Category: English

The night before my wedding, I drive forty miles to pick up my fiancé’s mistress and bring her home myself. “Addie, let Cass have the wedding tomorrow. ” When Julian sees us, he actually exhales in relief. “Addie, I promise you’re still my wife, legally. Cass can’t handle stress. She needs it. Once she’s settled, I’ll marry you properly.” Julian takes my silence for a yes. He doesn’t even look back as he leads Cassidy upstairs to pick out a wedding dress. I don’t get angry. I just calmly pick up my phone and drop one line into a group chat. [I’m short a groom for tomorrow. Any takers?] My phone explodes. Every one of Julian’s so-called best friends is in there, fighting to be the one to walk me down the aisle. I smile. See, Julian? If you won’t marry me, plenty of men will. I mute the chat and set the phone down. “Miss Whitlock.” Mr. Brennan, our butler, clears his throat. “Mr. Hayes is asking you to bring out the wedding gown.” He pauses, then forces himself to finish. “He said you won’t need it tomorrow. Let Miss Lane wear it.” That gown. Six months of sketching. A year of flying around the world. Every stitch, hand-finished by me. No one knows better than Julian how much of me is sewn into that dress. And now — because Cassidy wants it — I’m supposed to just hand it over? “Tell him,” I say evenly, “if he wants it, he can come down here and beg me for it himself.” Thirty minutes later, the front door slams open. Julian walks in with a dozen bridal consultants trailing behind him, each holding two designer gowns. He drops onto the couch, lazily twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers. “Addie. Our wedding can wait. Cass likes your dress — just let her borrow it.” He gestures at the consultants. “Pick one you like from these.” “Or don’t. After Cass is done with yours, you can wear it for our wedding. I don’t mind.” Cassidy bursts out laughing. She throws herself into Julian’s lap. “Julian, you’re awful. You’re the one who told all of Manhattan Addie’d never wear secondhand. And now you want her in a dress I’ve already worn? She’s going to hate me.” Julian doesn’t even blink. He smiles and pats her head. “She’s not that petty. She’s been with me ten years. Who else is she gonna marry?” I keep my eyes lowered. In the group chat, the men are still going at it, each posting Instagram Stories about the wedding tomorrow — captioned with photos of suits, cufflinks, custom shoes. Julian sees it too. He laughs under his breath. “I’m the one getting married tomorrow and these idiots are pulling all-nighters with their tailors. More dressed up than the groom.” He casually drops a voice note into the groomsmen’s chat: [Relax, boys. Tomorrow’s casual. Eat, drink, have fun. Just one thing — make sure you call Cassidy by her name, with respect.] He doesn’t notice that no one replies. He shifts Cassidy in his arms, then lazily reaches a hand toward me. “Addie, where the condoms? You know how clingy Cass is — she wants me every night. And if she doesn’t get her way, she loses it.” “But I promised you. My first child will come from you.” I pull the corner of my mouth into something like a smile. That promise. He remembers only half of it. Ten years ago, under a sky full of fireworks, twenty-year-old Julian had sworn he would marry only me. That my wedding would be his first. That my child would be his first. Ten years later, everything has changed. I drop the smile quickly. Tell Mr. Brennan to go pick up a box of condoms for him. Pleased with my obedience, Julian scoops Cassidy up and heads for the stairs. “Oh, and Addie — sleep in the guest room tonight. Cass wants me all to herself. She’s a nightmare in the morning, so have the MUA wait outside the door. She can start once Cass wakes.” “Julian.” He stops on the staircase, turning his head with a faint frown. Make it quick. I look him in the eye, one word at a time. “The wedding’s still on tomorrow. If you won’t be the groom — I’ll find someone who will.”

Julian doesn’t believe me. He scoffs and shakes his head. “Addie, this isn’t the time to fight for attention.” “Let me handle Cass first. If she’s in a good mood tomorrow, maybe she’ll let you be a bridesmaid.” In his arms, Cassidy pouts and tugs his sleeve. Julian doesn’t look back. He heads upstairs. A minute later, the sounds start. Mr. Brennan opens his mouth several times before he finally speaks. “Miss Whitlock… for Mr. Hayes, there’s never been another Mrs. Hayes. Only you.” I glance at the box of condoms in his hands. Tilt my head toward the stairs. … In the middle of the night, my phone rings. Brooke is screaming so loud my ear hurts. “Addie, what the hell? Why is Julian telling everyone the wedding is off?!” “You’ve been planning this for a year! The venue alone cost a couple million! Half of it is your designs! He can’t just call it off!” I sit up, rubbing my ear. Sleep is gone. Before I can answer, she shrieks again. “Wait — wait. He just sent me a new invitation. Same wedding. Same time. Different bride — some girl named Cassidy. Says we better show up.” “Who the hell is Cassidy?!” I close my eyes. Julian has always been like this. When he loves someone, he gives them the world. When he stops loving them — he takes everything back. “Brooke. Don’t worry about any of it. Just come tomorrow. The wedding is still on.” “He’s swapping the bride. So tomorrow, I’m swapping the groom.” Silence on the other end. Then Brooke pieces it together, and her voice goes raw with fury. “That son of a bitch. Swap him. Swap his sorry ass and don’t look back.” “He played the perfect fiancé for ten years. Twenty-eight countries for engagement photos. Renting out drones to announce your wedding to the whole city. And now he’s cheating?! I knew it — men are bastards!” I laugh, helpless. I want to tell her — it’s not that bad. My backup grooms are all impressive in their own right. But before I can speak, Mr. Brennan knocks. His face is pained. “Miss Whitlock… Mr. Hayes is asking for you in the master bedroom.” I know if I don’t go, he’ll take it out on Mr. Brennan. I tell Brooke to put on her bridesmaid dress tomorrow and meet me at the venue. Then I head upstairs. The bedroom door is half-open. The room is a wreck. The smell hits me first. Julian’s just stepped out of the shower, droplets running from his hair down the open collar of his robe — past a neck covered in marks. I dig my nails into my palm and force myself not to feel it. He sees me and lazily points at the floor. A bridesmaid dress. Crumpled. Stained. “Addie. I know you put a lot into this wedding. Wear that tomorrow. Be Cass’s bridesmaid. Call it closure for the past year.” Cassidy smiles, naked under the blanket. She leans up and whispers something sweet and venomous in Julian’s ear. “Julian — Addie’s the designer, right? The rings she makes must be stunning. I want one.” My face stays blank. That ring — like the dress — is mine. Sketched by me. Flown around the world for. Hand-finished by me. Julian knows. He just raises an eyebrow. “Addie, it’s just one ring. She wants it. Let her have it.” “We’re in no rush, Addie. You’ll have plenty of time to design a new one.” He says it like it costs him nothing. And just like that — the sharp, splintering ache in my chest disappears. I don’t feel a thing anymore. I look him in the eye and say it again. “I told you. The wedding’s still on tomorrow.”

Julian freezes. Then he laughs — confident, certain. “The groom won’t be there. Who exactly are you marrying?” “Come on, Addie. You’re not the desperate type. I said I’d marry you, and I will. You just need a little more patience. Mm?” I waited ten years. I finally got to the wedding. Only to find out he’d been cheating for three. And now he wants me to wait again — wait for him to marry another woman, then come back to marry me like he’s doing me a favor? I’m done waiting. Julian glances at the Rolex on his wrist, pulls Cassidy back into the bed, and tosses one last line at me without looking up. “Plenty of time for another round. Don’t worry, Addie — the Hayes heir is still coming out of you.” I lower my eyes. Nothing in them. I drop the bridesmaid dress on the floor and walk back to the guest room. … The next morning, neither of them gets up. The MUA waits awkwardly outside the master bedroom. I walk over. “I’m the bride. You’re doing my face.” She’s been working with me for months — the consultations, the fittings, all of it. She recognizes me instantly. By the time my makeup is almost done, the two of them finally come downstairs. Sunlight spills in through the windows, falling across me. Julian stops dead. The artist pins the last piece of veil into my hair. I gather my skirts and stand, turning to face him. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Addie. I said I’d give you a wedding. Later.” “For now, let Cass have it. Be a good girl and take that dress off — you’re going to upset her.” Then footsteps on the stairs. Cassidy comes running down. She grabs Julian’s arm — and the second she sees my dress, she snaps. She jabs a finger at me. “Julian! I’m the one getting married today. Why is she in a wedding dress?!” Her eyes well up. “My own mother was a mistress. I swore I’d never become her. But for you, I was willing. Three years, Julian — and you’d make me share my wedding with another woman?!” Julian’s face changes instantly. He bends close, voice soft, hands fluttering to comfort her. I let out a small laugh and toss a small pink notebook onto the floor. “Julian. I don’t need this anymore. You can have it back.” If he’d looked — really looked — he’d recognize it. The bucket list we made fifteen years ago. He’d said it himself: Once we finish all 100 wishes, we’ll never be apart. Ten wishes left. I don’t want to finish them with him anymore. “Addie, perfect timing.” Julian picks up the notebook and hands it straight to Cassidy with a soft laugh. “It’s a couple’s bucket list, baby. We finish all 100, and we’ll never be apart.” “Don’t cry. The dress is yours. The wedding is yours.” Cassidy laughs through her tears. She leans into him and shoots me a look. “Julian. Make her take the dress off. She’s a bridesmaid. Why does she get to wear it?” Julian crooks a finger. Maids swarm me from every side. “Addie. Take it off.” The MUA looks around, stricken. She tries to speak — bodyguards drag her into a separate dressing room. The dress is heavy. Underneath it, I’m wearing nothing but my underwear. I glance around at the room. At every staring face. “Julian. You sure you want me to take it off — right here?”

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I was the only she-wolf in the pack with two mates—a pair of twin Alphas, Caleb and Cillian. They adored me, loved me, and would shift into wolf form just to carry me on their backs. Until a healer named Elowen arrived at the pack, with a pup in tow. My mates started coming home smelling like her. After one fight, Caleb severed our mate bond without a second thought and walked away. Cillian held me close, swearing he’d never leave—even as Elowen’s scent clung heavier and heavier to his skin. I didn’t dare confront him. Not until I saw Cillian step out of Elowen’s cottage with claw marks of pleasure raked across his back. My soul ripped in two. I turned and ran, straight to my Alpha father’s house. “Father, the marriage alliance with the vampires—let me be the one to go.” … “Lyra, have you lost your mind?!” My father—Gideon, Alpha of our pack—shot to his feet so fast his chair scraped against the floor. His amber eyes burned faintly red with shock. The wolf was close to the surface. “They’re vampires!” His voice rang off the study walls. “Wolves and vampires have been at each other’s throats for a thousand years! Nobody knows what the hell will go wrong with this first-ever alliance marriage!” I stood before him, fists clenched in the fabric of my skirt, fighting to look composed. But I knew the two faded marks on my neck gave me away. They were the scars left behind when a mate bond breaks—like two dead brands, reminding me of what I’d once had and what I’d lost. “Father, I’ve made up my mind.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. Gideon drew a deep breath. The wolf receded from his eyes. He crossed to me and placed both hands on my shoulders. Alpha hands—warm, strong, full of the instinct to protect. “What did they do this time?” His tone went cold in an instant. “Was it Caleb or Cillian? I’ll go settle the score right now—” “Don’t!” The word tore out of me almost as a shout. “Father, please don’t!” I grabbed his arm in a panic. Last time—when Caleb severed our bond and left me for that newcomer Elowen—I’d gone to my father in tears. He’d been furious, nearly drove Elowen out of the pack altogether. It only made everything worse. The look in Caleb’s eyes shifted from tenderness to disgust. “Lyra, do you have any idea what you’re doing? Elowen hasn’t done a single thing wrong. She’s just a mother who fled here with her pup, and you want to throw her out?” “Take away your father’s protection,” he said with a cold smirk, “and what do you even have left? A she-wolf who can’t even take care of herself—what makes you think you deserve to be this pack’s future Luna?” Those words hit like silver bullets through my heart. And worse still, Cillian had grown distant. He no longer brought me blueberry muffins every morning, no longer ran beside me through the forest on full-moon nights, no longer whispered sweet things in my ear. “Lyra.” My father’s voice pulled me back. “You’re my only daughter. I can’t bear the thought of sending you so far away—to those cold-blooded vampires.” He paused, his amber eyes heavy with heartache. “But I can’t just stand by and watch you suffer, either. The alliance roster is due in three days. Give yourself three more days to think it over. Will you do that?” I nodded, though I already knew I wouldn’t change my mind. I stepped out of the study into a hallway lined with torches that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. Our pack lived in an old manor—once a nobleman’s castle, long since claimed by wolves. Soaring vaulted ceilings, Gothic windows—every inch of it steeped in age. I walked slowly, because my soul was still writhing inside those two severed marks. A mate bond was the most sacred connection between wolves. When two wolves recognized each other as fated mates, they marked each other’s necks. The mark gave off a unique pheromone that told the world: *this one is taken.* But when a bond is broken deliberately—the pain is like someone carving into your soul with a silver blade, cut by agonizing cut. I reached the front courtyard. A night breeze carried the chill of late autumn. Oak leaves crunched beneath my feet. And then I saw him. Cillian. He stood at the bottom of the courtyard steps, moonlight silvering his brown hair into a pale halo. He wore a dark gray sweater, hands shoved in his pockets, as if waiting for someone. My heart hammered all over again. Even though he’d severed our bond just last night. But here he was. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he’d come back for me—after all, he had loved me so fiercely once. Hope swelled in my chest. Wretched, burning hope. Even after he’d hurt me. Even after he’d abandoned me. I would have forgiven him in a heartbeat, if only he’d come back. That was the curse of the mate bond—even shattered, the love stayed carved into your soul. I took a step toward him. Then I heard a child’s laughter. A little boy darted out from a side door—five or six years old, at most. He giggled as he ran straight for Cillian and threw himself at him. “Cillian! Cillian! Mommy said you promised to take me to see the fireflies!” Cillian crouched down, and his smile was so gentle it broke my heart. I hadn’t seen that kind of tenderness on his face in a long time. “Of course, little guy.” He grinned. “Hop on my back.” Then, as I watched, his body began to change. Bones cracked and shifted. Skin rippled beneath a coat of dark gray fur. His frame expanded under the moonlight. In seconds, a massive wolf stood in the courtyard, amber eyes deep and warm. That was Cillian’s wolf form. The little boy let out a whoop and scrambled onto the broad wolf’s back. I stood frozen. The world spun around me. That was… that was the spot that had belonged to *me*. On countless full-moon nights, Cillian would shift and let me ride on his back as we tore through the forest, chasing starlight. He’d carry me to mountaintops for the sunrise, to streams where we’d catch fish, to patches of the sweetest wild blueberries. “Only my mate gets to ride on my back,” he’d once murmured against my ear. “And you, Lyra, will always be my mate.” But now, another woman’s child sat in that place. Elowen’s child. The great wolf bounded toward the forest with the boy on his back. Their silhouettes melted into the dark. I stood where I was, feeling the last trace of warmth drain out of my soul. Cold. A cold that went straight to the bone. I turned and stumbled back to my quarters. It was time to leave. Off to the Blood Kin. To those cold-blooded vampires. Could it really be any colder there than it was here?

