Category: English

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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The day my brother, Gordon, was recognized by the wealthy William family and taken back, he knelt, his eyes red-rimmed, begging his parents: “Audrey is my only family. If she doesn’t come with me, I won’t go back.” In the end, his parents had no choice but to bring me back to the William household with him. When we first arrived, Scarlett, the fake heir who had lived in their place for over a decade, constantly targeted both Gordon and me. Gordon initially always stood by me, protecting me. But later, he gradually fell for Scarlett. “You should be more cheerful, like Scarlett. Why don’t you ever even smile?” Later still, he even forgot my birthday. I didn’t make a fuss, quietly baking a cake for myself. But as soon as I finished, he gave my birthday cake to Scarlett. “Scarlett’s cake got ruined on the way. Just give her this one.” I was so upset I didn’t speak a word all night. Seeing my mood, he looked annoyed, “Are you giving me attitude just because of a cake? Why didn’t you just say no earlier if you didn’t want to?” Scarlett pouted: “I told you before that Audrey is petty, but you wouldn’t believe me. I really don’t know why you brought this burden back.” This time, Gordon didn’t argue. Turns out, even he now thought I was a burden.

The cake I had painstakingly made for four hours was completely ruined, all messed up with forks. My name, which I had carefully spelled out with dried blueberries, was scooped out whole, smeared together with the cream-covered “Happy Birthday” card. Scarlett took a bite and threw it directly into the trash can. “What is this disgusting thing? It’s awful, so much worse than what our Michelin chef makes!” “You’re just picky.” Gordon complained, but his eyes were full of indulgence. “If you can’t eat it, just throw it away. I’ll have Kate make you another one.” “Okay, then it has to say in cream, ‘Gordon will be Scarlett’s dog for life’!” “Who told you to steal Mom and Dad’s love the moment you came back, and always go against me for this burden!” Gordon, who used to be completely at odds with Scarlett and couldn’t stand anyone calling me a “burden,” had no reaction this time. He just smiled, ruffled Scarlett’s head, and said helplessly: “Alright, alright, you win, it’s all my fault, okay?” They were intimate, as if no one else was around, making me feel like an outsider. In truth, being an outsider wasn’t wrong. Gordon was Anthony and Vivian’s biological son, who had been separated from them. Scarlett, though swapped at birth, had grown up in luxury in the William home, already forming deep bonds with Anthony and Vivian. The day Gordon was reunited with his birth parents, they couldn’t bear to send Scarlett away. From beginning to end, they were a family. I was the only extra one. I woke up this morning and saw Gordon’s Instagram post about him and Scarlett at the amusement park. I knew then that he had forgotten my birthday again. But even though I no longer wished for him to celebrate my birthday with me, why couldn’t I even keep a cake? The tears still couldn’t be held back, falling one by one to the floor. Gordon frowned, instinctively reaching out to wipe my tears as he used to. “What are you crying about?” Scarlett, however, suddenly let out a mocking laugh: “He just ate your cake, is that really worth all this drama? You’ve been giving him attitude all evening!” “I guess all your usual good behavior was just an act.” “Gordon, you spoil her too much, that’s why she’s become so demanding.” Gordon’s hand paused, then he pulled it back, his expression fading. “This isn’t your old home. You eat and live at the William family’s expense, it’s just a cake. Don’t be so petty.” Seeing the impatience in his eyes, my heart went cold. The day Gordon was taken back by the William family, I didn’t sleep all night. I was happy for him, but also vaguely afraid of being left behind. Noticing my emotions, he held me, promising again and again: “I will never abandon Audrey. From now on, my home is your home.” But now, he said, “This isn’t your old home.” In his heart, I didn’t know when, but I had already become a burden. “I understand.” I nodded vaguely, hearing my own voice tremble: “Gordon, I think I’ll move out after all.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes: “You make it sound like living in the William house is a hardship for you. No princess life, but acting like a spoiled princess!” “Now you’re trying to get attention this way.” Gordon’s face darkened. “What are you throwing a tantrum for?” I said softly, “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I just think dorm life would be better for my studies.” But Gordon’s tightly furrowed brow didn’t loosen: “I know you. Why now? Why not before? You’re just mad about that cake, aren’t you?” “Fine. If you really want a cake, I’ll have the kitchen whip one up for you in a bit.” After saying that, he didn’t bother with me anymore, instead laughing as he used a tissue to wipe a bit of cream from the corner of Scarlett’s mouth. “Still acting like a kid, getting cake all over your face.” “In Mom and Dad’s eyes, I’m their baby who never grows up. Got a problem with that?” “Alright, alright, you’re their baby who never grows up.” I couldn’t stand it anymore and silently went upstairs. After applying for dorm accommodation with my teacher, I looked at the carefully arranged room, a little lost in thought. The expensive and exquisite teddy bear on the bed, the valuable orchids on the window frame, the delicate bookshelf on the top shelf within reach, the soothing night light on the bedside table… Each item was something Gordon had carefully arranged for me when I first arrived at the William home. Even the room’s layout had been specially renovated to match my old room at home, fearing I wouldn’t get used to it. He had said: “This will be our home from now on. Our family was poor before, and I couldn’t even afford to buy you a proper bookshelf.” “Now that we have the means, I want to give you the best. I won’t let you suffer any more hardships.” How happy I was then. We moved into a big house we’d never dared to dream of; No longer worried daily about utility bills and daily expenses; No longer afraid that the roof would leak on a rainy day, or that the house would be flooded when we woke up. Gordon also wouldn’t have to work tirelessly day and night, scrambling to save up for my tuition. I thought everything was finally going to get better. But I never imagined that all of this would ultimately cost me him. A sudden knock on the door. When I opened it, a beautifully wrapped cake box suddenly appeared before me. Gordon peeked out from behind it. “Happy Birthday, Audrey!” Meeting my still red eyes, a flicker of guilt crossed his face: “Sorry, I just remembered it’s your birthday today.” For a moment, I thought I saw the brother who once had eyes only for me. I held the cake that had been placed in my arms, like a traveler almost frozen stiff in the harsh winter suddenly encountering a warm fire. I followed him into the room, my heart wavering uncontrollably. But that flicker of hope shattered again the moment I opened the cake box and saw it packed with mangoes. My lips trembled as I whispered, “Gordon, did you forget? I’m allergic to mangoes.” Gordon’s brows instantly furrowed at my words. For a long time afterward, I couldn’t forget the way he looked at me then. It was the look someone gives something troublesome.

Gordon “tsk”-ed, annoyed, “You should’ve mentioned if you couldn’t eat something, otherwise it’s a waste.” With that, he picked out all the mangoes from the cake one by one and pushed the remaining cake back toward me. “Scarlett specifically asked Kate to make this cake to apologize to you.” “She saw you liked orchids and specially emphasized an orchid design, thinking you’d like it.” “Her words can be harsh sometimes, but she’s actually soft-hearted. You should at least eat a little, or she’ll be sad.” My throat tightened. I didn’t even notice my fingernails digging into my flesh, drawing blood, as I murmured, “But I’m allergic to mangoes.” Gordon said impatiently, “That’s why I picked them out, right? Just eating a little won’t hurt.” Just then, Scarlett suddenly pushed the door open: “Audrey isn’t going to dislike the cake I had Kate make, is she? It takes this long to coax someone, she’s too high-maintenance!” Before I could say anything, Gordon spoke first: “It’s your gesture of goodwill, she’ll like it whether she wants to or not.” “Good! Once you’re done coaxing her, come downstairs! I wasn’t happy with the designs on the first few cakes Kate made, come help me finish them!” Gordon laughed, scolding, “Are you treating me like a trash can?” “No way! I think of you as my best brother, okay?” Gordon’s body stiffened. “You only call me ‘brother’ when you need something. I really owe you.” He said that, but his joy was practically overflowing. It turned out he really was just out of patience with me. If it were Scarlett, he wouldn’t think it was a waste, and just her calling him “brother” could make him so happy. Now, it seemed, no matter what I did, it only annoyed him. The next day, I quietly moved out of the William home and into the school dorms. I squeezed out only a little time for sleep each day. All my waking hours were spent either furiously studying or working multiple part-time jobs. This feeling of being swamped kept me from thinking about anything else. Until one day Gordon called me. As soon as I answered, I was met with a barrage of questions and accusations: “Audrey, why haven’t you come home yet?” “You used to be so sensible, and now you’re staying out all night!” I said softly, “I told you before, I’m living at school.” “Who gave you permission? Are you all grown up now, starting your late rebellion? Get back here now!” I remained silent. He waited for a moment and, getting no answer, laughed in anger: “Fine, then don’t ever come back! I’d like to see how tough you can be!” For the next while, I diligently attended classes, studied, and worked. As the SAT approached, I started to feel like things were finally falling into place. Three days before the SAT, Gordon suddenly called me. His voice was hoarse on the phone, tinged with a rare weariness: “Audrey, I’m in the hospital right now.” “You haven’t been home in a long time. I want to see you.” I instinctively gripped my phone tighter. Since his heart had gradually drifted towards Scarlett, this was the first time he had softened his tone and tried to make peace with me. Thinking of the early admission notification I had just received, and the money I had saved up during this time—enough for me to live independently. I hesitated for a long time before finally saying, “Okay.” This might be our last meeting, and I didn’t want to leave with any regrets. I wanted to tell him I got into a northern school. That I wouldn’t be a burden to him anymore, and I wouldn’t bother him again. But I never expected that when I rushed to the hospital and pushed open the door, I’d be greeted by a heavy slap across the face.

