s a stable provider. He’s the perfect husband material.” “Oh, come on. Doesn’t Tyler have money too?” Sarah teased. Chloe took a sip of her juice. “Tyler is too dominant—the classic arrogant alpha male type. He’s great as a lover, but not for marriage.” Instantly, the room erupted into laughter. “So you’re saying Ethan is just your golden retriever backup husband?” “How can you bully him like that?” “Haha, totally!” Sarah suddenly stopped laughing, her tone turning dead serious. “But wait, let me ask you something.” Everyone’s curiosity was piqued by Sarah’s sudden change in tone. “You and Tyler couldn’t have gotten pregnant from just that one night, right?” “You guys must have hooked up multiple times!” Chloe’s face flushed bright red, looking like an innocent, naive girl. Seeing her reaction, everyone sat up straight, eager for the gossip. “Of course it wasn’t just once,” Chloe mumbled. “Every time Ethan is out of the house, we hook up… you know how it is…”

“You guys are insane!” “I seriously want to ask Tyler what kind of vitamins he’s taking to have that much energy!” “No wonder Chloe looks so glowing lately. Ethan is the ultimate fool, raising another man’s kid without even knowing it.” Chloe’s friends filled the room with mockery and disdain directed entirely at me. Not a single one of them found Chloe and Tyler’s behavior disgusting. Birds of a feather really do flock together. Even though she hadn’t explicitly detailed her encounters with Tyler to me, I already knew. They had left their traces of lust all over our house. On the surface, Chloe would act guilty and apologetic in front of others. But behind closed doors, she would let Tyler drain all her energy and then fall fast asleep, showing absolutely no genuine remorse. Waves of dull pain washed over my chest, nearly breaking me. Finally, I took heavy steps away from the door, choosing not to confront her right then and there. When I walked out of the bar, the night wind was freezing. Just then, my phone rang. It was my business partner. “Ethan, does Chloe understand you like I do? Is she prettier than me?” “Does she have my wealth? You are so heartless. GC Group just made the Fortune 500 list, yet you abandoned us to go back and marry her.” Victoria sounded drunk. She was usually quiet, cold, and professional. If she weren’t deeply hurt, she would never have let her guard down like this. “Victoria, wait for me,” I said softly. “I will cut ties with Chloe as soon as possible. Once I settle things here, I’m coming back to you.” The drunk woman on the other end instantly seemed to sober up. After hanging up, I walked along the sidewalk. A fiery red Ferrari sped past me. It was Tyler’s car. He was probably on his way to see Chloe. I didn’t care anymore. Nothing they did could trigger any emotion in me now. When I got home, my mother was waiting for me in the living room. “Ethan, where have you been so late?” I stared coldly at my seemingly warm and loving mother. Remembering what Chloe had said in the lounge, the last shred of familial affection I had for her turned to ash. I was her biological son, yet she always favored Tyler. During our poorest year, I wore patched-up hand-me-downs while Tyler got brand-new clothes. He got a fancy cake for his birthday; I only got two boiled eggs. And now that we were adults, she was still helping Tyler, conspiring with outsiders to deceive me. Knowing all this, I had no intention of being polite. “Drink this,” she said, pointing to a pot on the counter. “I thought Chloe was home, so I made some chicken soup. Since she’s not here, you drink it.” I grabbed the pot and smashed it onto the floor. It shattered into pieces. My mother looked at me in shock, startled by my sudden rage. “What is wrong with you? Are you still upset about what happened at the wedding…?” “You already know she’s pregnant with Tyler’s baby, don’t you? That’s why you brought over this soup—to nourish her.” I cut her off. Panic flashed across her face, followed by disbelief. “How… how do you know?” I didn’t answer. I stepped closer, my anger radiating. “I’ve always wondered why you were so biased. I am your flesh and blood, yet you love a foster son who shares no blood with you. Now I know.” “Tyler is the son of your first love. You projected your obsession with his father onto him.” “Even if it meant destroying your own son’s life, you didn’t care.” Having her deepest secret exposed, my mother choked on her words, unable to speak.

“Ethan, I hope you can understand my position.” “Both you and Tyler are my boys. I love you both equally. I don’t favor anyone.” “Get out,” I said coldly. I didn’t want to waste my breath on her lies. In her heart, Tyler was her only beloved son. I was just a shadow. But my mother made no move to leave, looking as if she had something difficult to say. “Spit it out.” She only ever came to me when she wanted something, and I figured it was for Tyler again. “Ethan, I need a favor.” “Tyler’s startup failed. He wants to start over, but he doesn’t have the capital.” “I see how well you’re doing. Besides, he is your brother. Can you give him a million dollars…?” “The door is right there. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.” I gave her an eviction notice, refusing to discuss this nonsense. Right then, Chloe walked in, supporting a limping Tyler. She must have overheard our conversation. “Ethan, how can you speak to your mother like that? She’s just worried about Tyler!” As soon as she spoke, my mother rushed over to them. The three of them stood together, looking exactly like a happy family. From beginning to end, I was the only outsider. “If she’s so worried about him, she can go to the bank and take out a loan.” “Ethan, he is your brother…” “My brother? Ha! What a joke.” “If he really saw me as his brother, would he have crawled into bed with my fiancee?” “And my own mother always takes his side.” “Tell me, how much more do you expect me to tolerate?” Silence fell over the room. No one dared to speak. This house was suffocating. Just as I turned to leave, my mother yelled in frustration. “Wasn’t the wedding thing just a misunderstanding?” “They are innocent! Why can’t you just let it go instead of stabbing everyone in the heart?” I turned back and looked coldly at the three of them. The urge to argue died in my throat. One mouth couldn’t outtalk three hypocrites. Finally, Tyler, trying to play the good guy, stepped in to defuse the situation. “Ethan, I’m sorry.” “That night, I was completely drunk. I made a terrible mistake.” “I am begging for your forgiveness. Can you please forgive me?” “This is your home. If anyone should leave, it’s us.” Seeing Tyler’s seemingly sincere apology, both my mother and Chloe looked at him with immense pity. When I remained silent, refusing his apology, Chloe’s face hardened. “Tyler has already apologized to you personally. What more do you want?” “Nothing. I just want both of them to disappear from my sight right now.” Hearing my words, Tyler lowered his head, looking incredibly hurt. My mother glared at me defensively. Before she could speak, Tyler turned and ran out of the house in tears. But he ran too fast and slipped, tumbling down the stairs. “Tyler!” “Tyler!” Chloe screamed, then turned on me with venom in her eyes. “Ethan, why did you have to push him? You are worse than a monster!” “We don’t care if you forgive us anymore. We don’t need your forgiveness!” “Get out! I don’t want to see your face!” My mother didn’t say a word, she just kept glaring at me with cold eyes. I had told myself to let go and walk away, but being stabbed by them again still brought a wave of sharp pain to my chest. My own wife and my own mother would always choose another man. At this very moment, I finally realized that whether it was love or family, I didn’t want any of it anymore. “Chloe, we’re done.”

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I was just an ordinary rideshare driver trying to scrape together enough cash for rent, which is why I started talking about “the spiritual world” to my passengers. It was a cheap trick to pass the time and maybe fish for better tips. But one night, a heavily intoxicated woman stumbled into my backseat, sobbing uncontrollably. She told me her younger brother had been missing for days and asked me what she should do. Just to offer some harmless comfort, I threw out a random suggestion: “Don’t lose hope. Go check the fountain at Riverfront Park tomorrow morning. You might find a miracle waiting for you.” The next day, I woke up to find the entire city under police lockdown. The morning news was covering it live: a local resident had discovered a sealed waterproof backpack at the bottom of the Riverfront Park fountain. Inside was critical evidence that allowed the police to dismantle a massive, interstate human trafficking syndicate overnight. As I sat there in absolute shock, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Hello, is this Gina? This is the Major Crimes Unit. We’ve hit a wall on a case, and we’d like you to take us for a little drive…” 1 Midnight in the city always feels like a soaked, heavy black sponge, with the neon signs of the bars acting as the only faint, desperate glimmers of life. My Prius was just another exhausted fish navigating the endless concrete current. Another one-star review. There goes my weekly platform bonus. I sighed, pulling over near the crowded bar strip on Capitol Hill, waiting for the app to ping with my next ride. The driver’s side window was cracked open, letting in a sharp, unpleasant mix of stale beer and cheap perfume from the street. Just as my eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, the back door was suddenly yanked open. A wave of alcohol fumes hit me first, followed by a woman in her late thirties who collapsed onto the leather seats like a heap of wet laundry. “Just… just drive, please. Anywhere,” she slurred, her voice thick with unshed tears. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Her blazer was rumpled, her hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes were terribly bloodshot. Great. Another broken heart. I shifted into drive and smoothly merged back into the midnight traffic. When you drive the graveyard shift, you see every shade of human misery. Over the months, I’d cobbled together a pseudo-mystical routine to deal with it—a blend of astrology, energy readings, and cold-reading tricks I’d memorized from late-night Reddit threads and TikTok videos. It was perfect for comforting the lonely and the broken-hearted. “Hey,” I said, keeping my voice low and soothing, adopting my best intuitive persona. “Whatever is heavy on your mind, sometimes it helps to let it go.” The woman froze, as if she had finally found a safe harbor, and then she broke down completely. “My brother… he’s been missing for three days,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “The police aren’t doing anything! There are no leads, nothing!” She struck her own lap with a clenched fist, her knuckles turning white. “He’s only twenty-two. He just graduated… I was supposed to protect him.” Missing? My chest tightened. That wasn’t a standard relationship dispute. That was real, heavy danger. The practiced words of comfort died in my throat. I was just a rideshare driver; what could I possibly say to make that okay? The woman leaned forward, her desperate, tear-stained face reflecting in the dark glass of the windshield. “The bartender said you… you can see things. Please. Tell me where my brother is. Is he even alive?” She looked at me as if I were her absolute last hope. It made my skin crawl. How should I know? If I actually had psychic powers, would I be driving a hybrid for pennies? But looking at her swollen, desperate eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to shatter her illusion. The silence inside the car became suffocating. I kept driving, my mind racing to invent some harmless, comforting lie to ease her mind. As we crossed the bridge, the park below us was swallowed by the night, except for a small stone wishing fountain glowing faintly under a yellow streetlamp. A sudden spark of desperate inspiration hit me. I pointed out the window. “The threads of connection aren’t completely severed yet,” I murmured, lowering my voice to a rhythmic whisper. “Your brother is just lost. He’s trapped somewhere.” “Where?” she gasped, hanging on my every word. “A place where wishes collect,” I lied, making it up as I went. “People leave so much of their emotional energy there that it creates a pull. He might be waiting for you in a place like that.” I pointed toward the stone structure in the distance. “Don’t despair. Go check the fountain at Riverfront Park tomorrow. You might find a miracle.” She stared out the window, repeating the words like a mantra. “The fountain… the fountain…” Slowly, her breathing quieted, and a fragile, desperate hope flickered in her eyes. When we reached her destination, she handed me a massive tip and gave me a deep, respectful nod. “Thank you, master.” I watched her walk up her driveway, my stomach twisting with guilt. I’m a fraud. I hope you aren’t too disappointed tomorrow. I shook my head, turning the car around and disappearing into the rainy night. 