The moment I stepped back into my room, I realized how foreign the space had become. Once, it had been full of life. Every morning, Caleb would set my favorite tea on the nightstand—a rare silver needle white tea he had to travel a hundred miles to a mountain valley to find. Cillian would light the fireplace at dusk, adjusting the heat to the exact temperature I liked, then lean against me and read aloud. But now… I looked around. Clothes lay scattered across the floor. The bed was a wreck. Unopened letters piled high on the desk. The fireplace held nothing but cold ash, and the air smelled stale. No one took care of any of this for me anymore. I sank down on the edge of the bed and wrapped my arms around myself. The two scars on my neck ached faintly, like two dead serpents gnawing at my soul. Memories rushed in like a tide. It had started three months ago, when Elowen first arrived at the pack. She had a five-year-old son named Toby, a body covered in scars, and a pair of eyes that were exhausted but fierce. Her husband had lost a power struggle and been killed by the new Alpha. She’d fled with her child. “She just needs a safe haven,” my father had told me. “As a healer, she can be useful to the pack.” I hadn’t objected. I thought I was generous enough, kind enough. I never imagined that within a single month, everything would change. Elowen truly was exceptional. She cured long-standing ailments for several key members of the Elder Council. She taught the children how to identify herbs in the forest. She never troubled anyone, always solving her problems quietly on her own. “Look at Elowen,” people in the pack started to say. “Raising a child alone, no mate, and she still has her life together.” “Not like *some* she-wolves—two Alpha mates and still never satisfied, throwing tantrums left and right.” Those words found their way to my ears, and I went crying to Caleb. “How can they say that about me?” I sobbed. “I just… I just want you two to spend more time with me.” Caleb held me, but his gaze had already lost that old focus. “Lyra, don’t you think you’re being a little… oversensitive about Elowen?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” I stared at him. “She’s just a she-wolf who needs help,” Caleb said. “And honestly, you leave everything for us to handle and never try doing things on your own. Maybe you could learn from her. Try being a little more independent.” That was the first time Caleb told me I should “learn from another she-wolf.” After that, things spiraled out of control like an avalanche. Caleb started coming home later and later, claiming he was helping Elowen repair her cottage—the little place was falling apart. Cillian began visiting her frequently too, saying he was helping her adjust to pack life. And me? I became hysterical. A caged animal. I’d stay up deep into the night waiting for them, demanding to know why they reeked of another she-wolf. I’d cry. I’d rage. I’d threaten. “If you dare betray me, I’ll have my father drive her out of the pack!” That was the most foolish thing I ever said. Because the very next day, Caleb severed our mate bond. The pain… I can’t even put it into words. It felt like someone had wrapped silver chains around your soul and ripped them apart in one vicious pull. You could hear the scream rising from some place deep inside yourself, feel your blood boiling in your veins, watch the entire world shatter into fragments before your eyes. I lay in bed for three solid days, burning with fever, slipping in and out of consciousness. When I finally woke, Cillian was sitting at my bedside, his eyes red and swollen. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding my hand. “I’m so sorry, Lyra. I didn’t know it would hurt this much…” “Then don’t leave me.” I was crying. “Cillian, please don’t leave me.” He was silent for a long time. Finally, all he said was: “I’ll stay.” But what stayed was only a shell. He stopped gathering the things I loved. He stopped sharing his thoughts with me. He stopped loving me the way he once had—wholly, completely. He was just… fulfilling an obligation. Like tending to a fragile patient. Until last night, when I caught Elowen’s scent all over him. The pain and the fury finally broke the dam. “You’re going to leave me too, aren’t you?” I demanded. “You think she’s better than me too?” “Lyra—” “Don’t explain!” I screamed. “You’re just like Caleb! You both think I’m nothing but dead weight! A spoiled, useless she-wolf!” Something shifted in his eyes then. Guilt turned into something that looked almost like… relief. “Maybe,” he said slowly, “maybe you’re right.” Then he raised his hand and pressed it to the mark on my neck. “No—” I tried to fight him, but his strength far outmatched mine. The pain hit again, worse this time—because it was the second time. I screamed. I convulsed. I felt my soul tear clean in half. When it was over, Cillian was gone from the room. He left me alone, thrashing in the wreckage of my own soul. Now, sitting in this disheveled room, I made a decision. I would go to them. One last time. If they turned me away—if they had truly, irrevocably chosen Elowen—then I would let go for good. I would go to the Blood Kin, leave this place and all its agonizing memories, and never come back. But before that, I’d fight for them one final time. I got to my feet, pulled myself together quickly. A clean dress. Hair brushed smooth. I even spritzed a bit of perfume on my wrists—a gift Caleb had given me once. He’d said the scent of lily of the valley suited me. Then I walked out, heading for Elowen’s cottage. Elowen lived on the western side of the manor, in a small standalone stone house. It had originally been a tool shed, but my father had it renovated as temporary housing for her. I hadn’t even reached the door when I heard voices inside. Caleb and Cillian. “Did you go see her today?” That was Caleb—low, serious. “Just ran into her by chance.” Cillian’s reply. “She went to see the Alpha King.” My footsteps halted. They were talking about me. “How did she look?” Caleb asked. A beat of silence. Then Cillian said: “Not good.” “Going soft?” Caleb’s voice sharpened. “If you’re going soft, walk out now. Cillian, we’ve been over this. If we’re going to lead this pack as dual Alphas, if we’re going to carry it into the future, we need a Luna who is truly strong. Not a she-wolf whose only skills are crying and clinging.” “I know.” Cillian sounded tired. “I just… worry she might do something to Elowen again. Last time she nearly got Elowen expelled from the pack.” “If she tries that again, I won’t hold back,” Caleb said, his tone glacial. “Elowen is the kind of asset this pack needs. And Lyra… she needs to learn what responsibility means. What sacrifice means.” I stood outside that door, and the entire world came crashing down around me. So this was what they really thought. I wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t independent enough. Wasn’t *worthy* of being their Luna. And Elowen—the outsider—was their idea of the perfect mate. Grief, rage, humiliation—it all churned together, igniting into a blaze inside my chest. I turned to leave—and then a child’s furious shriek split the air. “You bad wolf! Don’t you dare hurt my mommy!” Then I saw water flying toward me, and a piercing hiss tore itself from my throat.

That hiss was mine. Burning. Searing, vicious burning. I looked down at my arm. My skin was smoking, giving off the stench of scorched flesh. It was— *silverleaf sap*. The plant that’s toxic to werewolves. The pain ripped away my control. My body began to shift on instinct. Bones cracked. Teeth sharpened. Nails lengthened into claws. My wolf surged awake under the onslaught of agony, desperate to protect me, desperate to strike back. The door slammed open. Caleb and Cillian burst out. Toby cowered behind them, still clutching an empty bottle, his face white with terror. “Lyra!” Cillian cried. But what they saw wasn’t my pain. They saw me mid-shift—fangs bared, claws out, facing a five-year-old child. In their eyes, I must have looked like a monster. A monster about to hurt a pup. “What the hell are you doing?!” Caleb’s roar was deafening. The next instant, a wall of force slammed into me. Caleb had already half-shifted; he drove his shoulder into my body and sent me crashing to the ground. I hit the flagstones hard. Pain exploded through my back. But it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. Cillian had already scooped Toby into his arms and was shielding the boy with his body, eyes locked on me like I was a threat. “I—” I tried to speak, but my throat would only produce a ragged croak. I fought to rein in the wolf rampaging inside me, forcing myself back into human form. The process was excruciating and slow, every bone grinding back into place like a separate torture. Finally, I was human again, crumpled on the ground. The wound on my arm was ghastly—skin charred black, flesh torn and raw. I was in too much pain to speak, but Caleb and Cillian weren’t looking at the wound. They just stood there, eyes cold, staring at me like a stranger. “You’d go after a *child* now?” Caleb’s voice was ice. “Lyra, I don’t even know who you are anymore.” He stepped forward, seized my throat in warning. “I’d suggest you leave. Now. Before I call the enforcers and have you dragged in for assaulting a pup.” “The one who’s hurt… is me,” I managed to choke out. “Still making excuses!” His glare hardened further. “Looks like you need a lesson.” His grip around my throat tightened. “No—” I struggled weakly, but there was no fighting an enraged Alpha. “Wait!” A voice cut through the suffocating standoff. Elowen emerged from inside. Her eyes—bright emerald green—went wide the moment they fell on my arm. “Oh God,” she gasped. “That’s a silverleaf burn!” She rushed toward me, but Caleb blocked her path. “Elowen, careful. She just tried to attack Toby.” “No.” Elowen shook her head, her gaze darting between me and Toby. “Toby, what’s that in your hand?” The little boy held up the empty bottle, trembling. “It’s… it’s silverleaf sap. I saw this bad lady sneaking over here, and Mommy always says I should protect myself…” “So you threw it on her?” Elowen’s voice turned stern. Toby flinched and nodded. Elowen took a deep breath and looked at Caleb and Cillian. “Can you not see? Her wound? Silverleaf is severely corrosive to werewolf skin. She didn’t shift to attack—she shifted because of the *pain*. It’s a reflexive response.” Silence. Dead silence. Caleb and Cillian finally turned their eyes to my arm. In the moonlight, the wound looked even more horrific—blackened skin, curling flesh, the pale gleam of bone visible beneath. “Lyra…” Cillian’s voice wavered. I smiled. It must have been an ugly smile. “So you finally see it?” My voice was raw. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I just… I came to find you. One last time.” I struggled to my feet, swaying with pain. Elowen stepped forward. “Let me look at that wound. I can—” “No need.” I cut her off and took a step back. I looked at her—this perfect she-wolf. Strong. Independent. A healer. She had every quality I lacked. “You’re remarkable, Elowen,” I said. “You really are stronger than me, more independent, more suited to be Luna.” “Lyra, that’s not—” Cillian tried to say something. “But,” I raised my voice, cutting him off, “I still have my dignity.” I turned to Toby, the five-year-old hiding behind Cillian, eyes wide with fear. “Toby,” I said. “You threw that on me. You owe me an apology.” “Lyra!” Caleb’s tone was pure warning. “He’s just a kid!”

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On the eve of our wedding, my fiancé, Dante Valenti, brought Bianca—the mistress he had hidden for three years—back to the Valenti estate. When I neither cried nor made a scene, Dante visibly relaxed. “Elena, since you don’t mind, Bianca can stay here for the time being.” Dante was the sole heir to the Valenti family. Everyone assumed that once his father handed control of the family over to him, Dante would become the next Don, and I would become his wife and the lady of the Valenti household. But then he continued, “Tomorrow is only the ceremony. We won’t file the marriage registration right away. Bianca has been emotionally unstable lately, so I’m going to humor her for now. You’re still the woman I’ll ultimately marry. Once she’s had her fun, I’ll hold a proper wedding with you.” I pressed my trembling palm closed and said nothing. Dante took my silence for consent. He took Bianca by the hand and led her away to choose a wedding gown without looking back. I took out my phone and sent one message to our private group chat. Tomorrow’s wedding is missing a groom. Who’s available? The chat exploded at once. The heirs who had grown up with Dante and me began volunteering one after another. They asked what ring size I needed, what color suit I preferred, and what time the ceremony would begin. I smiled. See, Dante? If you won’t marry me, someone else will. … Before I could choose tomorrow’s fiancé, the butler approached with a complicated expression. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti would like you to bring out the wedding gown you planned to wear tomorrow.” He paused before adding in a low voice, “He said that since you won’t be holding your ceremony tomorrow after all, Miss Russo might as well wear it first.” I had spent six months designing that gown and another full year traveling between Paris, Milan, and New York, personally overseeing every stitch of embroidery. No one knew better than Dante how much of myself I had poured into it. Now, simply because Bianca said she liked it, he expected me to hand it over—and had even ordered the bridal atelier to alter it to her measurements overnight. “Tell him that if he wants my wedding dress, he can come and beg me for it himself.” Half an hour later, the estate doors were thrown open from outside. Dante entered with more than a dozen senior bridal consultants, each carrying two or three custom gowns in different styles. He sat down on the sofa and idly wound a strand of my hair around his finger. “Elena, our wedding can wait. Bianca is younger than you, and this is the first time she has ever asked me for anything. Let her have this one.” He tipped his chin toward the consultants. “Do you like any of these? If not, I’ll have new ones flown in from Paris overnight.” “Of course, you can still wear your original gown after Bianca is done with it. I don’t mind.” He did not mind. I did. Bianca laughed beside him, threw herself into Dante’s arms, and traced a finger along the opening of his shirt. “Dante, you’re awful. Everyone in New York society knows Elena would never touch a gown another woman had worn.” “And now you want her to wear a wedding dress after me. She’s going to hate me.” Dante stroked her hair indulgently. “She isn’t that petty.” “Besides, she’s been with me for ten years. Who else could she possibly marry?” I lowered my eyes and said nothing. On my phone, the men in the group chat were competing to send me photographs of themselves at their most presentable. One posted the black tuxedo he had just tried on. Another ordered his private tailor to deliver cuff links overnight. Someone else displayed the heirloom wedding ring his grandmother had left him. Every one of them seemed genuinely nervous about tomorrow. Then Adrian Bellandi’s name appeared on the screen—the current Don of the Bellandi family, a man no one in New York’s underworld dared provoke lightly, Dante included. The stream of messages stopped almost at once. Adrian wrote: Me. Leave every detail of the wedding to me. Tomorrow, all you have to do is walk toward me. An image of Adrian rose in my mind—his tall, powerfully built body encased in immaculate black suits, his broad back and solid chest suggesting the strength concealed beneath the severe fabric, strength capable of trapping someone completely in his arms. I replied with a single word. Okay. “Elena, what are you looking at?” Dante’s impatient voice sounded beside me. I came back to myself and turned off the screen. Dante had Bianca in his arms and had shifted into a more comfortable position. He held out one hand to me carelessly. “Where do we keep the protection? Bianca is clingy, and she’s younger than you. She has far too much energy in bed.” I answered coldly, “The butler knows where it is. Ask him.” “Look at you, getting jealous.” He laughed. “Relax. I promised you that the future heir of the Valenti family would come from you and no one else.” My lips curved in a cold smile. Ten years earlier, when Dante was twenty, he had sworn beneath a sky full of fireworks that I would be the only woman he ever married. Ten years later, there were more and more women around him. Those old vows had long since been discarded, and in his eyes I seemed to have become nothing more than the vessel expected to produce his heir. When he saw me smile, Dante paused and looked at me properly for the first time in a long while. “You should smile more, Elena. You smiled all the time in your early twenties. Now you always look so cold. It doesn’t suit you.” I let the smile fade and told the butler to send an entire box of condoms to Dante’s room. Dante was pleased by my obedience. He did not realize that I was not yielding for his sake. I simply no longer cared about him, so none of it mattered. He still believed I was as compliant as ever, that I would continue cleaning up every mess he made. He lifted Bianca into his arms and started upstairs. “Oh, and you’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” “The wedding is tomorrow, and Bianca insists I spend the night with her. She’s irritable when she wakes up, so tell the hair and makeup team to wait outside my bedroom. They can start whenever she gets up.” “Dante.” I called after him from the sofa. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned, brow furrowed, signaling for me to speak quickly. I looked directly into his face and enunciated every word. “My wedding will go ahead tomorrow. If you replace the bride, I’ll replace the groom.”