A strange woman, Brenda, lunged at me like a madwoman, punching and kicking me, tearing at my hair. “It was you who deliberately put a needle in her pencil case, making her cut her hand!” “The SAT is in two days! If she hadn’t found it in time and wasn’t seriously injured, my daughter’s life would have been ruined by you!” “You’re only eighteen, how can you be so vicious!” I struggled free from her, bewildered. “It wasn’t me, I don’t even know your daughter!” “Audrey, you’re still trying to argue! I saw you put a needle in her pencil case myself!” Scarlett suddenly stepped out from behind Brenda, pointing at me confidently. My face instantly went cold: “Why would I put a needle in her pencil case? You have no evidence, how dare you accuse me without proof?” “Who said there’s no evidence?” The moment I heard Gordon’s voice, my blood ran cold. He held up his phone and played a video. Due to the camera angle, the footage showed me discreetly walking to a classmate’s desk and seemingly putting something into their pencil case. I suddenly remembered that was me helping a teacher from the next class give a prize to their top-performing student. It was a pen, not a needle. But my explanation only earned me a retort from Brenda: “Scarlett saw it with her own eyes! We have witnesses and evidence, and you still won’t admit it!” I turned to Gordon, gritting my teeth as I asked him, “Did you see it with your own eyes too?” Gordon avoided my gaze, remaining silent for a long time, then his voice came out hoarse: “Audrey, you’re usually so jealous and always targeting Scarlett, but I never expected you to harm a classmate. I’m very disappointed in you.” I looked at him, unable to believe it. That sentence, without a doubt, confirmed that I had maliciously assaulted someone. “How can a school teach a monster like you! I’m going to expose you to your school and let everyone know what kind of person you are!” Brenda stormed out, slamming the door. I looked at Gordon, trembling uncontrollably. “Why?” He clenched his fists, his eyes filled with complex emotions, and whispered: “Audrey, Scarlett didn’t mean for it to get this big. She didn’t expect a joke to cause so much trouble.” “If Mom and Dad knew, they would be so disappointed in her. She’s used to being proud, and this is the first time I’ve seen her cry so sadly and fearfully.” By the end, his voice was even tinged with tenderness. I stared at him intently, word for word: “So you deliberately pretended to be weak to get me to come all this way, just so I could take the blame for Scarlett?” His breath hitched, and he spoke with difficulty: “I’ve already secured a fallback plan for you, nothing bad will happen to you.” The last bit of hope in my heart shattered. I don’t know how I got back to school that day. I only remember that when I arrived, along the way, I was met with disgusted looks and harsh whispers from my classmates: “It was her who deliberately put a needle in a classmate’s pencil case. It’s so dangerous to be in the same school as someone like that!” “Can’t they just lock people like her up and not let them out? It’s terrifying.” Before I even reached my classroom, I was called to the principal’s office. The principal personally pushed a document in front of me: “The victim’s family has made a huge fuss about this, forcing us to respond. Your early admission has been revoked.” “Furthermore, the school has unanimously decided to expel you.” I stood frozen, my entire body cold. I couldn’t understand why, despite trying so hard, I couldn’t hold onto the things that mattered to me. But ever since I returned to the William family with Gordon, it felt like I had been constantly losing things. Losing Gordon, losing my home, losing my early admission. In the end, even my school enrollment was gone. All I wanted was to leave quietly, but even that was so difficult. A message popped up on my phone. Gordon sent me transfer documents and two plane tickets: “There’s a school affiliated with the Williams in Seattle. I’ve already arranged for them to accept your transfer.” “It’s too late for the SAT, but with your grades, even if you study for another year, you can still get into a great school.” “After the SAT is over, I’ll go with you.” So, Gordon had thought of all the consequences, he knew the situation I might face. He still went ahead and ruined me to this extent for Scarlett. I stumbled out, clutching the documents, and stood at the school gate for a long time until the security guard shooed me away. After the SAT, I was dragging my suitcase, about to board a train. Gordon’s message popped up: “I’m already waiting for you at the airport. Where are you?” I sent him one last message: “I’m not going to Seattle with you. We’re done.” As soon as the message was sent, Gordon’s phone started ringing off the hook. I didn’t answer. I just blocked all his contacts. I turned and got on the train. Gordon, goodbye forever.