2 The next morning, I was jarred awake by the harsh ringing of my phone. It was my landlord, reminding me that rent was overdue. I hung up, rubbing my temples as a dull headache throbbed behind my eyes. I wonder what happened to that poor woman. I dragged myself out of bed, brushed my teeth, and opened my phone to check the news. I nearly swallowed my toothbrush. Local News: Riverfront Park Completely Cordoned Off by Seattle Police. My heart did a sudden, violent flip. I clicked on the live feed. The screen showed Riverfront Park wrapped in miles of yellow crime scene tape, with dozens of officers moving through the trees. The camera focused directly on the stone fountain in the center of the plaza. Two police divers were emerging from the murky water, carrying a black, heavy-duty waterproof backpack. The reporter’s voice was tense with excitement: “We have just learned that early this morning, a local resident, acting on a ‘mysterious tip,’ went to the park fountain and noticed something unusual beneath the surface. Divers have recovered a sealed waterproof bag containing the personal belongings of missing twenty-two-year-old Devin… along with human remains.” Devin. My hand began to tremble. I remembered the woman mentioning her brother’s name. The reporter continued: “Sources close to the investigation reveal that the backpack also contained an encrypted ledger detailing a major interstate human trafficking syndicate. Law enforcement has launched a massive, coordinated sweep across the county, dismantling a criminal network that has evaded them for years.” My phone slipped slightly in my sweaty palm. A waterproof bag… the fountain… a trafficking ring… All of it because of a random, comforting lie I spun in the backseat of my car? Are you kidding me? This is insane. I collapsed onto my sofa, staring blankly at the screen as the audio faded into a dull buzz in my ears. Then, my phone rang again. It was an unknown local number. I took a slow breath and pressed accept. “Hello?” There was a brief pause, and then a calm, incredibly serious male voice spoke. “Is this Gina?” “Yes…” “I’m Detective Zach with the Major Crimes Unit.” The man paused, as if choosing his words with extreme care. “We have a homicide investigation that’s hit a wall. We’d like you to… take us for a little drive.” 3 Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in a quiet, minimalist coffee shop downtown. The ice in my americano had completely melted, but my throat still felt as dry as dust. Two people sat across from me. One was Detective Zach—young, sharp-eyed, wearing a dark utility jacket, with a gaze that felt like a laser cutting through my defenses. The other was a stern, middle-aged woman with sharp features and an aura that screamed authority. Zach introduced her as Captain Rhonda Cooper. She hadn’t looked at me once since we sat down, her fingers tapping a slow, impatient rhythm on the wooden table. “Gina, we appreciate you taking the time to meet us,” Zach began, breaking the tense silence. “Of course. Just trying to be a helpful citizen,” I replied, my voice sounding thin. “We spoke with Diana this morning,” Zach said, watching my face closely. “She claims you were able to point to her brother’s exact location in a matter of minutes.” “That was a complete misunderstanding!” I waved my hands frantically, nearly knocking over my watery coffee. “I was just trying to comfort her! It was a complete, million-to-one coincidence! I’m not a psychic, I swear!” Please, just let me go. I’m a fraud. Lock me up for lying, just don’t involve me in this! Zach didn’t react. He just kept studying my expression with an unsettling intensity. Captain Cooper finally let out a cold, quiet laugh, leaning forward. “A coincidence? Gina, your little ‘coincidence’ did more in five minutes than thirty of my best detectives did in three days of looking through traffic cameras.” Her words made me squirm in my seat. “I really don’t know what to tell you…” Before she could reply, the coffee shop door swung open and Diana rushed in. She had changed her clothes, but her eyes were still swollen and red. She ran straight to our table and practically threw herself at my feet. “Thank you! Thank you for finding my brother!” She grabbed my hand, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Even though he’s… at least the people who did this are behind bars. You’re our guardian angel.” The few other patrons in the cafe turned to look at us. I panicked, trying to pull her back up to a chair. “Please, stand up! I really didn’t do anything!” Cooper watched the scene unfold, her brow furrowing deeply. Zach gently escorted Diana to a nearby table to give her some space. When he returned, he slid a glossy crime scene photo across the table toward me. “Gina, let’s put the supernatural aside for a second and focus on the facts,” Zach said. The photograph showed a wealthy-looking middle-aged woman slumped on a velvet sofa. Her skin had a sickly, bluish tint, and her face was frozen in a mask of pain. “The victim is Beverly, fifty-two, a prominent real estate developer. She was found dead in her locked study. No signs of forced entry. The medical examiner says it was acute poisoning, but we haven’t found the source of the poison or how it was administered.” Zach kept his eyes locked on mine. “We’ve been on this for forty-eight hours and have nothing.” He tapped the photo. “We want to see if you can have another ‘coincidence’.” Cooper leaned back, crossing her arms with a skeptical sneer. “You think taking a rideshare driver to a crime scene is going to solve a high-profile homicide, Zach? This is absurd.” 4 Despite her protests, I found myself in the back of an unmarked police sedan. Cooper was at the wheel, Zach was in the passenger seat, and I was left to sit in the cold silence of the rear cabin. The atmosphere in the car was freezing. How did I end up here? I’m a driver, not a detective. “Alright, ‘master’,” Cooper said, her sarcastic tone reflecting in the rearview mirror. “Where are we heading? Should we go light some incense at a temple, or do you need to read some tea leaves?” I offered a weak, tight-lipped smile and kept my mouth shut. Zach turned around and handed me a thick folder. “Don’t let her get to you. This is Beverly’s case file. Take a look. See if you get any… ‘feelings’.” He put a slight, deliberate emphasis on the word feelings. My hands shook as I opened the folder, revealing crime scene photos of a sprawling, multi-million-dollar estate, locked doors, and close-ups of the victim’s body. My stomach churned at the sight. The only feeling I have is nausea. As Cooper drove aimlessly through the wealthy neighborhoods, the minutes stretched into an agonizing hour. My forehead was slick with sweat. I knew I had to say something—anything—to make them realize I was useless so they would let me go. I looked at Beverly’s photo again. Her mouth was slightly parted, her fingers curled tight, as if she had been desperately reaching for something right before she died. A sudden, ridiculous thought crossed my mind. I cleared my throat, trying to sound as mysterious and confident as possible. “What a tragedy.” The car fell perfectly silent. Both detectives watched me through their mirrors. “She was ruled by heat,” I began, letting the fictional narrative take over. “Too much ambition, too much fire. Water is the source of wealth, but it can also be the end of life.” “Get to the point,” Cooper muttered. “She was desperate for water before she died,” I said, leaning into the lie. “But there was something wrong with the water.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. A locked-room poisoning, and I suggest the water? It made no sense. Cooper began to scoff, but I quickly added one more detail to make the story sound finished. “Check her kitchen. There is… a leak. A dripping faucet. Running water always draws the spirit away.” A chill went down my own spine. Great, now they’ll think I’m completely out of my mind. The silence in the car was absolute. Cooper kept driving, her face unreadable. But Zach turned around slowly, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and sudden realization. He grabbed the radio on the console. “Dispatch, this is Detective Zach. Send a processing team back to Beverly’s residence immediately. Tell them to check the kitchen plumbing. Every single faucet.”

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After the college reunion ended, the venue locked us in. A state-of-the-art “Equilibrium Protocol” had taken over the building. The rules were simple, yet absolute: only couples with genuine, reciprocal love could unlock the doors by interlocking their fingers. One by one, under the pressure of the locked room, secret crushes confessed, old sparks reignited, and classmates walked out safe. I didn’t move. Neither did Nicola. We had been together in secret for seven years, and I knew her rules. I understood her caution. So, I quietly waited by her side. Until only four of us were left in the suffocating room. I thought the hiding was finally over. I took a deep, relieved breath and reached my hand out to her. But Nicola didn’t even look at my hand. Instead, she stepped right past me and grabbed Simon, who was shaking in the corner. “Biometric verification successful. True love match confirmed. Doors unlocked.” The automated voice echoed through the speaker. My hand froze in midair. Nicola didn’t look back. She just threw a hasty promise over her shoulder: “Just wait for me here, okay? I’ll find a way to get you out as soon as I’m free!” The heavy steel doors slammed shut. I watched the silhouette of her back, shielding Simon as she hurried out. Seven years. Seven years of late nights, shared dreams, and quiet devotion. And yet, the system didn’t recognize me as her true love. But she didn’t know one crucial detail. A few days later, when she brought a rescue crew to pry the doors open… I had already walked out of that room, my fingers tightly locked with my fiercest rival. 1 When we first realized the exit protocol was active, panic swept the VIP lounge. I sat in the corner, my eyes instinctively drifting toward Nicola on the other end of the sectional. She didn’t look back. She was leaning against the leather, lazily spinning the delicate silver chain on her wrist. Loop after loop. Her face was a mask of cool composure. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Nicola: Wait. Keep your distance. I replied: Okay. On our second day of dating, seven years ago, she had begged me to keep us a secret. “The firm is just getting off the ground, Zack,” she had pleaded, her eyes wide and anxious. “Investors don’t like partners with emotional baggage or distractions. Please.” So I agreed. For seven years, I became an expert at acting like a stranger in public. Couples kept matching and leaving. When there were only eight of us left, someone gestured toward us. “Hey, Nicola, Zack—you guys are both single, right? Why don’t you give it a shot?” My heart leaped. The crowd was small enough now. Even if we triggered the system, it wouldn’t matter. I looked at Nicola, ready to step forward. Before I could say a word, Nicola let go of her bracelet and laughed lightly. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re just old classmates. