Category: English

I was two months pregnant when I drank the “wellness tonic” Ken had his assistant deliver to my office. Within minutes, the world tilted. A jagged, white-hot blade of pain ripped through my abdomen, and I collapsed. By the time the paramedics wheeled me into the ER, the pain had blurred my vision into a hazy, pulsing red. I was drifting, caught between the sterile smell of the hospital and the cold reality of what was happening. Then, through the thin curtain of the recovery room, I heard Ken’s voice. He was on the phone, his tone a sharp, hushed hiss. “Who told you to send the abortifacients? Did I not tell you—specifically—never to take initiative on this?” Julia’s voice came through the speaker, trembling and thick with performative tears. “But you’ve been having me pick up her ‘supplements’ for five years, Ken. You’ve been giving her those birth control drops since the wedding. I thought… I thought you didn’t want the baby. I thought I was helping.” She sobbed, a sound that made my skin crawl. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. Since I took a life, I’ll just… I’ll pay for it with mine!” A long, heavy silence followed. I waited for him to roar, to threaten her, to call the police. Instead, I heard a weary, resigned sigh. “I didn’t mean that, Julia. It’s just… you were too obvious. I’m not sure I can hide this from Margot.” He paused, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying intimacy. “I told you, our situation stays between us. Margot can never find out. That is my absolute line. I’ll cover for you this time, but don’t ever go rogue again.” When I finally opened my eyes in the dim light of the ward, Ken was there. He wasn’t the cold strategist I’d just heard on the phone. He was a man undone. He dropped to his knees by my bed, the sound of his knees hitting the linoleum echoing like a gunshot. Then, he began to slap himself. Hard. Crack. Crack. “It’s my fault,” he choked out, his eyes bloodshot. “The nurse… she swapped the labels. A horrific, localized error. I’ve already had her fired and blacklisted from every hospital in the state. Margot, baby, please don’t cry. We’re young. We’ll have another one…” I looked at him—at the handsome face I had loved since I was twenty, the eyes that used to burn for me. Now, all I saw was a stranger wearing my husband’s skin. I knew then. It was time to leave. 1 For a second, I wished I hadn’t woken up. The physical pain was a dull throb now, but the hollow ache in my womb was a constant, screaming reminder of the truth. Ken knelt there, his cheek swollen and red from his own blows, looking every bit the grieving father. “Margot, please. Say something. Anything. You’re scaring me.” When I remained silent, he shifted closer, his knees dragging across the floor. He took my hand—the one with the IV drip—and pressed it to his face. “I handled it, I promise. That nurse will never work in healthcare again. I made sure of it.” “We’ll have another one.” The irony was a bitter poison in my throat. We had been married for five years. For five years, I had dreamed of a nursery, of tiny socks, of a life we built together. Every time I went for a check-up, the doctors said I was “delicate” and needed “hormonal balancing.” To prepare my body, I drank the tonics he brought home every night. I endured a thousand needle pricks, my stomach a map of tiny blue bruises from the “fertility injections.” I threw away boxes of empty syringes, month after month, year after year. Ken had been so supportive. He told me he’d consulted top specialists in Switzerland, spending a fortune on “designer supplements” with minimal side effects. I had poisoned myself for half a decade on his command. It wasn’t medicine. It was a chemical gatekeeper. He took my hand again, trying to force me to hit him. I yanked it back, tears finally spilling over. “Ken, I’m not an idiot,” I whispered. “Where is Julia?” I asked, my voice gaining a jagged edge. “Bring her here. I want to hear her say it.” Ken’s brow furrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he masked it with concern. “Julia is just a kid, Margot. She’s only two years out of grad school. She’s messy and she makes mistakes, but believe me, this had nothing to do with her.” I let out a jagged, self-deprecating laugh. I was about to scream the truth at him when the door pushed open. Julia walked in, wearing a mask of practiced sorrow. “Oh, Margot! Thank God you’re awake. Ken was going to fire me on the spot if you didn’t pull through.” She set a bag of takeout on the nightstand. “I didn’t know what you’d want to eat, so I just grabbed something from that bistro Ken likes. Try to eat a little?” She sat on the edge of my bed, her voice tilting into a condescending croon. “I know the baby is gone, but life has to go on. You have to look forward, Margot. For Ken’s sake.” The rage hit me like a physical wave. I swung my arm, the IV line tugging painfully, and caught her square across the jaw. 2 The slap rang out like a whip crack. For a heartbeat, the room went dead silent. Then, the masks slipped. “Done playing the victim?” I spat. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” Julia collapsed into a heap of theatrical sobs, clutching her face. “How can you say that? How was I supposed to know the hospital made a mistake? I know you’re hurting, Margot, but you can’t just take your anger out on me!” Ken moved faster than I’d ever seen him. He stepped between us, shielding her, his eyes flashing with a cold fury directed at me. “Margot, that’s enough!” “I explained the medicine to you! It was an accident! Just because you’re grieving doesn’t give you the right to assault my staff!” I dug my nails into my palms, the sting of the IV forgotten. “I’m the one who lost a child! I’m the one who almost bled out on a cold table while they scraped my insides out! And you’re telling me to be civil? Ken, swear to me. Swear on your life you aren’t sleeping with her!” “You’re being hysterical!” he roared. “Julia and I are professional. Period. I swear to God, if I’ve betrayed you, may I be struck dead where I stand! Is that what you want? Should I jump out the window? Would my death make you feel better about the baby?” He was panting, his chest heaving. “Look at you, Margot. Look at the way you’re acting. You look like a madwoman.” The words felt like a physical blow to the chest. My heart, already fractured, felt like it was being ground into dust. Seeing he had gone too far, his voice softened, though it remained brittle. “Julia and I have work to discuss. You need to calm down. What’s done is done. Arguing about it won’t bring the pregnancy back.” They turned together and walked out of the room. I waited ten seconds. Then, with trembling hands, I ripped the IV needle out of my vein. I ignored the trickle of blood and slipped into the hallway, following them. I found them in the stairwell. They didn’t even wait to get to the car. They were pressed against the concrete wall, kissing with a desperate, hungry intensity. The sounds of their breathing filled the small space. Finally, they broke apart. Julia playfully punched his chest. “Jerky,” she pouted. “You were so mean just now. You actually scared me.” “I told you not to come in there,” Ken grumbled, though his hands were moving down her waist. “Margot is unstable. If I hadn’t stepped in, she would have clawed your eyes out. What am I supposed to do if I can’t protect you?” Julia giggled, leaning into him. “Then let her hit me. It’s worth it as long as I get to take care of you later.” “You little demon,” Ken groaned, his voice thick with lust. “You’re going to be the death of me.” “I have a surprise for you tonight, Mr. CEO. Something you’ve been begging for. You’ll have to come over to unwrap it…” The air in the stairwell felt like it was disappearing. I turned and stumbled back to my room, collapsing into the bed before they could return. When Ken came back, he didn’t stay. He didn’t even look at me. “I’ll have the driver pick you up when you’re discharged,” he said coldly. “Focus on your recovery.” He never came back. I checked myself out the next morning and took an Uber home. That night, a notification chirped on my phone. A text from Ken: Going to London for three days. Business. Just wired you fifty thousand. Get yourself something nice. Think of it as an apology. The adult world is built on things you can’t say out loud—on rage you swallow and faces you save. I sat on our silk-sheeted bed and stared at our wedding photo on the nightstand. He was holding me on a beach in Maui, his smile bright and wild. I could almost feel the phantom warmth of that breeze. But that girl was dead. And the man in the photo was a ghost. Five years ago, we were the “it” couple of the city’s social scene. He had chased me with a persistence that was legendary. Back then, people in our circle joked about it. “Ken Maxwell? Oh, you mean Margot Thorne’s lapdog?” 3 I had been the ice queen back then, barely sparing him a glance. My family was old money, stable, untouchable. Until it wasn’t. I’ll never forget the night the foundations crumbled. My father’s long-term affair went public, and the fallout was nuclear. My mother, usually the paragon of grace, became someone I didn’t recognize. I watched her hold a kitchen knife to her own throat, screaming at my father to end it with the other woman and send their secret son away. Her desperation didn’t buy her an ounce of mercy. My father didn’t even look at her with pity. He looked at her with disgust. The next morning, the scandal was the only thing people talked about. My mother, in a fit of vengeful madness, liquidated assets and sabotaged the family firm, thinking that if she ruined him, he’d have to stay. Instead, the company went bankrupt. My father handed her divorce papers while standing amidst twenty billion dollars of debt. He preferred financial ruin to another day in her presence. The papers were never signed. My mother walked into the Atlantic Ocean two days later. My father fled to Europe with his mistress and the boy. And I became the city’s favorite punchline. Suddenly, no one wanted to be near me. The only people who looked my way were the trust-fund brats I’d once looked down upon. They offered me a hundred bucks for a night, telling me the great Margot Thorne was now worth less than a girl on a street corner. My dignity was a crumpled rag in the mud. I was ready to follow my mother into the dark. I had the pills laid out on the counter. That’s when Ken appeared. He put his entire career on the line, using his rising firm to shield me. He chased me all over again, not as a lapdog, but as a protector. He spent millions on our hundred-day anniversary just to show the world I was still a queen. Our wedding was the event of the season. In front of five hundred people, he knelt and swore, “Margot is my life. I will spend every breath I have protecting our home.” The dignity he had salvaged for me back then, he was now dragging through the filth with his own hands. I picked up the wedding photo, ready to smash it against the wall, when my phone buzzed. An unknown number. A GPS pin for a high-end lounge downtown. I knew what I would find. I went anyway. Standing outside the private VIP booth, I saw him. Ken, the man who was supposed to be in London, was surrounded by his inner circle, laughing and clinking glasses. Julia was draped across his lap in a dress that left nothing to the imagination. Scandal travels fast. One of his friends smirked, leaning in. “So, the Ice Queen lost the heir? You’re not home playing nurse? How do you have the heart to be out drinking with us?” In the old days, Ken would have defended me with a terrifying intensity. Now, he just looked annoyed. “Don’t start. I don’t know what it is lately, but looking at Margot just makes my head ache. I can’t even have a conversation with her. I say one word, and she’s looking for a hidden meaning.” He took a long pull of his scotch. “I go home to relax, not to add to my stress. To be honest, the thought of walking through my front door feels like a stone sitting on my chest. If I keep this up, I’ll be a shell of a human in two years.” His friends roared with laughter. “You chased her so hard, man! Five years and you’re already bored?” “I wouldn’t say bored,” Ken mused, his eyes tracking Julia’s hands. “Just… full. You know? You eat steak every night for five years, eventually, you just want a burger.” Someone chimed in, “They say a kid fixes everything. Why’d you pull the plug on the pregnancy anyway? Why not just let her have it?” 4 Ken’s gaze flickered to Julia. “Go wait in the car, honey. I’ll be out in a minute.” Julia gave him a coy, knowing look. “Fine. But remember my surprise. Don’t be late.” She slipped out. I pressed myself into the shadows of the hallway until she passed, then moved back to the door. Ken’s voice was cold now, clinical. “I’m young. I don’t want a kid tying me down. You think I could come out and do this if there was a baby at home?” His friend nodded, understanding the logic. “And the girl? The secretary? She’s a hell of a consolation prize. Bet she’s more fun in bed than Margot, huh?” Ken smirked. “It’s not even a competition. You eat high-end French cuisine your whole life, then you try some spicy street food… you realize what you’ve been missing.” “You should’ve told me this years ago,” Ken added, a dark glint in his eye. “Told you what?” “That I should’ve finished playing the field before I put a ring on it. Anyway, drink up. No more talk about the ball and chain.” I don’t remember leaving the lounge. By the time I regained focus, I was standing on a street corner, soaked to the bone. A light sleet was falling, the icy slush washing away the last embers of my warmth. In the blurred reflections of the puddles, I thought I saw the twenty-year-old Ken. He was smiling at me. Margot, why aren’t you home? I was worried. Don’t be afraid. I’m your family now. We have no secrets. I reached out, wanting to fall into those phantom arms and sob. My body lurched forward, but there was nothing but cold air. The vision shattered. A taxi driver honked, swerving around me. “You trying to get killed? Watch where you’re going, lady!” I got home at 1:00 AM, shivering. The unknown number messaged again. This time, it was a video. The background was a floor-to-ceiling hotel window overlooking the city. Two silhouettes were entwined. Julia’s voice, breathless: “Ken, who do you love? Look at me.” “You.” “No, say my name.” “Julia… I love you.” “Am I better than her?” “You’re a little demon. You know you are.” “Ken, let me have your baby. A real one.” “Whatever you want, baby. Anything…” The video cut off. A text followed immediately: Do you know why you only got pregnant once in five years? Because the ‘supplements’ Ken gave you were birth control. I bought them myself. He wouldn’t let you carry his child, but he’s letting me. You lost. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over my soul. I dragged myself up and walked into his study. On the bookshelf sat a large glass jar filled with a thousand hand-folded paper stars. He had given it to me on our first anniversary. He told me I had all the jewelry in the world, so he wanted to give me something that cost nothing but time. Inside every star, he said, was a reason he loved me. He told me we’d add one for every day we were together, and when we were old, we’d sit in rocking chairs and read them together. I hadn’t noticed that the level of stars hadn’t changed in a long time. I unscrewed the lid and unfolded a few. The handwriting was a ghost of a man who once loved me. Bought Margot a necklace today. Told her it was a million, but it was three. Don’t be mad when you read this in fifty years. Margot said I look hot in casual clothes. I’m banning suits at the office starting Monday. It’s my birthday, and Margot dressed herself up as my ‘gift.’ Best day of my life.