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On our third anniversary, Liam booked the most exclusive cruise ship in Seattle and proposed to my adopted sister, Rachel Snow, in a live broadcast streamed across the entire internet. My phone still held a message he had sent half an hour earlier: “I love you, go to bed early.” On the screen, he knelt on one knee, holding a pink diamond, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. “Rachel, from today forward, you are my only wife.” The comments section went wild. Everyone called it a match made in heaven. I stood at the cruise ship’s entrance, looking at the plain wedding band he had slipped onto my ring finger three years ago. Half an hour earlier, after sending that message, he had added another. “Chloe, the three years are up. Tomorrow, I’ll give you what you are owed.” I raised my hand, wiggled the ring, and let out a laugh. “Liam, I have received your ‘settlement.’” From today on, I will return every bit of humiliation you inflicted upon me, inch by inch. Chapter One It was the third year of my secret marriage to Liam Caldwell. He had booked Seattle’s most luxurious cruise ship to propose to Rachel Snow, live-streaming it across the entire internet. Liam, CEO of Caldwell Enterprises, a man usually so cold and reserved, was now on one knee. He held a dazzling pink diamond, his eyes filled with profound emotion. “Rachel, from today on, I will let everyone know that you are my only wife.” The comments section was flooded with envy. Everyone was exclaiming it was perfect love. My phone screen was still paused on the message Liam had sent half an hour ago: “Still busy tonight, I’ll be staying home. Go to bed early, don’t wait up for me.” Watching the deeply affectionate man on the screen, a wave of nausea churned in my stomach. We had registered our marriage three years ago. That very night, he suddenly told me that the Caldwell family’s rules were strict; to inherit the company, he had to maintain a single image for three years, or all his assets would revert to the family. “Chloe, I’m sorry to put you through this for three years. Once I inherit Caldwell Enterprises, I promise to give you the most spectacular wedding imaginable.” His tender whispers felt like yesterday, but today marked the end of those three years. He did indeed hold the city’s most spectacular ceremony, but the bride wasn’t me. It was Rachel Snow, my adopted sister. I turned off the live stream and changed into a simple black dress. Pulling open a drawer, I found our marriage certificate, neatly placed there from three years ago. I didn’t cry. My hands didn’t even tremble. Half an hour later, I arrived at the cruise ship dock. Tonight was a socialite gala for the city’s elite. Using my identity as the heir to Hayes Group, I slipped past security unnoticed and walked into the ballroom, which was adorned with white roses. On stage, Rachel was in tears, nestled in Liam’s arms, letting him slip the priceless ring onto her ring finger. I stood in the center of the ballroom, my expression calm, and clapped my hands. The sharp sound was strikingly out of place amidst the romantic music. Everyone’s gaze instantly focused on me. The smile on Liam’s face froze. Rachel flinched, instinctively burrowing deeper into Liam’s embrace, and spoke with a sniffle, “Chloe Hayes, why are you here? Today is Liam’s and my happy day. Are you still mad at me?” Liam pulled her closer, and the tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a bone-chilling coldness as he looked at me. Before he could speak, I directly pulled out my marriage certificate and handed it to several uniformed police officers who were already waiting nearby. “Hello, I’d like to report someone for bigamy.” Police sirens, I realized, had started wailing from the dock. The romantic, beautiful proposal scene instantly plunged into dead silence and chaos the moment the police rushed in. Chapter Two The police officers took my marriage certificate, verified it, and then looked sharply at the man on stage. “Mr. Caldwell, this lady has presented a valid marriage certificate, accusing you of bigamy. Please cooperate with us and return to the station to assist with the investigation.” The surroundings immediately erupted in whispers. The guests’ murmurs surged like a tide. “Chloe Hayes must be crazy, right? How could she have Mr. Caldwell’s marriage certificate?” “It must be fake, right? How could Mr. Caldwell marry her?” Rachel clutched Liam’s suit lapel, sobbing, “Liam, I’m scared… How could Chloe do this to us?” Liam patted her back, then turned to stare at me, his tone flat, as if looking at a stranger. “Officers, this lady is my wife’s sister. She’s been working long hours and hasn’t been mentally well, suffering from severe delusions.” He pointed to the certificate in my hand. “This marriage certificate is one she fabricated herself. You can easily verify it with the official system.” He said it so confidently, so calmly. His cold words felt like a blunt knife tearing at my heart. I looked at the man I had loved for three years, and a chill ran from my toes to the top of my head. “Liam, look me in the eyes and say that again.” I dug my nails into my palms, determined not to show any weakness. “Our three-year marriage was just a delusion?” “Enough! You disgraceful spectacle!” A furious roar rang out. A sharp pain shot across my cheek. My biological father, Martin Hayes, had rushed over at some point and slapped me hard. The force of it made my head snap to the side, and a trickle of blood immediately seeped from the corner of my mouth. “Today is Rachel’s engagement ceremony. Why do you have to choose today to cause a scene? Are you only satisfied if you ruin your sister’s happiness?” Martin Hayes pointed a trembling finger at my nose, red with rage. Wiping sweat from his brow, he handed his business card to the police officers, forcing a smile. “I apologize, officers, this is all a misunderstanding. We’ll take her home now and discipline her strictly. We won’t waste public resources.” Before I could react, two Hayes Group security guards rushed forward, roughly twisted my arms behind my back. A sickening pop as my shoulder dislocated, and excruciating pain shot through me. I bit down hard, refusing to utter a sound. Martin Hayes snatched my marriage certificate from the police officer’s hand and, in front of everyone, ripped it to shreds with a loud riiiip. Red paper confetti scattered across the floor, looking like an absurd funeral. All this time, Liam merely watched, cold-eyed. He didn’t even say a single word on my behalf. Instead, he meticulously wiped away Rachel’s tears and gently cooed, “Be good, Rachel. I’ll take you to the hospital for a check-up first. Don’t hurt yourself.” The Maybach sped off. Martin Hayes shot me a look of disgust and waved his hand. “Drag her home. Unless she’s taught a lesson, she won’t know who’s really in charge of Hayes Group.” Chapter Three The air in the house was thick with the damp smell of incense and the musty scent of rotting wood. The sound of the belt whipping against my back grew heavier with each strike. I bit down hard, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms, refusing to make a single sound. Cold sweat mixed with blood quickly soaked through the back of my black dress. It wasn’t until he had broken the second belt that Martin Hayes finally stopped, breathing heavily. He threw the belt to the ground in disgust, taking a hot towel from the maid to wipe his hands. “Stubborn and disobedient, no amount of beating seems to get through to her.” He spat. “Lock the door. No water, no medicine for her. Let her reflect properly in here.” The door slammed shut, plunging the house into a deathly silence. I slumped weakly onto the cold stone floor, my back burning as if on fire, my consciousness beginning to dim. I don’t know how much time passed before the heavy door was pushed open again. A faint beam of light shone in, and the sound of footsteps on the floor grew closer. I struggled to open my eyes and saw Liam standing over me. He had changed into casual clothes and carried a white medical kit. He knelt, and his long fingers reached for my bloodied back, his brow slightly furrowed. I managed to gather my strength and abruptly shifted backward, avoiding his touch. “Does it hurt?” He sighed, a rare trace of tenderness in his voice. “Chloe, you were too impulsive. What good did causing a scene at an event like that do you?” I forced a smile. My throat was as dry as if I’d been swallowing sand. “So, Mr. Caldwell himself has come to play peacemaker. I suppose this beating was worth it.” Liam’s eyes darkened. He took a document from his briefcase and handed it to me. Hayes Group Share Voluntary Waiver and Transfer Agreement. “Sign this,” Liam’s tone was unequivocal. “Rachel’s heart isn’t well; she was startled on the cruise ship today and almost fainted at the hospital just now.” I looked at the agreement, feeling nothing but absurdity. “She almost fainted, so you want to take away the Hayes Group shares my mother left me, just to make her happy?” “Chloe, you’re capable. Even if you lose everything, you can still make your mark in the industry.” Liam tried to persuade me earnestly. “But Rachel, without me and without Hayes Group, she can’t survive. If you give her the shares, she can secure her position at Hayes Group.” “This is also for your own good. If you sign, I guarantee you’ll live comfortably for the rest of your life. We can… still be like before.” He even tried to take my hand. Looking at his handsome but utterly hypocritical face, tears finally streamed down my face, mixing with the bloodstains. “Liam, for three years, you said we were secretly married for the inheritance, and I believed you. You said you wanted me to be your invisible strategist behind the scenes, and I did it.” “And what’s the result? You’re taking my achievements to elevate Rachel, and now you want to strip me of my last possession to provide for the love of your life?” I laughed, a desolate, piercing sound. “What if I don’t sign?” Liam stood up, looking down at me. The fleeting tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by the cold ruthlessness of a businessman. “Chloe, in this family, no one will stand by you.” He turned and left, the door slamming shut. The deafening sound of the closing door shattered my last illusions about him. Chapter Four The next morning, the door was roughly pushed open by a maid. I was dragged out of the house. When I returned to my second-floor bedroom, the hallway was piled high with my books and clothes. Inside the room, several workers were busy. Liam stood in the center of the room, directing the workers, “Paint this wall pink. Replace the bed with a custom soft mattress. Rachel has a bad back; she can’t handle hard surfaces.” I endured the searing pain in my back and rushed to block the workers. “Liam! This is my room!” Liam blocked me with one hand, his brows tightly furrowed, his eyes filled with impatience. “Rachel just got out of the hospital. The doctor said she needs the room with the best lighting, and yours is the only south-facing one in the villa. Be good, don’t always argue with her over such trivial matters.” “Trivial matters?” I pointed to the mess on the floor. “This is my home! Am I to be thrown out like a dog the moment she returns?” “Take Chloe Hayes away. Don’t let her hold up the workers.” Liam didn’t even bother to spare me another glance. Two burly men easily hoisted me up and threw me out the villa’s front gate. I walked the streets, feeling completely lost. The cold wind blew, and the scabs on my back wounds, which had started to heal, re-opened as they stuck to my clothes, making me tremble uncontrollably. When I came to my senses, I was standing downstairs from the investment company I had founded myself. But when I tried to use my employee badge to open the access gate, the turnstile flashed red frantically. The receptionist, a young woman, walked over awkwardly, gulping nervously. “Miss Hayes, Mr. Caldwell issued a notice this morning under the board’s name. You’ve been suspended.” “What’s the reason?” I stared intently at her. “The reason is… leaking commercial secrets, and unstable mental state, making you unsuitable to continue in a management position.” I pushed her aside and, ignoring their protests, rushed towards the general manager’s office. Through the transparent floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw Rachel, dressed in a designer power suit, sitting in what used to be my chair. Liam stood behind her, gently holding her hand as she signed a document. Rachel seemed to sense something and turned, seeing me standing outside the door. Her hand trembled, and the hot coffee she was holding instantly spilled onto the desk, splashing her hand. “Ah! So hot!” she cried out. Liam’s expression changed drastically. He immediately grabbed her hand, blew on it, then sharply turned, his eyes like daggers through the glass, piercing me. I pushed the door open, a cold laugh escaping my lips. “Liam, you’re putting someone who can’t even read a financial report in this position. Are you trying to ruin Hayes Group, or are you trying to destroy my life’s work?” Liam continued to meticulously wipe Rachel’s hand with a wet wipe, then spoke coldly, “Rachel has great talent. She just needs a chance to prove herself. Chloe, have you forgotten even the most basic rules now?” Rachel huddled in Liam’s arms, her eyes red, her voice as fragile as a small white flower in a storm. “Chloe Hayes, I know you look down on me. But I’ll try hard to learn… Liam says I’m smart, I won’t disappoint him…” Just then, Martin Hayes entered the office with several security guards. “Enough! Haven’t you caused enough embarrassment? Throw her out! Don’t let her step foot in this building again!” The security personnel roughly grabbed my arms and dragged me out. In the struggle, my bag fell to the floor, its contents scattering everywhere. A delicate blue velvet box rolled out, conspicuously gleaming on the polished marble floor. Inside it was the engagement ring Liam had given me three years ago. Liam’s gaze lingered on the box for a moment, his expression complex, but in the end, he said nothing, merely holding Rachel tighter. Under everyone’s gaze, I was thrown out of the Hayes Group building like a madwoman. My knees scraped against the hard concrete, instantly drawing blood. I propped myself up, looking up just in time to see the Hayes Group news conference being broadcast live on the giant LED screen outside the building. On the screen, Liam, with Rachel in his arms, faced countless flashing lights, his spirits high. “I am proud to announce that Miss Rachel Snow will officially assume the role of Executive President of Hayes Tech. The highly anticipated AI project was, in fact, Rachel’s original idea; she is the true soul behind our team.” I looked at Rachel’s bashful face on the screen, and in my chest, it felt as if the last flicker of warmth in my heart died out. That project, it was a plan I had devised after researching countless documents. Now, it had become her stepping stone to success. Chapter Five Dragging my injured leg, I walked through half a block of hotels, only to be met with apologetic glances from the front desk staff. “I’m sorry, Miss Hayes, your ID shows it’s been suspended in the system, so we can’t process your check-in.” “All your bank cards have been frozen. The system indicates you are a high-risk credit client.” I clutched the invalidated cards in my hand and sat down on a street bench. The cold rain soon soaked my hair. I couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, tears streaming uncontrollably. Liam, ever so thorough. He didn’t need to physically break my leg; he just needed to sever all my financial resources and identity from society. He was sure that once I had nowhere left to turn, I would eventually come back begging him. A black Maybach slowly pulled up in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Liam’s handsome, yet nauseating, face. “Get in,” he uttered, two cold words. I didn’t move. Liam pushed open the car door and, without a word, shoved me into the passenger seat, locking the door. The car sped away, driving into a high-end, secluded private apartment complex. Inside, he poured a glass of hot water and placed it in front of me, his tone finally softening a bit. “Chloe, as long as you don’t appear in front of Rachel and upset her, this will be your home from now on. I’ll transfer money to your account annually, enough for you to live very comfortably.” He sat beside me, reaching out to stroke my cold, damp cheek, a trace of nostalgia in his eyes. “We had something special, Chloe. Besides the title, I can give you anything.” The nausea in my stomach surged to the top of my head in that instant. I violently grabbed his hand and, with all my strength, bit down hard! My teeth sank into his flesh, blood instantly spread, and my mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood. Liam cried out in pain and instinctively threw me off. I crashed into the hard stone table, hitting my forehead hard, and blood streamed down my temple. “Liam, you sicken me.” I spat out the blood, staring intently at him. “Don’t forget, those project proposals, they all contain my…” Liam clutched his bleeding hand, his eyes turning stone cold in an instant. “Chloe Hayes, are you threatening me?” Seizing the opportunity while he turned to the bathroom to tend to his injury, I grabbed my bag and, fighting off dizziness, rushed out of the apartment. I ran wildly into the nearest all-night internet cafe, my hands trembling as I opened a computer and logged into my private cloud. However, before I could send the backup of my original proposal to the industry regulatory authorities, the screen suddenly went black without warning. Immediately after, my phone vibrated, and I received a text message from an unknown number: “Don’t waste your effort.” A bottomless despair swallowed me whole. Before I could catch my breath, heavy footsteps suddenly sounded from the internet cafe entrance. Several uniformed police officers walked in, and cold silver handcuffs were directly clasped onto my wrists. “Chloe Hayes, you are suspected of embezzling Hayes Group’s commercial secrets and misappropriating five million dollars. Please come with us to assist with the investigation.” Chapter Six In the interview room. Liam watched me through the thick bulletproof glass, his expression indifferent. “Rachel is currently negotiating a major project with a top European venture capital firm; it’s crucial for her to secure her position as CEO of Hayes Group.” His voice came through the intercom, cold and ruthless. “At this critical juncture, neither Hayes Group nor Caldwell Enterprises can afford any scandals.” “Chloe, if you sign this voluntary confession, admitting that the five million was a personal misappropriation unrelated to the company, I will arrange for legal counsel to get you a suspended sentence. You won’t actually go to jail.” I clutched the phone tightly, my nails almost digging marks into it, tears streaming down my face. “For her future, for her reputation, you want to completely destroy my life?” “Liam, in your eyes, am I just meant to be a stepping stone?” Liam avoided my gaze. He looked at my disheveled appearance, and a fleeting struggle flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by coldness. “Rachel is fragile and can’t handle stress. You’ve always been strong, Chloe. You can get through this setback.” I’m strong, so I deserve to suffer. She’s fragile, so she can climb to success on my blood and bones. “I won’t confess to something I didn’t do!” I gritted my teeth, enunciating each word. Liam said nothing, merely pulled a photograph from his pocket and pressed it against the glass. In the photo was my best friend, Sarah Miller. She stood in front of her flower shop, while several uniformed fire and tax officials were posting eviction notices. “I know you’re not afraid of anything, Chloe.” Liam’s voice was devoid of emotion. “But I also know that Sarah’s flower shop is her family’s entire livelihood. I hear the fire department and tax office have been very strict lately. If they find any problems, not only will the shop be shut down, but people might also go to jail for a few years.” “And that old villa your grandmother left you, I hear it’s scheduled for demolition soon…” All my strength drained out of me in that instant. I slowly slid down the glass, kneeling clumsily on the floor. I could gamble with my own life, but I couldn’t bear the thought of the only person who was good to me having her life ruined because of my persistence. I closed my eyes, letting the warm tears flow into my mouth, bitter and astringent. “I’ll confess. I’ll do whatever you say.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed Liam’s face. “Tomorrow night is Hayes Group’s charity gala. You need to publicly apologize to Rachel and admit that you did these foolish things out of jealousy.” The next evening, I was bailed out of jail and taken directly to the event. I wore dirty, somewhat torn clothes, my hair disheveled, my face as pale as a ghost. On stage, Rachel, in a white designer gown adorned with tiny diamonds, looked like an untouched angel, holding Liam’s arm, basking in everyone’s admiration. A spotlight suddenly shone on me without warning. Whispers erupted, surging like a tidal wave. “Is that the older sister who embezzled money?” “I heard she was jealous of her sister and even made a false police report on the cruise ship.” “How shameless, she looks so scheming.” Martin Hayes walked onto the stage, his face filled with sorrow. “It’s a family disgrace, having such a disobedient daughter. But after all, she is blood. If she is willing to sincerely repent today, we are willing to give her one last chance.” Liam walked up to me and handed me a pre-written confession. I took the paper with trembling hands. Every word on it was designed to crush my dignity, my backbone, beneath the heel of a shoe. “I am a sinner. I was jealous of my sister. I coveted wealth.” I numbly read the last word, and the ballroom fell silent. Liam looked down at me, an almost imperceptible hint of coercion in his eyes. “An apology requires the right attitude.” Everyone’s gaze pierced me like needles. Rachel’s eyes held a triumphant gleam, and Martin Hayes’ face was cold. I looked at the man I had loved for ten years, feeling as if a hideous monster stood before me. Thump. My knees hit the cold, hard marble floor with a heavy thud. I knelt before Rachel. In that moment, I heard the sound of my backbone breaking. But in my heart, I also etched their names, stroke by stroke. Every single one of you who made me kneel, in the future, I will make you kneel and return it all.