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of a handsome guy like Zack.” Her tone was casual, laced with a polite but chilling distance. The others Profile laughed, moving on. A familiar, dull ache bloomed in my chest, quickly fading into a numb acceptance. I was used to this. Nicola never, under any circumstances, showed any hint of affection in public. But then the doors kept opening and closing until only four remained. Me. Nicola. Simon Thatcher—who was curled up, looking terrified. And Maeve Harrington, sitting in the deepest shadow of the room. She had always been quiet, intense, and she hadn’t said a single word all night. But I was tired of waiting. I stood up and walked toward Nicola. I wanted to go home. I reached my hand out to her. But without warning, Nicola bypassed my outstretched fingers. She grabbed Simon’s trembling, tightly clasped hands. Before I could comprehend what was happening, the doors slid open. They crossed the threshold of the love-bound prison. The lounge wasn’t soundproof. Through the heavy wood, I could hear the immediate cheers of our classmates waiting outside. “I knew it! I knew you two were together! We were stressing out for you—the system only unlocks for real love!” “Damn, Nicola, you hid it well. But honestly, even back in college, you always treated Simon differently.” “Right? Remember sophomore year when those guys were bullying Simon, and then suddenly they stopped bothering him entirely? We thought they just found a conscience, but Tyler got drunk last month and let slip that Nicola took a baseball bat and some guys to the back alley to ‘educate’ them.” I slowly lowered my hand. My fingers were shaking so violently I had to tuck them into my pockets. Sophomore year. I remembered the night Nicola came back to our shared apartment with a split lip and scraped knuckles. I had panicked, running to the 24-hour Walgreens at two in the morning to buy antiseptic and bandages. She had pulled me into her lap, kissing my hair, and said softly: “You told me those guys were giving you trouble, right? I saw them today, and I couldn’t just stand by.” I had cried, my heart aching for her, and spent the next week waking up early to cook her favorite meals to help her heal. She hadn’t been fighting for me. She had been playing guardian angel for Simon. And that devotion had lasted seven years, culminating in a biometric system declaring them soulmates. My brain felt entirely hollow, ringing with a single question: What was I to her? 2 My phone buzzed with an incoming text from Nicola: Be good. Wait for me. I had heard those words for seven years. When I wanted to make us official, she told me to wait. When my parents wanted to meet the woman I was building a life with, she told me to wait. Now, she had walked out with her true love, and she still expected me to wait? No need. I’ll figure it out myself. Almost instantly, my phone rang. It was Nicola. I didn’t answer. Then came the flood of texts. Zack, don’t do this. Don’t be childish. It’s not what you think—the system must have glitched! Simon and I barely talk. He used to avoid me in college. How could he possibly love me? I know you’re upset, but he’s a major client. He was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer, Zack. He came to my firm to complete his bucket list. I couldn’t just leave him in there. Don’t be jealous. I checked the fridge—there’s enough food and water to last a few days. Once I get him settled and calm, I’ll find a way to get you out! Every line was placating, filled with reasonable-sounding excuses, but dripping with condescension. I didn’t believe her. And thank God I didn’t. Because outside, the voices of our classmates drifted through the door again. “Wait, isn’t it just Zack and Maeve left in there? Oh man, they’re going to be stuck forever!” The hallway went quiet for a second, followed by a burst of laughter. “Trying to get the star student and his academic rival to fall in love? That’s a death sentence.” “Should we play matchmaker from out here? Give them a little push so they can get out?” “That’s enough.” Nicola’s voice cut through the laughter, cold and sharp. “Stop joking. Those two are impossible.” She sounded so certain. I leaned my head against the door, a bitter, silent laugh escaping my lips. She was absolutely certain I would never look at Maeve. And she was even more certain that I could never leave her. She assumed I would do what I had always done: wait quietly in the dark until she was done playing her games, waiting for her to remember I existed. What gave her that right? Just then, my best friend, Kyle, called me. He was about to give me the answer. “I am losing my mind, Zack! That absolute piece of work. You need to hear what she’s saying right now.” He sent me an audio recording. The acoustics sounded like a hollow parking garage. Nicola’s voice was low, laced with a familiar, husky sigh: “You said you didn’t have feelings for me. Then why did the doors unlock when I grabbed your hand, Simon? Is playing hard to get fun for you?” Simon’s voice was thick with tears, trembling: “I regretted it… Nicola, back then, I just felt so worthless. I didn’t think I deserved you…” “You were so good to me. In high school, when everyone froze me out, you were the one secretly leaving milk in my locker. When they locked me in the gym closet, you skipped your final exams to climb through the window and find me.” “You even turned down early admission to Columbia just to stay in the same state as me… How could I not love you?” The sound of rustling jackets. “It’s too late,” Nicola said, her voice dropping. “I have a boyfriend.” “I don’t care,” Simon sobbed harder. “I don’t have much time left. Just for these next few weeks, Nicola… please, can you be my girlfriend? Even if it’s a lie.” There was a long pause, then a soft, heavy sigh. “Don’t cry. You’re still such a coward, afraid to even hold onto what you want…” I clicked the screen off, my fingers trembling. I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, hot tears finally spilling over my eyelashes and dripping onto my hands. Seven years. I thought I was the one who held her heart. 3 When I had a severe stomach ulcer and was hospitalized, she stayed by my bedside for three days and three nights without changing her clothes. When I casually mentioned I loved the apple fritters from that bakery across town, she stood in a snowstorm for three hours to get them for me. When I confessed I was afraid of the dark, she would stay on the phone with me every single night until she heard my breathing slow. It wasn’t because I was special. It was because she was capable of being that good to anyone she chose. I thought her secrecy was to protect us. Now I realized it was to keep her slate clean. She regretted that Simon hadn’t chosen her back then. So she kept her heart guarded, using me as a comfortable, safe harbor. Because she knew I loved her enough to swallow every insult, every compromise, and every lonely night. I was the only one who would let her sail away to mend her past regrets whenever she pleased, with zero consequences. Only this time, she was wrong. The illusion had shattered. I wiped my face, stood up, and looked across the dim room at Maeve. “Do you want to get out of here?” Her response was quicker than I expected, her voice cool and steady. “Yes.” “Have you heard of the suspension bridge effect?” I asked. “Under extreme stress or fear, the heart rate spikes, and the brain misinterprets it as romantic attraction.” “I’ve been looking at the system’s sensors. If we can get our heart rates over 130 and hold it there for ten seconds, we might fool the lock.” “Okay.” She stood up and walked toward me. A minute later. “Biometric verification successful. True love match confirmed. Doors unlocked.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and started to pull my hand back. But Maeve’s grip remained tight. She looked up at me, her chest rising and falling slightly. “I wasn’t holding my breath, Zack.” I froze, staring at her. Maeve let go, taking a polite step back to give me space. “I don’t need a suspension bridge, Zackary,” she said, her voice measured, quiet. “Just standing near you gets my heart rate over 120. My feelings don’t require a trick.” The air in the room seemed to solidify. Suddenly, memories I had dismissed flashed through my mind. Every time I had cried in the library after failing to secure a top internship, a hot coffee would mysteriously appear on my desk the next morning. Every time Nicola and I fought and I walked home alone in the dark, a familiar black sedan would crawl slowly behind me, keeping a safe, protective distance. I had always assumed it was a coincidence. “Maeve, I…” “You don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted, her expression softening. “I’m just stating a fact. The door is open. Let’s go.” I pulled out my phone and opened Nicola’s chat. I typed three words: We are over. I hit send. A red exclamation mark popped up. I was blocked. I opened Instagram. Simon’s latest post was a photo of a handwritten bucket list. Item #99: I want my girl to love only me from this moment on. The comments were already flooded. One of Simon’s friends commented: Not enough, bro. She needs to delete every guy on her phone who isn’t work-related to prove it! Simon had replied: She already did (blushing emoji) I stared at the red exclamation mark. Seven years in the dark, and I didn’t even get a decent goodbye. Then, my phone rang. It was an unknown number, but I knew the voice instantly when I answered. “Zack, it’s me. Are you okay in there? You aren’t scared, are you?” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice entirely flat. Nicola let out a relieved sigh. “Good. Don’t be mad about the block. It was just to appease Simon’s list—it’s a client management thing. Don’t be petty, Zack. Once I close this deal and get the final payment, I’ll add you back.” “Just try to understand me,” she pleaded, her voice softening into that sweet, manipulative tone. “Be good and wait for me. I’ll bring a crew to get the door open tomorrow.” Understand her? Hadn’t I spent seven years doing exactly that? “Don’t bother adding me back,” I said, looking up at the night sky outside the venue. “Nicola, we’re done.” 4 The line went silent for a few seconds before she let out a weary sigh. “Are you jealous again? I told you, it’s just work. I’ve been with you for seven years, Zack. Can’t you handle just a few days of this?” “Once I’m done with this client, I’ll buy you that watch you liked to make it up to you. Be good, stop throwing tantrums.” I hung up immediately, then blocked her number. By the time I got back to our apartment, the sky was beginning to turn pale. I pulled two large suitcases out of the closet and started packing. My clothes, my shoes, my books. When I reached for the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, my hand paused. Inside lay a pair of custom-ordered wedding bands. Engraved on the inner band: N.C. Next to them sat a wedding dress I had hand-sewn myself. Last year on her birthday, she got drunk and cried in my arms. She said she felt terrible for keeping me in the dark, and promised that once her company went public, she would give me the biggest wedding imaginable. I believed her. I secretly took sewing classes, pricking my fingers countless times, and stitched every detail of that dress by hand. I wanted to hand it to her on the day she finally went public. What a pathetic joke. I grabbed a pair of fabric scissors, lined them up against the collar of the dress, and sliced it to shreds. I threw the ruined silk and the custom rings into the trash. My phone rang. It was my father. “Zack, when are you finally bringing this girlfriend of yours home?” his voice sounded strained. “Seven years! You keep her hidden like she’s a secret. Tomorrow is your mother’s sixtyeth birthday. You must bring her.” “No more excuses!” My father only knew I had a girlfriend, but he had no idea who she was. Nicola had always maintained that until her business was successful, she would feel too embarrassed to meet my parents. I had covered for her every single time. She had never introduced me to her parents either, claiming they were traditional and wouldn’t approve of us living together before marriage. To keep things low-profile, I had only added her mother on a burner social media account, never interacting beyond liking her posts. Her mother had no idea who I was. But half an hour ago, she had posted an update. My sweet girl finally brought her fiancé home to meet us. Simon is such a wonderful young man. I know he’ll get through this. The photo showed her holding Simon’s hand, smiling warmly. A spread of gourmet food covered the table. Nicola sat next to him, peeling shrimp for him with a gentle expression. So, it wasn’t that she couldn’t introduce a partner to her parents. I was just the one who didn’t qualify. I took a deep breath. “Dad, tomorrow at noon. I’ll bring her.” This time, I wouldn’t hide. The next day, Nicola was at the amusement park with Simon, watching him ride the carousel. After they finished, she met up with her friends. Bella leaned in, smirking. “Hey, Nicola, going to pick up your guy? You’ve left him stewing for a few days. Is he going to be pissed?” Nicola rubbed her temples and let out a long breath. She hadn’t been able to reach Zack all day. She tried calling from other numbers, but they went unanswered. Her texts went into a void. She figured he was just sulking, but she wasn’t particularly worried. He always came around. Whenever they fought, she would give him the silent treatment for a couple of days, offer a small gesture, and he would happily take the olive branch. Besides, the VIP room had plenty of refreshments. He wasn’t in any danger. “Let’s go,” she said, motioning to the locksmith crew she’d hired. “Let’s go get Zack.” A group of them arrived at the venue. But as Nicola reached out to knock, she froze. The heavy door was wide open. “Why is it unlocked?” Nicola frowned. “Did we get the wrong room?” One of her friends didn’t answer. She was staring at her phone screen, suddenly catching her breath. “Oh my god… what is this? Nicola, look at this!” She hurriedly held her phone up to Nicola’s face. Nicola’s eyes went wide.