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That goddamn video was the last thread I had to pull. In the grainy footage, at three in the morning, my parents were standing perfectly still by my bedside. They stared at me for what felt like an eternity before finally turning toward the door. “Don’t wake him,” my mother’s voice whispered through the crack in the door, fragile and haunting. “Just let him stay here. Alone.” By the time I clawed my way out of sleep, the world had fundamentally shifted. The entire city looked like someone had hit the pause button. The streets were hollowed out, filled with a silence so thick it was suffocating. Three hundred million people—gone. Vaporized. My hands shook as I dialed every number in my contacts. All I got was the rhythmic, mocking pulse of a busy signal. … 1 My name is Ben Beckett. I’m twenty-six. Last night was Christmas Eve. We’d finished the big family dinner, and I was so wiped out I crashed early. The last thing I remembered was my mom in the kitchen, nagging my sister to help with the dishes. Everything was normal. Routine. But when I opened my eyes, the sun was already high. I checked my phone: 9:47 AM. The first thing I noticed wasn’t the time, though. It was the quiet. On Christmas morning, there should have been the muffled sound of neighbors’ kids screaming over toys, the hum of traffic, the distant chime of church bells. Instead, the house felt like a tomb. I got up and pushed open my bedroom door. “Mom? Dad?” Nothing. The living room was empty. The remains of last night’s dinner were still on the table, the gravy congealed, the wine glasses stained red. My dad’s ashtray had a few fresh butts in it. His coffee mug was sitting on the coaster, stone cold. Where the hell were they? I shouted my sister’s name. “Zoe!” Still nothing. I went to her room and nudged the door open. Her bed was made, the duvet pulled tight and neat. But she wasn’t in it. A cold prickle of unease started at the base of my spine. I pulled out my phone and called my mom. Ring… ring… ring… No answer. I tried my dad. No answer. I tried Zoe. Straight to voicemail. I stood in the middle of the living room, my brain struggling to process the data. It was Christmas morning. Had the whole family just… gone somewhere without me? That made zero sense. I threw on a jacket and stepped out into the hallway. The silence out there was even worse. I knocked on the door of our neighbor, Mr. Henderson. “Mr. Henderson? You home?” No sound. I tried the door across the hall. Nothing. I started to run. I hit the stairs, flying down flight after flight, pounding on every door I passed. No one. Not a single soul. I burst through the main entrance and stood in the courtyard of our apartment complex. Usually, at this hour, you’d see people walking dogs or loading gifts into their cars. Today? It was a ghost town. The playground was empty. The benches were empty. Even the stray cats that usually hung around the dumpsters had vanished. My heart started hammering against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I ran to the gate. The security booth was abandoned. The barrier was up. Out on the main road, there wasn’t a single car moving. There were vehicles parked along the curb, but they were empty shells. The Starbucks was closed. The grocery store was shuttered. The pharmacy, the salon, the deli—everything was locked tight. I stood in the middle of the wide, vacant boulevard, surrounded by skyscrapers and glass, yet I was the only thing breathing. The city hadn’t just paused. It had been drained. I started to sprint. I ran through block after block. I passed the mall, the high school, the hospital entrance. Empty. Empty. Empty. I stopped, gasping for air, my lungs burning. This was impossible. This was some kind of sick, large-scale prank. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. It picked up. But no one spoke. Just that steady, mechanical beep… beep… beep… I tried the fire department. The hospital. Same result. I dialed my fiancée, Bella. “The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.” I dialed my best friend, Wes. “The power to this device is off.” I went through my entire contact list. Fifty people. Not one voice. I collapsed onto the curb, my mind a white-hot blank. Everyone was gone. The whole country, maybe the whole world, had vanished overnight. And I was the only one left. Why? 2 I don’t know how long I sat there. The sun climbed higher, beating down on me, but I felt like I was made of ice. I had to get it together. I had to find a logic to the madness. I stood up and started walking back home. Halfway there, a thought hit me like a physical blow. The cameras. The building had security cameras, and my dad had recently installed a smart-cam in the living room. If something happened last night, the lens saw it. I moved faster. Back in the apartment, I went straight for the living room. My dad had set up the camera to “prevent break-ins,” he’d said. It was linked to a cloud-storage app on his tablet, which he’d left on the side table. I opened the app and scrolled back to last night’s footage. The picture was crisp. 10:00 PM: The four of us were on the couch, watching a holiday movie. 10:30 PM: I said I was tired and headed to bed. My mom told me to make sure I used the heavy blanket. I nodded. 11:00 PM: My dad went to the kitchen for a beer. 11:30 PM: Zoe was curled up on the armchair, scrolling through her phone. Everything was painfully normal. I hit the fast-forward button, skipping into the early morning hours. 1:00 AM: The living room lights were still on. My mom was knitting; my dad was reading on his phone. 2:00 AM: Zoe went to her room. 2:30 AM: My dad stood up and walked to the balcony. He pushed the door open and looked out. Suddenly, his expression shifted. I couldn’t see what he was looking at, but his face went pale, his jaw tightening. He hurried back inside and whispered something to my mother. Her face transformed instantly—fear, sharp and jagged. She dropped her knitting and stood up. Together, they walked toward my bedroom door. 3:03 AM. They pushed my door open. The camera couldn’t see inside my room, only the threshold. They stood there, looking in at me. For a long time. At least five minutes. Then, my mother’s lips moved. There was no audio, but I watched her mouth. I played it back. Again. And again. I’m not a lip-reader, but some things are unmistakable. She said: “Don’t wake him. Just let him stay here.” Then they closed my door. They turned away. 3:15 AM: They woke Zoe. The three of them threw on their coats and grabbed a few essentials. 3:40 AM: They opened the front door and walked out. The footage continued to run. From 3:40 AM until 9:00 AM. No one ever came back. I stared at the screen, my entire body beginning to tremor. “Just let him stay here.” That’s what she said. She chose to take Zoe, and she chose to leave me. Why? Why didn’t they wake me up? Why leave me to wake up to a dead world? What could have possibly happened that required them to flee at 3:00 AM, yet decide—deliberately—not to bring me along? I hurled the tablet against the wall. It shattered, the glass biting into my palm. I didn’t feel the pain. I only felt the sickening, hollow joke of it all. This was what it felt like to be discarded by the people who were supposed to love you most. 3 I tore the house apart. I was looking for anything—a note, a pamphlet, a sign of what had happened. But there was nothing. My dad had taken his phone. My mom had taken hers. Zoe’s room was empty except for a few stray clothes and books. I cracked open my laptop and scoured the internet. The connection was still live, surprisingly. But the web was a frozen time capsule. Twitter was still showing trending hashtags from Christmas Eve. Instagram was full of pictures of turkeys and decorated trees. There was nothing about a “disappearance.” It was as if this had only happened to me. Wait. If three hundred million people really vanished, there wouldn’t be anyone left to post the news. I went to Bella’s Facebook profile. Her last post was from 11:00 PM last night—a photo of her with her parents. The caption read: “Merry Christmas! Can’t wait for the wedding next year.” I stared at her smile, the way her eyes crinkled. We’d been engaged for two months. We were supposed to get married in May. And now, she was gone too. Did she know? Did she know what was coming last night? And if she did, why didn’t she tell me? I remembered something. Her house wasn’t far—a twenty-minute drive. I had to go there. I ran outside and found a car idling on the street, unlocked. The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped in and sped toward her neighborhood. The drive was haunting. I didn’t pass a single moving vehicle. The traffic lights cycled from green to yellow to red for an audience of zero. Twenty minutes later, I arrived at her place. It was just as empty. I ran upstairs and pounded on her door. No answer. I kicked the door in, the wood splintering under my boot. The apartment was vacant. But unlike my house, this place was pristine. The table was cleared. The pillows on the sofa were fluffed. It looked like they hadn’t fled in a panic—they had left with intention. I walked into Bella’s bedroom. Her makeup was organized; her bed was made. I opened her closet. A few outfits were missing. She had packed. She had known. She was prepared to leave. I began frantically tossing her room, looking for clues. In a nightstand drawer, I found her journal. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped it. I flipped to the final pages. December 22nd: “Got the notification today. It’s happening in three days. They told us we can’t tell anyone, especially not Ben. I’m so scared, but there’s no choice. I’m so sorry.” December 23rd: “Today is the last day of normal life. Had dinner with my parents and took a photo. I keep thinking about telling him. Just a whisper. But… I can’t.” December 24th: “Tonight is the night. 3:00 AM departure. I’m afraid to look at my phone; I’m afraid I’ll break down and call him. Ben, I’m so sorry. I’ll marry you in the next life.” The entry ended there. I clutched the journal to my chest, my breath coming in jagged stabs. “Can’t tell anyone. Especially not Ben.” She knew. She’d known for days. This wasn’t a “disappearance.” This was a coordinated evacuation. And I had been blacklisted. My parents didn’t take me. My fiancée didn’t warn me. Why? What did I do? I threw the journal onto the floor and ran back to the car. I needed more answers. I needed to know why the entire world had decided I wasn’t worth saving.

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The roar of the wedding reception suddenly cut to a muffled hum, as if someone had pressed a giant mute button on the world. Right there, in the center of the ballroom, my husband was clinking glasses with his “ex-girlfriend.” Amidst the raucous cheers of the crowd, they leaned in, their lips nearly touching as they shared a single maraschino cherry from a cocktail glass, teeth grazing in a way that was far too intimate for a public stage. The guests’ eyes shifted toward me, sharp as spotlights, waiting for the inevitable explosion—the screaming match, the shattered glass, the drama they could gossip about over brunch tomorrow. Instead, I let a slow, practiced smile spread across my face. I raised my hands and gave two sharp, echoing claps. “Since you two are clearly so committed to the performance,” I called out, my voice cutting through the tension, “why don’t we just find an officiant and let you two tie the knot right here? It would be a shame to let all this romantic energy go to waste.” 1. Mallory licked her lips, a slow, cat-like movement, and looked down at me from the raised platform. “Jackson,” she purred, her eyes dancing with malice, “your wife is here. You don’t think she’s jealous, do you?” Jackson didn’t even look my way. He gave a dismissive shrug, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t mind her. Let’s keep going.” And they did. They continued to flirt and touch as if no one else existed, eventually leaning into a kiss that lasted far too long for a “bit of fun.” They turned toward a photographer, their hands entwined, and formed a heart shape for the lens. Within minutes, the photos were being blasted across Instagram and Facebook. Someone commented that they looked like “the ultimate power couple.” My phone buzzed. It was a text from my best friend, Callie. Paige, are you okay? This is insane. Are you really just going to let them do this? I looked up at the stage. They were laughing now, a private joke shared between two people who clearly didn’t care about the woman standing ten feet away. It’s fine, I typed back. If they want to play, let them play. When they finally stepped down, Jackson naturally slid into the chair next to Mallory. They sat flush against each other, their thighs touching. Mallory picked up a piece of sushi, took a small bite, and then pressed the rest against Jackson’s lips. Even from across the table, the sight made my stomach churn with a cold, greasy nausea. Mallory looked at me, her head tilted. “We’re just old college friends catching up, Paige. You know how it is—nostalgia hits hard. You don’t mind, do you?” The provocation was as subtle as a sledgehammer. In the past, I would have lost it. I would have caused a scene that people would talk about for years. But now? Now, I just looked at them and saw two pathetic, desperate people. “Knock yourselves out,” I said, my voice flat. This wasn’t the first time. They had been pushing these boundaries for years, testing how much I would swallow. It started back in college. I’d caught them together, sneaking off for “study sessions” that ended in a secluded spot by the campus lake. When I found them, they were breathless and flushed. I had been a firebrand then. I’d grabbed Mallory by her hair, screaming, nearly dragging her into the water. But Jackson had stepped in, cold and calculated. He told me they were just “rehearsing a scene for drama class.” He told me I had a “filthy mind” and that my jealousy was suffocating him. He told me to apologize to her, or we were over. He always knew exactly where to twist the knife. My fear of losing him was a leash he kept short. I had bowed my head. I had apologized to the woman who was trying to steal my life. But my silence didn’t buy me peace. Rumors started spreading through the campus message boards—vicious, twisted lies about my past, painting me as the unstable, abusive one. I knew it was her. I knew she was the source. When I confronted Jackson, he demanded “hard evidence.” Without it, he said, I was just being malicious. He told me I was small-minded, that I didn’t have the “grace” a woman should have. Back then, I was pathetic. I was so desperate for his scraps of affection that I promised to change. I promised to be better. I apologized until my throat was raw. Looking back, I want to scream at that girl. At the table, the other guests picked at their salads, their eyes darting between us like they were watching a tennis match. When the bride and groom came around for the toast, Mallory hooked her arm through Jackson’s. He didn’t pull away. He smiled, and they rose together like the hosts of the evening. Mallory downed her champagne and “stumbled” slightly, collapsing into Jackson’s chest. Jackson didn’t look for me. He didn’t check to see if I was okay. He just wrapped his suit jacket around her shoulders, his eyes filled with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in months. The table went silent, everyone waiting for my reaction. I just took a sip of my water and smiled at the person next to me. “Don’t look at me,” I said lightly. “The show’s only halfway through. Eat your dinner!” 2. I was used to their blatant disrespect, but the stench of it was still suffocating. Eventually, I couldn’t take the air in the ballroom anymore. I stepped out onto the terrace. The Chicago wind bit at my face, sharp and sobering. They weren’t hiding it anymore because they didn’t feel they had to. The mask was off. Fine. If the mask is off, the gloves are off. As the reception wound down, Jackson emerged, leaning heavily on Mallory. He was swaying, the bourbon finally catching up to him. “Paige,” he barked, spotting me. “Get over here and help me get her to the car.” I didn’t move. I didn’t even look at her. “She’s your woman, Jackson. You carry her.” Jackson’s jaw tightened. He thought this was just another bout of jealousy he could crush with a stern look. “Don’t start with the drama. I’ll explain everything when we get home.” Suddenly, Mallory “woke up.” she threw her arms around Jackson’s neck and planted a messy, wet kiss on his cheek, mumbling loud enough for the departing guests to hear that she was “the only girl who ever lived in his heart.” Then, she drifted back into her “drunken” stupor. The guests stared, mouths agape. Jackson just looked annoyed that I wasn’t helping. He dragged her toward the valet, shoved her into the backseat of his Audi, and then—without a single word to me—slid in right next to her. Mallory’s hand was clamped onto his. He didn’t let go. The car pulled away, leaving me standing under the flickering neon sign of the hotel. As the window rolled up, I caught a glimpse of Mallory. She wasn’t asleep. She was looking back at me, a sharp, triumphant glint in her eyes. I watched the red taillights disappear into the city traffic. My heart didn’t break. It didn’t even ache. It just went still. The whispers started behind me. Can you believe her? Her husband leaves with another woman and she just stands there? Someone muttered that Jackson and Mallory were “soulmates” and that I was just the “placeholder” who got lucky. They forgot one thing: I was his wife. They were blaming the wrong person. I took a separate Uber home. I stripped off my heels and my dress and sprawled out on the king-sized bed. It was the first time in years I felt like I could actually breathe. I remembered how hard I used to work to please him. I’d have dinner ready at six, his gym clothes washed and folded, his favorite craft beer stocked in the fridge. I thought if I was perfect, he wouldn’t look elsewhere. But then Mallory moved back to the city. Every time we went out, his eyes would track her like a heat-seeking missile. I became obsessed with my own perceived flaws. I worked harder, ran faster, stayed quieter. All he had to do was give me one scrap of praise, and I’d be his loyal dog again for another month. Then they got married—wait, no. We got married. He chose me. I thought I had won. I posted the photos, wanting the whole world to see that he belonged to me. Then came the night he came home late, “exhausted” from work. He went to shower and left his phone on the nightstand. A notification popped up. It was Mallory. My stomach dropped. I tried to stay calm as I swiped the screen. Jackson, you were incredible tonight. Below the text was a photo. A photo of them in a parked car, locked in a kiss that looked nothing like “rehearsing a scene.” My world didn’t just crack. It detonated. He had been telling me he was working overtime. He’d been coming home “too tired” to touch me, “too stressed” to talk. And all the while, he was with her. 3. Mallory was back, and they had never truly stopped. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw his phone through the window. But I was just so… tired. We had been married for barely a year, and I felt like I had aged a decade. Over the next week, Jackson announced he had to travel for “consulting gigs.” He’d be gone for days at a time. I just said, “Okay.” I knew he was lying. His firm didn’t even have out-of-state clients right now. He was just playing house with his “unfinished business” in some Airbnb across town. I didn’t bother calling him out. I didn’t care enough to hear the lies. One night, around 8:00 PM, I was curled up on the sofa. In the old days, I’d be frantic by now. I’d be calling him, worried he’d been in a car wreck or that some girl at a bar was hitting on him. Now? He could be face-down in a ditch for all I cared. I turned off my phone and went to sleep. The sound of the front door slamming woke me up hours later. Jackson’s voice boomed from the hallway, commanding as always. “Paige! Get up and get me some water.” In the past, I would have been up in a heartbeat, dimming the lights, warming up a snack, making sure his pillow was just right. I didn’t move. “I’m sleeping. Leave me alone.” Jackson marched into the bedroom. He reeked of expensive bourbon and a perfume that was aggressively floral—Mallory’s signature scent. “Are you still pouting about the wedding?” he snapped. “I told you, I was the best man’s partner for the procession. I had to sit with the bridesmaid. It was a job.” I let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Was the kissing part of the job description, too?” Jackson’s face went cold. “It was a bit! The DJ was egging everyone on. And she was wasted, Paige. What was I supposed to do? Leave her to wander into traffic?” I looked at him, really looked at him. “There were fifty people there, Jackson. Why did it have to be my husband who took her home? Mallory has been a pro drinker since freshman year. She wasn’t wasted. She was performing.” “Think what you want,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not doing this with you.” “Fine. Go away then.” “What did you say?” “You heard me.” Jackson frowned. Usually, two sentences of “explanation” were enough to make me apologize for being “difficult.” He didn’t like the change in the script. “Paige, what is wrong with you lately? Are you on something?” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice steady. “Better than I’ve been in years.” “Stop being a brat!” Jackson was raising his voice now. “I said I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come back tonight. You should have stayed with Mallory. Isn’t that what you really wanted?” “So you are jealous!” He looked almost relieved. He liked it when I was jealous; it meant he still had power. “Look, I’ll try to stay away from her, okay? God, I’m sticky and I feel like crap. Go turn on the shower for me. I need to wash this night off.” He’d spent the night with another woman, and he expected me to play maid. “I told you,” I said, pulling the duvet up. “I’m sleeping.” 4. Jackson’s eyes flared, a dark, predatory look taking over. “I said I’d stay away from her! What more do you want?” he snarled. “Get up and fix the water. Don’t push me, Paige.” I sat up slowly, the calm inside me hardening into something icy and indestructible. “Jackson, since the day we got married, I have been your shadow. I’ve asked for nothing. I’ve served you. I don’t owe you a damn thing. Leave me alone, or I will start saying things out loud that you won’t like.” Finally, he snapped. “You think you’re so indispensable? Don’t forget who pays the mortgage on this place, Paige. Keep acting like this and see how fast I file for divorce!” I almost laughed. Every time he stayed out late, every time he ignored me, he used the D-word like a nuclear deterrent. He knew how much I “valued” our marriage. He knew I’d do anything to keep the “wife” title. I was bored of it. I looked him dead in the eye and smiled. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s get a divorce.” “What?”