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I waited for ten hours at the Registrar’s Office again, until the screen above the window went completely dark. I spoke calmly into my phone. “Ethan, the Registrar’s Office is closed again.” This was the third time he’d left me to become a joke on the day we were supposed to sign our marriage license. Each time, the excuse was identical. Chloe, the girl next door, was so helpless, she couldn’t even turn on a gas stove. He said she was all alone and so clumsy, and he was just lending a hand. Once, I bought into his grand excuses. I let her tag along on every date. I got used to him being called away mid-movie. Even when people openly mocked me for being too invested, I held my head high and endured it. But my patience only brought out his entitlement. Finally, there was a stir from the earpiece. He clearly heard me say the Registrar’s Office was closed again, yet he couldn’t even be bothered with a perfunctory apology. On the other end of the line, he deliberately lowered his voice, coaxing her with extreme patience. “Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch from a broken nail. Leave it, I’ll put a band-aid on it right away.” Meanwhile, the marriage license application form in my hand was being swept into the trash like garbage by the cleaning lady. It was never just “helping out.” He simply couldn’t bear for her to face even the slightest setback. And this ten-year-long, dead-end relationship? I didn’t want it anymore.

I walked out of the Registrar’s Office and took a cab back to my apartment building. The elevator ascended to the seventeenth floor. I stood at my door and pressed my thumb to the fingerprint scanner. The screen flashed red: “Fingerprint not recognized.” I tried again, red letters again. I typed in the code, my birthday — a six-digit number I’d used for ten years. “Incorrect password.” I tried his birthday. “Incorrect password. Two attempts remaining.” I pulled my finger back. He’d missed our wedding registration, but he remembered to change the lock code. The hallway was silent, the lock’s blue indicator light blinking. I leaned against the wall, a cold dread creeping up my back, vertebra by vertebra. The elevator chimed. Ethan stepped out, Chloe walking half a step behind him. Her left index finger had a pink Hello Kitty band-aid, but her manicure was perfectly intact. “Where have you been?” Ethan’s first words weren’t an apology when he saw me. “I called you six times. You didn’t answer a single one.” He frowned. “Do you know how worried I was?” Chloe peeked out from behind him, her voice light and soft. “Ethan, is Summer mad… It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have asked you for help…” The finger with the band-aid fluttered in front of his eyes. Ethan immediately turned back. “It’s not your fault, Chloe.” He turned to me, his tone softening. “She’s so clumsy, she scratched her finger with a broken nail. I just helped put a band-aid on it. It’s just a small thing.” I didn’t respond. I sidestepped between him and Chloe, walking straight to the lock. “What’s the code?” “…352716.” The door opened. I walked straight to the liquor cabinet. On the top shelf, a bottle of whiskey, its label yellowed and curling at the edges. He’d bought it ten years ago, saying we’d open it on our wedding day. I took it down. “What are you doing with that?” Ethan followed me into the living room. “You said we’d drink it on our wedding day.” “Right, so put it back,” he said. I inverted the bottle. The amber liquid splattered onto the carpet, soaking in fast, leaving a large, dark stain. The entire living room filled with the dull, sour smell of fermentation, clinging to my nostrils. “Summer!” He rushed over to snatch the bottle, but it was already empty. The last few drops fell from the neck, landing on his shoe. “What’s wrong with you?” “Ethan, this is the third time we’ve scheduled to get married.” “I explained, Chloe hurt her hand.” “We won’t make it to that day.” I placed the empty bottle on the coffee table. His face flushed, a vein pulsed at his temple. “Unbelievable.” He spat out the words and turned toward the entryway. Chloe stood there, unmoving, her fingers tugging at her sleeve, her gaze flickering toward me. “Chloe, go inside and rest. Don’t mind her.” He put an arm around Chloe’s shoulder, and they both went into the master bedroom. The door closed, leaving only the wine stain and the sour smell in the living room. I went to the study and pulled open the drawer. My driver’s license, passport, copies of the apartment deed. I took each item out, one by one, and put them into a canvas tote bag. My phone vibrated. Chloe’s new post on Instagram. A photo of the master bedroom’s king-sized bed, with a dark gray suit sleeve draped over a chair in the top right corner of the frame. It was captioned with a sun emoji and a smile. Posted three minutes ago. I opened my contacts. Ethan. Swiped left. Delete. Opened our chat, then blocked him completely. The screen jumped back to my contacts list, his profile picture gone. I zipped up my canvas tote bag and placed my phone face down on the desk. The drawer was empty. The liquor cabinet was empty. My contacts list, empty too.