Dante clearly did not believe me. He scoffed and shook his head. “Elena, this isn’t the time to compete for my attention. I’ll make Bianca happy first. If she’s in a good mood tomorrow, she may even let you be her bridesmaid.” Bianca pouted from his arms. “I don’t want her.” At her urging, Dante carried her upstairs without looking back. Before long, suggestive sounds began drifting from the master bedroom. The butler hesitated several times before finally forcing out the words. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti has never intended for Miss Russo to become the true mistress of the Valenti family.” I glanced at the box of contraceptives in his hands and tilted my head toward the stairs. “Take it up.” The true mistress of the Valenti family? I no longer wanted the title. That evening, my friend Claire called me, her voice full of shock and confusion. “Elena, what is going on? Why did Dante suddenly notify everyone that the wedding was canceled?” “You’ve been planning this for a year. The estate and hotel decorations alone cost tens of millions, and you personally designed everything from the silverware to the floral arrangements. What gives him the right to cancel it on a whim?” I sat up, rubbing my ear, fully awake now. I was about to tell her that my wedding was not canceled when her voice suddenly rose. “Wait! He just sent another invitation. The ceremony is still happening, but the bride has been changed to Bianca Russo. Who is this mistress? Has Dante lost his mind?” Dante had always been like this. When he loved someone, he gave her everything—power, money, and all his favor. When he stopped loving her, he withdrew it all without hesitation. Headlights swept past the window, briefly illuminating the room before darkness returned. “Claire, don’t worry about any of this. Be at the venue on time tomorrow. If Dante can replace the bride, why can’t I replace the groom?” The other end of the line went silent for several seconds. Claire had clearly understood what had happened. Her voice shook with anger. “Replace him. Of course you should replace him! That bastard acted more devoted than anyone before the wedding. He traveled through more than twenty countries with you for engagement photos, rented an entire coastline, and used drones to announce your wedding date to the whole city. And now he betrays you just like that? He’s a complete bastard!” By the end, tears had entered her voice. “Elena, wait there. I’m sending my husband to deal with him right now.” I laughed helplessly. I was about to tell her things were not quite that bad, and that every one of my prospective grooms was reliable, when someone knocked at the door. The butler stood outside, looking pained. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti requests that you come to the master bedroom.” I knew that if I refused, Dante would take his anger out on the butler. I told Claire to change into her bridesmaid dress and wait for me directly at the venue tomorrow, then went upstairs. The half-open bedroom was in disarray, the air still thick with the unmistakable scent of sex. They had obviously just finished. Water dripped from the ends of Dante’s wet hair into the collar of his robe, sliding over a neck covered in kiss marks. I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to ignore the dense ache spreading through my chest. “Elena, I know how much work you put into this wedding.” He pointed carelessly at a soiled bridesmaid dress on the floor. “Wear that tomorrow and stand beside Bianca. That way, your year of preparation won’t be completely wasted.” Bianca lay wrapped in the sheets, malice curling at the corners of her mouth. She leaned toward Dante and deliberately spoke loudly enough for me to hear. “Dante, Elena is a top jewelry designer. The wedding rings she designed for you must be beautiful. I want them too.” I looked at them without expression. Like the gown, those rings had been created by my own hand. I had drawn the designs, chosen the stones, and supervised the craftsmen myself. Dante could not possibly have forgotten. Yet he said lightly, “Elena, they’re only rings. If Bianca likes them, let her use them first.” “We haven’t set a new date for our wedding. You’ll have plenty of time to design another pair.” His entitlement extinguished the final trace of attachment I still felt for him. I looked into his eyes and said, one word at a time, “I told you. Tomorrow’s wedding will continue.”

Dante paused, then laughed under his breath. “How? I won’t be there as the groom. Who exactly do you plan to marry?” His voice softened as if he were coaxing a stubborn child. “Elena, you’ve never been the kind of woman who clings or makes scenes. I said I would marry you, and I will keep my word. You only need to be patient for a few more years. Be a good girl and serve as Bianca’s bridesmaid tomorrow, all right?” Wait. Again, he wanted me to wait. I had waited ten years for him and had finally reached our wedding day. Then, just before the ceremony, I discovered that he had been betraying me for three entire years. Now he wanted me to wait again—to stand there and watch him hold a ceremony with another woman, then wait until he tired of her and condescended to return and marry me. “I’m not waiting for you anymore, Dante.” He either did not hear me or simply did not care. He glanced at his watch, pulled Bianca back beneath the covers, and tossed out a careless remark. “It’s still early. We can sleep a little longer.” “Don’t worry. The true heir to the Valenti family will come from your body and no one else’s.” I lowered my eyes, calmly threw the bridesmaid dress back onto the floor, and returned to the guest room. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Adrian. I’m ready. A photograph followed. A black suit lay perfectly arranged on a bed, beside an antique wedding ring engraved with the Bellandi family crest. The marriage license has been handled. The waiver of the waiting period will be delivered before dawn. You don’t need to prepare a gown or a ring. My people will take everything directly to the hotel. I stared at the screen for several seconds before replying. Are you certain you want to marry me? Adrian answered at once. Elena, I never joke about marriage. Tomorrow, all you need to do is arrive on time. Leave everything else to me. … The next morning, the hair and makeup team waited awkwardly outside the master bedroom. Dante and his mistress were obviously still asleep. I walked toward them from the far end of the corridor. “I’m today’s bride. Get me ready.” I had personally handled every pre-wedding discussion, fitting, and detail with them. Of course they recognized me. My makeup was nearly finished by the time Dante and Bianca finally came downstairs. Morning light poured through the tall windows, making my brown hair gleam. Dante stopped when he saw me. For a moment, he simply stared. The stylist secured the final layer of my veil. I rose, gathering my skirts, and turned my face toward him. He finally recovered and sighed helplessly. “Elena, I told you I’ll make the wedding up to you later. Let Bianca have this one. Be good and take off the dress. She’ll be upset when she sees it.” Rapid footsteps sounded from the stairs. Bianca rushed down and clung to Dante’s arm. The moment she saw my wedding gown, her expression changed. “Today is supposed to be my wedding. Why is she still wearing a bridal gown?” “My mother was a mistress. I swore as a child that I would never become a woman like her. But for you, I’ve carried that shame for three years.” Tears quickly filled her eyes, making her look pitiful. “And now you want me to share even my wedding with her?” Dante immediately bent his head to comfort her. His helpless panic reminded me of ten years earlier. After the explosion, he had pulled me from the ruins. When he learned that I had lost both my parents, he had held me just as anxiously and sworn with awkward sincerity, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” Memories were always the sharpest knives. I gave a soft laugh and tossed a small, worn booklet onto the floor. “Dante, I don’t want this anymore.” If he had bothered to open it, he would have recognized the wish book we made together ten years ago. Back then, he said that once we completed one hundred wishes, we would never separate. Ten wishes remained unfinished. I no longer wanted to complete them with him. “Elena, perfect timing.” Dante bent down, picked up the pink booklet, and handed it to Bianca. “Babe, this is a couples’ wish book. If we complete one hundred wishes together, we’ll never separate. The dress is yours. The wedding is yours too.” Bianca finally smiled through her tears. She leaned against Dante and looked at me with open provocation. “Make her take off the dress. What right does a bridesmaid have to wear the bride’s gown?” Dante crooked one finger. Several maids immediately approached me. “Elena. Take it off.” The makeup artists looked embarrassed and tried to speak for me, but the guards stopped them and forcibly escorted them to another room. The gown was heavy. Beneath it, I wore nothing but lingerie. I looked around at the room full of people, then finally met Dante’s eyes. “Are you sure you want me to undress here?”

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I texted my older brother Mason for $20 and suddenly the entire internet dragged me as his mistress. It’s the first month of summer break. I’m already broke, and there’s no way I’m calling Mom and Dad about it. So I send a voice note to Mason. Me: Mase, can you spot me $20? Five minutes later, my phone buzzes. I grin, expecting his usual eye-roll emoji and a money transfer notification. Instead, I get this — Mason: Stop hitting up random guys with that baby voice. Have some self-respect. I stare at the screen. My thumbs hover, frozen. Random guys? I’m his sister! Same parents, same house, same everything! I don’t know what crawled up his ass today, but fine. Me: Got it, Mason. I toss my phone on the bed. He’s probably in a mood. Whatever. I’ll figure out the twenty bucks myself. I don’t think about it again. Until the next morning. Riley, my best friend, sends me a link. I tap it. It’s a TikTok. A girl with bleach-blond hair and lash extensions thicker than my eyelids is crying into the camera. Behind her, in giant red letters, is a screenshot of my messages with Mason. My name. My selfies. My Instagram handle. All of it. “Ladies, I need y’all to be careful out here,” the girl sobs, dabbing fake tears. “This is the kind of girl who slides into taken men’s DMs with that fake baby voice, begging for cash like a little gold digger. Twenty dollars? That’s all you’re worth? No shame, no morals—what kind of parents raised you?” I scroll down. A hundred thousand likes. The comments are a bloodbath. “$20 a pop?? Sign me up for ten.” “Aren’t you scared of catching something?” she replies. Encouraging it. “Disgusting. Her parents should disown her.” “Pretty face, rotten soul. Classic.” My hands start shaking. I tap her profile. @BellaKnoxOfficial. 2.3M followers. Relationship & lifestyle creator. And then I see the pinned post. A photo. Kissing Mason. Captioned: My everything! She is Mason’s new girlfriend. That’s how she got the screenshots. That’s how she got my face. I can’t breathe. I screenshot everything—Bella’s video, the comments, her profile, the kiss photo. Every receipt. Then I open the Reed family group chat and dump it all in. My fingers are trembling so hard I have to retype the message twice. Me: Look what Mason’s girlfriend did to me. If she sets foot in this family, I’m done. Done. Send. I wait. Three seconds later, the messages vanish. Every. Single. One. Mason—the group admin—deleted them. Then a system notification pops up: You have been removed from “Reed Family.” I let out a laugh. A short, ugly, disbelieving laugh. I open Mason’s contact and type fast. Me: ??? The message doesn’t go through, because he blocked me. I try calling. Straight to voicemail. “Are you kidding me?” I hiss at the empty room. My own brother. Blocked me. Over a girl he’s been dating for, what, two months? Fine. Fine. I’ll call Mom. I’ll call Dad. I’ll call every single person in that family chat one by one if I have to— Ding-dong. The doorbell. I freeze. Mom and Dad aren’t supposed to be back from their trip for another week. But maybe they saw the post. Maybe they came home early. I jump off the bed, wipe my face on my sleeve, and run for the door. I’m already half-smiling when I pull it open. Then a hand cracks across my face so hard my vision goes white.

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My biological family brought me back to their multi-million dollar mansion, only to assign me the broom closet. But what they didn’t know? My adoptive parents are some of the richest people on this planet. So I turned around and bought the estate right next door to theirs. I’m Evelyn Astor. Born in Boston, raised on Martha’s Vineyard. Old money, only child, and the kind of girl who was taught at age five that tears are tacky but a good lawyer is forever. So when the Vance family shows up claiming I’m their long-lost daughter, swapped at birth twenty years ago, I don’t cry. I pack a Goyard duffel, kiss my adoptive parents on the cheek, and tell them I’m just going to “audit the situation.” Day one. The Vance estate in Greenwich. Marble floors, gold Roman columns, a fountain in the driveway that looks like Versailles threw up. And my “room”? A converted broom closet with a twin mattress on the floor. Chloe Vance, the girl who lived my life for twenty years, stands in the doorway dabbing at fake tears. White sundress. Doe eyes. The whole performance. “Sister, if you really hate it, I can move up to the attic. I don’t mind, really.” I press a silk handkerchief to my nose because the dust is genuinely offensive, and turn to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Higgins, what’s this property valued at?” She blinks. “Approximately… twenty million, miss.” “Lovely.” I pull out my phone and text my dad. Daddy, the accommodations here are rough. Can you buy the house next door for me? Thanks, love you. Thirty minutes. That’s all it takes. The doorbell rings, and in walks the neighbor, two attorneys, and a real estate agent with closing documents already drafted. Eleanor Vance, my so-called biological mother, goes pale. “Evelyn, what is this? You just got home and you’re already trying to live separately?” “Live with you people and rot from the inside out? No thanks.” Julian, my new “older brother,” slams his palm on the console table. “Do you have any sense of family at all?” I drop the guest key card on the marble. “Sure I do. But I’m allergic to favoritism. Toxic households require an appointment.” Chloe’s lower lip wobbles right on cue. “Sister, please. I knew you’d hate me. You think I’m a gold digger, don’t you?” I tilt my head and smile. “Sweetie. Where I come from, girls are taught three things. Love yourself. Love your money. And don’t waste either on people who don’t deserve it.” Charles Vance, the patriarch, finds his voice. “Evelyn, this is hysterical behavior. What will people say?” “They’ll say your real daughter has standards.” I sign the closing papers with a Montblanc, hand them back to the agent, and slip my Amex Black card into my wallet. “And that the Vance family put her in a closet.” Eleanor’s eyes shine with tears. Julian looks like he wants to throw something. Chloe is openly sobbing into her hands now, the performance reaching its third act. I walk toward the door, heels clicking on imported marble. “Oh, and Mrs. Higgins?” I pause. “Have my things sent next door. The good linens. I’ll be sleeping somewhere that doesn’t smell like mothballs and resentment.” I don’t look back. Because here’s the thing nobody warned the Vances about: I wasn’t raised to beg for a seat at anyone’s table. I was raised to buy the whole damn restaurant.