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I was standing at the altar, my hand poised to receive the ring from my maid of honor, when everything fractured. Before we could even exchange vows, Elliot snatched the microphone from the officiant’s hand. His voice boomed through the high-ceilinged cathedral, stripped of all the warmth I’d known for three years. “Alright,” he said, his tone casual, almost bored. “You’ve had your little rehearsal as the bride. Now, be a good girl and go back to being my mistress.” I froze, looking up at him in utter bewilderment. My mind couldn’t register what was happening. Camille, my maid of honor—the woman Elliot had spent our entire relationship insisting was just his platonic, childhood best friend—stepped forward. She slid her arm through his with practiced ease. “Oh, Elliot,” she pouted, though her eyes were gleaming with triumph. “Why did you have to ruin the surprise so early?” She turned to me, her smile dripping with mock pity. “She was just thanking me downstairs for taking care of you all these years. She even said she wanted me to be the godmother when she had your babies!” My brain went entirely numb. The tears came as a physical reflex, hot and fast, before the realization of what was happening could even settle in. Elliot reached out, pinching my cheek with a tenderness that felt like a physical blow. “Iris, don’t cry,” he murmured. “You look so beautiful when you cry. It makes me want to play these little games with you again and again.” “Camille is generous,” he added, his voice dropping to a soothing whisper. “As long as you behave, she doesn’t mind keeping you around as my mistress.” The edges of my vision began to blur. In that agonizing silence, the truth finally crystallized. The “best friend” he swore was practically a sister? She was his actual fiancée. This was her wedding. I was just the dress rehearsal. 1 “Congratulations! Elliot and Camille, finally making it official!” A man at the front table stood up, raising his crystal glass of champagne toward them. He didn’t even look at me. “And don’t take it too hard, Iris. Being kept by a man like Elliot is a privilege most girls would kill for.” The room erupted into a ripple of knowing laughter. “God, Elliot really knows how to pull off a stunt.” “She’s still a college student, isn’t she? Poor thing probably doesn’t know what hit her.” I stood frozen on the elevated stage. The heavy lace of my wedding dress, which had felt like a dream only an hour ago, now felt like a shroud. I felt entirely stripped bare, put on display in the middle of a crowded square for their collective amusement. Everyone in this room knew. Every single guest, every bridesmaid, every caterer. Everyone except me. Elliot reached into the breast pocket of his tailored tuxedo, pulled out a gold-embossed keycard, and pressed it into my palm. “Go wait for me at the penthouse, sweetheart. I’ll come to you as soon as the reception is over.” He leaned down, his warm breath brushing against my earlobe. He whispered, in a tone so intimate it made my stomach turn: “I kept my promise, didn’t I? Tomorrow morning, I’m going to make sure you can’t even get out of bed.” I couldn’t move. My fingers curled around the cold plastic of the keycard. The weight of the shame and betrayal pressed down on my chest like water filling my lungs. “Why?” I whispered, my voice cracking as I forced myself to meet his eyes. “If you didn’t love me… if you didn’t want this… why couldn’t you just tell me? Why did you have to do this?” Elliot looked at me, and for a fleeting second, that familiar look of adoration crossed his face. He reached out to brush a tear from my cheek, his touch agonizingly gentle. “Iris, who said I don’t love you? Your innocence… it’s the most beautiful thing about you.” He smiled, a soft, chilling expression. “That’s why I love watching you love me so completely. And I love the way you look when you realize you’ve been broken.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stared at him as if he were a stranger wearing the face of the man I loved. Only last night, he had stood behind me in front of the mirror, helping me adjust the train of this very dress. His arms had wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. “You know, Iris,” he had whispered, his chin resting on my shoulder. “The first time I saw you on campus, I thought: that girl is going to look breathtaking in white.” I had blushed, leaning into him. “And now?” He had laughed softly, kissing the hollow behind my ear. “Now, you’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” “Alright, Elliot. Don’t scare the poor girl. Iris is still young.” Camille had wandered over, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. She had already changed into a gown that made mine look like a cheap knockoff—an intricate, diamond-encrusted masterpiece. She patted Elliot’s shoulder before looking down at me with a polished, maternal smile. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m not a jealous woman. As long as you know your place, you’ll be well taken care of.” My hands shook so violently I had to ball them into fists to keep from vibrating. I took a deep breath, tasting the expensive floral perfume in the air, and spoke with every ounce of dignity I had left. “I won’t be anyone’s mistress.” The ambient chatter seemed to dip. Elliot’s expression didn’t change, but his left eyebrow arched slightly—a small, dangerous gesture I had learned to fear. Then, in his gentlest, most melodic voice, he delivered the blow. “Iris, sweetie… your graduate school fellowship. It’s still in the public review phase, isn’t it?” I froze. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. The air left my lungs entirely. Before I could recover, two burly security guards in black suits stepped onto the stage, taking me firmly by the elbows. As they began to drag me away, Elliot leaned forward and tapped the tip of my nose playfully. “Be a good girl, Iris. Don’t make a scene. You’ve been mine since your freshman year. Everyone knows it. If you leave me, where else do you think you can go?” The penthouse was on the thirty-second floor, offering a sweeping view of the city skyline. The refrigerator was stocked with the exact brands of organic berries and sparkling water I liked. The walk-in closet was organized by season, filled with designer clothes in my size. Even the toothbrush on the marble vanity was the precise charcoal-bristled brand I always used. But my phone was gone. In its place sat a pre-programmed burner phone Elliot had left on the nightstand. Every move I made, every breath I took, was under his watch. I sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, staring at the floor, realizing with sickening clarity that I had been locked in a gilded cage. Late that night, the heavy front door clicked open. Elliot walked in, smelling of expensive whiskey and late-night cigars. He opened the fridge, saw that I hadn’t touched a single thing, and a flicker of soft frustration crossed his eyes. “Iris,” he said, walking over. “Are you trying to starve yourself to punish me?” I didn’t look up. My voice was a dry rasp. “Let me go.” He let out a soft laugh. There was no anger in it. Instead, he knelt in front of me, his posture almost reverent. “And go where? Back to campus? To that cramped dorm room with five roommates, sharing a communal bathroom and eating cheap cafeteria food?” I remained silent. He reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Why the silence? Are you still fighting this?” His tone shifted, growing slightly heavier, a touch of dark disappointment creeping in. “Iris, you know me. I rarely give people second chances.” I closed my eyes. The pain in my chest was dull and constant, like a bruised muscle. I didn’t answer his question. Instead, I asked the one that was tearing me apart. “Was it all a lie? From the very beginning?” Elliot blinked, surprised. Then, his brow furrowed, a shadow of irritation passing over his face. “What is the point of asking that now?” He stood up, poured himself a glass of scotch, and sat on the adjacent armchair in heavy silence. My mind drifted back to the summer three years ago. He had pursued me for three months. He hadn’t been aggressive or flashy. He didn’t shower me with overwhelming gifts. Instead, he simply showed up at the university library every single afternoon, sitting at the table opposite mine. He would quietly place a perfectly iced lavender latte within my reach, and then open his own book, never bothering me. Eventually, I had looked up and asked, “Elliot, what do you actually want from me?” He had looked up, his eyes bright with a warmth that felt entirely real. “You, Iris. Just you.” “I have everything else in the world,” he had said, his voice dropping to a serious, quiet register. “But I don’t have you. And you’re the only thing that matters.” I had believed him. I had fallen for him. That night, Elliot didn’t touch me. But he didn’t answer my question either. The next afternoon, Camille came. She brought a bouquet of fresh white gardenias and a basket of imported fruit. “Elliot had these flown in from California this morning,” she said, setting them on the counter. “Have some.” I didn’t move. She didn’t seem to care. She picked up a silver paring knife and began slicing an apple with effortless grace. “Iris, if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to overthink things. Just pretend nothing changed. You can keep calling me ‘big sister’ like you used to.” She chuckled softly to herself. “I always thought it was so cute when you called me that.” She looked at me, her eyes holding the lazy amusement of someone watching a stubborn puppy try to climb a step. A wave of intense nausea hit me. I leaned over and gagged. Camille’s smile vanished. Her expression hardened into something cold and displeased. “You’re being incredibly ungrateful, Iris.” Before I could react, she took the paring knife and ran the blade lightly across her own palm. A thin line of blood welled up. She immediately let out a sharp cry and rushed into the kitchen, throwing herself into Elliot’s arms as he walked in. “Elliot! She… Iris tried to stab me!” Elliot came out of the kitchen, his expression perfectly calm. I opened my mouth to explain, but he raised a hand, cutting me off. “I know, Iris. You’re too gentle to do something like this.” He looked at Camille’s bleeding hand, then looked back at me. “But you’re becoming difficult.” “Apologize to Camille.” I stood up slowly, the weight in my chest suffocating. “And if I say no?” The metallic scent of blood mingled with the sweet fragrance of the gardenias. Elliot didn’t look at me. He pulled out a silver lighter and lit a cigarette. “You’re testing my patience, Iris.” He flicked the ash onto the hardwood floor, his face darkening with a sudden, sharp irritation. “Have I spoiled you so much that you’ve forgotten the gap between us?” The door opened, and two security guards walked in. Without a word, one of them kicked the back of my knee. A sharp pain shot up my leg, and I collapsed onto the floor. Tears stung my eyes, but I forced myself to swallow them. Elliot was right. He was the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire. Even the city’s most powerful politicians treated him with deference. And I was just a scholarship student from a small town. With one phone call, he could erase everything I had ever worked for. When we first started dating, my friends had warned me that men like Elliot didn’t have hearts. They said he was ruthless. I hadn’t believed them because he had been so incredibly tender with me. He had never even raised his voice. But as the first blow landed across my face, the truth finally broke through. He didn’t want a partner. He wanted a pet to play with, a toy for him and his wife. “Just apologize, Iris,” Elliot muttered, his eyes fixed on his cigarette. He didn’t even seem to notice the cherry burning close to his fingers. I gritted my teeth and stared at him through my hair, refusing to make a sound. A second slap hit me, harder this time. My head slammed against the floor, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Then came the third. The fourth. My vision went black at the edges, the pain dulling into a numb vibration. Finally, Camille spoke up, her voice light and airy. “That’s enough, Elliot. I know you only care about me.” She walked over and poked my swollen cheek with a manicured finger, letting out a cruel little giggle. “Look at her. She’s not even pretty anymore. Make sure you clean her up later.” After she left, Elliot knelt beside me. He took a warm, damp cloth and gently wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. His touch was incredibly tender, almost loving. “Does it hurt?” he murmured. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t say a word, but the tears kept slipping down my cheeks. Elliot sighed, a long, weary sound. “If you had just apologized, none of this would have happened. Camille is reasonable when she’s happy.” He set the cloth down. His fingers slid from my cheek to my jaw, then down to my throat. His hand lingered on my collarbone before reaching down to unbutton the top of my shirt. My body reacted before my brain did. I lunged forward and bit down on the back of his hand as hard as I could. Blood immediately filled my mouth. Elliot let out a low grunt of pain, but he didn’t pull away. He sat perfectly still, his face darkening until it was entirely devoid of life. Suddenly, he grabbed the back of my head, slamming me forward against his chest. His voice was colder than I had ever heard it. “Lick it clean, Iris.” A wave of pure disgust washed over me. I tried to pull back, but his grip was like iron. As I struggled, he violently tore my shirt open. The balcony door was open, and the freezing night air hit my bare skin, locking my muscles in place. “If you don’t start behaving, Iris, you know what happens next.” He pulled out his phone. The screen showed an active draft email to my academic advisor. That night, I stopped fighting. My tears blurred the ceiling until everything dissolved into darkness. When it was over, I huddled in the corner of the shower, letting the freezing water pour over me for hours. He leaned against the bathroom doorframe, his silhouette obscured by the smoke of another cigarette. “Elliot,” I sobbed, my voice cracked and broken. “Please. Let me go back to school. I’m begging you.” Through the haze of smoke, I couldn’t see his face. After a long silence, he spoke quietly. “Fine. But don’t regret it.” I didn’t understand what he meant by “regret.” I thought he had finally felt a shred of pity. I thought he was letting me go. But when I returned to campus the next morning, the stares met me at the gates. Cold, mocking, and full of disgust. The university’s anonymous forum was blown up with a viral post. My mind went entirely blank. My hands shook so violently it took me three tries to unlock my phone. SCANDAL: Senior Iris Campbell, Elliot Crawford’s Secret Mistress—The Paid Plaything of the City’s Elite. The photos were heavily pixelated, but anyone who knew me could tell it was me. It was the bed in Elliot’s penthouse. He hadn’t taken photos on his phone. There had been a camera in the room. Nausea hit me like a physical wave. I ran to the nearest bushes and threw up until my stomach was empty. Students walked by, some taking photos, some recording, others whispering loudly enough for me to hear. “She looked so innocent.” “I wonder what her hourly rate is.” I practically crawled back to my dorm, my clothes torn from stumbling, utterly humiliated. But when I pushed the door open, my roommates were already packing their bags. They looked at me, instantly stepping back to create distance, their faces cold. “Iris, we had no idea you were that kind of person.” “No,” I pleaded, shaking my head. “Please, I’m not… he lied to me. I didn’t know.” But they didn’t believe me. To them, Elliot was a public figure. I had been with him for three years; how could I not know he was engaged? By afternoon, my advisor called me into her office. She told me that due to “moral turpitude” and the public scandal, my graduate fellowship had been officially revoked. I tried to explain that I was the victim, that I had been coerced, but she only sighed, refusing to meet my eyes. “The university’s new science wing and library were funded entirely by Elliot’s family foundation, Iris. Even if you are telling the truth, there is nothing we can do.” When the line went dead, the realization finally settled in my bones. This was what he meant by “regret.” He was stripping away every single piece of my life until there was nothing left but him. He wanted me to learn that without him, I was nothing. The dorm room was quiet and empty. My phone kept buzzing with anonymous threats, vile slurs, and degrading propositions. That night, it started to rain. I stood outside the gates of Elliot’s estate, shivering, and dialed his number. He answered on the first ring. His voice carried the smug, untouchable satisfaction of a man who had won. “Iris. Have you learned your lesson?” I gripped the phone, the shame burning hot in my throat. But when I spoke, only a quiet, broken word came out. “Yes.” A soft, amused chuckle came through the receiver. “You’re a smart girl, Iris. So clean, so pure. You’re only saying that to get out of this, aren’t you?” I froze, my knuckles turning white. “I knew it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “Nobody knows you better than I do, sweetheart. That’s why the punishment isn’t over yet. You need to truly understand what you did wrong.” “Don’t disappoint me, Iris.” The call ended. I stood frozen in the downpour. Before I could move, three men emerged from the shadows of the estate gates. The blood drained from my face. The last piece of hope I had held onto shattered into dust. I don’t remember the details of how they dragged me into the dark alleyway. Fists and boots rained down on me. The world faded into a red, wet blur. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard one of them answer a phone. “Yeah? Anything?” “Are you sure? We won’t get in trouble?” “Got it. Understood.” After that call, everything changed. Belts were unbuckled. Clothes were torn. I fought with every ounce of strength I had left, my fingers scrambling for my phone, desperately dialing 911. But I had forgotten—this was the phone Elliot had given me. The emergency bypass had been disabled. In a panic, I hit the only speed dial programmed into the system. The call connected. But the voice that answered wasn’t Elliot’s. It was Camille’s. “Iris, sweetie, he’s in the shower. If you have something to say, you can tell him when he’s done.” In that single, agonizing second, I understood. I knew exactly who had sent them. But understanding didn’t save me. My world ended in the twenty minutes that followed. Elliot stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom and saw his phone resting on the counter. “Did Iris call?” Camille was sitting on the edge of the bed, painting her nails. “Yeah. I told her you were busy. She hung up.” Elliot frowned, immediately redialing her number. It rang and rang, eventually going straight to voicemail. He sighed, rubbing his temples. “She’s still throwing a tantrum.” But a second later, a local news alert popped up on his screen: POLICE INVESTIGATING APPARENT GROUP ASSAULT AND SUICIDE; SEARCH UNDERWAY FOR BODY OF YOUNG WOMAN WHO JUMPED INTO THE RIVER.