At seven the next morning, the moving truck pulled up downstairs. Two movers came up with me. I used yesterday’s code to open the door and told them to start with the study. As I passed the master bedroom, the door was ajar. I pushed it open. Chloe stood in front of the full-length mirror, wearing my wedding dress. A white satin haute couture gown. Custom-made in Paris last year. The fabric alone cost eighty thousand. She was turning sideways, admiring the curve of the skirt, but when she heard the door, the smile on her face froze instantly. “Sum-Summer… I was just trying it on…” She took a step back, her heel caught the hem, tearing a slit in the lace. I pulled out my phone and snapped two photos of her and the tear in the dress. Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Ethan rushed down, first stunned at the movers, then saw me standing at the master bedroom door. “What are you doing?” “Moving my things,” I said. “Is this really necessary?” He blocked the doorframe, his tone softened, trying to concede. “Cool down. I’ll take you to get married tomorrow, okay?” Chloe said softly from inside, “Ethan, I didn’t mean to wear it…” “Chloe, it’s okay. Go change back.” Ethan turned to soothe her, then lowered his voice toward me. “Tomorrow. I promise.” I didn’t look at him. I pulled out my phone, opened the calculator, and turned the screen toward his face. “This gown’s fabric alone cost eighty thousand, labor another one hundred twenty thousand, plus custom fees, the total was two hundred thirty-six thousand. She tore the hem. With depreciation and damage, I’m charging you one hundred fifty thousand.” Ethan’s expression froze for a second. “What are you talking about?” “Payment.” “She’s just a kid.” “One hundred fifty thousand. Bank transfer or cash.” He stared at me, his mouth twitching. “Fine.” He pulled out his phone and flashed his bank account balance at me. One hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred. In ten years, I’d put far more than that into this home. That was all he had left in his account. Before he could transfer the money, his phone rang. The caller ID flashed: Mom. I put it on speakerphone, and his mother’s voice boomed out. “Summer. Ethan told me you’re causing a scene again? Chloe’s just a young girl, she doesn’t know any better. You’re older, you should be more understanding. It’s just a dress.” I reached out and hung up the phone. Ethan’s mouth opened. “You…” I turned and walked into the master bedroom, stopping in front of Chloe. She had already half-undressed, the white satin piled at her feet. I bent down, picked up the wedding dress, and grabbed the scissors from the coffee table. One snip, and the ripping sound of lace echoed in the room. “Summer!” The cold glint of the scissors flashed across the satin, and pieces of white fabric fell onto the floor. Chloe clapped a hand over her mouth and retreated to the corner. By the time Ethan rushed in, the last piece of the skirt hem tore away in my hands. The fragments fell in front of his feet. “Two hundred thirty-six thousand.” I put down the scissors. “She wore it, and your mom said I was petty. So no one gets it.” I turned and walked into the living room. On the coffee table was the bill I’d painstakingly compiled last night: ten years of transactions, every date, amount, and purpose, printed on three pages. “Take your time looking.” My canvas tote bag slung over my shoulder, I took my suitcase from the movers. Ethan stood amidst the wreckage, his mouth open, no sound coming out. The scissors lay at his feet, their metal surface reflecting the fluorescent light, cold and stark. I walked to the door. The door slammed shut, the loud bang echoing back from the hallway, making my feet tingle. The elevator doors were open, the movers deferentially stepping aside. I dragged my suitcase in and pressed the ground floor button. In the last second before the doors closed, I heard the sound of a door pulling open from the end of the hallway. But the elevator was already descending.

In the hotel lobby, the manager recognized me immediately. He blocked the entrance to the banquet hall, a look of distress on his face. “Ms. Summer, the venue has been changed.” “Changed to what?” “Chloe’s birthday party.” My fingers tightened around my bag strap. I had personally booked this venue six months ago. The deposit, the floral arrangements, the lighting — every single payment came out of my personal account. Ethan hadn’t said a word to me. “Show me the receipt,” I said coldly. The manager wrung his hands, trying to bluff his way out. “Ethan instructed…” “I want to see the receipt,” I interrupted him. He couldn’t argue, so he pulled out the booking contract. In the “Payer” column, my name, in stark black and white. I snapped a photo of the contract and dialed hotel security. When the banquet hall doors swung open, it was a lively scene inside. Chloe sat at the head table, wearing a pink poofy dress, surrounded by seven or eight of Ethan’s relatives. Someone handed her a gift, others held up phones to take photos. A three-tiered champagne tower stood tall, the top glass still fizzing with fine bubbles. When she saw me, she froze for a beat. Then she smiled. That perfectly practiced curve of fragility, innocence, and panic. “Sum-Summer?” She instinctively recoiled half a step into the crowd. I didn’t look at her. I walked straight to the sound control panel, and yanked out the power cord. The music stopped abruptly. The moment the current died, the speakers emitted a sharp, screeching static. Someone’s hand trembled, knocking over a champagne glass. The entire hall fell silent. Ethan rose from the back row and strode to me, his face ashen. “What are you doing?” “Canceling the venue.” “There are elders here…” “You used my money,” I cut him off. “To host her birthday party?” He froze. I realized he clearly thought the company had covered the cost. He probably hadn’t even checked the payment records. “Admin booked it,” he said, a hint of guilt in his voice. I slapped the contract onto a table. The paper landed on the red tablecloth, covering Chloe’s unopened gift box. “See for yourself who paid.” He looked down, his Adam’s apple bobbed. People in the hall began to whisper. One of Ethan’s aunts frowned and spoke up. “Ethan, what’s going on?” He didn’t answer. Chloe’s eyes, on cue, began to well up. She clutched the sleeve of an aunt next to her, her voice quivering perfectly. “I didn’t know… I really didn’t know it was Summer’s venue…” Her nose was red, her lashes glistening with tears. I didn’t spare her a glance, turning to the manager. “The contract is here, I’m the payer. Clear the hall.” The manager hesitated for two seconds. He looked at the contract, then at Ethan, before finally nodding to security. Waiters began clearing tables. Someone didn’t stabilize the champagne tower while moving it, and the bottom glasses clattered against the table edge. The crisp sound of shattering glass echoed, and spilled wine pooled across the table. Balloons were deflated one by one, collapsing onto the carpet. Chloe finally ran out, covering her face. Several relatives scrambled after her. Ethan stood amidst the wreckage. His hands clenched into fists, silent. I retrieved the contract and turned to leave. Behind me, he spoke, his voice low. “Are you satisfied?” I didn’t stop. “I’ll remember this. At next week’s project meeting, you’d better have a clear head.” I pushed open the lobby’s glass doors. The sunlight outside was intense, making me squint. I stood on the steps and pulled out my phone. Mr. Davis’s business card from the rival company was still tucked into my phone case. Before dialing, my throat tightened slightly, but my hand was perfectly steady. It connected after two rings. “Mr. Davis, this is Summer.” “Regarding the proposal we discussed last time, I’d like to schedule a meeting.”

Monday’s project meeting lasted forty minutes. Ethan announced Chloe would be taking over the core project I was leading. No one in the conference room made a sound. He asked if I had any objections. “None,” I replied calmly. Throughout the afternoon, I meticulously organized three years’ worth of project documents and personally handed them to Chloe’s desk. She accepted them, smiling as she said, “Thank you, Summer.” I nodded, returned to my desk, placed the voice recorder behind the pen holder and pressed record. Four days after Chloe took over, the core database crashed. That night, the client sent a letter of accountability. I counted the zeros after the loss amount three times. Ethan called me into his office. His tie was loosened halfway, his forehead slick with sweat. “You go deal with the client.” “Ethan, this isn’t my project anymore.” “But you know the process.” “Chloe knows it too. You put her in charge.” He slammed his palm on the desk. “You don’t know what’s going on?” I knew perfectly well. The voice recorder was put there precisely for this day. Every incompetent instruction Chloe gave, every wrong call she made over those four days, all of it was recorded. “You want me to take the fall?” He didn’t speak. His silence was an admission. I stood up. “Fine. I’ll handle it.” He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders visibly slumping in relief. I left his office, but I didn’t go to the client. I opened my phone and went into the company-wide WhatsApp chat group. Two hundred thirty-seven people. I dragged the compressed files into the chat window: recordings, screenshots, original client communication logs. Each file was timestamped and identified by the operator. My finger hovered over the send button, a cold prickle running through it. A second later, I pressed it. Phones across the entire floor vibrated simultaneously. The group chat was silent for a few seconds, then messages flooded in rapidly. Someone tagged Ethan, someone tagged Chloe, others just typed a string of ellipses. Chloe sprang up from her desk, frantically tapping her screen. She tried to recall them. Thirty-seven files. The recall window had long since closed. By the time Ethan burst out of his office, I was already standing in the center of the hallway, holding two items. One was my resignation letter. The other, a collective resignation statement from the core team, with eight signatures, not a single one missing. His steps skidded to a halt in front of me. “Summer, are you insane?” “No.” I handed him my resignation letter. He snatched it directly. In front of everyone in the hallway, he tore it in half with both hands. The paper ripped into fragments, white confetti fluttering onto the dark gray floor. “You think you can survive without this?” His voice was already ragged. “What about the client? What about the channels?” The sound of leather shoes on floor tiles echoed from the end of the hallway. The receptionist led a man in a sharp suit down the hallway. The cover of the folder in his hand bore the major client’s corporate logo. In the bottom right corner, a red official stamp was stark against the paper. “Mr. Ethan Hayes?” “…Yes.” “This is a legal notice from our firm.” The man’s tone was all business. “Regarding Ms. Summer’s departure as your company’s core project lead, per Article 17 of our contract, our firm officially terminates all ongoing collaborations with your company.” “All further matters will be handled directly with Ms. Summer’s team.” Ethan’s hand trembled as he reached for it. I turned and walked toward the elevator. My heels crunched over the scattered paper fragments, each step a faint whisper. The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside and pressed the basement floor button. In the last sliver of space before the doors closed, Ethan was still frozen in place, not moving an inch. The legal notice dangled from his hand. The resignation letter he had so carelessly torn now lay in fragments, being scattered by the hallway’s draft, drifting toward his feet. And the elevator doors in front of me had already closed completely.