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The screen of the burner phone ignited in the dark, and the notification headline hit me like a poisoned ice pick to the gut. “MASSACRE AT WESTBRIDGE ACADEMY: 5,000 STUDENTS AND FACULTY DEAD.” Right below it, in chillingly clinical font: “Only two students unaccounted for.” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the device. I looked up at the boy standing by the window of our grimy roadside motel. Luke. My first love. Six months ago, we were worried about prom; now, he stood with his back to me, his varsity jacket damp with night dew, his shoulders shaking like a leaf caught in an autumn gale. My mind raced back three hours to the study hall. The final bell had just rung when Luke, the undisputed valedictorian of our class, burst through the doors like a madman. He’d grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the parking lot, ignoring the gasps of our classmates. I had fought him, screaming, “We’re six months from graduation, Luke! You’re throwing it all away for a stunt?” His voice back then had been even more unstable than it was now. He just kept repeating, “Don’t ask, just run,” until he shoved me into a waiting car and we sped out of the city limits under the cover of a moonless sky. “You knew,” I whispered, my voice finally returning, my face pale in the reflected glow of the screen. “You knew something was going to happen, didn’t you?” He turned slowly. Beads of cold sweat glistened on his forehead under the sickly yellow light of the motel lamp. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I thought about the biting words I’d hurled at him when we first checked in—”All this drama just to hide out in a cheap hourly rate dump?” Now, the air in my lungs tasted like rusted iron. Fear was a physical weight in my throat. We weren’t just two rebellious teenagers running away to be together. We were the ones who had slipped through the cracks of a death warrant. 1 The nightmare started at the end of evening library hours. I was just stepping out of the mahogany-paneled building, heading toward the dorms, when Luke appeared. Before I could say a word, he grabbed my hand in front of everyone. The look on his face wasn’t the calm, composed expression of the boy I’d grown up with. It was something jagged. Manic. A few students nearby let out low whistles and catcalls. “Damn, Miller’s finally lost it!” someone yelled. At Westbridge, “inappropriate displays of affection” were a fast track to a disciplinary hearing. For a scholarship kid like me, it was a death sentence for my future. For a golden boy like Luke, it was social suicide. But he didn’t care. When our history teacher tried to step in and block our path, Luke didn’t negotiate. He shoved him aside with a ferocity that sent the man sprawling. Screams erupted behind us. Luke didn’t look back. He just kept running, his grip on my wrist so tight it bruised. “Luke, where are we going?” I gasped, struggling to keep pace as my lungs burned. He didn’t slow down. His face was a mask of sheer terror. “There’s no time to explain. We just have to get off campus. Now!” “Off campus?” I stopped dead, trying to anchor myself. “Are you insane? We have finals in two weeks. You’re talking about throwing away our entire lives!” Since the start of senior year, we’d been drifted into different honors tracks. We barely saw each other, holding onto the promise of a road trip after graduation. He was headed for the Ivy League; I was fighting for a spot at a top-tier state school. There was no reason—none—for this. But as I struggled to pull away, he spun me around. His eyes were wide, reflecting a kind of primal, terminal dread. “Casey, please,” he choked out. “Trust me. Just once. If we don’t leave now, we’re never leaving. We’ll be dead by midnight.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He dragged me toward the far corner of the athletic fields, where the perimeter fence met the woods. Someone had already stacked a pile of discarded crates there. “Get over,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected a monster to roar out of the darkness. “Go! Now!” Confused and trembling, I let him hoist me up over the chain-link fence. He vaulted over a second later, his movements fluid and frantic. A black sedan was idling on the dirt road outside. Luke shoved me into the back. “Go! Drive!” he barked at the driver, tossing a thick envelope of cash onto the front seat. The driver’s eyes widened, but he didn’t ask questions. He slammed the car into gear. As we accelerated, I looked back through the rear window. The sight chilled me to the bone. Every single light in the massive Westbridge Academy complex went out at once. Total darkness. And then, carried on the wind, came the faint, muffled sound of a thousand screams. I sank into the seat, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Luke collapsed beside me, his hands shaking violently. He kept his eyes glued to the rearview mirror until the school was nothing but a memory in the distance. Only then did he let out a long, ragged breath. “What was that?” I demanded, my voice trembling. “Luke, what did you do? What is happening back there?” He pulled me into his chest, his arms like iron bands. “Casey, don’t ask,” he whispered into my hair. “If I say it out loud… if I name it… we might not make it out.” 2 His words sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins. What could be so horrific that even speaking its name was a threat? I breathed in the familiar scent of his cologne—sandalwood and laundry detergent—and forced myself to nod. “Okay,” I whispered. “I trust you. It’s not like you’re kidnapping me to sell me off.” He let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Casey, I’d sell my own soul before I let a hair on your head be touched.” The car tore through the night. The driver kept glancing at us through the mirror, probably thinking we were just two rich kids playing at being outlaws. We switched cars twice, traveling through the early hours of the morning until we crossed the state line. We finally stopped at a nondescript motel in a town so small it didn’t even have a Starbucks. The moment we entered the room, Luke didn’t collapse onto the bed. Instead, he pulled a roll of black electrical tape from his bag. He covered the peephole. Then, he got on his hands and knees and taped the gap at the bottom of the door until it was airtight. He looked like a man who had just finished defusing a bomb. “What are you doing?” I asked, watching the black tape with growing unease. “Blocking the line of sight,” he muttered. “They like to watch. They find you through the cracks.” They. I didn’t press him. I just watched him stumble toward the bathroom to splash water on his face. While the faucet ran, I reached for the smartphone he’d handed me earlier. That’s when I saw it. The headline that shattered the world. My fingers went numb. My vision narrowed until all I could see were those words. “WESTBRIDGE ACADEMY MASS FATALITY. ENTIRE STUDENT BODY DEAD OVERNIGHT.” I clicked the link, my brain refusing to process the information. “Five thousand students and faculty were found dead at Westbridge Academy late last night. Preliminary reports indicate massive internal hemorrhaging. There were no signs of a struggle. Forensic experts are baffled.” “Only two students remain unaccounted for.” 3 I sat on the edge of the bed, a violent shudder wracking my frame. “How?” I whispered. “How is this possible?” In one night, everyone I knew—my roommate, my teachers, the girl who sat next to me in AP Bio—they were all gone. I clicked a video link. The footage showed the iron gates of the school, now swarmed by state police and a fleet of ambulances. Long rows of body bags lined the manicured lawn where we’d had our fall festival just weeks ago. The reporter’s voice was thin with shock. “Authorities have cordoned off the area. While they have ruled out food poisoning, the strangest detail remains: security footage shows two students fleeing the grounds just minutes before the event began. A nationwide search is underway for these survivors…” I looked at Luke as he walked out of the bathroom. “You knew this was coming.” He took my frozen hands in his. “Don’t think about the ‘why’ right now, Casey. We’re alive. That’s all that matters.” “But we could have told them!” I cried, tears finally breaking through. “We could have saved them! Why didn’t you say anything?” “Casey, look at me.” His grip tightened, his eyes flashing with a desperate sort of pain. “I couldn’t save them. If I had tried to warn anyone, if I had even whispered the truth to a teacher, we would have died with them. Probably worse. I had to stay quiet to keep our chance alive. I could only save you. You’re the only thing in this world I care about.” He looked so young, yet his face was lined with a weariness that belonged to someone decades older. But the questions were screaming in my head. Why a mass death? How did he have a premonition? What were we running from? Luke reached out, brushing a tear from my cheek. “Try to sleep. We have to keep moving tomorrow.” He checked the tape on the door one last time before lying down on the other side of the bed. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise on a world that no longer made sense. 4 The world had turned into a horror movie overnight. In this tiny, cramped room, he was the only thing I had left. I fell into a heavy, feverish sleep filled with distorted shadows. We were jolted awake the next morning by the phone buzzing incessantly. Dozens of missed calls. When I saw the caller ID on Luke’s phone, the hair on my arms stood up. Dad. I frowned, whispering, “Luke… didn’t your parents die in that car wreck three years ago?” He lived with his grandparents. So who was calling? The phone vibrated against the nightstand like a dying insect. Luke’s face went ghost-white. He answered, but he didn’t speak. He pressed his finger to his lips, signaling me to stay absolutely silent. I held my breath, covering my mouth with both hands. The line was open, but there was no voice. Instead, there was a sound that made my teeth ache—a rhythmic, screeching friction. Like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard, or bone grinding against concrete. It wasn’t human. Luke’s pupils dilated. “Rot in hell,” he snarled into the phone. He slammed the phone down, ripped out the SIM card, and crushed the device under the heel of his boot in the bathroom. “We have to go. They found us.” He grabbed the bags and pulled me toward the door. We didn’t even check out; we just sprinted for the parking lot. The morning sun was blinding, but it offered no warmth. “Where are we going?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Farther west,” Luke said, his voice grim. “Into the mountains. We need to go somewhere they can’t reach.” We donned hats and masks, boarding a long-distance bus heading toward the Smokies. Before we left, Luke handed me a physical map with a single red circle drawn deep in the wilderness. “It’s going to get more dangerous,” he warned. “If we get separated, go to this spot. If something happens to me… you keep going. Don’t look back. That place is the only way out.” When I saw the location he’d circled, my heart stopped. I knew that place. The pieces started clicking together, a terrifying mosaic forming in my mind. Why he’d saved me. Why our school was a graveyard. What was following us. I finally understood the truth.

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Fifteen years. That’s how long I spent locked in a one-sided war for the boy next door, twisting myself into a human Swiss Army knife just to make him look at me. From dominating state math leagues to playing the piano until my fingers bled, from a grueling double major at Yale to finally holding that Harvard MBA offer letter in my hands. I did it all for him. But when I stood on the porch of my family’s estate, dragging my suitcase behind me, Pete Carmichael did exactly what he had done a thousand times before. He bypassed my outstretched hand, didn’t even glance at my Ivy League sweatshirt, and walked straight toward my younger sister, Maddie, who was standing behind me clutching her sketchpad. “Have you been waiting long, Maddie?” he asked, his voice soft. The echo of a phrase he’d said years ago—I only like Maddie—felt like a rusted nail driving into my fingertips, making them numb. My best friend, who had driven me from the airport, silently offered me a tissue. I waved it away. Watching the broad stretch of his back as he took my sister’s bag, a sudden, breathy laugh escaped my lips. This is it? I thought. This is the man I spent my entire youth chasing? His white button-down was impeccably pressed, the line of his jaw as sharp and aristocratic as ever. But the longer I stared, the more… hollow the whole picture felt. He was like a vintage fashion magazine I’d found in a dusty waiting room. The cover was still gorgeous, but the content inside was hopelessly out of date. “Am I pivoting too fast?” I murmured later, idly stabbing the tapioca pearls at the bottom of my boba tea. My best friend pulled me into a fierce side-hug. “Oh, honey. It’s not that you changed too fast. It’s that you outgrew him miles ago.” … 1 Maddie and I stepped out of the black town car at the exact same time. Without any warning, the heel of Maddie’s Jimmy Choo gave way, and she pitched forward. Pete, our golden-boy neighbor, didn’t even blink. He lunged forward, catching her firmly by the waist. Leaning into his chest, Maddie peeked over his shoulder and shot me a silent, mocking smile. It was a look dripping with arrogant triumph. Around us, the estate staff lowered their heads, hiding knowing smirks. They knew the script. They were waiting for my cue. This was the part where I was supposed to march over, yank Maddie away, and scream about how she was faking it, how she was a manipulative little brat trying to steal the man I loved. Then, Pete would scowl, scold me for being a toxic, jealous shrew, and I would run off in spectacular, tearful hysterics. But I just stood there. Seconds ticked by. I didn’t move a muscle. For years, I had ground myself into dust trying to earn a single scrap of Pete’s validation. I had thrown myself into academia, launched a tech startup from a dorm room, built a massive digital footprint. I had navigated the cutthroat maneuvering of Silicon Valley boardrooms and held my own in rooms full of heavy-hitting politicians. Standing here now, watching my twenty-three-year-old sister fake a trip on a perfectly flat driveway? It was just… comical. “Glad you didn’t hurt yourself,” I said. My voice was entirely flat. I turned to the housekeeper, handing over a meticulously wrapped box. “Please let Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael know my parents sent this for them.” Maddie’s triumphant smile faltered. Pete shot me a sharp, scrutinizing frown. When we walked into the Carmichaels’ lavish dining room, the mahogany table was set beautifully. But there were only four chairs. Pete, his parents, and Maddie. That was four. Maddie let out a breathy, exaggerated giggle. “Oh my god, Vic, I am so sorry. I totally forgot to tell everyone you were coming back today. They didn’t prep a seat for you.” “Why are you even explaining yourself to her?” Pete’s voice was ice. He looked at me with open disdain. “Vicky, Maddie didn’t do it on purpose. Just go to the kitchen and grab yourself a stool. There’s no need to terrorize her over a chair.” There it is, I thought. The universal constant. Pete would always, without hesitation or logic, throw himself in front of Maddie like she was taking enemy fire. Yet, the strange part was the profound silence in my own chest. My heart wasn’t racing. My throat wasn’t tight. I felt… nothing. I couldn’t even fathom the girl I used to be, the girl who would have gone to war over this boy. “Pete,” I said softly, “I haven’t even said a word.” He stiffened, momentarily thrown off guard. In the past, my eyes would already be red. I’d be shouting, calling Maddie a two-faced snake. “Vic, you’re mad.” Maddie’s eyes instantly welled with practiced tears. She stepped forward, grabbing my wrist. “Please don’t be mad. I’ll go get you a chair right now.” She made a pathetic little move toward the kitchen, but Pete caught her arm, pulling her back. He glared down at me from his towering height. “You’re in the Carmichael house now, Vicky. This isn’t your little kingdom where you get to throw your weight around. If you can’t be civil and get your own chair, then you can leave before dinner is served.” A maid by the doorway failed to muffle a snicker. I caught the whispered exchange between two staff members: “Just watch. Miss High-and-Mighty will drag a chair out here herself.” “Oh, for sure. She’d swallow broken glass if it meant sitting across from him.” “That won’t be necessary,” I said, a genuine, light laugh escaping me. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I only stopped by to drop off the gift from my parents. I wasn’t planning on staying for dinner anyway. I actually have somewhere to be. Enjoy your evening.” Pete’s eyes narrowed, searching my face. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. I turned on my heel and walked out the heavy oak doors, my stride long and unbroken. From the foyer, I heard Maddie shrink against Pete. “Why is she in such a rush? Is she… does she just hate me so much that she can’t even stand to be in the same room?” Pete watched through the window as I got into my car. I could see the slight furrow between his brows. “Don’t let it get to you,” I heard him murmur to her. “She spent a few years away and thinks she’s learned how to play hard to get. It’s just a new tactic.” Maddie chewed her lip. “It’s working, though. She’s acting so cold. Are you… are you ever going to—” Pete stroked her hair, cutting her off. “I told you. You’re the only one I want.” 2 I genuinely did have somewhere to be. My co-founder and I were running an internet-based tech firm, and the workload was astronomical. I had a dinner scheduled with a major enterprise client. As my driver navigated the evening traffic, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my partner, Val: [Heard you finally touched down in the States. Got a massive surprise waiting for you~] I fired off a quick, noncommittal emoji. If I had known what her definition of a “surprise” was in that moment, I would have burned the company to the ground to stop it. I truly had zero intention of ever crossing paths with Pete Carmichael again. But a few days later, my grandfather’s milestone birthday arrived. Given our families’ generational ties, the Carmichaels were obviously on the guest list. But when I walked into the ballroom of the country club, holding a priceless antique gift for my grandfather, it didn’t look like an eightieth birthday party. It looked like a proposal. Pete was down on one knee. As I walked in, his eyes flicked to me. A slow, mocking smirk touched his lips. With agonizing deliberation, he slid a massive diamond onto Maddie’s trembling finger. “Yes!” My parents were the first to stand and cheer, clapping rapturously. I stood by the ice sculpture, totally lost. “Isn’t today Grandpa’s birthday?” I asked a passing aunt. “It is, sweetheart!” my dad said, suddenly appearing at my elbow. “But your grandfather insisted. He said he wanted a double celebration today.” I frowned, looking between my cheering parents and the newly engaged couple on the stage. “You guys were in this much of a rush to get them engaged? I honestly thought tonight was just—” “Ahem,” my dad coughed, leaning in close. “Look, we kept it from you because we didn’t want you causing a scene. You haven’t heard the news, have you? Pete just got tapped as the new Regional Director for Vanguard Tech.” Vanguard?! I froze. That… that was my company. The startup Val and I had built from the ground up. “A son-in-law of his caliber is one in a million,” my dad continued, oblivious to my shock. “Of course we wanted to lock him down with Maddie. Look, Vic, we know how much you care about the boy. But you can’t force love. He’s never felt that way about you, and it’s been years. It’s time to stop making a fool of yourself. Be a good girl and let it go, okay?” I didn’t say a word. I just looked down at my phone and frantically texted Val. [Your little “surprise.” Please tell me it is NOT Pete Carmichael?!] She replied almost instantly with a tongue-out selfie. [We all know you’ve been pining for him for over a decade! I handled the regional hiring while you were in transit. As the new director, he reports directly to YOU. You’re welcome, boss. Now you get to spend every waking minute with him. ] I pressed the heel of my hand hard against my forehead, staving off a migraine. Whispers began to drift through the ballroom, aimed squarely at my back. “Look… isn’t that Pete’s resident stalker, Vicky?” “Oh my god, it is! I can’t believe she actually showed her face tonight.” “Look at how devastated she looks holding her head. Yikes. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.” The buzzing of their petty gossip made my headache worse. I needed quiet. I slipped out of the ballroom and headed down the hall toward a private lounge to call Val and fix this colossal HR disaster. After a ten-minute call explaining, in graphic detail, that I would rather swallow a live grenade than date Pete, I opened the lounge door to head back. A hand shot out of the shadows, wrapping like a vice around my wrist. Before I could blink, I was yanked hard into the dimly lit stairwell. “Pete!” I gasped. My wrist throbbed. He shoved me back, letting go. He stood between me and the door, his posture rigid, his face carved out of ice. “You saw what happened out there today,” he said, his voice a low, threatening rumble. I rubbed my wrist, glaring at him through the dim emergency lighting. “I am officially engaged to Maddie now,” he continued. “It’s time you find someone to marry, too. Give it up.” “Marry?” I let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “I don’t have time for that right now.” “Are you really going to keep playing this desperate game?” I stopped rubbing my wrist. I stared at him, my mind short-circuiting as I finally realized what he was implying. He actually thought I was still trying to orchestrate my life around him. “Pete, let me be very clear. I’m not getting married because my company is entering a massive growth phase. I’m busy.” He stared at me in the heavy silence. Then, a dark, cynical smile broke across his face. “Don’t you think that’s a pathetic excuse, Vicky?” I blinked. “Excuse me?” “The CEO of Vanguard Tech is a woman around your age,” he sneered, quoting the very corporate lore I had created. “And even a woman of her magnitude isn’t using ‘career’ as an excuse to die alone. Who exactly are you trying to fool?” For a second, I was completely speechless. It was my own fault, really. I had spent fifteen years building a reputation as a textbook romantic martyr. I had been so notoriously obsessed with him that now, when I finally had an epiphany and moved on, literally no one believed me. Not even my own business partner. “Let me tell you how this works, Vicky,” he said, taking a slow, menacing step toward me. He leaned in, his cologne suffocating the small space. “I never loved you. And now that I have a ring on your sister’s finger, I am certainly never going to love you. If you keep stalking me, you’re only going to make me sick to my stomach. Unless…” His eyes darkened, dropping to my lips. “Unless your goal is to be my mistress?” In that claustrophobic stairwell, a profound sense of clarity washed over me. I looked at the man standing in front of me. He was arrogant. He was vulgar. He was aggressively mediocre. Why in the world had I spent the best years of my life treating this guy like he was the center of the universe? Why had I let him tear my relationship with my sister to shreds? I let out a sharp, genuine bark of laughter. Without a word, I shoved both hands hard against his chest, knocking him out of my way. I pushed open the heavy fire door and walked out. 3 Val texted me that she was on her way to the club to apologize in person. I sat at a secluded table near the edge of the ballroom, sipping a glass of sparkling water, enjoying the peace. Then, a sharp whistle cut through the music. Before I could react, seven or eight men—Pete’s frat brothers and country club sycophants—slid into the booths and chairs around me, boxing me in. “Well, well, if it isn’t her royal highness,” one of them drawled, swirling bourbon in a heavy crystal glass. “Can’t believe you actually showed up to watch Pete put a ring on someone else.” “We were taking bets, honestly,” another laughed. “Thought you’d be at home drowning in a bathtub of Pinot Noir.” “Guess she’s still holding out hope.” A clammy hand suddenly reached out, snapping the thin silk strap of my dress. I flinched, my blood running cold. I slapped his hand away violently. “Ooh, feisty!” The first guy leaned in. “Studying abroad gave you some teeth, huh? Whatever happened to the girl who used to beg us to put in a good word for her with the boss?” My stomach turned. It was true. During my darkest, most pathetic years, I hadn’t just worshipped Pete; I had catered to his entire orbit. Maddie had been the effortless, talented golden child. To compensate, I had bribed these overgrown frat boys. I memorized their favorite liquors, bought them VIP tickets to games, bought them designer watches for Christmas—all just to buy their loyalty, hoping they’d convince Pete to give me a chance. Looking at their flushed, entitled faces now, I felt a wave of profound nausea. I truly had been blind. “Look, Vic,” the guy next to me said, dropping his voice into a patronizing register. “Pete is off the market. You lost to your sister. It is what it is.” He leaned closer. The stench of stale tobacco and expensive whiskey hit my face. “But… that doesn’t mean your life is over.” “If you take care of us tonight,” he whispered, a vile smile spreading across his face, “we’ll talk to Pete. We’ll make sure he keeps you around for… extracurriculars. What do you say?” My skin crawled. I pushed against the table to stand up, but a hand shot out, gripping my jaw painfully tight. “Don’t be shy, princess. We’re good at keeping secrets.” “Hey? Pete!” someone suddenly called out. I wrenched my face away and saw Pete walking down the corridor right past our alcove. “Pete!” I stood up abruptly, but the man beside me grabbed my waist and forcefully yanked me back down onto the velvet sofa. Pete stopped. He looked over. He had absolutely heard what they just said to me. “Pete! Tell your friends to back off!” I demanded, my voice shaking with rage, not fear. A flicker of panic crossed the men’s faces. They glanced at each other, suddenly unsure if they had crossed a line with the newly minted fiancé. But Pete just looked at me. His expression was completely blank. He wrapped his arm securely around Maddie’s waist, turned his back to me, and kept walking. “Pete—“ “Hey, calm down, princess,” the man sneered, pulling me tighter against his chest, his fingers digging into my ribs. “How do you still not get it? In Pete’s world, Maddie comes first. Then us. Then his dog. Then you.” My face hardened into stone. “So,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, “be a good girl. Entertain us, and we’ll convince him to let you be his favorite little pet.” “Yeah,” another laughed. “We won’t tell Maddie.” My fingers curled around the stem of my crystal water glass. I squeezed. Harder. Crack. The glass shattered in my grip, shards raining onto the table, water pooling over the velvet. The men froze, staring at the jagged glass in my palm. “Who exactly,” I whispered, the silence around us suddenly deafening, “do you think you are touching?” Before he could even blink, I pivoted my hips, driving a closed fist with all my weight directly into the man’s temple. 4 When I said I twisted myself into a Swiss Army knife to compete with Maddie, I didn’t just mean academics. I meant everything. Including Muay Thai. The man’s head snapped back with a sickening crack, blood instantly spraying from his nose as he went down. “You bitch!” Another guy lunged, swinging a heavy glass liquor bottle. It smashed against my hairline. The world tilted. A sharp ringing pierced my ears, but years of muscle memory kicked in. I dug my heels into the carpet, grounding myself. As a third guy lunged to tackle me, I sidestepped, grabbed him by the back of his collar, and slammed his face squarely into the mahogany table. I stood over them, chest heaving, blood trickling down the side of my face. “You think you can break me?” I looked down at the men groaning on the floor. “You’re out of your league.” Smack! The sharp sting of a slap exploded against my cheek. I stumbled back, catching the edge of the sofa to stay upright. Pete stood there, his face twisted in fury. “I put a ring on Maddie’s finger and you pull a stunt like this?!” he roared. My parents had rushed over, drawn by the shattered glass. When my mother saw the bloodied men on the floor, her face turned purple. She shoved me hard in the chest. “What is wrong with you?!” she screamed. “Just because your sister gets engaged today, you have to destroy the entire event?! It’s your grandfather’s birthday! When are you going to grow the hell up?!” The gathered crowd hadn’t heard the repulsive things those men had whispered to me. They only saw me, the jilted, crazy sister, standing over bleeding guests. “She’s twenty-five acting like a toddler,” an aunt muttered loudly. “Pete doesn’t want her. Throwing a violent tantrum isn’t going to change that.” Maddie stepped forward, her eyes brimming with spectacular, cinematic tears. “Vic,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “If you really… if you really can’t handle this… I’ll give you the ring. Just please, stop hurting people.” She made a dramatic show of trying to pull the massive diamond off her finger. Pete caught her hand, stopping her. “Vicky, do you have zero self-respect?” Pete sneered, looking at me with pure disgust. “I am engaged, and you’re throwing a riot. You want me that badly?” He pulled Maddie flush against his side. “You want a shot with me? Fine. You make sure Maddie is perfectly happy first. You serve her. Then, maybe, I’ll consider keeping you around.” “Pete?” Maddie looked up at him, her eyes wide. Pete laughed, a dark, cruel sound. “She won’t leave us alone anyway, babe. Might as well make use of her. But I’m only accepting her if she learns her place beneath you.” A flash of genuine thrill danced in Maddie’s eyes before she hid it behind her tears. Pete looked back at me. “Do we have an understanding?” I slowly reached up and touched the cheek where my mother had slapped me. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I took one step forward. SMACK. I drove my hand across Pete’s face with enough force to snap his head violently to the side. My mother lunged, grabbing my arm. “Are you insane?!” Maddie screamed, a piercing, theatrical sound. “Vic! If you want to hit someone, hit me! Don’t touch him!” “Hit you?” I laughed, shaking my arm free from my mother’s grip. “You’re a side character. You’re not worth bruising my knuckles over.” “You—!” “Pete Carmichael,” I said, my voice cutting through the chaos like a scythe. “As the CEO of Vanguard Tech, I am officially terminating your employment. Don’t bother showing up for onboarding on Monday.” He froze. “Vanguard?” Then, he scoffed, rubbing his reddening jaw. “You think you can just invent a fantasy where you work at Vanguard just to feel powerful? God, you’re pathetic.” Maddie looked at me with profound pity. “Vic… have you lost your mind? This is my fault. I should have told him to propose in private. The shock has completely broken you.” My mother glared at me. “Vanguard is a Fortune 500 company. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable!” Laughter rippled through the crowd. “Okay, she’s actually psychotic,” someone whispered loudly. “She stalked him so hard she’s hallucinating that they work together. Vanguard’s hiring process is impossible. I’ve been rejected three times.” Right then, Pete’s phone rang. I glanced at the screen. It was Val’s name. Pete’s arrogant sneer vanished. He cleared his throat and answered, his voice instantly dropping into a tone of deep, reverent respect. “Yes, ma’am? You’re outside? Of course, I’ll come escort you in personally.” He hung up the phone and glared at the security guards. “Get her out of here. Drag her out if you have to. The COO is outside and I will not let this psycho ruin my introduction.” Two security guards immediately grabbed my arms. A murmur of excitement swept the room. “The COO of Vanguard is here? Oh my god.” “Pete is already bringing in tech billionaires. He’s incredible.” “Hurry up, get the crazy sister out the back door!” But before the guards could move me, the double doors at the end of the hall swung open. “Vic!” Val’s voice echoed through the marble foyer. Pete blinked, adjusting his suit jacket. “Ms. Cruz? Who are you calling—” Val blew right past him without a glance. she marched straight toward me. “Vic! Oh my god, this is a massive screw-up!” The security guards holding my arms went rigid. They dropped their hands as if they had touched hot coals.