Two hours earlier, I’m sitting on the wraparound porch of our Vineyard house, peeling a fresh fig while my mother arranges peonies in a crystal vase. The Vance family’s lawyer is perched on the edge of a wicker chair, clearly uncomfortable. My adoptive dad, in khakis, boat shoes, and a forty-year-old Patagonia fleece, is watering the hydrangeas and pretending not to listen. “Miss Astor, Mr. and Mrs. Vance would very much like you to come home.” I bite into the fig. “Is the food good there?” He stalls. “I beg your pardon?” “The food. At their house. Is it good? Because I’m not going if it isn’t. Girls like me have delicate stomachs and zero tolerance for mediocrity.” My mother sets down the vase and gives a small, polite laugh. The kind that has buried entire careers. “What my daughter means,” she says, smoothing my hair, “is that she’ll visit. Briefly. To assess.” Dad walks over, dripping watering can still in hand, and slides an envelope into my bag. “Here. Copy of your trust documents. The deed to the Beacon Hill apartment. And Robert’s direct line. He’ll have a team on the ground in twenty minutes if you so much as raise an eyebrow.” Mom adjusts the collar of my linen dress. Her voice goes soft in that way that always makes my chest tight. “Sweetheart. If their house isn’t warm, you come home. Astor girls don’t beg anyone to love them.” I almost cry. Almost. Instead I smile. “Relax. I’m just going to check the quality of their parenting. If they fail inspection, I’m returning the merchandise.” The driver loads my bag. As the car pulls down the gravel drive, my mother stands under the wisteria and waves. The sky is impossibly blue. A sailboat drifts past on the sound. I think: no matter how much money the Vances have, they can’t buy back the twenty years that built me. Two hours later, the car stops in front of their Greenwich monstrosity. The driver opens my door. I stare up at the gilded columns and fountain and pause for exactly three seconds. “Did your decorator have a personal vendetta against Versailles, or…?” The driver coughs to hide a laugh. I walk in. Before I even reach the living room, I hear it. Soft, breathy, theatrical weeping. “Mom, Dad, now that she’s back, I should probably leave, right? I don’t want to be in the way…” My heels stop on the marble. Oh. So this is the flavor. Wet doe eyes and weaponized fragility. Amateur hour. Four people sit in the formal living room. Charles. Eleanor. Julian, scrolling his phone like I’m an inconvenience. And Chloe, perched on the loveseat in white, dabbing her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. She springs up the moment she sees me, lip quivering. “Sister.” “Hi.” She falters. Clearly expected more drama. Eleanor squeezes Chloe’s hand and looks at me with that complicated mother-of-two expression I’m sure she practiced in the mirror. “Evelyn. We’re so glad you’re home. But I need to say something first. Chloe may not be biologically ours, but she’s been our daughter for twenty years. You can’t expect us to just…” “Understood.” She exhales, relieved. Charles jumps in. “So don’t come in here trying to take her place. We won’t shortchange you, but you will not bully Chloe.” “Got it.” Julian finally looks up, jaw tight. “I hope you really do get it. Chloe has anxiety. She doesn’t handle stress well.” Chloe’s lashes flutter downward. “Please don’t talk to her like that, Julian. She just got here. If she wants my bedroom, she can have it. I’ll move to the attic, I really don’t mind…” I finally meet her eyes. “Which room is yours?” She brightens. Bingo, her cue. “The south-facing suite on the second floor. The one that… should’ve been yours.” Eleanor clutches her hand. “Don’t say that. It’s your room.” Julian’s voice drops cold. “Evelyn. Don’t even think about it.” I blink slowly. “Did I say I wanted it?” The room goes silent. Chloe’s face flickers. Just a half-second crack in the porcelain. “I just thought you’d be upset, sister.” I smile. “Honey, you preemptively absorb other people’s feelings so hard, you should be charging a consulting fee. Did anyone ask you to perform?” Julian’s nostrils flare. “Does everything you say have to come with a knife in it?” “No,” I say, voice perfectly sincere. “You all keep insisting on performing a soap opera in front of me. I can’t follow the plot. You can slow down if you’d like.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, materializes to escort me upstairs. Chloe trails behind us all the way to the end of the second-floor hallway, where Mrs. Higgins pushes open a narrow door. Dust billows out. Inside: stacked picture frames, a broken lamp, cardboard boxes, and curtains so gray you can’t tell the original color. Chloe covers her mouth, eyes wide and wet. “Sister, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it hadn’t been cleaned. Please, take my room tonight.” I glance at the bare mattress, then turn to Mrs. Higgins. “This is the room you prepared for the biological daughter?” Mrs. Higgins shifts. “The Vances said, temporarily—” I raise a hand to stop her, then pull out my phone and snap a few photos. Julian smirks behind me. “What, posting a sob story online?” “No. Sending them to my mother. She loves fresh gossip material on dysfunctional rich families.” Eleanor hurries up the stairs, flustered. “Evelyn, don’t blow this out of proportion. The room can be cleaned. Chloe is already upset. Don’t push her.” I look her dead in the eye. “Mrs. Vance. I haven’t said a word yet, and your whole family has already convicted me. Efficient. Just not very smart.” Julian explodes. “Evelyn!” I slip my phone back into my bag, calm as a Sunday morning. “You don’t have to shout. My hearing is excellent. So is my allergy to favoritism.”

Dinner is served at seven sharp in a dining room the size of a small chapel. The table is set with Hermès china and crystal that probably costs more than a Tesla. Chloe sits at Eleanor’s right hand, leaning into her shoulder like a kitten. Julian sits across, occasionally passing Chloe a napkin and never once looking my way. Fine. I serve myself a slice of the wagyu and take a bite. I chew. I stop chewing. I set the fork down. Charles notices. “Not to your taste?” Chloe pipes up sweetly, “Maybe sister prefers more, um, casual food? Our private chef trained in Paris. It might be a little refined for her palate.” “It’s not refined,” I say. “It’s bad.” Silence drops like a guillotine. Eleanor stiffens. “Evelyn. Our chef has been with us for fifteen years. No one has ever complained.” “Then everyone in this house has been very generous.” I take a sip of water. “The wagyu is overcooked. The reduction is too sweet. The acid sits on top instead of cutting through. It tastes like this family looks. Pretty on the outside, hollow underneath.” Julian’s jaw locks. “You grew up outside this family. What would you know?” “I grew up on the Vineyard, Julian. Not in a cave.” I dab my mouth. “Is your entire understanding of the outside world divided into two categories? The Vance estate, and Naked and Afraid?” Charles slams his palm flat on the table. “Enough! It’s one meal. Do you have to make a scene?” I lower my fork carefully. “Mr. Vance. You brought me here. You gave me a closet. You gave me zero respect. And now you want me to compliment a bad steak. Is your family reunion process outsourced to a gaslighting manual? Because it’s not exactly five-star service.” Eleanor’s face drains. Chloe’s tears spill on cue. “Sister, are you saying this because you hate me? Even the food?” I turn to her slowly. “Chloe. Not everything is about you. The food is bad because the chef is bad. You’re dramatic because you’re dramatic. Two unrelated facts.” She sobs harder. Julian shoots to his feet. “Apologize to Chloe. Now.” I glance at my watch. “Sorry. Astor women don’t engage in low-quality emotional disputes after nine p.m. Union rules.” “You…” “Also.” I gesture at the table. “Starting tomorrow, I’m having all my meals catered in. My expense. Don’t trouble yourselves. And please don’t try testing my breeding with food like this again.” Charles turns purple. “You think the Vance family needs your money?” “Hope not. I’d hate to think you were freeloading.” Right on cue, a server appears with dessert. She sets a delicate crystal coupe in front of Chloe. Caviar service with mother-of-pearl spoons. In front of me, she sets a single scoop of vanilla ice cream. Her smile is just a little too thin. “Miss Evelyn. This is also very nourishing.” I look at the dish. Then at hers. Then back. “Why does she get caviar and I get Häagen-Dazs?” The server smiles. “Miss Chloe has delicate health. Mrs. Vance gave specific instructions.” Eleanor flushes. “Evelyn, if you want some, we can bring it out tomorrow…” “That’s fine.” I turn to the server. “What’s your name?” “Higgins, miss. Mrs. Higgins.” “And how long have you worked for the Vance family, Mrs. Higgins?” “Twelve years.” “Wonderful.” I pull out my phone. “Please email me your employment contract, twelve years of pay stubs, and every household purchase reimbursement on record. By tomorrow morning.” Her smile slips. “Excuse me?” I keep mine warm. “Just curious whether someone who distributes desserts based on family ranking deserves twelve years of full benefits.” Charles cuts in. “Evelyn. Mrs. Higgins is an old member of this household.” “Then she should especially know better. Old money runs clean books. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Higgins?” Her eyes flicker away. Chloe leans in, eyes wet and wide. “Sister, please don’t make things hard for her. She takes such good care of me.” “Oh?” I tilt my head. “Then I should definitely audit her. Because she’s spending Vance money taking care of you, and that’s coming directly out of my inheritance pool.” Julian chokes on his water. Eleanor stares at me like I’m a creature she’s never seen before. “Does every sentence out of your mouth have to be about money?” I think about it, genuinely. “Yes. Because so far, money is the only value you people have demonstrated.” I push back my chair, drop my napkin on the plate, and walk out without another word. Behind me, I hear Chloe start to cry again. Bless her heart. The girl has stamina.

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It was a blissful night, the stars adorned the sky, I held up my head zipping through the gardens, my red silky gown flow as the breeze encircled me with its peace, from afar I sighted a man, clothed in white, his hair was maybe brown colored and shoulders was vast, the strange man looked like a protagonist in a love story, a story that Is about to uncover, as I gasped back to reality. 7:10 am Whoa” I looked at my time to see it was past seven, I had a few hours to get ready for my interview. I hurried in and out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel around me, I wiggled off the water from my hair, pulled out my clothes from the wardrobe, and after, walked out of the house the second I finished getting dressed to the home of my soon to be boss, Mr. Liam Khan. I was being interviewed to be his son’s nanny, minus the fact, I had no idea how to take care of a child, how hard can it be?.  I wore a pair of joggers, a crop top, and a white canvas, wandering through the streets of Elmore city. I walked past a candy shop, followed by another before I got to the place of my interviewer, it bewildered my breath away beholding a house of such immenseness, it felt like a royal family lives there,  the gates automatically opened to me a voice said from behind, “welcome miss Sara Scott”. I took heed of a masculine voice, who walked up to me, slinging his shirt off his wet dripping body.  I gazed like a lost puppy, from his seductive eyes, well-shaped body, and that of his lips, gosh! He looked like a demigod. “Miss Sara! Snap out of it”. I had this hunch he knew how farther my thoughts traveled and if he hadn’t recalled my attention, it would have gone further away, and most likely never to return. “Good morning sir! I came for the interview”. I paused for his response. “Yeah! I do know, come on in”. He says. We took a step into the house, bloody hell, it felt like I had just died and gotten to heaven, its exquisite tastes took my breath away for the second time, and for a man of his caliber, all these things are nothing to him. My eyes loomed around, as we strolled over to his study room, “have a seat and we will begin in a while”. He walks back out, leaving me behind in the study room, as I patiently wait for him, “hmm! Where is he?” Gradually my patience was running thin, I wondered where he was, maybe he had something important to do and forgot he kept me waiting in here? “I rather go check for him” initially I thought about doing so but what if he gets aggravated and that makes me lose this job even before getting it. So without deliberation, I sat back down quietly geeking at the time.

Two hours passed, Liam hasn’t returned for the meeting.”Are you waiting for my dad?” I took heed of a child’s voice, I turned back to see a little boy clutching a ball in his hand, he had curly hair and brown colored eyes. “Hello child,  yes, I am! Do you know where he is?” he walked closer to me, “I think he must be in his room, should I call him?”.  He said. I shook my head disliking his idea, “don’t call him, I’ll wait” I smiled. “Okay! While waiting, do you wish to play football with me?”. He threw away the ball at me, riding out of the room. “Hold on champ” He snatched me outside, aiming to catch the ball, “what are you waiting for! Toss the ball”. His voice attained his father’s attention, as he caught a glimpse of us playing from his room window. We both played to a notch I forgot I had an interview with his father, I swirled back to see the same person I thought of, standing behind with his arms folded together. Holy moly, father of all, I am in deep trouble. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to wait for me” he gets provoked. “Yes sir! But I only wanted to play football with champ here”. I answered back. Liam whirls to the side and saw the boy I called champ, he looked at me and said, “you mean Andres! My son”. “Yes Sir, your son” I duplicated back his words to him, and he detonates a weak smile right back. The smile he had on made me perplexed, he veers his back. “Walk with me”. He says. I walked rearward as we step back into the house. Liam’s switched on his serious face, we quietly walked without altering a word to me, he rumbled a particular song, shaking his head, finally, he repaid his attention to me, “I am sorry for taking much of your time! I had to take care of some pending issues” we continued walking. “Yes sir! So can we proceed with the interview?”. I said idling for his response,  he halts reading the look on my face, “there is no need for the interview! I have gotten what I wanted”. He announces “Gotten what you wanted? I don’t think I understand what you mean by that?”. Liam ran a check on me before answering back, “now let me break it down for you, the whole reason is to find someone that would be able to take care of my son when I am not around, and for the past three weeks, you’re the only person my son, took a liking too, that beats it all!”. “Hmm!” I shook my head understanding his words. An hour later, he ambled with me to the front door, he pushed it open and turned to me, “thank you and welcome to my family, so! Tomorrow I’ll be expecting you”. “Yeah” I rode past him, wearing a smile. 10:09 pm I got back home tired and reeking of alcohol, urgh! My head continued spinning, it felt like the whole world was crumbling down on me, and I needed to have a rest, I couldn’t think of anything else.