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When I found out my childhood sweetheart, Chloe, couldn’t have children, my husband, Ethan, became convinced it was my fault. He forced me to have an abortion and then forced me to divorce him. I thought his revenge would end there. But at his wedding to Chloe, he actually played my intimate video. “The woman in the video is my ex-wife, Aubrey Stone, and that’s why I divorced her!” Suddenly, I was the scandalous woman everyone shamed and condemned. After I was beaten and hospitalized, Ethan came to visit me. He offered a perfunctory apology: “I didn’t expect those internet trolls to actually hurt you. I just wanted to help Chloe get some payback. You framed her before, so now we’re even.” I looked at him numbly, a cold laugh escaping my lips. How could we ever be even after this? Ethan, the pain you’ve inflicted on me is something you can never atone for! “Aubrey, did you hear what I said?” My silence completely infuriated Ethan. He instinctively tightened his grip on my arm. I winced in pain and quickly pushed his hand away. “Chloe told you I impersonated you, sent her messages to get an abortion, and that’s why she can’t have kids for life, and you just believed her?” “And why wouldn’t I? You’re the only one who knows my phone password, and you’re still denying it?” Ethan snapped, his face reddening with anger as he pointed at me. “I’m telling you, this is a lesson. Don’t cause trouble again, or I won’t stop them from taking this fifth child either.” With that, Ethan turned and walked away. I watched his retreating back and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Fine then, don’t keep it. I don’t want to have any more of your children anyway, especially since only the father of my children could inherit the Sterling Medical Dynasty.” No sooner had Ethan left than the hospital room door swung open. I thought it was the hospital staff, but it turned out to be internet trolls who supported Chloe. They attacked me again. This time, I was seriously injured. I called the police, but nothing came of it. Because my husband, legally speaking, as my next of kin, settled the case. When I woke up the next day and learned all this, I screamed hysterically at Ethan, “Why? We’re divorced, how dare you make decisions for me?!” “We might be separated, but legally, I’m still your husband.” Meeting Ethan’s indifferent gaze, I felt a lump of frustration stuck in my throat. It took a while for my breathing to steady. “Fine, even if that’s true, why would you settle? They almost killed me, do you know that?!” “You’re exaggerating. They just couldn’t stand seeing you bully Chloe. Besides, are you completely blameless?” It was the same old line. I knew Ethan cared about Chloe, but I never imagined he’d be so utterly blinded by her. Tears welled up in my eyes at the thought. The injustice I felt was beyond words. Well, good. The decision I hadn’t been able to make before was now set in stone. While Ethan wasn’t looking, I sent a message: [Proceed as planned, new successor.] The reply came quickly: [Not Ethan anymore?]

Ethan? Did he deserve it? [No, choose someone else.] Chloe had clung to Ethan relentlessly, for no other reason than him being the chosen successor of a medical legend. Both the hospital and the medical college were ultimately supposed to be inherited by Ethan. The Sterling Medical Dynasty had already announced this. Everyone said, “The Sterling family really does pick its heirs based on ability, choosing outside their own children.” “Exactly! It seems merit truly prevails.” Little did they know, I was the sole heir of the Sterling Medical Dynasty, and Ethan was simply *my* chosen successor. My parents had asked me back then, “Why him?” To this day, I remember what I said: “He may only be a midwife now, but I believe he has a bright future.” Ethan hadn’t disappointed me. In just three years, he became a leader in his field. He even became synonymous with the profession of a midwife. But without our family’s support, how could his path have been so smooth? I even used to joke with Ethan, “If I told you I was the heir to the Sterling Medical Dynasty, would you believe me?” Ethan paused for a moment, then laughed, “Honey, even if your family background doesn’t match mine, I wouldn’t mind. And don’t worry, my parents are completely fine with whoever I choose.” Back then, Ethan only had eyes for me. He didn’t just say it; he acted on it. Because I had always kept my identity a secret, my in-laws thought I wasn’t good enough for Ethan. But every time, Ethan would sternly retort, “I’m choosing a wife, not a business partner for you.” For my sake, Ethan hadn’t visited his parents’ mansion in ages. Their family relationship had only recently begun to mend. I just never expected a man’s love could be a deception from beginning to end. Four miscarriages later, I was utterly disillusioned with this man. Three days later, I was discharged and returned home, only to find the house completely transformed. Chloe, a triumphant smirk on her face, came downstairs. She feigned surprise, “Oh, Aubrey, you’re back?” “Even though you’re still legally my husband’s wife, we’re already married. I actually don’t want to see you in *my* house…” I ignored Chloe and walked straight to the bedroom, intending to retrieve my belongings. But Chloe blocked my path. “This is our master bedroom. Do you think you can just waltz in?” “I need to get my things.” “Your things?” Chloe instantly sneered. “What ‘things’ do you have? All your belongings were bought by my husband.” Meeting Chloe’s mocking gaze, I didn’t back down. “Chloe, you just said I’m still legally Ethan’s wife. If I were to truly burn all bridges and sue him for bigamy, what impact do you think that would have on both of you?” “You… you’re threatening me?” I didn’t deny it, and Chloe was furious. Taking advantage of her hesitation, I walked straight into the bedroom. But the transformed room left me at a loss. Chloe recovered and mocked, “I threw out all your things. If you really want them, go check the trash cans downstairs.” “What about the box in the closet?” I opened the closet, but didn’t see the cherished box. Chloe ignored my sharp glare, merely shrugging, “Threw it away.” Furious, I grabbed Chloe by the throat. “You’re asking for it.” As Chloe struggled, Ethan returned.

He shoved me away. “Aubrey, are you crazy?!” Seeing Ethan, Chloe instantly burst into breathless sobs. “Ethan, I don’t know why Aubrey is doing this to me!” But my eyes were fixed on Ethan. “She threw away our children.” Ethan’s eyes darkened for a moment. Chloe quickly interjected, “How was I supposed to know what was in that old box? Besides, your first four children weren’t even viable embryos. And now you’re using dead children to insult me?” “Aubrey, how can you be so vicious? Aren’t you afraid your children’s vengeful spirits will come back to haunt you?” Chloe certainly knew how to twist things. My four children were all lost because of her, yet she managed to completely absolve herself. I expected Ethan to reprimand Chloe, but instead, he frowned. “I’ve told you before not to keep those unlucky things in the house.” I stared at Ethan in disbelief. So, our children were just “unlucky things” to him. Of course, why couldn’t I see it? If he truly cared about our children, how could he have let them miscarry? “Enough, Aubrey. Do you want to lose yet another child?” Ethan knew my obsession with having children. He always knew how desperately I wanted to bear his children, so he used that to manipulate me. But our fifth child was already gone when I was attacked by those internet trolls supporting Chloe. I sneered at Ethan. “Neither you nor I deserve to have children.” With that, I tried to leave, but Ethan blocked me. “It’s my father’s birthday tomorrow. You have to be there.” At his words, I couldn’t help but scoff. “Everyone knows you married Chloe. Why would I, your ex-wife, show up?” Ethan immediately frowned. “Look, this is your chance to atone. My parents know you’re pregnant and are willing to overlook everything. Just go, okay?” “I’m not going.” My gaze was firm. After saying that, I ignored Ethan completely and turned to leave. But I didn’t expect Ethan to retaliate by sabotaging people who were friendly with me. Soon after, Ethan sent me a message: [If you don’t come, I guarantee they’ll suffer greatly.] I didn’t reply, so Ethan exposed me on Ins. The compromising video from his and Chloe’s wedding had only been known by a few people, but now everyone knew. Suddenly, I was a pariah. The same people who had assaulted me at the hospital now came out to speak for what they called ‘justice’: [Boycott Aubrey Stone…] My company even issued a statement announcing my termination. People I didn’t even know, who claimed to be close to me, started coming forward. [Yes, I was Aubrey Stone’s classmate, she was like this even in school.] [I can’t believe Aubrey Stone got together with Ethan Stone and still wasn’t satisfied.] [She’s had three abortions. It’s because the children weren’t Ethan’s at all. Only Ethan could put up with it, anyone else would have beaten Aubrey Stone to death.] My social media accounts were attacked within half an hour. My DMs were flooded with insults telling me to die. I saved all of them and sent them to my lawyer. But I didn’t expect this to be just the beginning. Knowing I was under attack from all sides, Ethan launched a series of further actions. His goal was singular: to force me into submission. After making a phone call to arrange things, I replied to Ethan’s message: [Okay, I’ll be there on time tomorrow.] Before going, I went to the hospital and placed my fifth child in an exquisite box. That night, I stayed at my small apartment, but Chloe was restless all night. She kept sending me intimate videos of her and Ethan, or recordings of Ethan slandering me. [Aubrey can’t compare to you. You’re the one I care about most.] [Even though Aubrey is pregnant now, I still want to have a child with you.] [Chloe, no one will ever break us apart again.] I forwarded all of these to my lawyer as well. My lawyer immediately sent a happy emoji: [You’re definitely going to win.] Yes, Ethan had grandly married Chloe, yet he never even bothered to finalize the divorce with me. It showed just how little he valued me. In Ethan’s eyes, I was just someone with no family support. Fortunately, this also allowed me to see his true colors. Early the next morning, I was yanked awake by Ethan. He glared at me, “Are you ever going to stop? Chloe doesn’t even mind you being my mistress, yet you keep stirring up trouble. Do you really want me to throw you out to be satisfied?”