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Carrying this new life inside me made me feel like my mind was an unfinished puzzle, with a jagged piece missing right in the center. Every time I pressed my husband for answers, he’d just laugh and ruffle my hair with that practiced, effortless affection. “Sweetheart, you haven’t lost any memories. You’re just being sensitive. It’s the hormones.” I’d shake my head and try to believe him. Maybe I was just overthinking it. Maybe the fog in my brain was just a side effect of the pregnancy. But when the cold bite of a gun barrel pressed against my spine, I realized the nightmare had never actually ended. It had just been sleeping. The kidnapper’s boot ground into my stomach, and I gasped as filthy, brackish water forced its way down my throat. “The great Mr. Wolfe is too busy saving his precious little assistant to care about you,” the man spat, his voice a jagged rasp. “What does a trophy wife matter when he’s got her?” Through a haze of agony, I looked down. A terrifying, vivid crimson was beginning to bloom across the fabric of my white maternity dress. And then, in the moment my consciousness began to shatter, the floodgates broke. The locked doors in my mind swung wide, and the memories exploded behind my eyes like a detonated bomb. Five years ago. Another kidnapping. Another choice. He had chosen his assistant back then, too. And the child I had been carrying then—a life that should have been five years old by now—had slipped away into the dark while I lay unconscious and broken. The realization hit me harder than the physical pain: This time, he still didn’t intend for me, or our baby, to survive. … The kidnapper yanked me up by my hair, dragging my face out of the muck and forcing me to look at a screen. “Take a look. It’s a hell of a show.” On the phone screen, the video was crystal clear. My husband, Franklin Wolfe, was pulling his secretary, Bridget, into a crushing embrace. His voice was a frantic, tender whisper I knew all too well. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m taking you home.” He swept her up in his arms, her clothes clean and pristine, a sharp, cruel contrast to the broken woman bleeding out in a warehouse. “That’s what a real wife looks like,” the kidnapper mocked. “You? You’re just the placeholder.” The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. The world tilted, and I spiraled into the black. The memories kept surging, relentless and cruel. Three years ago, Franklin’s business rivals had snatched me to settle a score. By some freak coincidence, Bridget had been with me. The kidnappers wanted one hostage for leverage and one for a quick ransom. It was obvious they intended to trade me for the money. Everyone had been screaming at Franklin to pay the debt. “You can make more money, Franklin! But you only have one wife!” his friends had urged. Franklin had hesitated. It wasn’t the money that gave him pause. It was the choice. My in-laws had been frantic. “Elena is pregnant, Franklin! Nothing matters more than her and that baby. Do the right thing!” Finally, Franklin looked like he’d made a decision. He grabbed the satchel of cash and headed for the door. “I have a plan,” he had said, his voice cold and calculated. “Elena is my wife. They want her for the money, so they won’t hurt her. The priority is getting Bridget out of there first. She’s vulnerable.” The room had gone silent. Even the lead detective looked at him with sheer disbelief. “Sir, we can’t guarantee the kidnappers won’t hurt the remaining hostage once they have the cash,” the detective warned. “We strongly advise you to secure the pregnant woman first. She’s the one in the most danger.” But Franklin wouldn’t budge. He doubled down on Bridget. That day, I waited for a rescue that never came. When the kidnappers got their money, they laughed. With the ransom secured, I was no longer an asset—just a witness. They dragged me through the dirt, treating me like a piece of discarded trash. “We’ll drop you off once we hit the state line,” one of them sneered. “Since your man didn’t want you, we might as well show some mercy.” When I finally woke up, the police had found me in a ditch on the outskirts of town. I was covered in blood, and the baby was gone. That trauma became a canyon in my soul. I nearly lost my mind. I hated Franklin with a feral, consuming intensity. I fought for a divorce for months. Franklin had dropped to his knees, begging for a second chance. “I made a mistake, Elena! Please, hit me, scream at me, but don’t leave me!” Broken physically and mentally, I couldn’t bear the weight of the grief. It was a five-month-old fetus. He had let our child die. Eventually, he took me to a private clinic. He forced me—under the guise of “healing”—to undergo an experimental neurological procedure to suppress the trauma. He wanted me to forget. He wanted his “perfect” wife back. And so, we returned to our “happy” life. Bridget disappeared from my world, and we became the picture-perfect couple again. Until now. A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my chest. I had already given him a second chance. And he had wasted it on the same girl. Franklin. You truly make me sick. The kidnapper tucked his phone away and swung a heavy club into my side. He tossed me away like a rag doll, his nightmare laughter fading as he retreated into the shadows. I drifted back into consciousness, clutching my stomach, and began to crawl. I crawled until I saw the faint glow of streetlights, until my knees finally gave out in front of a gas station. My dress was soaked through with red. A passerby screamed and dialed 911. By the time I reached the ER, the surgeons were already prepping the room. “The fetus is non-viable,” I heard a voice say through the fog. “We need to perform the D&C immediately or she’ll go septic.” The darkness took me again. When I woke up, there was a new scar on my abdomen, and the life that had been a part of me was gone. The tears leaked out, hot and silent. I felt so fragile, so hollowed out. I had wanted so badly to save this one. I bit my lip until it bled, forcing myself to stay grounded in the cold reality of the hospital room. I sat there, alone, while the hospital handled the remains. I received a small, hauntingly light urn. There was no sign of Franklin. The police and nurses had surely been trying to reach him for days. Maybe he just thought he could show up late. After all, I was never the priority. As I checked out, I overheard a group of nurses whispering at the station. “Can you believe the guy in 402? His girlfriend just has a few scratches, and he hasn’t left her side for a second. Talk about devoted.” Another nurse sighed. “Different fates for different folks. The girl in 305 is the one I feel for. Kidnapped, nearly killed, lost the baby… and we haven’t been able to get a hold of her husband in three days.” “Heartless,” the first one whispered. Every word felt like a scalpel across my skin. I looked down the hall and saw a familiar silhouette through the glass of a private suite. It was Franklin. My mind flashed back to when we were twenty. He used to be the same way with me. If I so much as nicked my finger in the kitchen, he’d look like he was about to cry. I had fought my parents, burned every bridge, and moved across the country just to marry him. Because of that move, I hadn’t even been there to say goodbye to them before they passed. Back then, Franklin had sworn to me, “I will never fail you, Elena.” But in the end, everyone who ever loved me had left. And the man I thought was my anchor had simply changed his mind. I forced my breathing to steady and walked toward my room. As I passed Bridget’s suite, I couldn’t help but stop. I watched through the cracked door as Franklin—the powerful CEO, the man who commanded boardrooms—clumsily peeled an apple for her. I must have stared too long. Franklin looked up. Our eyes locked, and the color drained from his face instantly. It seemed he had finally remembered he had a wife. A wife he hadn’t spoken to in days. He stood up, stammering, his voice thin. “Elena… Bridget was targeted because of me. The kidnappers wanted her to get to me. I couldn’t just let her die.” I looked at him, my voice a hollow rasp. “I was kidnapped too, Franklin. Did you know that?” His eyes darted away. He didn’t answer. I had my answer. Why keep humiliating myself? He hadn’t answered the phone because he didn’t want to know. He hadn’t checked the hospitals because he was hiding. He didn’t want to face another “choice,” so he decided there was only one person worth choosing. Even if he suspected I was suffering, he chose ignorance. Last time, he said the target was safe because they were “valuable.” This time, he said the target was in more danger. I started to laugh, and the laughter turned into tears. It was pathetic. He always had a reason. A logic to justify his betrayal. My heart felt like it had been shredded. He didn’t love me anymore. He’d moved on, yet he’d had my brain rewired just to keep me in his house. To make me endure the same agony twice. “Franklin,” I whispered. “I hope you burn.” Maybe he felt a flicker of guilt. He tried to take charge of the “arrangements” for the baby. He threw money at it. The best casket, a lavish memorial service, playing the part of the grieving father for the cameras. He looked at my pale, ghost-like face and tried to offer comfort. “We’re young, Elena. We can try again. We’ll have another one.” I looked at him and felt a cold, dead sense of amusement. There won’t be another one. There is no “after” for us. You don’t deserve it. But I didn’t say it out loud. During the final moments of the service, Franklin’s phone buzzed. He hesitated for exactly one second before answering. Bridget’s sobbing voice echoed through the line. “I was in a car accident… Franklin, I’m so scared…” Franklin’s face twisted with panic. He dropped the white carnation he was holding—the flower meant for our child—and turned to leave. I stepped in front of him, my gaze freezing him in place. If he hadn’t come, that would have been one thing. But to leave now, in the middle of saying goodbye? It was the ultimate sacrilege. “Don’t you dare,” I said. He looked frantic. “Elena, don’t do this. Don’t be difficult. I’ll explain everything later, but Bridget’s been in a wreck. If something happens to her because I wasn’t there…” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. “I was kidnapped and you weren’t there, and I’m still standing. She’s on the phone, Franklin. That means she can call an ambulance. Are you a doctor? A cop? What exactly can you do for her other than hold her hand and pay the bill?” The logic hit him like a physical blow, but he didn’t like being cornered. He looked at me with a flash of resentment, as if I were the one being unreasonable. He shoved past me, hard. “Elena, I have to go. When I get back, you can scream all you want. I’ll take it. But I’m going.” I hit the ground. My palms scraped against the gravel, and the unhealed incision on my abdomen felt like it was tearing open. Warm blood began to seep through my clothes again. Tears fell, despite my best efforts to stay numb. Why did I still expect anything else from him? I finished the service alone. I buried my child alone. Then, I drove myself back to the hospital to have my stitches redone. The nurse looked at the angry red wound and sighed. “You really can’t keep doing this, honey. You’re going to have permanent scarring. How did this happen?” I apologized quietly and thanked her. While I waited for the paperwork, I opened my phone. Bridget had posted an update. I recognized the tone immediately—the same performative fragility she’d used five years ago. She didn’t show her face. Just a photo of her hand in his. The caption read: So thankful you’re here. Just a few scratches from the crash, but my hero wouldn’t leave my side. In the background, I could see Franklin prepping bandages and ointment. To any stranger, they looked like the world’s most devoted couple. What a wonderful boss, taking such good care of his staff. I felt a wave of nausea, then a sharp, clarifying coldness. I hit ‘Save’ on the photo. The hospital corridor was silent. As the anesthesia wore off, the memories Franklin had tried to erase became even more vivid. Five years ago, when I demanded a divorce, he had wept at my feet. “She’s just an employee, Elena! A sister, at most. You know about my sister who died when we were kids. She’s the only thing I have left of that memory.” To prove his “devotion,” he had “fired” her. “I’m doing this for us,” he’d said, eyes red and swollen. “I won’t let anyone come between us again.” I hadn’t believed him. But he had knelt there until his knees were bruised, begging for just a few days to prove himself. But I couldn’t get over the fact that he had left me to die. I had been exhausted, drained of everything. I had insisted on the divorce. That was when he had taken me to that clinic. He had erased the “inconvenience” of my grief. And for a few years, it worked. He hadn’t fired her, of course. He’d just moved her to a subsidiary, kept her in his orbit, nursing his obsession with his “surrogate sister.” I pulled myself back to the present. I called my lawyer. I sent over every screenshot, every hospital record, every piece of evidence of his negligence. “Draft the papers,” I said. “I want everything.” This marriage should have ended a long time ago. I went home. To my surprise, Bridget and Franklin were already there. The sight of her in my living room was a physical insult. Franklin saw my expression and rushed to explain. “Elena, Bridget felt terrible. She didn’t realize today was the memorial. She felt so guilty for pulling me away that she insisted on coming here to apologize in person.” I looked at him, marveling at his stupidity. The memorial had been on the calendar for weeks. She knew. “I’m tired, Franklin,” I said, my voice flat. “Get her out of my house.” Franklin, sensing the danger, tried to usher her toward the door. But Bridget wasn’t done. She asked for a moment alone with me. She leaned in close, her voice a poisonous whisper that only I could hear. “The first kidnapping was a fluke. But this one? This one was mine. I paid them to make sure you lost that baby. I couldn’t have you securing your spot with a kid, could I?” My heart stopped. The world went silent, save for the echo of her words. I can handle pain. I can handle betrayal. But my child… I didn’t love Franklin anymore, but I loved that baby. The doctor had told me my uterus had been scarred from the first loss. This had been my last chance to be a mother. Bridget looked at me, her eyes dancing with a sick, triumphant light. Slap! Before she could blink, I put every ounce of my grief and rage into my hand. Then I hit her again. And again. She screamed, shocked that the “docile” Elena was actually fighting back. I didn’t stop. I wanted to feel her skin break. I wanted her to feel a fraction of the ruin she had caused. She deserved to die for what she did. Franklin finally snapped out of his shock and tackled me, pulling me away from her. The guilt he’d felt earlier was gone, replaced by righteous indignation. “Are you insane? I know I messed up, Elena, and I’ll make it up to you! But why are you taking it out on her?” The physical pain of him pinning my arms was nothing compared to the hole in my chest. “She did it,” I choked out. “She hired them. She killed our baby, Franklin. She just told me.” I didn’t expect him to believe me fully. But after ten years, I thought there might be a seed of doubt. I was wrong. Franklin’s face twisted into a sneer of pity. “You’ve lost your mind. You’re literally hallucinating.” His trust in her was absolute. I went still. A cold, dark laugh bubbled up in my throat. “Right. That was your excuse last time, wasn’t it? That I was ‘unstable.’ That’s why you had my brain scrubbed. Five years later, Franklin, and you’re still the same pathetic coward.” Franklin turned white. Panic flared in his eyes. Even so, he instinctively pulled Bridget behind him, shielding her. He was a lost cause. Bridget smirked over his shoulder, her eyes gleaming. But her victory was going to be short-lived. I am a paranoid woman. Living with Franklin had taught me never to feel safe. I had been carrying a voice recorder in my pocket since the day I got out of the hospital. I reached in and pressed ‘Play.’ Her confession filled the room. It wasn’t just about the divorce anymore. This was a criminal matter. She wasn’t just losing her “hero”—she was going to prison. I wiped my eyes, my hand steady. I picked up the house phone and dialed 911. “Yes, I’d like to report a conspiracy to commit kidnapping and fetal homicide. I have a recorded confession.”

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I woke up early, driving across town to that artisanal bakery she loves just to get those specific Gruyère croissants. It was a peace offering, a pathetic attempt to smooth things over because I’d accidentally snagged her expensive silk stockings the night before. But as I set the bag on the counter, Callie didn’t even look up. She was packing a suitcase with practiced efficiency. “Hunter’s birthday is this weekend,” she said, her voice flat, clinical. “We’re going to Thailand. It’s a bit unstable there right now, so I told him I have to go along. You know, to keep him safe.” I opened my mouth to protest—to ask why my wife was spending a weekend in the tropics with her ‘college mentor’—when the world suddenly glitched. Shimmering, translucent lines of text began to crawl across my vision like a digital fever dream. [Shut up, Bennett! Just let the traitor go!] [Don’t be a fool. That ‘H’ tattooed over her heart? It’s for Hunter, not you. It was never you.] [Think about this day in your last life. You knelt. You begged. You stayed on the floor crying while she walked out. Later, at the Disaster Mitigation Center, you predicted the massive avalanche that hit her hometown at 11:00 PM. You sprinted to the airport, tore up her ticket like a madman, and forced her back to save her parents. She saved them, but she hated you for it.] [And Hunter? He went missing on a cruise ship later that year. When they found the body, he was a hollowed-out shell. Organs gone.] [On the seventh day of Hunter’s mourning, she lied. She told you she was pregnant to get you onto a ship. Then, she sold you to a human trafficking ring for a hundred bucks. You died in a concrete cell, treated like livestock, harvested for ‘premium genetics’ until your heart finally gave out…] I stared at her. My chest felt tight, the phantom pain of a life I hadn’t lived—or perhaps a life I had—pulsing in my muscles. I remembered that tattoo. She’d told me it was a symbol of her ‘heart,’ placed right over her ribs. I had spent years worshipping at that altar. … I froze. 1 The subtitles continued to scroll, a frantic digital rain. My body felt heavy, weighed down by the muscle memory of an agonizing death. It felt too real to be a hallucination. Callie’s face twisted with impatience. “Bennett? Did you hear me? I’m going. I won’t let Hunter be in danger alone.” I looked at her perfectly painted red lips. I didn’t want to believe it. Could she really blame me for Hunter’s fate? Could she really sell me into a living hell out of spite? We both worked at the National Disaster Mitigation Center. It was supposed to be a romance born of shared purpose. On our wedding day, she’d confessed she still had feelings for her “mentor,” Hunter. She told me she couldn’t give me a hundred percent of her heart and asked for my “understanding.” All our friends and family were already in the pews. I didn’t want the scandal. I swallowed the bile and married her anyway. After the honeymoon, she got that tattoo. I thought it was a sign she’d finally chosen me. I doubled my efforts. I became the perfect, doting husband. Then Hunter came back into the picture. She eventually moved him into our guest room, then kicked me out of our own master suite so he could stay there. I loved her so much I forced myself to believe the lie of “platonic friendship.” But the memories from that ‘other life’ were screaming at me now. It was time to let go. It was time to let her walk into the destiny she so desperately wanted. “Are you deaf? Answer me!” Callie snapped. I looked at her—really looked at her—and then turned to my laptop. I pulled up the seismic thermal maps I’d been studying. I printed a thick stack of data and shoved them into her hand. “There’s going to be a Category 5 avalanche at Oak Ridge tonight at 11:00 PM,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Your parents’ house is right in the path of the debris flow.” Callie glanced at the charts for a second before ripping them down the middle. She threw the confetti in my face and laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Bennett, you’ve lost your mind. Are you actually faking a natural disaster now?” “I’m not joking. There are eighty-mile-per-hour winds hitting the ridge today. That’s the trigger—” Slap. The force of her hand sent my head snapping to the side. Her expression was distorted with pure hatred. “Shut up! Oak hasn’t seen a slide in a hundred years. We’ve had storms twice this big and the mountain held fine. You’re a pathetic liar, Bennett. I’m going on this trip. If you keep this up, don’t bother being here when I get back. We’re done.” She didn’t look back. She grabbed her designer luggage and slammed the door. 2 The silence she left behind was heavy. I didn’t waste time. I had submitted the official Oak prediction report to the agency thirty minutes ago. Now, I needed to get her parents. Whatever Callie was, they were still my in-laws. I couldn’t watch them die. I was barely out of the driveway when my phone buzzed. It was Chief Henderson. “Bennett? I see you uploaded a localized emergency report?” “Yes, Chief. The thermal instability on the ridge is off the charts. We need to trigger the sirens.” Henderson’s voice turned cold. “What is wrong with you, kid? You’ve been with us for five years. I thought you had a future here.” “Sir, the data—” “Forget the data! I just got off the phone with Callie. She told me everything. Using federal emergency protocols to manipulate your wife into staying home? That’s not just unprofessional, Bennett. It’s a felony.” Callie. Of course. She was Henderson’s star protégé. They were already closing ranks. “Chief, listen to me. At 11:00 PM tonight, that mountain is coming down. You have to—” “I’ve already retracted your report. Don’t come in tomorrow. Take a few days to think about your ‘attitude.’ Honestly, if I hadn’t been the one to introduce you two, I’d fire you on the spot.” I tried the Deputy Director. He didn’t even let me finish. “Bennett? Henderson already filled me in. I thought you were a stable guy. Clearly, I was wrong. You’re done at the Center. Send your badge in by courier.” The line went dead. I sat in my car, the reality of my ruined career sinking in. But there was no time to mourn. It was 6:00 PM. Five hours until the snow buried Oak. I called Callie’s father, George. “An avalanche? Bennett, son, you’ve been working too hard. This ridge is solid rock. Where’s Callie? Put her on.” “She’s heading to the airport, George. Please, I’m serious. The town needs to evacuate. Call the Sheriff. Tell everyone to get out!” George chuckled. “Sure, sure. Safety first. I’ll look into it.” Two hours later, I pulled into Oak. The town was peaceful. People were walking their dogs; the streetlights were flickering on. There was zero sense of urgency. I drove straight to the Mayor’s house. To my surprise, George was there, sitting on the porch with Mayor Whittaker, a glass of bourbon in his hand. “George! What are you doing? Why isn’t the siren going off?” I shouted as I ran up the steps. Whittaker looked at me with pity. “So this is the son-in-law? A bit high-strung, isn’t he?” George stood up and kicked my shin, hard. “Bennett! You’re a grown man. How dare you spread these lies? If I hadn’t called Callie, I might have actually believed you and made a fool of myself in front of the whole town!” 3 They didn’t believe me. None of them. My phone rang. Callie. I answered it on speaker, desperate. “Callie! Tell your father. Tell him about the ridge. Please, just help me save them!” Her voice came through the speakers, cold as the coming snow. “Bennett, get help. Seriously. You’re making a scene because I’m on a trip with Hunter? It’s pathetic.” Hunter’s voice drifted in from the background, smug and mocking. “Give it up, man. You’re just making her hate you more.” “Stop this,” Callie warned. “Go home, or I’m filing for divorce the second I land. You’ll leave with nothing.” Click. George glared at me. “Divorce? What the hell is going on with you two?” “George, please. I’m a senior engineer. I’ve tracked the wind shear. The mountain is going to slide at 11:00 PM. It’s a Category 5. The town will be buried. You have to believe me!” Whittaker hesitated, looking at the sheer desperation in my eyes. But George let out a harsh snort. “He’s not an engineer anymore, Whittaker! My daughter just told me the Center fired him today for filing false reports. He’s a fraud, Bill. Don’t listen to a word he says.” Whittaker’s face hardened. He pointed toward the street. “Son, get off my property. Now.” I knew if I left, they were dead. I did the only thing I could. I dropped to my knees on the porch. “If the mountain doesn’t move at 11:00 PM, call the police. I’ll go to prison for filing a false report. I’ll sign over every asset I own to this town. Just move the people. Please. There isn’t much time!” “You just won’t stop embarrassing us, will you?” George roared. He swung his foot and caught me right in the ribs. I collapsed, gasping for air, the pain radiating through my chest. I stared up at the Mayor. “Thousands of lives, Whittaker. Can you live with that?” Whittaker looked at the mountain, then back at me. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll call for a ‘precautionary drill.’ One time.” George was stunned. “Bill, you’re actually listening to this maniac? He’s just doing this to spite my daughter—” “If he’s wrong, he goes to jail,” Whittaker snapped, walking inside to grab his radio. I followed him out, clutching my side. “The debris field will span two miles. To be safe, everyone needs to be at least three miles past the valley floor.” The evacuation started. It was messy and slow, but people began to move. I went back to George’s house. “George, Martha, my car is right here. Get in. Please.” He slapped me across the face. “I’m not going anywhere! I’m calling my daughter and telling her to leave you the moment she gets back. You’ve humiliated me for the last time!” For the next two hours, I watched the town empty out. But Callie’s parents remained locked inside their house. No matter how much I pounded on the door, they wouldn’t budge. I called Callie again. Ten times. Twenty times. Finally, a man answered. Hunter. “Where’s Callie?” I barked. “The mountain is about to go. Get her on the phone so she can tell her parents to leave!” I heard Hunter’s soft, mocking laugh. “She’s in the shower, Bennett. She told me she’s done talking to you.” “Hunter, listen to me! This isn’t about us. Her parents are going to die in twenty minutes! Tell her to pick up!” “You’re sick, man,” Hunter said. “Still using the avalanche bit? You have no idea what Callie is going to do for me tonight. She’s so soft, so eager… you couldn’t even imagine—” I hung up. I didn’t care about his bragging. I looked at my watch. Twelve minutes left. If I didn’t leave now, I’d be buried too. I pulled out my phone and started a voice recording. I stood by the door and yelled one last time. “George! Martha! The slide is coming in ten minutes! It’s a Category 5! If you don’t leave now, you will die!” An ash-tray shattered through the window screen, striking me square in the forehead. I stumbled back, my vision swimming, blood dripping into my eye. “You animal!” Martha’s voice shrieked from inside. “You’re cursing us? My daughter was right—you’re a liar and a leach! You just want us dead so you can inherit the house! Get lost!” I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I turned off the recording, wiped the blood from my eyes, and crawled into my car. I drove like a madman, my head spinning, fighting the urge to black out. At exactly 11:00 PM, a roar like a thousand freight trains erupted from the dark. In my rearview mirror, the night sky was blotted out by a wall of white. Oak was gone.

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Ten years. That’s how long they kept me in that sterile hell, poking and prodding at the architecture of my soul. I didn’t just escape; I tore the cage open with a kinetic blast that leveled half the facility. But the “freedom” waiting for me was a nightmare. The sky was the color of a bruised plum, and the streets were crawling with things that used to be human. I rounded a corner, my lungs still stinging from the lab’s recycled air, and stopped dead. There, pressed against a crumbling brick wall, was my childhood best friend. A man I didn’t recognize—her husband, apparently—had her pinned. He was snarling, ripping a small fabric bag from her desperate grip. “The colony has rules, Maddie! Resource management. You think you’re special enough to hoard chocolate while the rest of us starve?” Maddie’s eyes were rimmed with red, her knuckles white as she clawed at the bag. “It’s for Toby… please, he’s just a kid…” Beside them, a girl with perfectly curled hair and a pout that screamed ‘protected’ let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh, please. Using the kid as an excuse again? Just admit you’re a greedy glutton, Maddie.” As the surrounding survivors began to hurl insults like stones, I felt a familiar, cold hum beneath my skin. I stepped forward, tore open a heavy industrial-sized bag of premium chocolate I’d scavenged, and slammed it directly into the girl’s smirking face. “Is that enough for the group, or do you need a second helping?” I stared them down, the air around my fingertips beginning to distort with a faint, lethal shimmer. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure none of you live long enough to taste it.” 1 The zipper on my backpack was broken. A waterfall of brightly colored wrappers spilled out, clattering onto the asphalt. “Ow! Hey! Who do you think you are?!” The girl shrieked, clutching her forehead where the bag had made contact. Nobody answered her. Every eye in that alley was glued to the pavement. The sound of dozens of people swallowing hard was the only thing audible in the heavy, post-apocalyptic silence. “Chocolate… holy shit, it’s a whole stash…” “My pulse-scan says it’s real. It’s not an illusion. It’s real!” The crowd broke. They descended like a pack of starving wolves, scrambling, shoving, and clawing for a single bar. The girl’s screams were drowned out in an instant. She stomped her foot, grabbing the man’s arm and shaking it violently. “Brooks! Do something! Stop them!” Brooks—the husband—darkened. His jaw set. “Enough!” he roared. The authority in his voice was practiced, sharp. “Have you all forgotten the protocol? Scavenged goods are centralized. Everything goes to Sierra for storage and fair distribution!” The mention of ‘Sierra’ seemed to snap them back to reality. The girl—Sierra—smirked and stepped forward, her palms glowing with a faint, cerulean light. Spatial Manipulation. The ultimate locker. But Maddie didn’t care about the chocolate. She didn’t even look at the frantic crowd. She was staring at me, her face ghostly pale, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “Wren…?” her voice was a fragile thing, barely a whisper. “Is that really you? Are you actually alive?” 2 She lunged at me, her arms wrapping around me so tightly it hurt. My brain felt like it was full of static, slow and unresponsive, but my body remembered her. My hand rose instinctively, patting her back with a clumsy, hesitant rhythm. “Is that… is that my name? Wren?” “You forgot your own name?” She pulled back, her hands fluttering over my shoulders and face as if checking for cracks in a porcelain doll. She was laughing and crying at the same time, a beautiful, messy display of humanity I hadn’t seen in a decade. “The director at the group home said some ‘benefactor’ adopted you. I begged him to tell me who, but he wouldn’t budge. I spent years looking for you, Wren. Everywhere.” I stayed silent. Of course she couldn’t find me. For ten years, I wasn’t a person. I was Subject 09, living in a sub-basement three hundred feet below the earth. I was a lab rat in a program designed to push human evolution to the breaking point. My skull had been opened more times than I could count. Chips implanted, serums injected, memories erased and rewritten until my past was nothing but a blurred watercolor. But through the haze of the drugs and the trauma, one thing had remained. A single, stubborn anchor. Maddie. The girl who had shared her stale bread with me when we were five. The girl who mattered. 3 “Who are you? And where did you get high-tier supplies like that?” Maddie was still checking me for injuries, but Brooks had stepped closer. His eyes moved over me like a radar, cold and calculating. I thought about it for a second. “Passed a convenience store downtown. Picked them up.” Brooks narrowed his eyes. “Downtown? You expect me to believe you walked through the Red Zone and just ‘picked up’ a bag of treats?” Maddie stepped between us before he could finish, her wings spread like a mother hen. “Brooks, this is her. This is Wren. I’ve told you about her a thousand times. She’s my family.” She turned back to me, her expression softening. “Wren, this is my husband, Brooks. We got married five years ago.” She said it with a forced brightness, then looked back at Brooks with a pleading intensity. “Please, let her stay with our unit. I’m begging you.” Brooks didn’t answer. He looked at me with a heavy, unreadable frown. Behind him, Sierra, the girl with the spatial ability, let out a sharp scoff. “Maddie, be realistic. This is an elite strike team. It’s bad enough we have to carry a ‘Natural’ like you, but now you want to bring in some random stray from the streets? We’re trying to make it to The Meridian, not run a halfway house.” Maddie’s face went cold. “Sierra, if she’s a ‘burden,’ then give her back her chocolate and we’ll both leave. Right now.” “You—!” Sierra’s face flushed. She turned to Brooks, her voice turning into a sugary whine. “Brooks, listen to her! She’s choosing a stranger over the team again!” “Enough. Both of you.” Brooks finally spoke, his voice final. “She contributed high-value assets to the common pool. We have an obligation to provide protection in exchange. Maddie, your friend can stay.” He turned on his heel. “Move out. No more talk.” Maddie beamed at me, grabbing my hand. Sierra just rolled her eyes and gave me a look of pure venom. I quietly extended a thread of my consciousness, scanning Sierra as she walked away. She was pathetic. Her ‘space’ was barely the size of a closet—the lowest tier of her ability. I could crush her with a flick of my wrist. But then I looked at Maddie, who was grinning at me for the first time in years. Fine. I’d let the little brat live. For now. 4 The convoy rattled down the abandoned highway for two days before we hit the outskirts of a ghost town. Maddie hadn’t changed. She was still a talker. Over the hum of the engine, she filled in the ten-year gap. She’d gone to college, met Brooks her sophomore year, and married him right after graduation. Then, two months ago, the Pulse hit. The virus followed. Brooks had been one of the lucky ones—he’d awakened as a high-tier Ferrokine, able to bend metal to his will. As for Sierra? She was Brooks’ stepsister. No blood relation, but they’d grown up together. “They’re close,” Maddie whispered, her smile fading slightly. “Sometimes I feel like the odd one out. Especially after you disappeared. I felt so alone, Wren.” She sighed, her eyes drifting to the window. “I have a son. Toby. He’s four. He was at a summer camp in the city when the outbreak started. Brooks went to get him, but the camp had already been evacuated.” “The camp director sent a message saying they’d been moved to The Meridian—the big military safe zone. That’s why we’re heading there. To find my boy.” Maddie looked at me, her eyes shining with a sudden, fierce hope. “He knows all about you, Wren! I tell him stories every night. About my best friend, the bravest girl in the world.” “I told him you loved paper cranes. He’s folded hundreds of them. He said he’s going to give them all to ‘Auntie Wren’ the second he sees you.” I looked at her bright, aching smile. Deep inside my mind, in the places where the doctors had tried to burn everything away, I felt something stir. A ripple in a stagnant pond. “Okay,” I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, foil-wrapped square of chocolate I’d hidden. I pressed it into her hand. Maddie’s eyes went wide. “For Toby,” I said, my voice sounding a little less like a machine. 5 That night, we camped in a gutted-out processing plant. Maddie crept over to my corner like a thief, sliding two pieces of hard tack toward me. “Eat this, Wren. Before Sierra counts the rations again.” My metabolism was no longer human. I could go weeks without food or water, fueled by the kinetic energy I absorbed from the air. But I looked at her concerned face and took the bread. Maddie sat beside me, shoulders touching mine. “Where were you, really? You don’t just ‘escape’ a place for ten years and show up in the middle of a zombie swarm.” I stared at the bread. My mind flashed back to the bunker. The white lights. The smell of ozone and burning flesh. The frantic voices of the ‘doctors.’ “Subject 09 is reacting to the K-serum!” “Increase the neural dampeners to max!” “Warning! Psychic surge detected! Immediate containment breach—” And then, the boom. The sound of reinforced glass turning to dust. When I’d come to, the lab was silent. Just bodies in white coats and a red emergency light spinning. I’d taken a coat from a corpse and walked toward the surface. Maddie, I had whispered to the empty air. I have to find Maddie. “I was in a facility,” I said quietly. “It was… specialized. I couldn’t leave. But I’m out now. I came looking for you.” “Oh, Wren.” Maddie threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. “I knew you hadn’t forgotten me. Brooks used to say you probably got adopted by some rich family and didn’t want a ‘poor’ friend like me anymore. I never believed him.” She pulled back, her eyes fierce. “He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand us.” No. He didn’t. He didn’t know that I had survived a hundred lethal injections because of a promise we made when we were kids. “Wren, we’re going to live to be a hundred. We’re going to be best friends forever.” I had to live. I couldn’t break a promise to Maddie. 6 In the middle of the night, Maddie fell asleep against my shoulder. I adjusted her gently, making sure she was comfortable, then stood up. In the shadows, Brooks was watching me. His gaze was sharp, suspicious. He walked over, his boots echoing on the concrete. He was doubting me. I stood my ground, my mental energy beginning to coil in my palms, ready to lash out. And then, the sirens screamed. “Breach! We have a swarm!” The heavy trucks blocking the entrance were tossed aside like toys. A sea of grey, rotting flesh began to pour into the plant. The unit scrambled. Six ‘Awakened’ against hundreds of monsters. They weren’t “elite.” Brooks was decent, but the others were amateurs. Within minutes, they were being pushed back. Their energy was flagging. Three monsters broke the line, lunging toward Sierra and Maddie. “Brooks! Help!” Sierra shrieked. “Brooks!” Maddie cried out. Without a second of hesitation, Brooks swung his arm, metal shards flying from his belt to impale the creature threatening Sierra. He saved her, then turned, his face contorting in horror as he realized Maddie was still in danger. Squelch. I didn’t use my powers. I just grabbed a rusted piece of rebar from the floor and drove it through the skulls of two zombies in one fluid motion. They dropped like stones. Maddie was clutching my sleeve, her face white. “Wren, are you hurt? Did they scratch you?” “I’m fine,” I said, shaking the black sludge off my hand. More were coming. The smell of blood was calling them. “Get to the cars!” Brooks yelled, his voice cracking. “I’ll cover the rear! Go! Now!” 7 Maddie was silent for the rest of the night. We didn’t stop until dawn, pulling into a secluded farmhouse. I could feel her grief, her realization. I reached out and took her cold hand. “I’ve got you,” I said. “I’ll protect you.” Maddie looked up. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew what had happened at the plant. Given the choice between his wife and his stepsister, Brooks hadn’t even blinked. He’d chosen Sierra. “I know Sierra has the supplies,” Maddie whispered, her voice trembling. “I know she’s ‘essential’ because of her ability. I tell myself it makes sense to protect her first. But… it hurts, Wren. It hurts so much.” She looked at me, tears brimming. “Am I being selfish? Am I being crazy?” I shook my head. “No. You’re not.” In my world, Maddie was the only thing that made sense. I remembered being four years old, abandoned at the group home because I wouldn’t speak. The doctors called it ‘selective mutism.’ The older kids called it ‘being a target.’ It was Maddie, three years older and half a head taller, who had picked up a brick and chased a group of bullies across the yard. “Touch her again and I’ll crack your skulls! You hear me?” I remembered being nine. The director had called me into his office at midnight. There were two men there, men with hungry eyes. The director told me to be a good girl and do what they said. The door had flown open. Maddie was there with a rusted shovel, screaming like a banshee, swinging at anything that moved. She’d nearly killed one of them. That night, she’d held my hand and brushed my hair. “Don’t be scared, Wren. If you’re ever in trouble, just call my name. I’ll always come.” I looked at her now, mimicking the tone she’d used all those years ago. “Maddie, don’t be scared. If you’re in trouble… just call my name.” She froze. Her lip began to tremble. “Wren…” Before she could say anything else, the light was blocked out. Brooks was standing there with the rest of the unit. They looked grim. They looked like a jury. Maddie stepped in front of me again. “What is this? What do you want?” Sierra stepped forward, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Maddie, sweetie, we know you love her. But don’t you think something is… off?” Maddie’s jaw set. “Off how?” Sierra looked at Brooks. He didn’t say a word, but his hand was already hovering over his belt, metal beginning to hum. A scrawny man from the unit stepped up. “Think about it, Maddie. We’re a team of Awakened and we barely survive out there. Your friend has been wandering the Red Zone for two months with a bag of chocolate and she doesn’t have a scratch on her?” “She claims she’s a ‘Natural.’ No powers. Does that sound like the truth to you?” Maddie squeezed my hand. “What are you implying?” Brooks stepped forward, his eyes cold. “We have to prioritize the safety of the collective, Maddie. For a month, we’ve taken the back roads. It’s been quiet. Then she joins us, and suddenly we’re hit by a coordinated swarm?” “The radio says the virus is evolving. There are ‘Evolved’ now. Creatures that look like us, talk like us, but lead the hives.” He raised a sharpened metal spike, pointing it directly at the space between my eyes. “I think your ‘friend’ is an Evolved. A Trojan horse sent to wipe us out.” 8 “That is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard!” Maddie didn’t flinch. She shoved Sierra’s hand away, her voice rising to a scream. “The world is ending and you’re making up ghost stories? You saw her save me last night! If she were one of them, I’d be dead!” “Maddie, you’re blinded by sentiment,” Sierra sighed. Brooks’ voice was like iron. “Move, Maddie.” The spike was inches from my face. Maddie stood her ground, her body shaking with fury. “You want to get to her? You go through me. I mean it, Brooks. Try me.” I watched her back, felt the heat of her anger. And for the first time, I felt a spark of something that wasn’t programming. It was a raw, burning protective instinct. I tapped Maddie’s shoulder. “Maddie. Step back.” “No, Wren! They’ll kill you!” “They won’t,” I said. I gripped her wrist, sending a tiny, soothing pulse of energy into her system to calm her heart. “I promised I’d protect you.” I walked past her. Brooks kept the spike leveled at my head. Sierra was smirking, waiting for the show. Creeeeeak. I pushed open the farmhouse gate. A hundred yards away, a group of straggling zombies caught the scent of living blood. They began to hiss, their broken limbs twitching as they turned toward us. “If she’s not one of them,” Sierra challenged, “then she won’t mind walking out there. If they attack her, she’s human. If they don’t…” “Do you really want to find out?”