The next morning, the sound of my alarm beeped me up, I swung my eyes down just to behold myself naked, how, When, I Don’t understand. The last thing I can remember was going to bed with my clothes on and now to wake up and see myself nude, it didn’t just disappear overnight!. (My clothes). I soared my eyes around gathering my thoughts, exactly when the door to my room pushed open, I saw Christain strolling in with a tray in his hand. “Good morning,” He says, but what I was much concerned about was his shirtless body, “good morning,  did you sleep here last night?”. That question spotted a smile on his face, he walked past me and dropped the tray on the table, attaining back his attention over, “hmm! I did sleep here, but don’t you remember what happened last night?”.  He watched me quietly trying to recollect what happened yesterday after my job interview. All I can remember was after I had left Liam’s home, I went straight to mine and towards dusk, Christian,  who has been my best friend, came home and dragged me out of the house to celebrate with me obtaining a job, and from listing out all his options,  Christain Devon chose to do it in the bar by drowning me in alcohol. The whole scenario played part by part in my head, immediately I lifted them with a furious look on. “What? I told you not to drink too much, but do you listen, no!”. He tries to clarify. In all that wasn’t my main concern, all I wanted to find out was, apart from what he said, did anything happen?. That there was my interest, I cannot possibly think of doing anything with my best friend, it’s just messed up. “Did we have…sex”. I raised a question, Christian immediately laughed, it felt like I shouldn’t have said something about it, but I needed to know how my clothes dispatched from my body, whereas he strode into my room without wearing a shirt. “Yes! We did have sex…. God it was magical and wonderful”. I watched as his imagination plunges far away, he walks closer to me nudging his head forward to mine, “are you stupid? We didn’t have sex and besides, you removed your clothes the second you got into your room and lastly the only reason I slept here was that it was getting late, so please nothing happened between us, it hasn’t and it won’t ever happen”. I buffed out a relieved breath, thank God almighty that nothing of a sort happened last night, a few minutes not quite long my phone rang, I picked up the call without identifying the caller. “Hello! I’m I unto miss Sara?”. A masculine voice at the other end of the phone says, “Yes you are?” I responded oblivious to the fact my boss, Liam was the caller. “Good morning it’s Liam, and why aren’t you here yet?”. He asked me, holding me at the other t end of the phone. I dashed into the bathroom. “I am sorry sir! I’ll be there” I replied. Liam immediately puts off the call the second he warned I come before it clocked 10:00 am,  and  I did everything possible to beat the time. Christain quietly watched me run in chaos and not once did he alter a word of assistance to me,  sometimes he can be such a wizard. “Excuse me” I shouted. He took a step back, as I dashed out of the house holding my shoes.

Stop me here?” The cab halted in front of Liam’s mansion, I stepped out of the car after paying my fare. I ran like I was being chased by a spirit, “whoa! Calm down” A feminine voice attained my attention, I looked up to find an elderly lady standing in front of me. “Oops! I am sorry ma’am, I didn’t see you there”. I buffed and buffed for a while trying to curb my breath, the lady looked at me with a curious gaze, when someone else blurted out before she did. “You’re late” I took heed of a footstep approaching, I hoisted my head a little beholding Liam’s angry gaze. “I am sorry sir,  Please forgive me, I had a mishap last night” I answered back, but my response no way made any difference, he took me by my hands as we walked close to the door, the serious look on his face got me tensed, and without hesitation, Liam shoved me outside and angrily tried to bang the door. “let go of it, right now,” he noticed I stopped him. salvaging his angry eyes at me. “No sir! But try to understand my situation please” I said trying to explain to him, instead he pulls my hands from blocking the door and slammed the door to my face. Liam swerved back to hint at the elderly lady I walked in a few minutes ago,  gazing at him, “what is it aunt?”, He moves closer to her. “Why did you send the lady out, at least you would have listened to what she had to say” She tried clarifying, but he walks past her not impairing a single word. I sat outside for over an hour now, my mind constantly played tricks on me, it was either I get up and leave or rather bang on the door, until he decides to open up, therefore before I could make up my mind, the door opened “come in”. Liam said, standing behind. I buffed out a relieved breath heeding to his voice,  I jerked up from where I was sited and turned strolling back in. “Now talk to me, why were you late?”. He interrogated. An hour had passed and it was now time he deemed necessary to listen to me,  minus the fact I had the worst reason ever. “I had an emergency at home, my mom got hit by a horse”. I had no idea, how that came out, but it did and I know Liam no way believe me but fairly, he smiled ambling away. it felt like a huge load was dropped from my shoulder as I watched him leave. Lingering around, I sat and waited for my job description to be read out to me, the whole day passed and Liam didn’t even step his feet out of his room, yet again did he forget I was in the living room waiting for him?. Some hours later. “Erm! Did you not move from his spot throughout the whole day?”. Finally, Liam decides to come out. ” Sir, I was waiting to hear the explicit duties you want me to do as your son’s nanny!”. I said swerving my gaze low. “Specific duties? Huh? I don’t think I explained everything to you yesterday, wait I’ll be back”. He walks  up into his bedroom.

I couldn’t take my eyes off, later on, Liam walks down to meet me, he handed over a piece of documents, which stated each and everything I needed to do as his son’s nanny, but among the listed requirements, what I couldn’t understand was, and I quote, you will have to live with us, so your duties will be taken care of effectively. I raised my head, as I politely asked him to explain further. “Urgh! Do I have to explain everything to you? “Liam says taking note of the expression I had on my face, “have you ever been a babysitter before” he added. Originally,  I thought lying to him would be better but something within told on, I should tell the truth, so I did. “No sir, I haven’t been a babysitter before”. I replied. “How the hell I’m I going to entrust my son to someone who doesn’t know the first thing about babysitting”. Liam scowls at me. I know he had every right to stop me from working, firstly I had no idea how to babysit a child, and secondly, I can still recall I lied to him about being a babysitter on my resume. “Look, sir! I am sorry, I know I said I have been a babysitter before,  but I am willing to learn and abide by the rules and regulations governing our contract, please give me a chance sir”. I pleaded with him in at most sincerity, and he quietly listens “hmm! I can see you’re sorry, but it’s okay, maybe God wanted you to get this job, in all honesty, I’ll like to see how you handle a kid of such naughtiness especially if the child is my son”. Liam speaks in a loud voice detonating a devilish smile at me. I’ll love to wipe off that smile on his face when I show him, I can do anything if I set my mind to it. “Yes sir, I can do it” I said. Apparently to him, that was my response but behind those words what I truly meant is, Challenge accepted,  and trust me, I will make Andres be in his good behavior, even if I have to bend him to it. “Okay! Why don’t you go home and pack your bags and please make sure you’re early okay?’ he says making his way to his study room. The following morning, before my alarm beeped, I was up already, my bags packed, and I was set to begin a new phase in my life, a phrase with Liam Khan in it. Ding dong. I rang the doorbell placed outside the moment I got to his house, I patiently waited for a response when something flashed brightly to my eyes, I looked a little further, just to notice I was being followed by the reporters, they all attacked me,  I struggled to push them off but the more I try the more intense they become, unexplainably a hand-pulled me out, as I feel my whole weight on my new boss. “Liam,” I said. Everything happened so fast, they surrounded us in every corner,  aiming to know who the strange-looking lady appeared at Liam’s doorstep clenching a suitcase. According to them, they thought I must be the woman Liam has been hiding from the world for over some time, in a real sense I am but his son’s nanny.

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After five years of marriage to Vincent Grey, I still hadn’t become pregnant. He withstood immense family pressure and publicly claimed that the problem was his own. Everyone said his love for me, Claire Ashford, was unmatched—he was even willing to give up his masculine pride for me. But even a man like Vincent Grey eventually cheated. At a business reception, he was drugged by a rival and ended up sleeping with a female college student working part-time at the event, Chloe Rivers. The day I asked for a divorce, he cried and swore: “Claire, I’m dirty now. You can hit me, yell at me, punish me—just don’t leave me.” I believed him. But five months later, I accidentally saw Vincent accompanying Chloe, her belly slightly rounded, as they picked out baby supplies at a shopping mall. This time, I asked for a divorce again. He frowned and said: “Can you stop making a scene?” “Chloe is pregnant. Once she gives birth, I’ll make her leave.” “You are still my wife.” Everyone thought I would forgive him again this time. But I threw away my wedding ring, cut up our wedding photos, and boarded a flight in the middle of the night to leave. A man who has been tainted… is no longer worth keeping.

Claire Ashford POV Everyone said Vincent Grey’s love for me was incomparable. When I casually mentioned wanting to see the Northern Lights, he postponed his meetings and chartered a private jet, flying me all the way to Scandinavia to chase the aurora. When I said I missed my grandmother’s apple pie, he flew in seven master pastry chefs from England, all to recreate that familiar taste. He spoiled me endlessly. Even when I coughed, he would panic like it was a crisis. But that same Vincent eventually cheated on me. He was drugged by a rival at a business gala and slept with a college girl who was working part-time at the event. When I found out and packed my bags to leave, he sent the girl away overnight. Then he knelt outside my family’s house under the scorching sun until he collapsed. He said, “Claire, I have been tainted. You can hit me, scream at me, punish me. But please don’t leave me.” Looking at his cracked lips, I softened in the end. But less than five months later, I accidentally ran into Vincent at a mall with that same college girl, her belly slightly swollen, shopping for baby supplies together. He rushed to explain. “Claire, she got pregnant that night. Grandfather found out and threatened his own life if I didn’t keep the child.” “Grandfather raised me. He has been the best to me since I was young. I can’t just ignore his life. Please don’t leave me, okay?” He held me tightly, his eyes red as he promised. “I swear, once she gives birth, I’ll send her abroad. Grandfather will raise the child. They will never appear in front of us again.” Seeing the deep pain in his eyes, I softened once more. I thought if I could just endure until Chloe Rivers gave birth, this absurdity would end. Until this time, at a private collector’s auction on a cruise ship, Vincent actually competed against me for my mother’s keepsake, just to make Chloe happy. It was an antique pocket watch, the last thing my mother left me before she died. After my family went bankrupt, the watch was forced into collateral and had been lost ever since. It became my deepest regret and obsession. I’d been searching for three years before it finally reappeared at this auction. But Vincent kept raising his paddle, and finally bought it from me at an exorbitant price. I followed him out of the auction and confronted him on the cruise ship deck. Vincent sighed helplessly. “Chloe wanted to pick a gift for the baby, but couldn’t find anything she liked, until she saw this pocket watch. She fell in love with it at first sight.” “Claire, can you just let her have this one?” His eyes were gentle, his voice soft and coaxing. “I’ll find you a better one later, okay?” I clenched my fists, my heart turning cold. My face was icy. “Vincent, you know perfectly well that this watch is my mother’s keepsake. You know exactly how long I’ve been searching for it.” “I know it means the world to you, but Chloe has her heart set on it. Giving it to her is just to help her stay calm and safely deliver the baby.” Vincent reached out to take my hand, but I dodged. He rubbed his temples instead. “Claire, don’t throw a tantrum over something this small. Chloe only has a few more months before she gives birth. Once she has the baby and leaves, everything will go back to how it was before.” I suddenly laughed. “Go back to how it was before?” What were we like before? Was it when he set all his passwords to my birthday? Or when he drove across half the city in pouring rain during my period, just to bring me a hot water bottle? But ever since he slept with Chloe Rivers, that Vincent who only had eyes for me was gone. I should have understood earlier. Once a crack forms, it can never be restored. We could never go back to before. “Oh no!” Suddenly, Chloe, standing at the edge of the deck, cried out. “What’s wrong?” Vincent panicked and rushed over immediately. “Are you feeling sick?” I instinctively turned to look. I remembered Chloe had just been holding that pocket watch, playing with it lovingly. Now her hands were empty. An ominous feeling crept over me. I quickly approached Chloe and asked urgently, “Where’s the watch? Weren’t you just holding it?” “Mr. Grey…” Chloe’s eyes brimmed with tears as she looked helplessly at Vincent. “I’m so sorry. When I was looking at the watch just now, the baby suddenly kicked me. I couldn’t hold on properly, and it… accidentally fell into the ocean.” Vincent froze. “Fell into the ocean?” I felt a roaring in my ears. All the blood in my body rushed to my head. I lunged forward and grabbed Chloe’s collar, my eyes blazing. “That was my mother’s keepsake! Chloe, was that an accident or on purpose?!” Chloe flinched, tears streaming down her face, looking even more pitiful. “Miss Ashford, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was so important to you… I’ll go get it back for you right now!” She struggled against me, as if about to climb over the railing and jump into the sea. “Chloe, stop this nonsense.” Vincent pulled Chloe into his arms and snapped at me disapprovingly. “Claire, you’re scaring her. It’s just a watch. If it fell, it fell. Is it really more important than her and the child? She’s pregnant. How can she do something so dangerous?” Just a watch. Every word was like a needle stabbing into my heart. “Calm down first. It’s windy on the deck. I’m taking Chloe back to rest.” With those words, Vincent didn’t spare me another glance. He walked away with his arm around Chloe. He didn’t notice that the second he left, I climbed over the railing and jumped into the pitch-black, freezing ocean without hesitation. As seawater flooded into my nose, I suddenly remembered. Five years ago, when he proposed to me, it was also on a cruise ship like this. He said, “Claire, from now on, even if you want the stars in the sky, I’ll get them for you.” But now, he didn’t even care about the keepsake my mother left me.

Claire Ashford POV It took me all night to crawl out of the freezing seawater. The recovered pocket watch was clutched in my palm. My fingers were stiff from the cold, my lips purple. I staggered onto shore. After just a few steps, everything went black and I lost consciousness. Afterward, I struggled between chaotic dreams and reality. Sometimes I dreamed of my mother’s gentle smile. Sometimes I dreamed of Vincent kneeling under the scorching sun. Sometimes I dreamed of the pocket watch slowly sinking to the ocean floor. When I woke up, the smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils. My whole body was burning with fever. I groggily opened my eyes to see the white ceiling of a hospital. The room was silent. There was no one by my bedside. No Vincent. Not even a nurse. I propped myself up and reached for my phone on the nightstand, wanting to call Vincent. But then I saw a new post Chloe had made on Instagram. The photo’s background was the passenger seat of Vincent’s black Bentley. Chloe’s hand rested on her slightly rounded belly, and on her ring finger was a dazzling diamond ring. The caption was just one sentence: “He said he wants to give me and the baby a home.” I stared at that diamond ring for a long time, until my eyes stung. That was the pink diamond Vincent had won for me at an auction last year. I thought it was too flashy and kept it in the safe. Turns out he’d taken it out and put it on someone else’s hand. I pulled my lips into a smile, wanting to laugh, but only tasted bitterness. I was hospitalized with a high fever for three days. Vincent never came once. No calls. No messages. It was as if I had disappeared from the world. On the day I was discharged, I had the taxi stop at a law office. Two hours later, I walked out with a document. The cover read. Divorce Agreement. That evening, I finally returned to the villa I once thought would be my forever home. As soon as I stepped through the door, I sensed something was off. Several servants were carrying boxes upstairs, new boxes with luxury brand logos. “What are these?” I stopped one of the servants. The servant looked uncomfortable, stammering without answering. “Claire?” Vincent’s voice came from the living room. He walked over quickly, his face wearing its usual gentle smile. He reached to take my bag. “You’re back.” I avoided his hand and asked again, “Whose things are those?” Vincent’s smile froze for a moment, his gaze evasive. “They’re Chloe’s. She only has a few more months until she gives birth. I was worried about her living alone, so I thought I’d have her move in. This way it’s easier to take care of her, and I won’t have to run back and forth between two places.” I looked at him silently. I knew my eyes must have looked like two dry wells at that moment. My silence made him panic. He quickly added, “Claire, don’t overthink it. Chloe’s only staying here for a few months. Once she has the baby, I’ll send her abroad immediately. She’ll never appear in front of us again. I promise.” Promise. I remembered how he’d knelt under the scorching sun and promised he’d never see Chloe Rivers again. I remembered how he’d held my hand and promised that once the child was born, he’d send her away. Now he was promising again. It was only temporary, just for a few months. Every promise came with another boundary crossed. “If you’re really that unhappy,” Vincent said, seeing my continued silence, his tone softening, “I’ll have them throw all this stuff out right now. I won’t let Chloe move in. Okay?” I closed my eyes. After a long moment, I opened them, calm and emotionless. “No need. I agree to let her move in.” What would be the point of refusing anyway? Since he’d already made up his mind, since he’d already brazenly moved Chloe Rivers’ belongings into our home, did my agreement or disagreement even matter to him? It would just mean more coaxing words from him, or another day of kneeling in the sun. Hearing this, Vincent’s face showed obvious relief. He couldn’t help but lean in and kiss my cheek. “I knew it. My Claire is the most understanding and considerate.” That kiss landed on my skin, but I felt like I’d been burned. “By the way,” Vincent said, as if suddenly remembering something, frowning, “where have you been these past few days? I haven’t seen you around. Were you still mad about the watch and hiding from me on purpose?” I looked up at him. He asked so naturally, so innocently, as if he were truly just a husband worried about his wife throwing a tantrum. I was hospitalized with a high fever for three days, and he had no idea. I suddenly remembered a phrase I had read somewhere. When someone doesn’t love you anymore, even if you were hanging from a rope, they would think you were on a swing. I used to think that saying was too harsh. Now I understood. It was all true. “No,” I heard myself say. “I was just tired and wanted some time alone.” Vincent relaxed and put his arm around my shoulders. “That’s good. Tonight I’ll cook your favorite dishes to make it up to you. Okay?”