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During our three years of marriage, Caroline spent nearly half her nights at the apartment across the river. She told me that because her older sister had passed away early, leaving Jared entirely alone, she had a duty as a sister-in-law to look after him. She called it the Grayson family’s deep sense of loyalty. Back then, I was foolish enough to believe her. To preserve her dignity and respect her sense of obligation, I endured her absence on holidays, tolerated our Thanksgiving dinners being cut in half, and even swallowed the quiet mockery of outsiders who whispered that I was a weak, accommodating husband—a man sharing his wife. Yet, whenever she spoke to me, her tone was always gentle but distant, like a glass wall. Until the day of the multi-car pileup, when all three of our cars were crushed into scrap metal. I was clutching my right leg, where the stitches had only recently been removed. Cold sweat drenched my clothes as I clawed at the shattered window. “Caroline, please, help me…” She managed to crawl out of the driver’s seat. Her eyes swept over my blood-soaked leg. But she turned away, wrenching open the back door instead. She pulled Jared—who had nothing but a minor scratch on his forehead—tightly against her chest. “Don’t look, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.” She patted his back, soothing his panic over and over. While my door, warped and crushed, remained locked tight. She wasn’t fulfilling a sacred familial duty. She just couldn’t bear to see him suffer a single scratch. 1 The ambulance arrived, sirens blaring. The firefighters used hydraulic shears to cut through the door trapping me. I looked down beneath my seat. It was a pool of my own blood. A sharp, throbbing agony radiated through my right leg. I held it tightly with both hands. Seven months of agonizing physical therapy—all my hard work was riding on this leg, and I didn’t even know if I would ever move it again. I went limp as they hoisted me onto the stretcher. The paramedic pressed an oxygen mask over my face and shouted into the chaos outside: “Where is the family? What’s the patient’s history? Do you have his rehab records?” Caroline was leaning over, gently dabbing at a tiny scratch, barely an inch long, on Jared’s forehead with a tissue. The paramedic shouted again. Caroline glanced over her shoulder at me, her lips parting. “He’s… he’s been in rehab for seven months. Beyond that, I don’t really know.” She didn’t really know. Every time I came back from a checkup, I filed the progress reports in the second drawer of the study. She had never opened it. Yet she knew exactly which medications Jared was allergic to, which of his knees had the old injury, and precisely how many minutes to steep his herbal tea. As the stretcher rolled away, I turned my head to look at her. She didn’t follow. Jared gripped her arm, trembling against her shoulder. She lowered her head, resting her hand on the back of his neck. “Don’t look over there. You’re safe. Just close your eyes, I’m here.” Before the ambulance doors slammed shut, I saw her helping Jared into another vehicle. I was rushed straight into surgery the moment I arrived at the hospital. I bit my lip to keep from screaming, but tears leaked from the edges of my mask, hot and silent. A nurse banged on the operating room door. “We need a family signature! Consent form for emergency nerve repair. Is there anyone here?” The door swung open. Caroline walked in. Her hand shook as she signed her name on the bottom line. I thought she would step closer to me. But the moment the pen left the paper, she pulled out her phone to answer a call. She lowered her voice, but I heard every word. “Don’t worry, Jared. The scans will be ready soon. I had Oliver go with you. I’ll be there as soon as I sign this.” The anesthesia flooded my veins, dragging me into the dark. I had no idea how long the surgery lasted. When I finally woke up, it was the middle of the night. Oliver was slumped over the edge of my bed, his eyes red and swollen. My first words were, “My leg… how is it?” He didn’t answer. I looked at his face, and I closed my eyes. Outside the door, my mother-in-law’s hushed voice carried through the crack. “Jared, sweetheart, don’t blame yourself. Caroline has handled everything. Go home and get some sleep. Your health comes first…” Nobody mentioned my right leg. It was as if those seven months of grueling, agonizing physical therapy had never existed. Caroline came in later, just once. She stood at the foot of my bed, silent for a long time. Then she spoke: “I asked the rehab center to keep your spot. Just focus on healing.” She didn’t say she was sorry. She didn’t mention that my right leg was permanently damaged. I said nothing. The next day, Oliver showed me a photo taken by a passing car’s dashcam. In the first photo, Caroline stood by my side of the car, her hand resting on the warped metal frame. In the second photo, she had already turned toward the backseat, pulling open Jared’s door. I stared at the printout, my thumb pressing hard against the paper. It wasn’t a matter of running out of time. She had simply made her choice. I turned the photo face down on the hospital bed, placing my hand over my numb, useless leg. My eyes were dry, burning with a pain too deep for tears. Outside, someone whispered that Jared had been severely traumatized. I closed my eyes and turned my face toward the shadow. That night, for the first time, I didn’t wait for Caroline to come back. 2 On the day I was discharged, Caroline came to pick me up. She opened the passenger door, her hand hovering gently behind my back in a show of tender care. I didn’t speak the entire ride. When we reached our building, she got out to grab the luggage. I limped into the living room and noticed a brown medicine organizer on the coffee table. A man’s cashmere shawl—not mine—draped over the arm of the sofa. Beside the TV stand stood a framed black-and-white portrait of Caroline’s late sister, Catherine. I froze at the entrance. Behind me, Caroline paused as she kicked off her shoes. “Jared hasn’t been doing well. He’s having night terrors and can’t be left alone. I told him he could stay here for a few days, just until he stabilizes.” I didn’t reply. I walked straight toward the master bedroom. Pushing open the cracked door, I saw Jared sitting on the edge of my bed, sorting small pill bottles. He was wearing my slippers. Seeing me, he immediately stood up. “Jude, you’re back.” His voice was soft, fragile. “I’m just… I’m terrified of the dark, and I couldn’t handle being alone. Caroline said I could stay here for a couple of days. I’ll leave as soon as I’m a bit better. I won’t be a burden.” I looked down at the slippers on his feet. They were the slip-resistant ones I bought after my accident. Caroline had spent hours helping me choose them. I turned to Caroline. “He’s staying in the master bedroom?” Caroline leaned against the doorframe, a strained, conflicted look on her face. “He had a panic attack the other night and fell. No one found him until morning. The master bedroom is closer to the living room. It’s easier to keep an ear out.” “You can take the study for now. I’ve already made up the daybed for you.” A heavy knot tightened in my throat. There was so much I wanted to say, but not a single word came out. Not because I was afraid, but because in that exact moment, I realized my place in this home could be packed up and moved at her convenience. At dinner, Jared sat at the table, ladling soup for Caroline. He glanced up at me, then quickly lowered his gaze. “Jude, I know you just got out of the hospital, and I shouldn’t be intruding. But Caroline is Catherine’s only sister. If she turns her back on me, I truly have no one left to lean on.” Caroline placed a piece of chicken in my bowl. “Jude, it hasn’t been easy for Jared. Just focus on your recovery. I’ll handle the rest. I won’t let you down.” I stared at the food in my bowl. After dinner, I walked down the hall to my physical therapy room. The moment I pushed the door open, I knew something was wrong. The bins on the windowsill that held my knee braces and resistance bands were gone. In their place stood a wooden easel and several boxes of oil paints. An index card hung from the easel, written in elegant script: Art Therapy for Emotional Healing. I stood in the doorway, staring at the easel, as the knot in my throat finally dissolved into cold clarity. I turned around. Caroline was standing in the hallway. She spoke first. “Jared’s therapist suggested art therapy to manage his anxiety, and we don’t have any other spare rooms…” I cut her off. “This is my rehabilitation room.” She hesitated. “Jude, I packed your rehab gear away. I didn’t throw it out. Please don’t upset yourself, you’re still recovering. Once Jared moves back, I’ll put everything back exactly how it was.” I didn’t have the energy to fight her. I just suddenly wanted to know where my hope of walking properly had been stashed. In the middle of the night, I limped over to the storage closet and opened the door. My therapy table and heating units were nowhere to be found. The training clothes I had folded so carefully were gone too. Only a few label stickers lay at the bottom of an empty cardboard box. The housekeeper crept up behind me. “Sir… those things… Mrs. Grayson said keeping them around would only make you sad about your leg. She had them sent to the charity auction run by Mr. Jared’s foundation.” I bent down to pick up a label from the bottom of the box. On it, I had written my weekly milestones and expected recovery dates. I stared at it for a long time, then folded the paper and squeezed it tightly in my fist. In this house, even the physical proof of my struggle to heal had to be cleared out for him. I closed the closet door. The click of the latch was quiet. But as it snapped shut, something inside me locked away forever. 3 On the day of my follow-up appointment, Caroline said something urgent had come up at the office and sent the driver to take me. I registered, waited in line, got my scans, and waited for the report entirely alone. The doctor frowned as he flipped through my chart. “The nerve recovery isn’t looking good. There’s no improvement in the damaged tissue. You need to take your medication on schedule, avoid physical strain, and keep your stress levels down.” He looked up. “Where is your spouse? Why did you come alone?” “She’s busy,” I said. The doctor gave me a long look but didn’t press further. When I got back, Caroline was sitting in the living room. She stood up and took the folder from my hand. “What did the doctor say?” “Still recovering,” I replied. She nodded, relieved. Then she said something that made me freeze in my tracks. “Jude, let’s keep the news about your permanent limp quiet for now. Jared has been extremely unstable lately. Hearing about permanent injuries might trigger his PTSD from the accident. Please, try to be understanding.” I stood in the entryway, my coat still half-on. “You want me to hide it?” “Not hide it,” she said quickly. “Just… don’t make it public yet. We can talk about it once Jared is doing better.” I stared at her. Her expression was entirely earnest, pleading. It was a face I knew all too well. Every time she wanted me to compromise, she looked at me exactly like this. The next day, my mother-in-law called. “Jude, Caroline told me. Don’t think I’m being heartless, dear. You’re still young, you can take your time to heal.” “But Jared can’t. He already lost Catherine. Any more shock might break him completely.” “I’ve changed the reservation for your recovery dinner. We’re turning it into a three-year memorial dinner for Catherine instead. All the relatives have been notified. I’m sure you don’t mind.” I sat in the dim study, holding the phone. That recovery dinner was something Caroline and I had booked together four months into my therapy. I had picked out the menu. I had written the guest list. The table cards were supposed to say Celebrating a New Beginning. Now, it had been handed over to celebrate someone else’s grief. I cleared my throat. “Martha, even if my leg is ruined, I fought hard for it. I want to keep a small commemorative plaque. Nothing big. Just something to put on my desk.