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The first thing I did after coming back from the dead was slam the divorce papers onto the table. It was my daughter’s fifth birthday. Everyone in that room thought I’d lost my mind. After all, it was common knowledge that my wife, Claire, was a rising star at the base, a woman destined for the kind of power that could move mountains. Her hand trembled as she gripped the document. “You’re doing this now? Just because I asked you to quit that dead-end union job at the mill to help Simon with the kids? He’s a single father, Jack. He’s struggling. We don’t even need your paycheck!” I didn’t answer. My gaze was locked on the sofa, where my daughter, Daisy, was pinned to the cushions. Simon’s two sons were sitting on her back, treating her like a literal horse. I lunged forward, ripped those two little monsters off her, and shoved them toward the floor. “You’re overreacting!” Claire snapped, her voice sharp with embarrassment. “They’re just playing. They’re family, for God’s sake. Is this really necessary?” Necessary? In my last life, I believed that lie. I believed it until the day a paternity report shattered my world, until the day I watched Daisy’s tiny casket being lowered into the ground without even a proper goodbye. This time, I didn’t care if Claire was on track to become a General. I was taking my daughter and getting out. This marriage was over. 1. “Waaaah—!” The twins hit the hardwood floor and erupted into a synchronized, ear-splitting wail. The easy laughter that had filled the living room died instantly. Simon, my brother-in-law, was at Claire’s side in a heartbeat, his eyes already welling with practiced tears. “Jack, please, don’t do this. If I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me. I know you’re frustrated, but I never asked you to give up your career for us. Please, don’t blow up your marriage with Claire because of me and the boys.” He turned and gave the twins two quick swats on their rear ends. It looked forceful, but the impact was as light as a feather. “You boys were being too rough! Apologize now!” Hunter and Cooper only cried harder. Simon pulled them into his arms, his voice cracking with a staged vulnerability. “Their mother passed so young… it’s been so hard raising them alone. Jack, you’ve always been the kind one. Do it for the memory of Claire’s sister. Don’t take it out on the kids…” My mother-in-law, Martha, charged out of the kitchen like a heat-seeking missile. She scooped up the twins, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “You heartless prick! Do you have any idea how hard Simon works? Claire is just trying to look out for her sister’s family. What’s wrong with that? You’re making a scene on your own daughter’s birthday? Have you no shame?” The relatives began to whisper, their voices a low hum of judgment. “He’s crazy. Claire just got promoted to Major. Her future is golden…” “You don’t just walk away from a military marriage like this. It’s a scandal.” “Poor Simon. A widower with two boys, and he has to deal with this…” I held Daisy tight. My fingers brushed against her narrow back, feeling the way she was shaking. She was like a hunted animal in my arms. In my previous life, it was always like this. Simon would play the victim, the “sensitive man” in over his head, and I became the “unreasonable” one. The “bitter” one. “Jack! I’m talking to you!” Claire’s voice snapped me back to the present. She was helping Simon stand up, her eyes boring into mine with a mixture of disappointment and pure, unfiltered irritation. “Look at him. Look at what you’re doing to this family. Can’t you just be the bigger person for once?” “Be the bigger person?” I looked her dead in the eye. “Claire, do you even know what today is?” She blinked, momentarily stunned. “It’s March 17th. It’s Daisy’s fifth birthday.” I walked into the center of the room, Daisy’s arms wrapped like iron bands around my neck. I pointed at the twins, who were still sobbing into Martha’s expensive cardigan. “Look at them. Hunter and Cooper are wearing brand-new North Face jackets. Those shoes cost half my monthly salary.” My voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. “Did any of you bring a gift for my daughter? Did any of you even say ‘Happy Birthday’ to her today?” The room went silent. “Or,” I turned my gaze back to Claire, my lips curling into a jagged, mocking smile, “was her only gift supposed to be acting as a literal farm animal for her ‘cousins’?” Claire’s face shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing her features before she hardened again. “Don’t be dramatic. They were just playing…” “Playing?” I cut her off, my eyes dropping to her hand, which was still gripping Simon’s arm with a bit too much familiarity. “You care more about those boys than their own father does, Claire. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were yours.” The words hit the room like a concussive blast. Claire’s face went ghost-white. Simon’s sobbing stopped instantly; he looked down, his fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt. Martha opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The air in the room changed—it became heavy, suspicious. Claire finally found her voice, though it was trembling with rage. “Jack, you are being absolutely psychotic!” Martha recovered next, her voice a shrill shriek. “How dare you! Just because you couldn’t give her a son, you’re going to spit on this family? I’m telling you now, you aren’t getting a divorce! Military marriages are protected! You’re stuck, you loser!” I looked down at Daisy. Her tiny hands were clutching my collar so hard her knuckles were white. There was dirt under her fingernails from where the boys had pushed her down. A phantom pain bloomed in my chest—a memory of another night, another life. The fire. The smell of smoke. Daisy lying in the rubble, her small body charred and still. “Daddy…” Daisy whispered, her voice a tiny thread. I snapped back. I squeezed her tight, feeling her heartbeat against mine. I looked at Claire one last time. “Tomorrow morning. 9:00 AM. The lawyer’s office.” I turned toward the door, my steps heavy and final. “If you aren’t there, Claire, I’m going straight to your Commanding Officer. And I promise you, you’ll never see another promotion as long as you live.” 2. I walked down the quiet, suburban streets with Daisy in my arms. The streetlights cast long, lonely shadows on the pavement. “Daddy? Where are we going?” she asked softly. “To a place where nobody can hurt you,” I said, kissing the top of her head. She was silent for a long moment. “Daddy, it’s okay. I wasn’t that sad.” I stopped walking and looked at her. Her clear, innocent eyes reflected the glow of the lamp above us. “Mommy said that the boys are bigger and I have to be nice to them. I wasn’t sad. Really.” Each word felt like a needle driven into my heart. In my last life, she was always this “good.” When the twins stole her candy, she let them. When Martha took her new clothes and gave them to the boys, she didn’t cry. When Claire came home and only had hugs for her nephews, Daisy just watched from the hallway. She used to look at me with those eyes—eyes exactly like Claire’s—and whisper, “Daddy, it’s okay.” But I knew it wasn’t. And this time, it wouldn’t be. “Daisy, why didn’t you tell me they were being mean to you?” She looked down, fidgeting with my shirt. Her voice was barely a murmur. “Because… because I knew it would make you sad. I didn’t want you to be sad, Daddy.” I almost lost my footing. I knelt on the sidewalk and pulled her into a crushing hug, the tears finally breaking through. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, baby… I was so blind. I didn’t protect you…” Daisy panicked, her little hands patting my back awkwardly. “Don’t cry, Daddy. It doesn’t hurt, I promise…” After a long while, I wiped my eyes and stood up. We weren’t going back. I took her to a small motel near the edge of town. After I tucked her in, I sat by the window, watching the neon sign flicker. I pulled a few forms out of my bag—blank applications for legal aid and a notepad. I couldn’t just walk away. Claire was an officer. In the military, “conduct unbecoming” and adultery weren’t just social stigmas; they were career-killers. If there’s a major violation… like abuse or infidelity… I remembered the words of a friend who had served. I wasn’t just going to leave. I was going to burn her world down. I left Daisy with a trusted neighbor from the mill—a woman Claire had always looked down on but who had a heart of gold—and drove to the one place I knew I could find help. The mill manager’s house. “Sir,” I said when he opened the door, my voice shaking but firm. “I need a favor.” By the time I left, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. I drove back to the motel, but as I pulled into the parking lot, I saw two familiar figures standing by the entrance. Claire and Simon. 3. The moment Simon saw me, he flinched, stepping back to hide behind Claire like a scolded dog. “Jack, thank God you’re back,” Simon started, his voice dripping with faux-concern. “Please, don’t be mad at Claire. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have stayed at the house so much. I’ll leave. I’ll take the boys and move back to my parents’ place in the valley. I won’t get in your way anymore.” He grabbed the twins’ hands, making a big show of turning to leave. “We’re going. Right now. Just please, forgive Claire. Don’t throw away your family over us.” Claire grabbed his arm, pulling him back. She turned to me, her face a mask of cold fury. “Are you happy now, Jack? You’ve made your point. You’ve humiliated us, and now Simon thinks he has to go into exile. Stop being so pathetic. They’ve apologized. I’ve apologized. Take the olive branch and let’s go home before this gets even more embarrassing.” The same old script. I looked at the two of them, standing there in the morning light. It was almost funny now. My gaze shifted to the twins. Looking at them now, without the veil of “trusting husband” over my eyes, the resemblance was staggering. They had Claire’s high cheekbones. They had her slightly arched brows. In my last life, I had been so blind. I told myself it was just family resemblance. I told myself “nephews often look like their aunts.” It wasn’t until after Daisy died, while I was packing her things, that I found the two envelopes tucked into the back of Claire’s desk. Two DNA reports. Two names: Hunter and Cooper. One result: 99.9% probability of maternity. I spoke, my voice low and dangerous. “Claire, has anyone ever told you how much those boys look like you?” The color drained from her face so fast it was like she’d been struck. She took an instinctive step back. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jack. They’re my sister’s kids. Of course there’s a resemblance!” Simon’s whole body gave a violent shudder. “A resemblance? No. It’s more than that. The eyes, the temper, the way they hold their heads.” I took a step forward, looming over her. “I’m getting the divorce, Claire. But before I’m done, you and Simon are going to pay back every ounce of pain you’ve caused Daisy. I’m taking everything.” The look I gave them was cold, devoid of the love that had once blinded me. Claire looked at me like she was seeing a stranger. She tried to say something, but the words died in her throat. “You’ll regret this, Jack!” she hissed, finally finding her venom. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” I watched them slink away to her car. I went back into the room and found Daisy sitting on the bed, eating a muffin I’d bought her. I sat down to help her clean up. Her sleeve slid up, revealing a small patch of skin on her inner wrist. I froze. There was a circular scar, the size of a dime. It looked like a burn. “Daisy,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “What is this?” She jerked her arm back, trying to pull her sleeve down. “Nothing… it’s nothing, Daddy.” I gently took her hand. I didn’t squeeze, but I didn’t let go. “Tell me. How did this happen?” Daisy bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. “It was… it was Uncle Simon.” She started to sob quietly. “Hunter took my doll and I didn’t want to give it back. Uncle Simon got mad. He used his cigarette… he said if I told anyone, he’d leave me in the woods.” The world exploded into white-hot rage. 4. That night, I held Daisy and stared at the ceiling until dawn. Memories from the “first time” played on a loop in my head. I remembered the day Simon said he wanted wild blackberries from the ravine. He said Claire’s sister used to love them when she was pregnant with the boys, and eating them made him feel closer to her. Martha had insisted. “Jack, go get some. Simon has been through so much. The least you can do is help him feel better.” Even Claire had nudged me. “Just go. Be back before dinner.” I went. The trail was slick from the rain. I fell twice, scraping my knees and elbows, just to fill a small basket with tart, underripe berries. When I got back, the sun had set and the rain was pouring. But as I rounded the corner to our house, all I saw was orange light. The neighbors were huddled on the sidewalk, pointing at the smoke. I tried to run inside, but people held me back. I watched the shed—the place where Daisy played—collapse in a roar of flames. I watched the firemen carry out a small, blackened shape. “The boys wanted to see the fireworks…” Simon had been kneeling in the mud, wailing. “I told them no, but they didn’t listen… Daisy, she ran in to save her doll… I couldn’t catch her… It’s my fault, it’s all my fault!” I had knelt in the rain, staring at that body, and my entire world went black. Later, Claire was given a “hardship” accommodation by the base because of the “tragic loss of her child.” She was held up as a model of resilience, a woman who continued to care for her widowed brother-in-law and nephews despite her own grief. Her medals were polished with my daughter’s blood. The next morning, I took Daisy to the clinic. The manager at the mill had called ahead. There was a doctor there who specialized in forensic exams for Child Protective Services. While the doctor was examining Daisy, I pulled out two small envelopes. One contained a strand of Claire’s hair I’d pulled from her brush a few days ago. The other contained a hair I’d swiped from Hunter’s hoodie. “I need a maternity test,” I told the technician. “And I need it fast.” I paid the rush fee with the last of my savings. Then, I went to the JAG office on base. I knew Claire wouldn’t show up for the lawyer meeting, but that didn’t matter. For three days, Claire didn’t call. Martha, however, came by twice. The first time, she came to scream at me through the motel door. She called me an ungrateful loser, said Claire was too good for me, and that I’d die alone. The second time, she came to cry. She said the house was a mess, Simon was “sick with stress,” the boys were acting out, and Claire was too busy at work. She told me to “stop pouting” and come home to take care of my family. I sat on the other side of that thin motel door, listening to her wail, and felt nothing but ice. In my last life, I had served them for six years. They thought I was a dog they could whistle back into the yard. On the third afternoon, I went back to the clinic. The nurse handed me a brown envelope. “The results are in.” I took it. My fingers shook as I tore it open. I skipped the jargon and went straight to the bottom. Maternity Opinion: Based on DNA analysis, the tested individual (Claire) is confirmed to be the biological mother of the child (Hunter). Maternity Opinion: Based on DNA analysis, the tested individual (Claire) is confirmed to be the biological mother of the child (Cooper). There it was. Black and white. I sat in my car for a long time, staring at those words. The sun began to set, casting long shadows over the steering pool. I gathered the DNA reports, the photos of Daisy’s cigarette burns, and the notes I’d taken. I didn’t go back to the motel. I drove straight to the base, to the office of the Provost Marshal. I walked up to the duty officer and placed the file on his desk. “I’m here to report Major Claire Hamiltion for a violation of the UCMJ,” I said, my voice echoing in the quiet office. “Adultery, fraud, and the ongoing abuse of a minor.”