Claire Ashford POV “Mr. Grey…” Just as Vincent was coaxing me, a soft, timid voice came from the spiral staircase. We both turned. Chloe Rivers stood midway up the stairs in a loose maternity dress, one hand supporting her waist. Vincent immediately released his arm from around me and strode toward the stairs. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell? Why did you come downstairs by yourself?” He quickly climbed the steps and naturally supported Chloe’s arm, his movements gentle, as if handling a fragile treasure. Chloe said softly, “I’m not feeling bad. I just suddenly had a craving for the crème brûlée and chestnut cake from that bakery on the west side of town. Could you send someone to get me some?” “Little glutton.” Vincent’s face showed an indulgent smile. “Wait here. I’ll go get it for you.” Chloe looked flattered. “You’ll go yourself? Isn’t that too much trouble…” “Don’t be silly.” Vincent’s palm covered her slightly swollen belly, his eyes so tender they could melt. “You’re carrying our baby. You’re precious to the Grey family. Running an errand for you, how could that be trouble?” That tender gaze, that protective manner, that picture of sweet happiness. They were like countless fine needles piercing my eyes, making them ache. Vincent helped Chloe settle on the living room sofa, carefully instructing her not to wander around, before turning to get his car keys. As he passed me, he seemed to remember I existed. “Claire, do you want anything? I can bring something back for you too.” “No need.” My voice was flat, emotionless. Vincent nodded. “Alright then. I’ll be back soon. Chloe, call me if you need anything.” That last sentence was directed at the sofa. With that, he grabbed his car keys and left the villa quickly. In the vast living room, only two women remained. I slowly turned around, my gaze falling coldly on Chloe. That look carried scrutiny and a chill that made Chloe shrink, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. I walked toward her step by step. “Miss Ashford.” Chloe looked at me with those doe-like moist eyes, speaking timidly. “Are you going to punish me for the watch? I’m sorry. I really didn’t do it on purpose. The baby really did kick me, and my hand slipped.” “Whether you did it on purpose or not,” I stopped one step away from her, “you know the truth.” Chloe froze, her eyelashes trembling. I stared at her intently. “You’re quite capable, actually managing to make Vincent compete with me for my mother’s keepsake.” Chloe shook her head frantically, tears quickly filling her eyes, threatening to fall. “Miss Ashford, you’re misunderstanding me. If I’d known that pocket watch was so important to you, I never would have dared compete for it.” “Is that so?” “Even though Mr. Grey bought it from you and gave it to me, I know he was just trying to keep me calm so I’d safely deliver the baby and leave as soon as possible.” Her eyes glistened with tears as she choked up. “Mr. Grey treats me well, but I understand he’s doing all this for the child. In his heart, he’s always been thinking of… you.” I laughed coldly. “There are only the two of us here, Chloe Rivers. No matter how well you act, no one’s going to applaud you.” Chloe’s expression stiffened for a moment. “Six months ago, Vincent gave you thirty million and sent you away. But you not only secretly kept his child, you also found a way to let his grandfather, who desperately wanted a great-grandchild, know about it. That forced Vincent to bring you back. You schemed your way back here, moved in, and you claim it’s just to peacefully give birth and then leave?” I said mockingly. “Chloe Rivers, do you even believe that yourself?” I didn’t, anyway. Chloe’s lips moved as if to defend herself, but I took out a document from my bag and handed it to her. “I know exactly what you want,” I said expressionlessly. “I can make it happen for you. But if I ask Vincent for a divorce, he won’t agree. If you can find a way to make him sign this divorce agreement, you’ll get what you want.” Ever since Chloe got pregnant, Vincent had been terrified I’d leave him. He carefully read any document I gave him. Chloe looked uncertain. “Miss Ashford, you really are misunderstanding me. I never wanted to break you and Mr. Grey up…” “This chance only comes once.” My face was cold. “Think carefully before you answer.” Chloe stared at the divorce agreement for a long time. After much hesitation, she bit her lip and reached out to take it. “Then, thank you.”

Claire Ashford POV After Chloe moved into the villa, Vincent’s attention was mostly focused on her. He hired a professional nutritionist to prepare elaborate pregnancy meals for her daily. He read parenting books, learning how to provide prenatal education for the unborn child. Every time Chloe went up or down the stairs, he’d carefully support her, terrified she might bump into something. I saw all of this. But I said nothing. One night, I was jolted awake by a sudden, sharp stomach pain. “Vincent,” I instinctively called his name, my voice weak. “My stomach hurts…” Usually, even if I just coughed, he’d wake up immediately and ask anxiously what was wrong. But this time, there was only silence beside me. Didn’t he hear me? “Vincent.” I called again, reaching toward the other side of the bed. My palm touched the sheets, cold and flat, without a trace of warmth. He wasn’t there. I froze. Just then, a man’s low, gentle voice came faintly from the guest room next door, reading intermittently, “and so, the prince and princess lived happily ever after…” It was Vincent. He was in the guest room next door, reading Chloe a bedtime story. I, his actual wife, was in agony from stomach pain, while he sat by another woman’s bedside, building a fairy-tale world for his pregnant mistress and unborn child. I pulled my lips into a smile, wanting to laugh, but my stomach hurt even more. Even my chest ached with a dull pain. The stomach pain didn’t allow me to think further. Gritting my teeth, I forced my weak body to get up, wanting to go downstairs to find painkillers. Cold sweat soaked my hair. I supported myself against the wall and had just reached the bedroom door when a violent cramping pain struck. Everything went black, and I passed out before I could grab onto anything. When I woke up again, I was back in bed. Vincent was sitting by the bedside. When he saw me open my eyes, he immediately bent down and grasped my hand. “Claire! You’re awake?” He was incredibly anxious, as if terrified. “You collapsed in your room last night. You scared me to death!” I looked at his bloodshot eyes without speaking. “The doctor came by. He said you’ve had irregular eating habits lately, and your stomach condition flared up, causing you to faint from the pain. It’s nothing serious.” He frowned, worried and confused. “But you eat with us every day. How could your eating be irregular?” I lowered my eyes, hiding the self-mockery in them. Recently, all his thoughts were on Chloe and her growing belly. Naturally, he wouldn’t notice that watching him dote on another woman made me lose my appetite completely. I couldn’t eat anything. “It might be because of me.” Chloe appeared at the bedroom door at some point, her face full of guilt. “Miss Ashford is probably still upset about me accidentally dropping the watch. That’s why she can’t eat. It’s all my fault.” Vincent’s brow furrowed deeply. He turned to me. “Claire, Chloe really didn’t do it on purpose. I already talked to her about it. If you’re still bothered by it, I’ll compensate you on her behalf, okay? Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you, as long as you stop being unhappy about this and eat properly.” Compensate again. The word was so absurd it made me want to laugh. Did he think everything could be traded away or smoothed over with “compensation”? Before I could respond, Chloe slowly walked in with a warm smile. “You don’t need to compensate Miss Ashford for me, because I have already obtained something Miss Ashford wants even more.” She handed me a document envelope. Vincent’s gaze was drawn to it. “What is that?” Seeing him curiously reach for the envelope, my heart tightened. I quickly snatched it before he could. I forced a smile. “This is just a little secret between me and Miss Rivers.” Vincent paused, then laughed. “When did you two become so close that you’re keeping secrets from me? You used to tell me everything.” I looked up at him. “Didn’t you also keep it from me that she was five months pregnant before letting me know?”

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As I massaged my half-paralyzed husband, Brandon Carter, a flicker of sensation ran through his left foot. I was ecstatic. I immediately called Dr. Miller for a re-examination. The result came back: “Still nothing. The chances of your husband ever walking again are practically zero.” I gritted my teeth. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of him for the rest of my life.” Tears blurring my vision, I headed to work. Halfway there, I realized I’d forgotten my car keys and had to turn back. Through the crack in the door, I saw Brandon, who was supposed to be confined to his hospital bed. He was standing, pinning Skylar Reed against the wall, kissing her with frenzied abandon. “How much longer do we have to lie to her? Being together always feels so risky, it’s driving me crazy.” “Just a little longer. In a few days, I’ll figure out a way to fake my death. Then, we can take the money and move abroad.” My mind cleared instantly. So, his suicide attempt five years ago had all been a sham. It was just a ploy to escape his company’s debt crisis and spend every waking moment with Skylar. I stood there in silence for a long time, then walked into Dr. Miller’s office. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m stopping my husband’s treatment. Proceed directly with the amputation.”

When I pushed open the door, Brandon was, as usual, pale and frail, huddled in the corner of the bed, his eyes devoid of any life. “The nurse told me you went to bother Dr. Miller again. I’m a cripple, there’s no need to waste medical resources.” He always used to say such disheartening things. On the surface, I’d pretend to be strong and try to cheer him up, but in reality, I’d hide in the bathroom, crying countless times. My hand clenched around the small silver cross I held. My gaze drifted to the trash can. A sickening, sweet odor hit me instantly. Inside, unmistakably, were several freshly used, utterly disgusting condoms. So, Brandon had been putting on an act for me all along. Five years ago, his company failed, leaving him deeply in debt. Creditors hounded him, pushing him to the brink of ‘suicide’ by jumping off a building. No matter how I pleaded, even getting down on my knees, he remained utterly unmoved. He supposedly plummeted from the fifteenth floor, landing in a pile of mud, which left him permanently paralyzed. I, too, suffered from extreme shock and lost our seven-month-old baby. That period was the most helpless and darkest time of my life. During the day, trying to secure orders, I’d force myself to tolerate disgusting, lecherous old men, drinking with them at business dinners. After work, I’d rush to the hospital, trying to talk Brandon out of his constant suicidal urges. Everyone told me to give up. “He blew all his money himself; it has nothing to do with you. You’re young, find someone else and marry them quickly.” “A man who threatens suicide every other day is useless to keep around. Let him go.” Even Brandon’s parents tried to persuade me to leave him. “He’s lost all his fight. Living like this is just torture for him. Don’t push him any further.” But I refused. I gritted my teeth and held on, reaching this point. The company, on the verge of bankruptcy, I brought back from the brink. Whenever I had time, I’d sit by Brandon’s bedside, connecting him with renowned orthopedic specialists from all over the world. The silver cross in my hand was something I’d prayed for him in church. Yet, before I could even offer it, it was met with scorn. “More of this useless junk, trying to guilt-trip me.” In the last few days, his temper had grown increasingly volatile. He snatched the cross from my hand and threw it out the window. Afterward, he hung his head, covering his face with his hands, tears streaming down like a wounded animal whimpering. “Eleanor, if you really love me, just give me a bottle of sleeping pills. I’m tired. I want to sleep forever.” I swallowed the bitter mockery rising within me. His feigned despair was a stark contrast to the man who had been fiercely kissing Skylar against the wall. It made me frown. “I won’t let you die.”

My throat felt like it had been scoured with sandpaper, every word tasting like blood. He’d lied to me for so long. At the very least, I wouldn’t let him die that easily. Leaving the hospital, I wandered aimlessly down the street. There was hurt in my heart, but even more, there was resentment. We’d been together since our school days, from prom night to our wedding day. Right after we graduated from college, he took my hand and we went to the courthouse to get married. In that cramped, damp basement apartment, we spent several happy years. Even when we had to rely on discounted food nearing its expiration date, I never complained, never felt it was a hardship. Then, when he had his ‘accident,’ I used my slender shoulders to prop up the company we had built together. For years, I’d been covering his parents’ expenses and all our daily bills. As a wife and a daughter-in-law, I’d done everything humanly possible, earning praise even from outsiders. To treat Brandon’s legs, I worked three part-time jobs a day, once even collapsing from exhaustion. Looking back now, I was such a fool. Sacrificing myself for a man full of lies—it wasn’t worth it! At ten that night, I returned to the dream home we’d prepared for our marriage. A three-story, beautifully furnished house with a front and back garden. I’d only helped with the decorating and buying furniture, but I’d never spent a single night there. Most of the time, I’d slept in the hospital hallway or on my office sofa. The moment I opened the door, I was stunned to find the interior completely redecorated. The sleek, designer leather sofa was now buried under an assortment of plush toys and stuffed animals. On the table, there was a new set of cartoon couple mugs, one pink, one blue—a sickeningly sweet, mismatched set. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be patient as I walked into the bedroom. Our wedding photos had been taken down and tossed haphazardly into a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust. My clothes were all gone from the walk-in closet. Even my treasured wedding gown, the one I loved most, had been cut into pieces and thrown into the trash. My feet moved uncontrollably to the bed, gazing at the messy, wrinkled sheets. I vaguely guessed what those two had been doing here not long ago. Suppressing my disgust, I fished out a pair of women’s lace panties from between the sofa cushions. No doubt, their activities hadn’t been confined to just the bedroom. Instantly, a surge of bitter bile rose in my stomach. I rushed to the bathroom, clutching the toilet bowl, and vomited for a long time. It was only when my phone rang that I wiped away my tears and answered. My usual butcher called, kindly reminding me. “Ms. Vance, I saved you a prime cut of steak today. Perfect for your husband’s grilled steak. When can you come by the market to pick it up?” My voice was calm. “No need.” The butcher paused, sounding surprised. “That’s not like you. You used to wait in the longest lines to get the freshest beef bones for him. What’s wrong today? You don’t want it, even when it’s ready?” A sharp pang went through me. “I won’t be needing it anymore.” Soon after I hung up, I heard the front door downstairs open. I held my breath, like a thief, and hid inside the empty closet. As the sounds of intertwining moans and whispers grew closer, I peered through the crack and saw Brandon’s face. And, the naked woman in his arms.