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. “Jude, Jared is living with you. If you put that out, what happens if he sees it?” After I hung up, I sat in the darkness of the study as the sun sank below the horizon. I remembered telling Oliver once that Caroline was just weighed down by her family duty, but that she loved me. Yet now, even the memory of my recovery wasn’t allowed to exist in our home. On the night of the memorial dinner, I was seated at the very end of the long table. The entire room was reminiscing about Catherine. Jared sat right next to the head of the table, basking in the attention of the family. People patted his hand, piled food onto his plate, and sighed over how tragic it was for him to be a young widower. No one mentioned my leg. A distant uncle whispered to the person next to him: “Why does Caroline’s husband look so miserable? He’s so young, yet he sits there with a sour face. Doesn’t he know how much this family has been through?” My hand tightened around my water glass. Suddenly, Jared swayed, gripping the edge of the table. The entire room stood up in a panic. My mother-in-law was the first to reach him. “Jared! What is it? Are you feeling dizzy again?” Caroline rushed around the table, kneeling by his side. The uncle turned to me, raising his voice so the table could hear. “Did someone say something to upset him? Jared has been so fragile. How can anyone be so insensitive?” I knew he was looking at me. I didn’t get up. I realized then that no matter what I did, everyone in this room would find a way to blame Jared’s collapse on me. When we got home that night, I didn’t wait up for Caroline. I logged into my online banking and pulled up three years of joint account statements. Then I drove to the hospital to print the billing records from the night of the crash. On the night of the accident, Caroline had paid for Jared’s full battery of scans and a private room first. Her payment went through forty-seven minutes before I was wheeled into surgery. And the receipt for my surgical deposit bore Oliver’s name. I stacked the papers neatly and slid them into my briefcase. I remembered all the times I had made excuses for her. She was just too loyal. She was caught in the middle. She was forced into this position by the Grayson family. But looking at those receipts, the excuses ran dry. I slowly stood up. My right leg throbbed with a dull, aching pain. But more than the physical ache, I felt a clean, sharp crack open in my chest. The cold wind rushed in, and for the first time in three years, I was wide awake. 4 I went searching for my commemorative silver pendant. I had ordered it secretly—a palm-sized piece engraved with a butterfly breaking from a cocoon and the date my doctor predicted I’d throw away my crutches. I had locked it in my study drawer. I was the only one with the key. When I pulled the drawer open, it was empty. I asked the housekeeper. She shook her head, avoiding my eyes. I searched the entire house and finally found it in a recycling bag next to the trash bin. The silver was dented and deeply scratched, the engraving ruined. Jared walked into the study, stopping when he saw me kneeling on the floor, holding the damaged metal. “Jude… about the pendant. I didn’t mean to.” “I was tidying up the study and accidentally bumped the drawer. My hand slipped, and it just…” I spoke quietly. “The drawer was locked.” He hesitated. “Maybe the housekeeper forgot to lock it after cleaning. Jude, I really didn’t do it on purpose. I saw the dates engraved on it and felt so guilty about my own survival that my hands started shaking…” His eyes welled with tears. My mother-in-law marched into the room, grabbing Jared’s arm. “Jared, sweetheart, don’t cry. It’s just a piece of metal. Jude, your brother-in-law is fragile. Why must you keep these things out in the open? You know how much it hurts him to see them.” I remained on the floor, the cold metal edges biting into my palm. “Martha, this drawer was locked.” Martha’s brow furrowed. “What are you trying to say? Are you accusing Jared of breaking into your desk to ruin your things?” Jared took a step back, wiping his face. “Jude, if you don’t believe me… fine. It doesn’t matter what I say. You’ll always find a way to make it my fault.” He turned and hurried out of the room. Martha’s voice turned ice-cold. “Jude, you cannot take your anger about your leg out on Jared. He lost far more than you did.” By the time Caroline came home, Martha had already taken Jared back to the Grayson family estate. She stared at the damaged silver pendant on the coffee table. “Jude.” “I know you’re hurt. But Jared’s mental state is incredibly fragile. If he did this, it truly wasn’t malicious.” I didn’t look up. She reached out and covered my hand with hers. “I’ll have a new one made for you. Exactly the same. Okay? Whatever words you want, we’ll go together to get it engraved. I promise I won’t let Jared touch your things again.” She was placating me, just like she always did. And just like always, she expected me to yield. But this time, I didn’t. I pulled my hand back, stood up, and went into the study. I laid out three years of bank statements on the desk, organized chronologically. The HOA fees for the apartment across the river, Jared’s therapy bills, his private nurses, the personal debts of his mother’s family—all paid out of our joint marital account. Next, I pulled out the hospital billing records, the edited guest list for the memorial dinner, and the donation receipt for my physical therapy equipment. I slid everything into a single leather folder. The next morning, I had Oliver schedule an emergency family meeting. Martha sat at the head of the table, with Caroline beside her. Jared, his eyes red and puffy, sat across from them. I laid the folder on the table and opened the first page. “Over the past three years, the total amount of marital assets spent on Jared’s personal lifestyle and expenses comes to one hundred and ninety-two thousand dollars.” “That includes his rent, private nursing, therapy, and his mother’s family debts.” I turned to the second page. “These are the hospital billing records from the night of the crash. Jared’s private room and scans were paid for before I even entered the operating room. My own surgical deposit had to be paid by Oliver.” Third page. “My physical therapy equipment was donated without my consent. The charity receipt is made out directly to Jared’s personal foundation.” Fourth page. “The original draft for my recovery dinner. My name was crossed out, replaced with Catherine’s three-year memorial.” The room fell into a suffocating silence. Jared’s lips trembled. Martha’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. Caroline stared at the documents, completely still. Jared was the first to break the silence, his voice cracking. “Jude, that money… when Catherine passed, her insurance hadn’t cleared yet. I truly had no other way to survive…” I looked him dead in the eye. “Jared, you were the sole beneficiary of Catherine’s life insurance. The policy paid out five hundred thousand dollars. It cleared three months after her death.” Jared turned white as a sheet. I kept going. “You weren’t broke, and you weren’t helpless. You just didn’t want to spend your own money.” Martha’s fingers gripped the armrests of her chair. Caroline closed her eyes. Jared stood up, sobbing, and ran out of the room, covering his face. After the family scattered, Caroline remained in the living room. I went back to our bedroom to pack my medical files, my marriage certificate, my bank statements, and the deed to the house. I pulled out my permanent disability diagnosis from the back of the drawer. I tucked it into my file folder. I heard the front door lock click open. Caroline walked in, helping Jared inside. Jared was draped in her coat, clutching a silver charm in his hand. It was the silver pendant. The one with my hope for recovery written on the back. My eyes locked onto it. And the thread that had kept me bound to this marriage for three years snapped. Caroline saw where I was looking, and her face fell. Jared instinctively tried to tuck the pendant into his sleeve. Caroline took a step forward. “Jude, listen to me—” I cut her off. “Caroline.” She froze. I placed the signed divorce papers on the entryway table and pulled my suitcase past her. I stopped at the threshold. “Don’t bother explaining.” “From now on, let’s not see each other again.” I closed the door behind me and walked toward the elevator.

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In a live-stream room dedicated to testing the loyalty of partners, the guest submission was practically hyperventilating with rage. “My boyfriend is a complete, boosted parasite!” she cried. “He literally begged me to carry him to Challenger every season just so he could flex on his friends. And then, just to play duos with other girls, he lied to me and said those high-tier accounts belonged to his sister who does professional boosting!” “If you don’t believe me, send him a friend request from an account with a Regional Badge. He’ll accept it in a heartbeat!” A second later, my own gaming avatar and profile ID flashed across the stream. Staring at the streamer’s profile—which boasted several top-tier regional badges of her own—I clicked accept. The next moment, I was pulled into her game lobby. A soft, sweet voice drifted through my headset. “Hey there, handsome. Down for some duos?” I let out a cold laugh, lowered my pitch to a deep, smooth drawl, and replied, “I’d love to.” 1 Lately, a new trend had taken over the gaming community. People were hiring streamers with sweet, attractive voices to run “loyalty tests” on their significant others. It had become my favorite dinner entertainment. Every evening, I’d sit back with my food, scroll through these streams, and laugh as one toxic partner after another got caught red-handed. Tonight, the girl on stream was sobbing as she poured her heart out. “He’s just using me for my rank! He’s barely a Diamond-level player on his own, but he forces me to carry him to Challenger every single season just so he can brag.” “Whenever we lose, he screams at me. When we win, he tells me I’m trash compared to the rest of the team!” “He’s constantly playing with other girls, claiming those accounts belong to his sister’s boosting business. It’s all a lie!” “Just add him. If you have any high-rank badges on your profile, he’ll accept instantly.” Her voice cracked as she dissolved into tears. I shook my head, taking a bite of food. I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. How could anyone be so naive? The guy was clearly using her as a free boosting service. The chat was already flying by, filled with righteous indignation. What a pathetic loser! Girl, stop crying. Block him and run! Lmao, ‘my sister’s boosting account.’ Classic. Add him, streamer! Let’s watch this trainwreck live! After finishing my dinner, I scooped up half a watermelon with a spoon, settling in for the show. But a second later, the avatar and gamer tag that popped up on the stream made me freeze. The avatar was a picture of my cat, Binx. The username was my exact gamer tag: Phantom_Luke. My spoon slipped, and the watermelon splashed back into the bowl. The chat went wild, instantly feeding on the drama. The streamer, a girl with a gentle, comforting voice, was trying to soothe the crying guest. “I get it, sis. I just sent him a request. He hasn’t accepted yet, but don’t worry.” She was telling her not to worry? I was the one about to have a panic attack! Mainly because I didn’t even have a girlfriend! On top of that, every single Regional Badge on my account was earned through hours of grueling solo queue. When did I become a “boosted Diamond parasite” who needed a girl to carry him? I scrambled to log into the game on my phone. Sure enough, there was a pending friend request. Setting up my tablet next to me to keep the stream open, I confirmed that the request was indeed from the streamer. I never expected that one day, I’d end up being the entertainment. I accepted the request. My initial instinct was to jump into the lobby and demand to know who the hell this guest was. But as the adrenaline cooled, I decided to play along. While I could be incredibly loud and aggressive in game chat, in real life, I was quiet and kept to myself. Most of my friends were laid-back, polite guys from my college dorm. Who could possibly hate me enough to pull a stunt like this? On stream, the streamer was looking over my profile, and the chat erupted again. Holy shit, this guy has more Regional Badges than the streamer does! Wait, is this actually a boosted player? His stats are insane. Maybe the guest is just mad because she got dumped and she’s trying to ruin his life? Obviously he bought the account, guys. No way a Diamond loser has these stats. The submitter quickly typed in the chat to defend her narrative. He paid a professional booster for those badges! He’s actually terrible. I’ve seen him play in person—he can barely handle a low-tier Master lobby on his own! Seen me play in person? I never played games anywhere except my dorm room or my bedroom at home. A cold realization washed over me. Was the guest one of my roommates? 