Meeting Ethan’s furious, almost devouring gaze, I felt a bit bewildered. Seeing my confusion, Ethan grew even angrier. “Still playing innocent? You found someone to maliciously spread rumors that Chloe broke up our relationship, saying you’re still my wife, and that Chloe can’t have children for life. Are you trying to see Chloe dead?” Even though I hadn’t done any of those things, all of them were true. As our eyes met, Ethan understood the meaning in mine. He grabbed me and dragged me off the bed. “Since you’re so vicious, you don’t need this child either.” Ethan dragged me to the hospital, but just before I went into the operating room, he received a FaceTime call from Chloe. “Alright, alright, I’ll be right there.” Ethan left me in the operating room. He said, “Be at the mansion within half an hour, or you’ll regret it.” Watching Ethan’s frantic departure, I couldn’t help but smile. I was going anyway, even if he hadn’t said anything. I had an announcement to make. By the time I arrived at the mansion, many people had already gathered. These people, who used to be overly polite to me, now merely glanced at me coldly, clearly disapproving. Some even deliberately whispered loudly, “I really don’t know how some people have the nerve to show up.” “Exactly! Today is Mr. Stone Sr.’s birthday, and the Sterling Medical Dynasty is also announcing Ethan as the successor. How can she, someone who constantly slandered Mrs. Stone, still have the face to come?” “Well, she is an ex-wife, after all. Maybe she’s hoping to cash in on the family’s prestige.” I didn’t pay much attention to their remarks. Ethan’s parents also saw me and immediately snorted, “What are you doing here? Our Stone family doesn’t have a daughter-in-law like you.” I was about to say something when Ethan arrived with a frail and delicate-looking Chloe. The Stone family members smiled and stepped forward. “Chloe, you’re pregnant now, be careful.” Hearing this, everyone present gasped. “She’s already pregnant?” “Congratulations!” But I couldn’t help but mock, “Didn’t she say she was infertile for life? How did she get pregnant so quickly?” Hearing me say that, Ethan glared sharply at me. “Shut up.” Everyone thought I was heartless and cold, with some even saying, “I think she’s just jealous.” Ethan’s family, enraged, ordered their bodyguards to pin me to the ground. “Beat her! How dare she target my daughter-in-law? I won’t tolerate it!” After Mr. Stone Sr. spoke, the Stone family bodyguards surrounded me. I looked at Ethan one last time. “I’m pregnant too…” “So what? Your child only stays if I want it to.” Ethan looked at me with disdain. I closed my eyes and counted down in my mind. I thought, everything should end now. Just as the bodyguards started tearing at my clothes, Mr. Stone Sr. suddenly yelled, “Wait!” I thought he had realized something, but instead, he said, “The people from the Sterling Medical Dynasty are arriving soon. Take Aubrey to the back first, don’t make a scene.” No sooner had he spoken than the bodyguards dragged me towards the garden. At the same moment, the banquet hall doors were pushed open. The Stone family members fawned over the newcomers, “You’re here.” The person didn’t even look at them, instead scanning the crowd. Ethan, receiving a signal from Mr. Stone Sr.’s eyes, hurried after the person. “Hello, I’m Ethan Stone.” The person glanced at Ethan, their expression instantly darkening. “Where is Miss Sterling?” Everyone was baffled. “Miss Sterling? Your Miss Sterling is at the banquet?” Mr. Stone Sr. looked at Mr. Davies in disbelief. Mr. Davies searched the room but couldn’t find me. He immediately called my number. The next moment, my phone rang in my hand. Everyone present looked with horror in my direction. At this point, Mr. Davies also saw me, my clothes disheveled. His face went pale. “Miss Sterling?”

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The night before my wedding to the Don, I drive sixty miles to bring his mistress home myself. When Damien pushes the door open, he finds the two of us sitting at the table with an open bottle of red between us, laughing like old friends. He exhales. He’s relieved. “Aria. Since you already know, let Cordelia move in with us.” I don’t look up from my glass. “You’re still my wife on paper. But Cordelia is delicate. Let her have the ceremony tomorrow. Once she’s settled, I’ll marry you properly. I promise.” I swirl my wine. I say nothing. He takes that as a yes. He always does. He grabs Cordelia’s hand and walks out without looking back, off to pick a gown. My gown. For my wedding. I’m not angry. I open my phone. There’s a private channel. Five names. Every man on it sworn in blood to a Family older than this city. I type one line. I need a groom for tomorrow. Anyone in? Three seconds. The screen explodes. Damien’s own Capos. His sworn brothers. Crawling over each other to be the first to volunteer. I smile. See, Damien? You won’t marry me. There’s a line. I mute the channel and put the phone face down. “Miss Moretti.” Marco, the house consigliere, has been standing in the doorway for a while. He clears his throat. “The Don is asking for tomorrow’s gown.” A pause. He hates the next part. “He says since you’re not getting married tomorrow anyway, the gown should go to his bride.” The gown. Six months of design. A year of flying between Milan, Paris, and Sicily, every stitch done by hand inside a Moretti atelier. The same silk four generations of Moretti brides have worn. The family crest sewn into the bodice with thread spun from melted-down heirloom gold. Nobody knows what that gown means better than Damien. It isn’t a dress. It’s a contract. It’s my name made flesh. And now Cordelia Vance, the daughter of a rival consigliere, a girl with no blood claim to anything in this world, says she likes it, and I’m supposed to hand it over? “Tell him,” I say, “if he wants it, he can come crawling for it.” Thirty minutes later, the front door slams open. Damien strides in with a dozen boutique girls trailing behind him, each one carrying two gowns. He drops onto the couch and twists a lock of my hair around his finger. “Aria. Our wedding is still happening, just later. The girl wants the gown. Let her have it.” He waves at the boutique girls. “Pick a new one. Or don’t bother. Cordelia can return mine after the ceremony. I don’t mind if you wear it second.” Cordelia laughs. She throws herself across his lap and traces lazy circles on his chest. “Damien, you’re awful. You told all of New York no Moretti bride would ever wear a used gown. Now you want her to wear mine? She must hate me so much.” Damien strokes her hair. “She’s not that petty.” Then, lazy and cruel: “Besides. She’s been mine for ten years. Who else is ever going to take her?” I glance at my phone. The channel is still scrolling. Every one of those men sharper, hungrier, more dangerous than the one sprawled across my couch. Damien checks his own phone. Snorts. Drops a voice note into his groomsmen’s chat. “Boys, listen. Tomorrow at the ceremony, you treat Cordelia like the Donna. Full respect. I don’t want to hear a single name out of place. Understood?” He doesn’t notice. Not a single one of his sworn brothers replies. He pulls Cordelia tighter against him and reaches for me without even looking. “Aria, where do we keep the condoms? You know how Cordelia is. She’s all over me every night, and she throws a fit if she doesn’t get what she wants.” A pause. He smiles. “Don’t worry. I made you a promise. The first Sinclair heir comes out of you. Nobody else.” I almost laugh out loud. That promise. He remembers half of it. At twenty, under the harbor fireworks, he held my face in both hands and swore only you. The wedding will be yours. The first child will be yours. Always you. Ten years later, everything’s changed except the half that still works in his favor. He catches the look on my face and softens for a second. “You should smile more, Aria. You laughed all the time when you were twenty. These days you just look cold. I miss the old you.” I let the smile fall off my face. I tell Marco to bring the Don a box of condoms. Damien forgets the conversation the second it’s over. He’s pleased. I’m being good. I’m being reasonable. He scoops Cordelia up and heads for the stairs. “Take the guest room tonight, Aria. Cordelia wants me to herself. She’s a nightmare in the morning, so have the stylist wait outside her door. Don’t go in until she’s awake.” “Damien.” He stops on the landing. Turns his head. Eyebrows up, impatient. I look him in the eye and smile, soft, almost gentle. “The wedding tomorrow is still happening. Just so you know. If you’re not standing at the altar, someone else will be.”