Skylar Reed. She was a college acquaintance, two years my junior. Every semester during finals week, she’d always pester me for my class notes to cram for her exams. At first, Brandon actually had a bad impression of her, often complaining to me that she was cutting into our date time. But gradually, things changed. He’d openly compliment Skylar’s dresses, saying she looked so ‘innocently sweet.’ Once, I even walked in on them coming out of the men’s restroom. Skylar was crying, calling him a ‘bad boy’ and complaining that he clearly didn’t know how to treat a lady gently. So, they’d been hooking up since then. About two hours later. Brandon carried Skylar out of the bathroom, one arm around her, and stood by the bed, attentively blow-drying her hair. They fooled around for a while before Skylar playfully pushed his shoulder, pouting dramatically. “It was Leo’s first day of preschool today, and you, his dad, didn’t even show up. Honestly, you’re so useless sometimes.” Brandon pulled her close. “It’s all Ellie’s fault. She always takes forever to leave, wasting so much of our time together as a family.” “Don’t be mad, baby. How about I get you some new jewelry to make up for it?” “What about Leo?” Brandon chuckled, holding up three fingers, swearing solemnly. “For the next week, I’ll handle all the school pickups and drop-offs for Leo. Happy now?” My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, yet I felt no pain, only numb fury. I wondered, how could a person be so shameless? Brandon had been faking his illness for eight years, giving me the cold shoulder for eight years. Yet, behind my back, he and Skylar had even had a child. I’d seen the child before. Brandon’s parents had lied, claiming he was a distant relative’s kid staying with them temporarily. But they doted on him like their own flesh and blood grandson. Every time I went to drop off their allowance, the kid would jump out, deliberately squirting me with a toy water gun, spitting out nasty words like ‘bad lady’ or ‘you stole my daddy.’ Like mother, like son, I thought bitterly. At that moment, Skylar, clearly aroused again, tangled herself around Brandon and they went at it for what felt like hours. Afterward, she smugly cupped his face, her gaze drifting to my wedding photo on the wall. It was a blatant declaration of ownership. “Brandon, do you know why I threw out everything else in this house that belonged to Ellie, but kept that photo?” Brandon smirked, playfully rubbing her small nose. “Are you being naughty again?” “Oh, yes! I want her to see with her own eyes that every unremarkable night, you and I are here in this new house she decorated, entwined, inseparable.” “She got to you before I did, the nerve! When it was clear we were the perfect match.” “Still, seeing her get played for a fool all these years by us? I finally got my sweet revenge.” “Speaking of which, don’t you feel sorry for her? She’s practically withered into an old hag trying to find a cure for you. She’s not even thirty and she’s got huge patches of gray hair and a face full of wrinkles. Honestly, every time I see her, it makes me cringe.” “That was her choice.” Brandon playfully twirled a strand of Skylar’s hair. “I, pretending to be paralyzed, lying in bed, was much more pitiful. Why didn’t you ever feel sorry for me?” “You’re awful.” … The night stretched on, long and dark. Some slept in peaceful embrace, others felt their hearts rip apart.

The next morning, for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t show up at Brandon’s bedside, carrying a warm breakfast. Instead, I leisurely went shopping and treated myself to a few beauty treatments. My once mottled, waist-length hair, streaked with gray, was chopped into a chic, short bob, then dyed a rich chestnut brown. It was sharp and stylish, yet still carried a quiet elegance. The fine lines around my eyes, once etched by relentless exhaustion, were now gently fading, thanks to a hefty dose of self-care. Just like my surging love for Brandon, once gone, it would never return. When I arrived at the hospital entrance, I suddenly didn’t want to go in. Brandon had hurt me too deeply; even seeing him felt superfluous. Just then, my assistant Chloe called urgently. “Ms. Vance, for that overseas construction materials deal, should we still have Mr. Davison, the Vice President, handle it as usual?” In the past, I only wanted to stay by Brandon’s side, hoping that the first person he hugged when he stood up would be me. So, even if sending a VP to sign was unprofessional and would inevitably cost the company almost half its potential profits, I didn’t care. But people grow, don’t they? You have to learn to love yourself first before you can truly decide who else is worthy of that love. This time, I firmly shook my head. “No need. I’ll go myself.” The moment I hung up, I made eye contact with Skylar Reed, who was walking towards me. The atmosphere was awkward for a few seconds. She flashed a sickly sweet smile, chirping, “Ellie, what a coincidence! You’re at the hospital too?” Her feigned surprise was sickening. I had no intention of making small talk and turned to leave. But Skylar raised an eyebrow, blocking my path. Then, she deliberately let slip a crumpled ultrasound report from her hand. “Ellie, I’m pregnant and can’t bend over. Could you pick that up for me?” I remained unmoved, my gaze fixed on her abdomen, my breathing tight. “Pregnant so soon? And where’s the baby’s daddy?” Skylar touched her belly with a blissful expression, smiling sweetly. “This is our second baby. His dad is overjoyed! Even though he can’t always be with me and Leo, his love is always there.” “He bought us several houses, and even set up a trust fund of billions for both kids. Oh, and tonight’s city-wide fireworks display? That’s what his dad arranged to cheer me up. He always says women are born to be pampered.” Skylar gushed, her hands animated with excitement. She paused for a second, then looked at me with a sympathetic expression. “I’m so sorry, Ellie, I brought up your sore spot. Brandon’s been sick for so long, you must be so lonely, aren’t you?” I forced a smile, my voice flat. “I’ve arranged a new treatment plan for him recently. He’ll be able to stand up soon. I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.” “Really? Well, congratulations then.” She sneered as she walked past me. Before boarding the plane, I called Brandon. “Brandon, I won’t be able to stay with you for the next week. Company business needs me.” He’d always been a reserved man, but after his ‘illness,’ he’d become even more quiet and withdrawn. Now, though, his voice was filled with joy and excitement. “Took you long enough to get smart. You should have given up on me and focused on work ages ago, Ellie. Honestly, I always preferred you as a fierce, capable businesswoman.” I chuckled. “Alright, then I’ll live up to your expectations—a formidable businesswoman, undisturbed by trivial matters. But you have to promise me one thing.” “What is it?” His excited tone quickly flattened, morphing back into his familiar, impatient drawl. “I’ve arranged the latest treatment plan for you. Next week, will you cooperate with the doctor obediently? There’s a pre-surgical agreement; remember to sign it later.”

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Ethan Thorne spent over a million dollars customizing a vintage wedding dress for me from Paris, saying I’d wear it on our wedding day. He called it a once-in-a-lifetime romantic gesture, promising me the perfect dream. But when I tried it on, I couldn’t even zip it up. The waist was a size too big, yet the bust felt suffocatingly tight. I thought the designer had mixed up the measurements and flipped up the skirt to find the tag. That’s when I noticed a few words embroidered in silver thread on the delicate tulle closest to the heart. [Sera, forever.] I thought it was a romantic blessing from the French designer. Until I scrolled past a ballerina on Instagram. She was wearing the prototype of this very wedding dress, with a caption that read: [Thank you. Even if I’m not the bride, you hid my name in the place closest to your heart.] And her ID was “Sera.” I calmly took off the million-dollar wedding dress. I’m not getting married. The custom haute couture wedding dress, air-freighted from Paris, hung in the most prominent spot in the VIP fitting room. Layers upon layers of silk chiffon, embedded with thousands of hand-sewn Swarovski crystals. Under the lights, it shimmered and sparkled, like an ethereal dream. The store manager, along with three assistants, carefully helped me put it on. “Miss Hayes, Mr. Thorne really outdid himself for you. He oversaw everything from design to final fitting, even personally selecting the lace pattern.” The manager sighed with envy as she adjusted my skirt. I looked at myself in the mirror, but a frown creased my brow. “The zipper won’t go up.” An assistant struggled for a long time behind me, sweat beading on her forehead. “Miss Hayes, have you gained a little weight recently? The waist is quite loose, but the bust and back are really too tight.” I didn’t say anything. My weight hadn’t changed much in years. I’d had a physical last week, and it was exactly the same. My figure had always been standard, but the cut of this dress was clearly for an extremely slender, almost flat-chested girl. “Maybe I haven’t rested well these past few days; I feel a little swollen,” I offered a casual excuse. “In that case, please take it off, and we’ll have the tailor add a bit of allowance.” The assistants helped me out of the dress. The heavy skirt piled onto the carpet. As I bent to lift the hem, my fingers inadvertently brushed against the sheer fabric on the inside of the bodice. There was a slight protrusion. I thought it was a loose thread, but when I flipped it over, I froze. In the spot closest to the heart, a line of words was intricately embroidered with incredibly subtle silver thread. [Sera, forever.] The silver thread gleamed with a cold, piercing light under the cool white lamps. “Miss Hayes, what’s wrong?” The manager noticed my changed expression and leaned in to look. “Oh, was this something Mr. Thorne specifically requested? Young couples these days love this kind of exclusive romance, embroidering each other’s names or vows into the wedding dress.” The manager smiled, a hint of suggestive amusement in her eyes. I didn’t smile. My name is Aurora Hayes. Ethan usually called me Rory, or my full name. Who was Sera? I clutched the tulle, my fingertips turning white. “I’m not trying it on anymore.” I let go, allowing the million-dollar wedding dress to fall to the floor. “Miss Hayes? We haven’t even altered the size yet…” “No need to.” I changed back into my regular clothes, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the bridal shop without looking back. Sitting in my car, I didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, I pulled out my phone and typed “Sera” into Instagram’s search bar. In the age of big data, no secret can stay hidden. Especially not when Ethan Thorne’s social circle was so small. After just a few pages, an account verified as a “Young Ballerina” popped up. The profile picture was the back of a woman in a white swan ballet tutu. Account ID: Sera. I clicked on her profile. The top pinned video was posted a week ago. In the video, she was dancing gracefully in a rehearsal room, wearing an initial prototype almost identical to the haute couture wedding dress I had just tried on. Because it was a sample, it wasn’t encrusted with crystals, but the cut, style, and even the direction of the lace were exactly the same. She was incredibly slender, with a flat chest and a delicate waist. The dress fit her perfectly, seamlessly, as if it were a second skin. The video’s caption read: [He said he would make my dream a reality. Thank you. Even if I’m not the bride, you hid my name in the place closest to your heart.] A comment below asked: [Wow! Such a beautiful wedding dress! Are you getting married?] Sera replied: [No, it’s a gift from a very important person. Unfortunately, I can’t wear it to walk towards him.] I stared at the screen, a sudden wave of nausea washing over me. Three years. I’d been with Ethan Thorne for three years. I thought I was his carefully chosen fiancée. It turned out I was just a stand-in, forced to wear someone else’s hand-me-down wedding dress. A stand-in who didn’t even fit the dimensions.

I drove home. This apartment, located downtown, was the wedding home Ethan had bought. Opening the door, I was met with a panorama of black, white, and gray. Hard, cold marble floors, a black leather sofa, and a minimalist metal coffee table utterly devoid of any warmth. Before we moved in, I’d enthusiastically shown him soft furnishing catalogs. I’d said I wanted a cream-colored fabric sofa, a fluffy rug in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a few brightly colored oil paintings. Ethan had looked up from his computer, his brow slightly furrowed. “Rory, those things are too cluttered, too tacky. A home needs quality, not cheap coziness.” I compromised. Over three years, I had compromised countless times. I thought it was just his occupational hazard as a CEO, accustomed to rigidity and efficiency. Now that I thought about it, it wasn’t that at all. I walked to the living room’s floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the gray sky. The lock chimed. Ethan was back. He wore a impeccably tailored suit, his tie loosened slightly, his eyes holding their usual fatigue and indifference. “How was the wedding dress fitting?” He asked casually as he changed his shoes. “It didn’t fit,” I turned to face him. “What didn’t fit?” He walked to the island counter and poured himself a glass of ice water. “The size was wrong. The waist was too big, the bust too tight.” Ethan paused his drinking, then frowned. “That was cut by the Paris atelier according to the golden ratio. Have you been slacking on your workouts lately, is your posture off? Haute couture is about the person adapting to the dress, not the dress adapting to the person.” His tone was condescending, lecturing. The person adapting to the dress. I suddenly felt like laughing. “Really? Because I feel like that dress wasn’t tailored for me to begin with.” Ethan put down his water glass, his gaze hardening. “Aurora, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? That wedding dress cost me $1.2 million; do you know how much effort I put in to get the chief designer to rush it? Can’t you be more reasonable?” “Reasonable?” I looked at the face I had loved for three years. He was handsome, wealthy, and in outsiders’ eyes, a flawless fiancé. But at this moment, I only felt a profound unfamiliarity. “Ethan, was ‘Sera’ embroidered inside the dress part of the golden ratio?” The living room fell silent. Ethan’s pupils constricted, and the muscles in his jawline tensed sharply. But he quickly regained his composure, his voice not even wavering. “You saw it.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “Yes, I saw it,” I stared into his eyes. “Aren’t you going to explain?” Ethan quirked his lips, a look of extremely perfunctory helplessness. “That’s just a friend. The initial design draft of this dress was something I drew many years ago to help her achieve a stage dream. With the wedding approaching quickly, I just used that old draft. The words? The studio messed up, thinking it was the bride’s name. I’ve already had someone sent to remove it.” “A friend?” I took a step closer to him. “A friend whose name you need to embroider on your fiancée’s wedding dress, closest to her heart?” “Aurora!” He raised his voice, clearly losing patience. “I told you, the studio made a mistake! Do you have to be so petty about a trivial matter? The invitations have already been sent, the wedding venue booked. Are you trying to make us a laughingstock by pulling this stunt now?” He was always like this. Whenever I questioned him, he’d label me “unreasonable” or “petty.” As if I was always the one at fault. He sighed, pulled a velvet box from his pocket, and held it out to me. “Alright, don’t be mad anymore. I passed an auction house today, and this necklace looked perfect for you, so I bought it. Consider it my apology.” I didn’t take it. The box was open. Inside lay an incredibly luminous South Sea pearl necklace. I looked at the pearls and said softly, “Ethan, I’m allergic to pearls; they make my neck break out in a rash. I’ve told you three times.” Ethan’s hand froze mid-air. A flicker of panic finally crossed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I… I’ve been so busy lately, I got it mixed up.” “Got it mixed up?” I curled my lips. “Did you get it mixed up, or did you subconsciously think the person standing here should be Sera, the one who loves pearls?” In every one of Sera’s photos, she wore pearls around her neck. Ethan slammed the box shut, his face turning ashen. “Aurora, you’re being utterly unreasonable!” He turned and walked towards his study, slamming the door shut with a bang. I stood in the empty living room, not shedding a single tear. My heart had simply died. When all the details came together, the truth was often uglier than imagined.