2 While my mind raced, the streamer pulled me into her lobby. A soft voice echoed in my headset. “Hey there, handsome. Down for some duos?” I took a slow breath, consciously dropping my voice to a deeper, more resonant register. “I’d love to.” Wow, his voice is actually really hot. He doesn’t sound like a bad guy. Please, the guys with voices like that are always the biggest players. To get to the bottom of this, I had to keep my temper in check. “Let’s go then,” the streamer giggled, starting the matchmaking queue. During the draft phase, she drop-hinted that she wanted me to play Fae—a pocket support champion that literally attaches to another player’s character. I pretended not to hear her and locked in Lyra, a high-damage, musical mid-lane mage. The submitter immediately started mocking me in the chat. He’s playing mid. This game is a guaranteed loss. The viewers followed her lead. This guy really had the balls to lock Lyra in a Challenger lobby? Confidence is a hell of a drug. When we lose, he’ll just blame the champion’s lack of mobility. “Don’t worry, handsome. Just clear your waves in mid, and I’ll come gank for you,” the streamer said, her tone patronizing, as if she were talking to a child. I smiled tightly. “Sounds good.” Because our profiles both showed high-rank badges, the matchmaking system put us against a incredibly coordinated enemy team. Within three minutes, our side lanes collapsed. Our teammates refused to defend the jungle, completely ruining the streamer’s farming rotation. By the ten-minute mark, the enemy was pushing our high-ground gates. My teammates had completely given up, repeatedly spamming the surrender button. The stream chat had stopped arguing about my relationship status and was now debating whether the game was winnable. I kept my mic muted, quietly farming whatever resources I could find. The streamer had stopped flirting too, desperately trying to coordinate a defense in team chat. As the enemy team gathered to push our final tower, a chaotic team fight broke out. Watching the enemy’s positioning, I threw out Lyra’s second ability, landing a perfect, split-second stun on their main damage dealer. Using my ultimate to dodge a lethal projectile, I flashed directly onto his face, unleashed my full combo, and eliminated him instantly. With a sliver of health left, I managed to weave through the chaos. Instead of retreating to the safety of our fountain, I hovered at the very edge of the fight, cycling my healing abilities to keep my remaining teammates alive. I picked up four assists in the clean-up. We pushed straight down the map and shattered their Nexus. When the victory screen faded, the MVP card popped up on my screen. I had dealt 32% of our team’s total damage. The streamer fell completely silent. The chat, however, went absolutely ballistic. Lyra dealt 32% damage? Lmao, the streamer got carried so hard. Is this the guy you called a ‘boosted parasite’?! With macros like that? He could easily be a professional booster himself. Streamer, this is a script. I’m out. Where did the guest go? Why is she quiet now? After a long pause, the submitter finally typed a message. It makes sense now. They’re living together! The girl he’s living with is the one actually playing his account right now! I was drinking water and nearly choked. This girl was a creative writer. The stories just kept coming. But the chat, hungry for any reason to validate their biases, swallowed it whole. A live-in girlfriend boosting him? Wow. Some guys are so pathetic, they’ll do anything for a rank. The chat devolved into a massive flame war. Some were arguing about the “live-in booster” theory, while others started pointing out the inconsistencies in the guest’s story. The streamer was clearly caught off guard by the twist, but she was a professional. She quickly recovered her composure and began showering me with praise. Wanting to keep the viewers hooked—and to figure out if I actually had a “live-in girlfriend”—she asked sweetly, “You’re so good, handsome. Down for another one?” “Of course,” I replied smoothly. During the next champion select, the streamer suggested, “You must be tired after that carry. Why don’t you take Fae this game, hitch a ride on my character, and let me carry you?” I smiled, my voice remaining calm and steady. “Actually, I don’t really like playing support.” Without hesitation, I locked in Mirage—the absolute highest-skill-cap assassin in the game. “Why don’t you play support and hitch a ride on me? I’ll show you how to jungle.” Lmao, he’s doubling down! Where are all the people who said he was being boosted by a live-in girlfriend? Look at his champion pool! The chat was scrolling so fast it was a blur of colors, interspersed with the submitter’s desperate insults. I couldn’t help but grin. The streamer let out a nervous laugh. “Wow, I didn’t know you played Mirage. Not many people can pull him off. Did your girlfriend teach you?” “Of course not,” I answered instantly. “I don’t even have a girlfriend.” Even with my direct denial, the chat refused to believe it. The submitter took the opportunity to play the victim again. No wonder he keeps his relationship status hidden on his profile. It’s so he can flirt with other girls on stream! Once the match started, the streamer kept backseat-gaming, telling me where to path and when to take objectives. During the first fight at the dragon pit, the enemy team caught me off guard, taking half my health. “Get out, get out! Abandon the dragon!” she yelled through the headset. Before she could finish her sentence, I activated Mirage’s ultimate. Executing a flawless chain of mirror-images, I danced through the enemy backline, dodging their crowd control, securing a triple kill, and escaping with double-digit health. The double-kill, triple-kill announcements echoed in our headsets. The streamer—and her entire chat—went dead silent. Finally, she let out a breathless laugh. “Oh my god… you are actually insane.” Fully immersed in the game, I forgot to keep up my deep, mysterious persona. “Just a casual Tuesday. No big deal.” The chat was flooded with “GG” and “WTF” spam. The submitter, completely losing her mind, spammed several messages in a row. It’s fake! It’s all fake! He’s a factory worker! He doesn’t know how to play Mirage! The girl he lives with is the one playing! Her messages were immediately buried under the wave of praise. The rest of the match was a personal highlight reel. Ganking lanes, invading the enemy jungle, securing objectives—I controlled the entire map. In every team fight, I used my mirror clones to bait out the enemy’s ultimate abilities before diving their backline. I ran circles around the enemy jungler, leaving him with a miserable 0/5 stat line. At eleven minutes, the enemy Nexus exploded. My final score was 12/0/4. Another undisputed MVP. The streamer didn’t even try to hide her admiration anymore. “Oh my god, Luke, that was incredible. How do you play like that?” As I was about to reply, someone in the chat pointed out something new. Guys, I looked up his account. His relationship status isn’t hidden—it’s completely empty! And looking at his match history, he only plays solo queue. The stats are completely consistent. Wait… is it possible the guest is just a liar? Suddenly, a loud voice cut through my room. “Alright guys, lights out in five! Keep it down if you’re staying up!” It was my dorm leader making his nightly rounds. Naturally, the streamer heard it. “Wait, are you in a dorm?” I pulled the blanket over my head, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Yeah. I live in a college dorm.” 3 At that, the entire narrative collapsed. A college dorm? So where is this live-in girlfriend coming from? I knew this was a setup! The guest has some explaining to do. First she says he’s a boosted parasite, then she says he’s being boosted by a live-in girlfriend, and now it turns out he lives in a male dorm! Did this girl get rejected and decide to ruin his life? A few trolls still tried to argue that he could have a girl hiding in his bed, but they were quickly roasted by the rest of the chat. Most of the viewers were now tag-spamming the submitter, demanding she show her face and explain herself. I lay in bed, watching the drama unfold with amusement while chatting with the streamer. “How old are you, Luke?” she asked. “Nineteen. Just started my sophomore year.” After several minutes of silence, the submitter finally typed in the chat. He’s not a college student! He’s a factory worker who dropped out of high school! He’s living in a factory dorm! It was fascinating to watch how quickly people would rally behind a lie, even without a shred of evidence. The moment she typed those words, some viewers immediately shifted back. Streamer, ask him which college he goes to! Ask him to show his student ID. The streamer hesitated, clearly trying to figure out how to ask without sounding accusatory. But I had nothing to hide. “I go to Austin University. It’s a pretty decent school, you’ve probably heard of it.” Austin University? That’s an Ivy-equivalent school! Wait, I go to AU! Are you the Phantom from our esports club? The one who won the state championship last semester? Explain! Oh my god, I remember that match! Our Mirage player carried the entire team to the trophy, and he was insanely good-looking! Is it really him? I didn’t expect someone in the chat to actually recognize me. Streamer, meet up with him in person! Let’s see if he’s the real deal! Yeah! Let’s see what Phantom actually looks like! Sensing a massive spike in viewership, the streamer seized the opportunity. “Oh my god, I go to AU too! We’re literally on the same campus! Would you be down to grab coffee tomorrow?”

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Lola and I had been at each other’s throats for as long as I could remember. She said I was too pale, too soft—a pretty boy who didn’t belong in a fistfight. I told her she was a menace, a loudmouthed tomboy who didn’t know how to shut up. We traded insults for over a decade. Until senior year, when the new transfer kid confessed to her. She threw a sideways glance at me, smirked, and said, “Sorry, but you’re just not my type.” The crowd of classmates started chanting, “Oh, come on! Let me guess—you only have eyes for guys like Dan?” Lola let out a soft, lazy laugh, leaning back. “Yeah, actually. I like them with a bit of muscle, a bit of an edge. What of it?” Later, we went to college together, got married, and spent a lifetime bickering. Just before she passed away in that sterile hospital bed, she held my hand, laughing like a little girl. “Look at you. Still so scrawny, and your cooking is still terrible. Next time around, I’m definitely finding myself a handsome, built guy.” With tears burning my eyes, I gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. “Fine. Go find your muscle man. I’ll find someone who actually lets me live in peace.” Then I opened my eyes. And I was right back to the day the transfer kid confessed to her. “Lola, I… I really like you. Would you give me a chance?” Lola raised her eyes, spared me a brief, unreadable glance, and looked away. A slow smile curved her lips. “Sure. Let’s give it a shot.” 1 Zack’s eyes went wide, instantly shiny with disbelief. “Really… seriously?” Lola gave a careless shrug. “Yeah. You’ve got great abs, you’re handsome. Definitely my type.” I clenched my fists in my pockets, my fingers trembling. The crowd around us erupted. “Whoa, Lola! You actually like guys like Zack? We all thought you and Dan were a thing.” Lola lazily raised her eyelids, her lips twitching with amusement. “Who’d want him? He’s like a pretty boy. Too soft, too fragile.” The classroom exploded into laughter. “Dan’s good-looking, sure, but there’s nothing to him. No meat on those bones.” “Exactly. Girls want a real man. Someone strong.” I stood there frozen, the air turning to ice in my lungs. In my last life, at this exact moment, Lola had turned Zack down. Right in front of everyone, she had declared her feelings for me. My teenage heart had pounded so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. That night, I tossed and turned under my covers, unable to sleep a single wink. The next morning, when I dragged my feet downstairs with dark circles under my eyes, Lola was already waiting by the porch. She had looked me up and down, clicking her tongue. “Did you spend all night robbing banks, Dan?” I had snapped at her, and she had just laughed. After graduation, she was the one who asked me out properly. “You might be scrawny, but I guess you’ll do. Want to be my boyfriend?” I playfully punched her arm. “Who’d want to be your boyfriend?” She had clutched her shoulder, laughing, calling me a stubborn idiot who could never just admit what he wanted. Then college. Walking through autumn rain, kissing under the streetlights. Marriage right after graduation. A son, a daughter. Decades of beautiful, noisy, chaotic bickering. Once, we had a cold war that lasted a whole month. Everyone thought we were done. But Lola would just snap at them, “What do you know? This is foreplay.” And then she’d turn to me, grinning, “Right, honey?” Even on her deathbed, she was still teasing me, telling me she’d find a strong, handsome man in her next life. I thought she was just trying to get a rise out of me one last time. I didn’t realize she actually meant it. I pulled myself out of the wreckage of my memories. Looking at Lola, I forced my voice to remain steady. “…As if anyone would want to date you anyway. Loudmouthed tomboy.” Then I turned on the rest of them. “And you guys? Half of you look like bloated pigs and the other half like starved monkeys. You’ve got a lot of nerve talking about anyone else’s body. Go look in a mirror before you open your mouths.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out of the classroom. 