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On my wedding day, my mother died under the screeching tires of a Maybach. The woman behind the wheel was Talia, the adopted sister Elvis Beaumont cherished above all else. The security footage was a nightmare looped in my mind: her dragging my mother’s body for miles until there was nothing left but a sickening trail of red and white on the asphalt. After eight years of loving him, Elvis finally promised to stand by me. But the moment I filed charges for first-degree murder, he handed me a blank check. “Talia is young,” he said, his voice as cold as the basement he’d locked me in. “Prison would destroy her.” To stop me from appearing in court, he kept me—his pregnant wife—shackled in the dark for three days. It was only then that I realized that in his world, I was always the one meant to be sacrificed. 1 After seventy-two hours of silence, the heavy steel door groaned open. Elvis stepped into the dim light of the basement. “Madeline,” he started, his voice devoid of the warmth that used to define us. “Have you reconsidered the withdrawal?” He didn’t ask if I was hungry. He didn’t ask about the baby. His first words were a plea for his spoiled little princess. I forced my head up, my jaw aching from tension. “I will never withdraw those charges, Elvis. Never.” “I will make sure Talia pays for what she did. Every cent, every second of her life.” Elvis crossed his long legs, his face obscured by the shadows, but I could feel the glacial chill emanating from his eyes. “Talia was reckless. She’d had a few drinks and she hit your mother by accident. I’ll provide whatever compensation you want. Write any number on the check. Isn’t that enough?” He paused, a cruel edge sharpening his tone. “Your mother was sixty. In a wrongful death suit, her life is worth maybe a million, tops. Look at the math, Maddy. You’re coming out ahead.” Ahead? The air left my lungs as if he’d punched me. A sharp, twisting pain flared in my abdomen, and a cold sweat broke across my brow. “Elvis, that was my mother! The woman who raised me! You think you can put a price tag on her soul?” My voice cracked, rising to a scream. “Talia knew she hit someone! She kept driving! She dragged her until her heart stopped beating! That isn’t an accident—it’s a slaughter! Does she not have to answer for that?” Elvis’s brow furrowed, his patience clearly reaching its limit. “Madeline, I’m giving you one last chance to be reasonable.” His assistant stepped forward, holding a tablet. A video played. It was a live feed of my father’s hospital room. He had been in a vegetative state for years, a silent ghost of the man he once was. In the video, a man stood over him, a pair of surgical scissors hovering inches from his oxygen line. “Withdraw the case,” Elvis whispered, “or watch your father die. Choose.” The blood drained from my face, rushing to my head in a deafening throb. I lunged forward, a primal scream tearing from my throat, but Elvis caught me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Think carefully, Madeline. Are you really going to throw away your future for a dead woman?” His words were like a devil’s bargain, piercing through whatever was left of my heart. Years ago, when Elvis first took over the Beaumont empire, his ruthless tactics earned him many enemies. He was kidnapped during a high-stakes deal gone wrong. My father was the lead detective on the case. In the final standoff, my father took a bullet meant for Elvis, a bullet that shattered his spine and left him in a coma. Out of guilt—or perhaps a twisted sense of debt—Elvis took my mother and me in. He paid for every medical bill. For five years, he was my rock. He never missed a milestone. We grew together, our bond shifting from gratitude to a deep, consuming love. On the day I graduated, he proposed in front of the entire university, promising me a life of unparalleled happiness. But he broke that promise the moment Talia returned from her “studies” abroad. I looked into his pitch-black eyes. “Elvis, have you forgotten? My father is in that bed because he saved your life. And now you’re willing to kill him to protect a girl who spends her days breaking every law she can find?” I was shaking so violently my teeth rattled. Even with the evidence of his cruelty right in front of me, I couldn’t believe he would go this far for her. Elvis sighed, a long, weary sound as if he were the victim. “I’ve already punished her, Madeline. She knows she made a mistake.” “We’re family. There’s no need to turn this into a public circus.” 2 I knew exactly what Elvis’s “punishment” looked like. A week-long grounding. A suspended credit card. Meaningless gestures that he’d recycled for eight years. I was sick of it. Ever since Talia came back, she was the third person in our marriage. If Elvis spent more than ten minutes with me, her phone call would tear him away. She was always threatening suicide or getting into some high-speed chase that required his legal team to scrub the records. Elvis would tell me not to worry about her, but he was always the first to run to her side. And I was always the one left behind. Every time, he’d soothe me with the same tired lines. “Maddy, she lost her parents young. I’m all she has. I have to be responsible for her.” “Maddy, she’s just spirited. She’s not a bad person. We’re her elders; we have to be patient.” But this time, her “spirit” had murdered my mother to stop our wedding. I thought Elvis would finally see reason. But his heart was a compass that only pointed toward Talia. Watching the video of my father, the tears I’d held back for weeks finally spilled over. “Fine, Elvis,” I whispered. “I’ll do it. I’ll withdraw the charges.” A spark of triumph lit his eyes, and he offered a smile that made my skin crawl. “That’s my girl. I knew you’d understand.” “In seven days, we’ll have the wedding again. A real one this time. Okay?” I didn’t nod. I didn’t shake my head. I just took the pen and signed my name on the legal waiver, every stroke feeling like a jagged blade carving into my chest. That night, I saw Talia’s Instagram post. She was celebrating her “freedom” at a rooftop bar. Behind her was a mountain of luxury shopping bags, the centerpiece being a vintage Patek Philippe watch. It was worth three hundred thousand dollars—the same watch Elvis had outbid everyone for at a charity gala last month. Thanks to the best ‘Uncle’ for giving me my life back—again. I saw Elvis’s profile in the likes. In eight years, he had never liked a single photo of mine. But he never missed one of hers. “She’s just a kid, she cares about that social media stuff,” he used to tell me. “If I don’t like it, she throws a tantrum.” I never made a scene about Talia because I wanted to be the “mature” one. But now, while my mother’s body was being prepared for a casket, he was celebrating Talia’s rebirth. I stood by the window of our cold mansion, my heart turning to stone. I picked up the phone and dialed the clinic. “Hello. I’d like to schedule a termination.” I looked down at my flat stomach. This baby was supposed to be my wedding gift to Elvis. But some gifts shouldn’t be given. Just like our wedding, this story was never going to have a happy ending. I organized my mother’s funeral alone. The chapel was filled with gardenias, her favorite. On the day of the service, Elvis showed up holding Talia’s hand. As I watched, Talia stepped toward the altar to light a candle. “Who gave you permission to be here?” My voice was a whip, cracking through the silence of the chapel. I slapped the candle out of her hand. The hot wax splashed onto her skin, and she let out a piercing shriek, recoiling into Elvis’s arms. “Elvis… it hurts!” Elvis looked at her reddened hand, his eyes burning with sudden fury. “She’s just trying to pay her respects, Madeline. Was it really necessary to attack her?” Talia’s eyes welled with practiced tears. She reached out to grab my hand, her voice a trembling whisper. “Maddy, I’m so sorry. I was coming to the wedding to bring you a gift… I didn’t know it would happen like that!” “Elvis already punished me so much. I really, truly know I was wrong.” She was a master of the “innocent girl” act, and Elvis was her most devoted audience. I used to tolerate it for him. Not anymore. “Elvis, I am saying this for the last time. Get her out of here.” The guests were whispering, pointing. Everyone knew Talia had been the driver. The facade on Talia’s face began to slip. “She was just an old woman!” Talia snapped, her voice losing its sweetness. “She was going to die sooner or later anyway!” “If Elvis hadn’t dragged me here, do you think I’d want to come to this dump?” She marched to the front of the room before anyone could react and grabbed the porcelain urn containing my mother’s ashes. “You don’t want me to light a candle?” she hissed. “Fine. Then nobody gets to say goodbye!” My heart stopped. “No!” With a sickening crash, the urn shattered against the floor. Gray dust exploded into the air, coating the carpet. 3 The room went deathly silent. A sharp, acidic burn rose in my throat, but I forced myself not to cry. I dropped to my knees, desperately trying to scoop the ash and bone fragments back together with my bare hands. Talia, meanwhile, looked like a woman possessed. She began tearing down the floral arrangements, smashing the framed photos of my mother. She turned the funeral into a riot. I walked out of the hall clutching the small amount of ash I could save. Elvis chased after me, catching me by the arm. “Maddy, she’s just got a temper. She can’t handle people criticizing her. She went too far this time, I know.” “Don’t worry, I’ll arrange a new service… I’ll handle everything.” The same words. The same poison. I felt a wave of nausea so strong I almost gagged. I pulled my arm back. “Don’t touch me.” I pushed his hand away with a strength I didn’t know I had. Elvis’s hand hung in the empty air, and for a second, he looked shaken. I hadn’t walked ten steps when my phone buzzed. It was the private nurse I’d hired for my father. “Ms. Rossi… your father’s oxygen. Someone pulled the plug…” The world tilted on its axis. I rushed to the hospital, the urn fragment still clutched to my chest. By the time I arrived, my father’s body was already covered in a white sheet. “Who did this? Tell me who!” I screamed at the head nurse. “I paid for extra security! How did someone get in?” Ever since Elvis threatened him, I’d changed the staff. I thought I’d made him safe. “It… it was Ms. Beaumont,” the nurse stammered, trembling. “She said your father was a drain on hospital resources. She said the hospital had stopped his care…” “She owns a stake in this facility, Ms. Rossi. No one dared to stop her.” The nurse dropped to her knees, terrified of the legal fallout. “Please, don’t fight her. You can’t win.” The image of Talia smashing the urn flashed in my mind, fueled by a rage that burned hotter than any fire. I took a cab back to the mansion. As I stepped out, I heard music blasting from inside. Laughter. “If her dad hadn’t saved Elvis, do you think he’d ever look at a girl like her?” “I’m never letting him marry anyone but me.” “First wedding, the mom dies. Second attempt, the dad dies. Let’s see if she’s brave enough for a third!” Talia’s voice, shrill and arrogant, echoed through the halls. I kicked the front door open and slammed the power switch on the stereo. I walked straight up to Talia and delivered a slap that echoed like a gunshot. Talia stumbled back, clutching her cheek. Her face contorted into something demonic. “You hit me? No one hits me!” She screamed for the security she’d hired. Within seconds, two men pinned me to the floor. “So what if your parents are dead? I lost mine too. You think you’re special, Madeline?” She ground her stiletto heel into the back of my hand until I cried out in pain. “I killed your father. I killed your mother. And I can kill you, too.” “People like you… you’re just trash. Cheap, replaceable trash.” Someone restarted the music. Talia and her friends took turns kicking me while I was down. A small pocketknife appeared, and Talia dragged the blade across my forearm, her eyes dancing with excitement at the sight of my blood. “You’ll pay for this, Talia. I swear to God, you’ll pay.” “Pay?” She laughed, leaning down to whisper in my ear. She had them drag me into a small storage closet under the stairs and zip-tie my hands. “Watch closely, Maddy. Let’s see who pays.” They taped my mouth shut. I struggled against the ties, my heart hammering, and then I heard the front door open again. Elvis walked in. He looked at Talia and frowned. “What happened to your face?” 4 Talia glanced back at the closet door, her smile widening. “Oh, you know me. I got into a little scuffle.” “Tell everyone to leave, Elvis. If Maddy comes back and sees this mess, she’ll be upset again.” Elvis sighed, his expression softening into that familiar, indulgent look. He tapped her nose playfully. “You’re always causing trouble.” He dismissed the crowd. Talia wrapped her arms around his waist, purring as the guests filtered out. But she didn’t let go. Her hands moved over him with a hunger that was distinctly un-sisterly. “Elvis…” she breathed. “Let me show you something.” Through the crack in the closet door, I saw Elvis’s eyes—usually so cold and professional—cloud with a dark, familiar heat. He backed her against the wall near the stairs. His voice dropped to a low, gravelly register I’d only heard in our most private moments. “Talia, you shouldn’t tempt me like this.” “You know the world won’t let us be together. There’s no future for us.” My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. My nails dug into my palms. In eight years of dating, Elvis and I had only been intimate a handful of times, usually after he’d been drinking. I’d always assumed he just wasn’t a physical person. I was wrong. He just wasn’t physical with me. “I don’t care about the world,” Talia whispered, pulling his head down. “I’m happy being your little secret.” They collided in a feverish, desperate kiss. I watched them against the wall, my own body aching from the kicks and the cuts, but the pain in my chest was worse. Eight years of my life had been nothing but a smoke screen for their filth. “Elvis,” Talia gasped between breaths. “I pulled the plug on Maddy’s dad.” I waited for the explosion. For him to throw her off. For him to remember the man who took a bullet for him. Instead, he just chuckled, his breath hot against her neck. “You really can’t go a day without a crisis, can you?” “Fine. I’ll handle Maddy. I’ll tell her it was a hospital error.” No blame. No horror. Just the exhausted fondness of a man cleaning up a toddler’s spilled milk. I felt the tears dry on my face. I reached for the phone in my pocket—the one they’d forgotten to take. I hit ‘record.’ Talia laughed, promising to be “good,” and they disappeared into the master bedroom. I sat in the dark until the house went quiet. Eventually, Talia came back. She was wearing nothing but a silk robe, her neck covered in bruises. She opened the closet door. “Hear all that?” she sneered. “To him, your parents’ lives are just ‘little accidents.’ You really think you can beat me?” I didn’t say a word. I didn’t even look at her. Frustrated by my lack of reaction, she kicked me one last time and left. As soon as the house was empty, I used a sharp edge of a shelf to saw through the zip ties. I left the mansion and sent the audio file to my lawyer. This time, I’m taking her down. All the way. My lawyer replied instantly. I told you to wait for this. This is the leverage we need to break the Beaumonts. It’s over for them. Send the divorce papers to his office tomorrow, I typed. I went to the hospital to finalize my father’s arrangements, then I sat in the waiting room for my own surgery. My phone rang. It was Elvis. “Maddy? Where are you? The hospital called about your dad—it was a terrible oversight on their part. I’ve already filed a complaint.” “We’ll hold a joint funeral for your parents. I’ll come pick you up when I’m done with a meeting.” I stared at the white walls of the clinic. “Okay,” I said quietly. Elvis hesitated, perhaps sensing the hollowness in my voice. “Where are you exactly?” I let out a soft, jagged laugh. “I’m at the Women’s Health Center, Elvis.” “I’m waiting for the doctor to take our baby out of me.” I heard the sound of a phone hitting the floor on the other end. I turned my phone off and walked into the operating room. Wait for me, Elvis. We’re going to settle the bill. Every last cent. Elvis stared at the dead screen, his heart hammering against his ribs. He redialed frantically, but it went straight to voicemail. He bolted from his chair, grabbing his coat. His assistant met him at the door with a stack of papers. “Sir, I have the afternoon briefings—” “Cancel everything! I have an emergency!” The assistant looked uncomfortable, holding out a specific envelope. “But sir… this just arrived by courier. It’s from Mrs. Beaumont’s lawyer. It’s… divorce papers.” Elvis froze. He stared at the bold letters. His eyes turned bloodshot, a sharp, stinging pain blooming behind his lids.

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