The next day, Ethan went to the office. I didn’t go to work. I walked to the study door and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. Ethan had a habit: he didn’t like anyone touching his things, especially the safe at the very bottom of his desk. He said it contained the company’s core secrets. I used to believe him implicitly, even carefully avoiding it when I cleaned. But today, I wanted to open it. I knelt in front of the safe, looking at the keypad. Six digits. I typed in my birthday. A red light blinked; incorrect password. I typed in our anniversary. Incorrect password. I typed in Ethan’s own birthday. Still incorrect. I paused for a long time, my finger hovering, trembling slightly. Then, I took out my phone and pulled up Sera’s account. Two years ago, she had posted a birthday video; the date was October 27th. I took a deep breath and pressed 102799 (she was born in ‘99). Click. A green light illuminated, and the heavy metal door sprang open. In that instant, I felt something inside me shatter. Inside the safe, there were no company confidential documents. No multi-million dollar contracts. Only a few exquisitely crafted storage boxes. I opened the first box. Inside was a thick stack of ballet performance tickets. Every single one was for Sera’s performances. The dates ranged from three years ago all the way up to last month. On the 15th of last month, Ethan told me he was going to London for a business trip to discuss a crucial merger. But the location on that ticket was the Paris Opera House. I opened the second box. Inside was a thick stack of boarding passes. Ethan’s name and Sera’s name were printed side-by-side. Destinations spanned the globe. I thought he was working hard for our future, countless nights I worried about his exhaustion. It turned out he was just traveling the world with another woman. The last box contained a sketchbook. I opened it. Inside were all his hand-drawn designs. Wedding dresses, evening gowns, everyday wear. The bottom right corner of each one read: [To my little swan, Sera.] The very last drawing was of that million-dollar haute couture wedding dress. The note beside it read: [Waist 23 inches, Bust 31.5 inches. She’s too thin; add a few layers of silk so it doesn’t look flimsy.] My waist was 25 inches, my bust 34.5 inches. No wonder I couldn’t wear it. No wonder he thought I was “lacking exercise.” I put everything back into the safe exactly as I found it and closed the door. When I stood up, my vision blurred, and I had to hold onto the desk for a long time to steady myself. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. I thought I was the most intimate person in his life. It turned out I didn’t even have the right to enter the most secret corners of his heart. I was just a shield. A perfect fiancée he used to appease his parents and the outside world when he couldn’t openly marry Sera. I pulled out my phone and called my best friend, Chloe Green. “Chloe, are you free for lunch? Let’s meet up.” “What’s wrong? Your voice is so hoarse, do you have a cold?” “No,” I looked at the sunlight outside the window. “I just feel like it’s time for me to wake up.”

Chloe and I met at a discreet coffee shop. After hearing my story, Chloe was so furious she almost crushed her coffee cup. “That jerk, Ethan! How dare he?!” Chloe suddenly stood up, drawing glances from people around us. I tugged at her sleeve. “Sit down, don’t get so worked up.” “How can I not get worked up?!” Chloe lowered her voice, her eyes red. “Aurora, how have you been surviving these past three years? You even gave up your beloved design career for him! You willingly went to his company to be an uncredited ghost designer. Which of his new brand ‘Thorne’s’ hit products wasn’t something you stayed up all night drawing? How dare he treat you like this?!” She was right. I used to be an award-winning new designer. When Ethan was starting his business, his funding ran out, and he couldn’t afford good designers. Without a second thought, I resigned from my high-paying job and joined his company. To avoid suspicion and not overshadow him, none of my designs were ever credited. The outside world thought Ethan Thorne was a business prodigy and a design genius. Only I knew that those stunning works were born from my tireless efforts, stroke by stroke. “Chloe, crying won’t help,” I stirred my coffee, my eyes as cold as ice. “I didn’t ask you to meet me today to cry.” Chloe paused, looking at me. “Then what do you plan to do? Break off the engagement just like that? That’s letting those two off easy!” “The engagement is definitely off,” I put down my spoon. “But I’m not letting him off easy.” “How so?” “The wedding venue is the top hotel in the city, the deposit was fifty thousand. That wedding dress, $1.2 million. And other miscellaneous preparation costs, it all adds up to nearly two hundred thousand.” I looked at Chloe. “All that money came from my parents.” Ethan had said his company was having cash flow problems, and my parents, feeling sorry for me, had pulled out their life savings without hesitation. “If I unilaterally announce the breakup now, according to the contract, none of those deposits will be refunded.” Chloe gasped. “Damn it, he used your parents’ money to make a wedding dress for his ‘white moonlight’?!” “Exactly. So, I need evidence,” I calmly analyzed. “I need to prove that he was at fault first, that he violated the principle of fidelity in our engagement. Only then can I, through a lawyer, get all that money back, down to the last penny.” Not only that. I also wanted to reclaim everything that belonged to me. My designs, my hard work, my dignity. Chloe looked at me, her anger slowly turning to heartache. “Aurora, you’ve changed.” “People always have to grow up,” I smiled faintly. “I used to think love could sustain you, but now I realize that money and a career are the most reliable things.” “What do you need me to do?” Chloe asked without hesitation. “Help me contact the best lawyer in the city for divorce and contract disputes,” I looked at her. “The tougher, the better.” “No problem. Leave it to me.” After parting ways with Chloe, I didn’t go home. Instead, I went to a shopping mall. I bought several sets of brightly colored clothes. Red, bright yellow, royal blue. I threw all those black, white, and gray clothes into the trash. Ethan loved minimalism. But I, Aurora Hayes, was born to love passion and vibrancy.

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Married for five years, Mark was, according to everyone on my X feed, the perfect husband. He never missed an anniversary, always with a surprise. Others envied me, but only I knew the truth. Those expensive gifts everyone raved about? All from some resale site. I used to think he was just frugal. Until one day, on a sudden impulse, I logged into his resale account. The transaction history showed the seller was his ex-girlfriend. It turned out the gifts I cherished were just discards Christina didn’t care for. In that moment, five years of deep affection became nothing but a cruel joke. I finally woke up. All his tenderness, all his love, had never truly been for me. He had never let go of his past. And I? I was just a subscription, a way for him to renew their love. My blood ran cold, phone clutched in my hand. The seller in the transaction history was always his ex-girlfriend’s name. Christina. My finger trembled as I scrolled and clicked on the link for the ring from five years ago. The product description clearly stated: “Engagement ring from ex-boyfriend, selling after breakup. Initials engraved on the inside. Please consider before purchasing.” My heart clenched. Unwilling to give up, I took off the wedding ring I wore every day and rubbed its inner surface repeatedly. Finally, in the most hidden corner, I felt the tiny engraving. It was her initials. This wedding ring had been with me for five years of marriage. I treasured it so much I’d carefully take it off and put it away even when washing my hands. Actually, the size wasn’t quite right. Once, it slipped off and got lost while skiing. I searched on my own in the snow all night. My hands and feet got frostbitten, and I almost needed an amputation. It turned out, all those promises of a lifetime, they were just scraps from someone else’s table. I flipped through the records. Christina had specified the origin of each item in the product details: “Selling unused items after breakup, gifts from an ex.” My pajamas from our wedding night? Her old clothes. All those exquisite pieces of jewelry, those designer bags over the years… Every seemingly thoughtful gift was just a witness to his story with another woman. I stood there, phone in hand, fingers icy. I asked him in a choked voice, as he stepped out of the bathroom: “Are all the gifts you’ve given me secondhand?” He casually looked up, drying his hair, his tone candid and indifferent: “Gifts are about the thought, and secondhand items are just as good. No need to waste money.” “Don’t be so materialistic like other women.” He thought I cared about the price, but he didn’t realize what sickened me was being a substitute, a cheap replacement, from start to finish. I finally couldn’t hold back the tears. “Why would you re-gift things you gave to Christina, to me?” He paused, his gaze flickered away. “She sold them at a good price, and the channel was verified…” “Christina and I are in the past. Can you stop being so dramatic?” I looked at him, utterly disbelieving, tears streaming down my face. “You bought back your ex-girlfriend’s engagement ring and gave it to me as my wedding ring, and I’m being dramatic?” He frowned. “Is a ring she’s worn not a ring anymore?” “Alright, I’m tired from work. Do you have to cause a scene over something so trivial?” Every word dripped with impatience and accusation. I watched him turn his back to me and fall asleep. My heart felt like it was being strangled by that ring, the pain so intense I couldn’t breathe.

Using that unique ID, I easily tracked down all of Christina’s social media accounts. Following the digital breadcrumbs, I found her long-inactive Ins account. It hadn’t been updated in years, but it was still linked to that familiar profile picture – Mark’s account. Her posts were, predictably, restricted. I thought for a moment, typed in Christina’s publicly listed birthday from her other social media and, just like that, it unlocked. It was packed with all of his and her past. In five years of marriage, Mark had never posted a single picture of me on X. Even on the day Harry was born, he posted “Grateful for the miracle of life,” but the accompanying picture was just a random stock photo he’d downloaded. But in this restricted feed, he posted Christina’s pictures for every holiday. She looked vibrant and full of life through his lens. Drooling in her sleep, getting ice cream on her nose, laughing so hard she had a double chin, crying with tears and snot running down her face… Anyone could see he was madly in love with her, every single expression. Unlike me, when I cried, he would just calmly say, “Wipe it off. You don’t look good like that.” There were several videos from when they were deeply in love saved in the album. He’d call her in a soft, doting voice, “My darling.” And me? From dating to marriage, he always just called me by my name. He never called me “darling.” I used to think he was just reserved, not good at expressing himself. But it was only because every time he said it, it felt like he was calling someone else. Unable to stop trembling, I shook him awake. “Mark,” I heard my voice, broken. “Can you call me ‘darling’ just once?” His sleepy eyes instantly cleared, his pupils constricted. He still couldn’t say it. He just whispered, “Stop it, go back to sleep.” I closed my eyes, my heart utterly disheartened.

The next day, Mark came home from work and immediately zoned out on the couch. Every day after work, he would sit there for ten minutes. Silent, no phone, no TV. I once thought it was just his way of relaxing. It was only today, looking at his empty, distant gaze, that I understood: his body was here with me, but his mind was miles away. A chill snaked up my spine, my voice dry. I blurted out: “Mark, who are you thinking about right now?” “Is it Christina?” His face instantly changed. “Are you done or not?!” “She’s getting married soon, why can’t you just let it go already?!” With that, he got up, grabbed his jacket, and slammed the door shut. A loud “BANG” echoed through the living room. His phone, which had slipped from his pocket, lay quietly in the couch cushion. I couldn’t help but reach for it and unlock it. The WhatsApp interface was open to his chat with Christina. The messages were frequent, especially recently, with her wedding approaching. Mark was bustling around, a hundred times more invested than he ever was for our wedding. He helped her pick out wedding dresses, finalize the hotel menu, and even painstakingly reviewed the wording for the invitations. When we got married, his best man helped him choose his own suit. Scrolling further up their chat history, I felt like a beggar who had stumbled into a lavish feast, utterly out of place. His messages to me were always the same few things: “Working late tonight.” “Okay.” “Alright.” I used to think he just had a bland personality, not good at online communication. Every time I shared a pretty cloud, a cute dog, or a funny meme with him, he never replied. But it turned out he forwarded all of those to her. They could chat back and forth for ages, even about trivial things like “The pork chop for lunch today was really good.” His capacity for emotional connection was always there; he just never shared a single ounce of it with me. I remembered when Christina lost her job. He pulled every string to get her into his own company, with a salary even higher than mine. I was fresh back in the workforce after having Harry, suffocating from the office politics, and I begged him to help me transfer. He coldly refused: “I’m just helping a friend; there’s nothing more to it. You’re my wife, I need to keep things professional.” Christina cried in the breakroom, red-eyed, because her boss was giving her a hard time. When Mark found out, he stormed into the office and ripped that boss a new one, almost getting physical. Then he transferred her to work directly under him. But when my boss publicly humiliated me, and I came home crying for help. He just shrugged it off, still playing his game: “Isn’t that just how workplaces are? Just deal with it.” I couldn’t help but say, “He said some really nasty things.” He didn’t even look up: “You’re just too sensitive.” My heart sank further and further, dropping into an icy pit. I looked at our son playing. His little face, so much like Mark’s, made the pain almost unbearable, choking me. Where was I supposed to go from here?

On Christina’s wedding day, Mark went to help set up the venue at 3 AM. Harry suddenly started convulsing with a fever. I rushed out of the house, clutching my burning hot child, calling Mark dozens of times on the way, but he never answered. I handled the registration, the payments, held Harry’s eyes closed for his shots… all by myself. Tears mixed with sweat streamed down my face. It wasn’t until evening that I saw a photo on a mutual friend’s X (Twitter) feed. During the ring exchange, I saw a familiar figure in a suit standing among the guests. Just from his silhouette, I knew it was him, and he was crying. Meanwhile, on my phone, there was a message from him, sent just hours earlier: “If the kid has a fever, just take him to the hospital. I’m not a doctor.” In that moment, I could no longer deceive myself. For these five years, I was just a placeholder. Right after we got married, Christina lost a big investment and racked up debt. She called, weeping. Mark transferred two hundred thousand dollars without a second thought. That money was supposed to be our wedding gift fund, the down payment for our house. When I questioned him, he retorted, with a defiant air: “She’s in trouble and she came to me, what was I supposed to do?” Later, looking at his bank statements, I realized it wasn’t the first time. She opened a business, and he provided the startup capital. She bought a car, and he was the guarantor. Even her utility bills were being paid from his card. Yet for five years of our marriage, he always claimed he was “short on cash,” and we even skipped our honeymoon. One night, she called late, saying her boyfriend was out of town, and the power was out, making her scared. Mark got dressed and left immediately. I blocked his way at the door: “She’s almost thirty, and she’s afraid of the dark?” He pushed me aside: “You don’t understand, she has anxiety. If it gets bad, something could happen.” Later, I learned her so-called “anxiety” was just being unable to sleep alone. During my postpartum depression, I spent half a year sleepless, crying all night, standing on the balcony and thinking of jumping. He only had one cold line: “Are you just bored?” My heart truly died. In those five years, my light was never lit. He poured everything into ensuring her happiness, so I would grant him his “deep affection” for her. I called my lawyer, my voice calm: “Please draft a divorce agreement for me.”

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