2 If I stayed another second, the tears would have spilled over. In the bathroom, I splashed freezing water onto my face over and over again. The cold droplets rolled down my jaw, soaking into my collar, freezing against my collarbone. I stared at the eighteen-year-old reflection in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, raw. This wasn’t a dream. Lola and I had both come back. Only this time, she had decided I wasn’t worth choosing. When I walked back into the classroom, Zack was sitting in my seat next to Lola, looking entirely too comfortable. I stopped by the desk, my voice cold. “Move.” He bit his lip, casting a helpless look at Lola. “But… Lola told me to sit here.” Right on cue, Lola walked in, holding her insulated thermos. “I told him to sit there. He’s my boyfriend now, so of course he sits next to me.” She pointed toward Zack’s old desk near the back. “Go sit over there.” When the teacher had first assigned seats, she was the one who had begged to sit next to me. She’d said, “You’re too small, Dan. Someone’s gonna bully you. I’m here to protect you.” I didn’t say a word. I grabbed my backpack from my old desk, and under the stunned gazes of our classmates, I walked straight to the very back row. “What is he doing? Is Dan going to sit with Maeve?” “Even if he wants to, there’s no way Maeve is going to let him.” Lola’s brow furrowed, her eyes following me. I tapped on the wooden desk in the back corner. The girl buried in her arms slowly blinked her eyes open, looking up at me. Her gaze was detached, cold, carrying a faint trace of annoyance at being disturbed. “Can I sit here?” I asked. She stared at me for a beat, then closed her eyes again, turning her face away. I pulled out the chair and sat down. The whispers around the room didn’t stop until the bell finally rang, plunging us into a tense silence. I opened my textbook, but my mind was a chaotic mess. My eyes kept drifting toward Lola. She was resting her chin on her left hand, her gaze locked onto the side of Zack’s face. A soft, contented smile played on her lips. She used to look at me just like that during lectures. She’d say, “You know when you’re the most adorable, Dan? When you’re actually paying attention to the teacher.” After we got together, the look remained. “Dan, you’re so pretty. I just want to kiss you.” And after we got married: “Husband, I want to be with you in this life, the next life, and every life after that.” Suddenly, a packet of tissues appeared on my desk. I looked down, only to realize a dark, wet circle had bloomed on the page of my textbook. Maeve had already pulled her hand back, leaning lazily against her chair, looking straight ahead as if she hadn’t done a thing. Her voice was a low, dry murmur. “If anyone walks in, they’re going to think I bullied you.” Two lifetimes added up to nearly a century of living, yet here I was, crying like a baby in front of an eighteen-year-old girl. The grief was quickly swallowed by a wave of pure mortification. I wanted nothing more than to sink through the floorboards. When the final bell rang at the end of the day, Lola walked over, carrying Zack’s backpack over her shoulder. Her tone was casual, almost indifferent. “Go on home without me. I’m walking with Zack today.” She took two steps, then paused, looking back. “And don’t you dare tell my parents I’m dating someone.” She turned back to Zack, her face lighting up with an effortless smile. “Come on, I’ll take you to get those amazing churros down the street.” Lola loved those churros. In our past life, she dragged me there every single afternoon. But now, she had someone else to share them with. I had spent the entire afternoon drowning in misery, but as I watched them walk away, something clicked. I understood now. Even if she had loved me fiercely in another life, that was a past that no longer existed here. I needed to let go. I needed to move forward. 3 I turned to my aloof new deskmate. “Hey. Want to get some hot pot? I know this place that makes the most incredible, numbing broth.” Maeve gave me a look like I had sprouted a second head. She swung her backpack over her shoulder and slipped past me, throwing a chilly line over her shoulder. “Are we friends?” Brutally rejected, I walked out of the school gates alone. The silence was jarring. Since kindergarten, the walk home had always been a shared routine. In college, I walked her back to her dorm every single night. When we got married, I’d leave work early just to wait outside her office so we could commute together. How could someone who loved me that deeply suddenly flip a switch and become a stranger? The frustration flared up, hot and sharp. I kicked a loose pebble on the sidewalk, sending it flying. “Selfish jerk!” I muttered. The pebble soared through the air and struck the back of a head a few yards in front of me. The person stopped dead in their tracks and slowly turned around. My stomach dropped. Maeve’s eyes were like chips of ice as she stared at me. “Who are you calling a selfish jerk?” My brain scrambled for an escape route. I pointed quickly at a stray golden retriever lounging by the brick wall. “The dog. I was talking to the dog.” The retriever blinked at us innocently, giving its tail a lazy wag. Maeve’s lips curved into a cold, dangerous smile. “You talk to dogs with rocks?” “…It was a slip of the foot. I didn’t mean to.” She walked back, stopping right in front of me. Her voice dropped to a quiet, threatening register. “Dan. Were you throwing that at me?” I waved my hands frantically. “No, no! I swear! I was cursing out Lola. Really.” Maeve went quiet for a moment, her eyes searching mine with a strange, unreadable intensity. “Why were you cursing her out?” “Because she’s… a selfish jerk.” Maeve arched an eyebrow. “So. Lola dumps you, you call her a selfish jerk, and I get a rock to the head?” I choked on my words. From an outsider’s perspective, I had indeed been dumped. When I first realized I had traveled back in time, I wanted to scream with joy. I thought I was getting a whole second lifetime to love her. Who could have guessed she’d be off eating churros with her new muscle-bound boyfriend? I took a deep breath. “What do you mean she dumped me? We were never even together. Besides, a girl like her—someone who forgets her promises, who betrays our… our friendship—she’s not worth my time anyway.” A small, unexpected chuckle escaped Maeve’s lips. “Right. Well, you still owe me an apology.” I hung my head. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. Do you need to go to the nurse?” “No.” She turned to walk away. On some bizarre impulse, I called out after her. “Let me buy you dinner to make up for it. That hot pot place really is amazing.” She stopped. She didn’t turn around, but her cool voice drifted back to me. “Lead the way.” After sweating through a bowl of ridiculously spicy hot pot, I dragged Maeve to a street cart for fried chicken and skewers. The heavy weight in my chest finally began to lift, dissolved by the simple comfort of grease and spices. When I finally walked into my apartment courtyard, the first thing I saw was Lola sitting on a concrete bench. Beside her was a grease-stained paper bag of cold churros. Seeing me, she stood up, her face instantly souring. “Dan, did you lose your way? Why did it take you so long to get home?” I rolled my eyes and walked right past her. As our shoulders brushed, I said casually, “I was out having dinner with Maeve. Lost track of time.” A hand gripped my backpack strap, jerking me to a halt. Lola’s voice exploded behind me, raw with anger. “What did you just say? You had dinner with Maeve?” She spun me around, her eyes wide with sheer disbelief. 4 “You don’t even know her! Why the hell are you having dinner with her?” I yanked my strap out of her grip, my voice flat. “None of your business.” “None of my business?” Lola let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Dan, are you losing your mind?” “Since when is anything you do not my business? In preschool, you didn’t even know how to wipe your own butt, and I had to do it for you! In first grade, you lost a fight and cried, and I went back and punched the kid for you!” She rattled off a dozen childhood memories, her chest heaving. Watching her work herself into a frenzy, I felt a sudden, strange urge to laugh. “Who I eat dinner with is my choice. You and I are just neighbors, Lola. Lose the possessiveness.” “If you’ve got this much free time, go call your handsome boyfriend with the abs.” Lola ground her teeth. “Dan, you are unbelievable. You’re just doing this to get back at me. I only said yes to Zack because—” “I know,” I interrupted. “Because he has a six-pack.” I looked her straight in the eye. “And I went out with Maeve because she’s gorgeous. It’s nice to walk next to someone who actually looks good. Plus, she’s quiet. She doesn’t have a temper like a rabid dog.” Lola’s face went dark, practically purple with rage. I ignored her, turned around, and walked into my building. But the moment the heavy glass door clicked shut behind me, the tears broke. Large, hot drops spilled over my cheeks. It was so damn hard to let go. The next morning, the moment I walked into the classroom, I found a hot cup of sweetened soy milk and a breakfast sandwich sitting on my desk. It was my exact order—extra sweet, light on the ice. Zack was standing by the edge of my desk, offering a timid, polite smile. “Hey, Dan. Lola bought too much breakfast this morning, so she wanted you to have this.” Before I could even open my mouth, Lola’s voice drifted over from the desk behind him. “Zack, why are you wasting your breath? Just leave it there. If he wants to starve, let him.” She walked over, popped a straw into another cup of soy milk, and held it to Zack’s lips. Her eyes were warm, almost sickly sweet. “Drink this one. I added extra sugar. Sweet, just like you.” Zack blushed furiously as he took the cup, and a few classmates nearby started whistling. “Damn, Lola, since when did you become such a romantic?” “Seriously, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Lola smirked, her eyes casting a deliberate, sliding glance in my direction. “Depends on who I’m talking to.” I picked up the sandwich and the soy milk, walked over to the trash can, and dropped them inside with a heavy thud. Lola’s smug smile instantly froze on her face. At lunchtime, the moment I sat down at a cafeteria table with my tray, two people slid into the seats directly opposite me. Lola was clinging to Zack’s arm like a vine. She began picking the prime pieces of ribs from her tray and dropping them into his bowl, her voice practically dripping with artificial sweetness. “Eat up, babe. You need to keep those muscles fed.” Zack blushed, shaking his head. “It’s too much, Lola. I can’t finish all this.” Lola laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “If you can’t finish, I’ll eat your leftovers. It’s not like we haven’t shared food before.” The surrounding tables went quiet, several heads turning our way. “Whoa, Lola, moving fast, aren’t we?” “Seriously, get a room, you two.” My grip on my fork tightened until my knuckles turned white. In our past life, Lola loved eating my leftovers. I was a notoriously picky eater, and she’d always lecture me about wasting food. She would complain the entire time, but she’d pull my plate over and polish off every single bite. I lowered my head, forcing spoonfuls of rice into my mouth, chewing desperately to swallow down the bitter lump in my throat. Lola suddenly looked up at me, her tone dripping with mock pity. “Dan, why are you eating all by yourself? Where’s your pretty new deskmate? Did she dump you already?” “None of your business,” I muttered, keeping my eyes on my tray. “Oof, still so touchy,” she mocked. She turned to Zack, her voice loud enough for the whole row to hear. “See? I told you he’s got a miserable temper. He doesn’t have a fraction of your sweetness.” As the words left her mouth, a tray slid onto the table right across from me. Maeve sat down, completely ignoring the tension in the air. She picked up her fork and began to eat her vegetables, chewing slowly and methodically. Her shoulders were broad enough that she completely blocked my view of Lola’s face. From behind her, I heard a sharp clatter of plastic. “I’m done. This place is giving me a headache,” Lola snapped. She grabbed her tray and marched off, Zack scrambling to catch up with her. The remaining students in the cafeteria stared. I finished my meal in silence, then looked up at Maeve. “Thanks.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin, her expression as blank as ever. “You owe me a meal.” “…Didn’t I just buy you hot pot yesterday?” “One meal replaces another. It’s a clean slate.” I stared at her, temporarily speechless. Who calculated debts like this? But looking at her, I realized she had just saved me from a massive amount of public embarrassment. “Fine. I’ll buy you dinner another day.” She stood up, throwing a final line over her shoulder. “Don’t flake on me.” That afternoon, I ran into Lola by the school gates. She was leaning against the concrete wall alone, holding a bottle of water. When she saw me, she straightened up. “Dan.” I didn’t stop walking. She caught up in three quick strides, stepping directly into my path. “What?” I asked, exasperated. She looked down at me, her throat bobbing as if she wanted to say a hundred things, but only one sentence came out. “Why aren’t you taking the bus today?” “I feel like walking. Good exercise.” “Then I’ll walk with you.” “No thanks. Go walk your boyfriend home.” She winced, looking away. “He had to leave early today. Family stuff.” I didn’t reply. I just kept walking. She fell into step beside me, unable to keep quiet for more than three seconds. “Since when did you and Maeve get so close? You’ve only been sitting together for two days, and suddenly you know she’s ‘quiet’ and ‘sweet’? And now you’re eating lunch together?” Her voice was taking on a frantic, high-pitched edge. “Dan, don’t tell me you actually like her? She’s not your type at all. She’s impossible to get along with. She walks around looking like the whole world owes her a million dollars…” I stopped so abruptly that she nearly crashed into my chest. “Lola. What is your point?”

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