Damien doesn’t buy it. He scoffs and shakes his head, like I’m a child throwing a fit. “Knock it off, Aria. This isn’t the time to fight for attention.” “Let me handle Cordelia first. Maybe if I sweeten her up, she’ll let you walk behind her as a bridesmaid tomorrow.” Cordelia pouts against his chest, tugging at his shirt, sulking. He doesn’t look back. He climbs the stairs with her in his arms, and a few minutes later the sounds start. The kind of sounds I’m supposed to pretend I can’t hear through the floor. Marco opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “Miss Moretti.” His voice is low, careful. “The seat of the Donna in this house… the Don has never once considered giving it to anyone else. You should know that.” I glance at the box of condoms in his hand. Then tip my chin toward the ceiling. “Take them up.” Around midnight, my phone goes off. Bianca. Her voice nearly punctures my eardrum. “Aria! What the hell is going on over there?!” “Damien just told everyone the wedding is off?! Are you kidding me? You’ve been bleeding for this thing for a year! Do you remember how many nights you didn’t sleep? Do you remember Sicily? Do you remember Milan?! And he just cancels it like he’s canceling brunch?!” I rub my ear and sit up. Sleep is gone. I open my mouth to tell her the wedding’s still on. She doesn’t let me get a syllable out. “Wait. Hold on. Hold on. That son of a bitch just sent me a new invitation. Same date, same venue, new bride. Some bitch named Cordelia Vance. And he wants me to show up and clap for her?!” “Who in God’s name is Cordelia Vance?! I’ve never even heard of this girl!” I lower my eyes. This is who Damien has always been. When he loves you, he gives you the moon. When he stops, he comes for the moon back, and the sky, and the air you breathe with it. A pair of headlights flashes across the wall. The room sinks back into darkness. “Bianca. Listen.” I keep my voice soft. “Don’t worry about any of it. Just show up tomorrow. The wedding is still on.” “He’s swapping out the bride. So tomorrow, I’m swapping out the groom.” The line goes dead quiet. She figures it out fast. Then she explodes. “That motherless snake. Swap him. Swap him hard. I want him on his knees by Sunday.” “Three years, Aria. Three years he’s been screwing some side piece while he had you flying around the world picking out flowers and silk samples. Three years he’s been telling you to wait for the date, the venue, the dress. And now he wants you to sit in the back row and watch?” Her voice breaks. “Don’t you dare cry. I’ll cry. I’m waking Marco’s brother right now. We’re burning this man’s life to the ground for you. Hold on, baby. Hold on.” I laugh, soft and exhausted. I want to tell her not to bother. The men lining up to take Damien’s place tomorrow each outrank him in blood, in territory, in body count. There’s nothing left of his life worth burning. I don’t get the chance. There’s a knock at my door. It’s Marco. He doesn’t have to speak. The look on his face says it all before his mouth opens. He hesitates, like the words physically hurt him. “Miss Moretti… the Don is asking for you. In the master bedroom.” I know what this is. If I refuse, Damien will take it out on Marco. I tell Bianca to put her maid of honor dress on tomorrow and meet me at the venue. Then I head upstairs. The master bedroom door is half open. The room is a wreck. Sheets twisted on the floor. The smell of sex hangs in the air, thick enough to choke on. Damien just got out of the shower. His hair is still dripping, water running down a neck covered in fresh bite marks and bruises, sliding into the open collar of his robe. I dig my nails into my palm and shove the pain in my chest down somewhere I can’t feel it. He sees me and waves lazily at the floor. At the bridesmaid dress crumpled there, stained, ruined. “Aria. I know you put a lot into this wedding. So here. Put this on tomorrow and stand behind Cordelia as her bridesmaid. Think of it as the year of your life paying off. At least you’ll be in the photos.” Cordelia smiles like a snake under those sheets. She leans in and whispers against his ear, loud enough for me to catch every word. “Damien, baby. Aria’s the one who made the Moretti ring, isn’t she? The one with all the family stones. I want it. Put it on me tomorrow.” My face doesn’t move. That ring isn’t jewelry. It’s a Moretti family signet. Four generations of Donnas have worn it. The inside band carries an engraving only the blood heir knows how to read. Whoever wears it carries the keys to my family’s ledger. Damien knows exactly what that ring is. He has to know. But he just raises an eyebrow and lets out a slow, lazy breath. “Aria. It’s a ring. The girl wants it. Don’t be stingy.” “You and I don’t even have a new date yet, sweetheart. You’ve got all the time in the world. Forge yourself a new one.” He says it the way you’d offer someone the last fry on your plate. And just like that, the pain in my chest dies. Every bit of it. Gone. I can’t feel a single thing. I look him dead in the eye and say it one more time, soft and slow. “I told you, Damien. Tomorrow’s wedding is still happening.”

Damien freezes for a beat. Then he laughs, low and certain, like a man humoring a child. “Continue with what, sweetheart? Your groom isn’t even in the room. You marrying the wallpaper?” “Come on, Aria. You’ve never been the clingy kind. I gave you my word. I’ll marry you. Just sit tight a couple more years and be a good girl. Hm?” Wait. Always wait. Ten years of waiting. I finally clawed my way to a wedding date. Three months out, I found out he’d been screwing someone else for three years. And now he wants me to wait again. Wait for him to marry another woman, give her his name, his bed, his ring. And then, when he gets bored of her, drag me out of storage and put me on the altar? “I’m done waiting, Damien.” He doesn’t hear me. He glances at the watch on his wrist, drags Cordelia back under the sheets, and tosses the words at me without looking up. “Night’s still young. We can go another round or two. Don’t worry, Aria. The first Sinclair heir is coming out of you. Nobody else gets that.” I lower my eyes. There’s nothing in them. I drop the bridesmaid dress on the floor and walk out. The next morning, neither of them comes down. The stylist is standing in the hallway, hugging her case, mortified. I walk over. “I’m the bride. Do me.” She knows me. Every consultation, every fitting, every piece of silk flown in from the Moretti atelier in Sicily came through me. She doesn’t ask. She just opens her case and gets to work. By the time my hair and veil are nearly done, the two of them finally come strolling down the stairs. The morning sun cuts across the hall and falls right over me. Damien stops dead. The stylist pins the last layer of the veil in place. I lift my skirt, stand, and turn my head slowly to look at him. He pinches the bridge of his nose like I’ve given him a migraine. “Aria. I told you. You’ll get your wedding. Later.” “Be a good girl. Take it off before Cordelia comes down. She’ll throw a tantrum if she sees you in it.” Right on cue, the heels start clattering on the stairs. Cordelia comes flying down, hooks onto his arm, and the second she lays eyes on me she comes unglued. Her finger jabs at my face. “Damien! Today is my wedding! Why is she in my dress?!” Her eyes well up on command. She tucks her chin and her voice goes soft, broken, deliberate. “You know about my mom. You know what she was. I told myself I’d die before I ended up like her. And I still let you have me. I let myself become that woman for you, Damien.” A tear slips down. Right on cue. “Three whole years. And you can’t even give me one wedding day she isn’t standing in the middle of?” Damien drops his head fast and starts murmuring against her hair. Hands fluttering. Panicking. Trying to soothe her. The same way he panicked fifteen years ago, kneeling beside a thirteen-year-old me in the bloodied ruins of the Moretti compound. Bodies still warm. He held me against his chest and swore on his Family’s blood that I would never be alone again. Memory is a cruel thing. I laugh, soft and short, and toss the small leather notebook on the floor between us. “Damien. I don’t need this anymore. Take it back.” If he bothered to look, he’d know exactly what it is. The Vow Ledger. Fifteen years ago we pressed our bloodied thumbs onto the inside cover and started writing down a hundred wishes. He told me, back then, that when we finished the last one, nothing in this world could pull us apart. There are still ten wishes left in that book. I don’t want to finish them with him anymore. “Aria. Good timing.” Damien picks up the leather notebook, smiles, and presses it into Cordelia’s hands like he’s giving her a present. “It’s our little couple’s journal, baby. We finish a hundred wishes together, and we’re locked in. Forever.” He kisses her hair. “The dress is yours. The wedding is yours. All of it.” Cordelia’s tears dry in a heartbeat. She melts back into his chest, looks me dead in the eye, and smiles slow. “Damien, baby. Make her take it off. She’s a bridesmaid. Who said she gets to wear a bride’s dress?” Damien lifts one finger. Three housemaids close in on me, hands already reaching. “Aria. Off.” The stylist looks around, panicked. She opens her mouth to speak. A guard takes her by the elbow before a single word comes out and steers her into the next room. The door clicks shut. The dress weighs a ton. Underneath it I’m wearing nothing but underwear. I look around the room. Guards. Staff. Damien. I tilt my head and smile. “Damien. You sure you want me to take it off right here?”

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1 My mother was a maid for the Diabys. A drunken accident left her pregnant with me. They discarded her and kept me, treating me as their lifelong shame. The legitimate daughter saw me as a thorn, leading her clique to bully me daily. Derek, the eldest son, beat and cursed me at will. On my eighteenth birthday, he tried forcing me to marry an old man. When I refused, he personally dragged me to that man’s bed. Wayne Ashford kicked the door open. He shielded my trembling body with his coat and fought the entire Diaby family for me. He bought me fine clothes and took me to see the ocean. Whenever I cried about my mother being forced that night she simply passed my father’s room, he kissed my tears away, swearing he believed me. I thought I’d found salvation. With nothing else to give, I offered myself as his birthday gift in the dark. As he coaxed me closer, the lights snapped on. My siblings, classmates, and wealthy heirs all pointed at my disgrace. Wayne tore away the blanket I clutched. “You claimed your mother wasn’t a slut who seduced men,” he sneered. “But you are, aren’t you?” His favor was only a trap to grind me into filth. After crying until I was hollow, I called overseas. “Mom,” I whispered. “I’ll come home.” The glaring white light fell over me, pinning my naked body in place. I was like a cheap product stripped of its packaging, exposed for everyone to inspect. Flashes kept going off. Shutter clicks mixed with filthy laughter. “Oh, isn’t this the Diaby family’s illegitimate daughter? You sure know how to play.” “Wayne, impressive. You could actually stomach this kind of goods?” “Hahaha, the sounds she made just now were so dirty my bones went weak.” Those obscene words pierced my ears like burning needles. I curled up, trying to grab the blanket Wayne had taken away, but my fingers caught only cold air. He stood by the bed, looking down at me. His face held a sarcasm and coldness I had never seen before. I trembled, not from the cold, but from betrayal that had sunk into my bones. “Why?” My voice was dry, like sandpaper scraping my throat. “Wayne Ashford, didn’t you say you would protect me?” He let out a soft laugh. It was colder than winter wind. “Protect you?” He bent down, and with the hands that had once gently stroked my hair, he gripped my chin hard. “A maid’s child thinks she deserves protection?” “Get this straight, Tina. Using someone like you as a toy doesn’t cost anything.” A lazy voice came from the doorway. “Tsk. My dear sister, how are you still so naive?” Derek Diaby leaned against the doorframe, a champagne glass swaying in his hand, his face wearing the smile of someone enjoying a show. That face, which looked somewhat like our father’s, was now full of undisguised malice. “You didn’t really think Wayne went against me for you, did you?” My mind went blank. I could only stare at him. Derek walked in and paced around the bed like he was admiring a trophy. “That’s right, we used to be enemies. Couldn’t stand the sight of each other.” He paused and handed his glass toward Wayne. The two of them clinked glasses softly. The crisp sound of glass against glass rang in my heart like a funeral bell. “But now, Wayne is my real sister’s fiancé. We’ve long since turned from enemies into allies. Strong joined with strong.” Derek’s smile grew worse. “As for you…” He pointed at me from a distance. “You were just a bet between Wayne and me.” “A bet on how long it would take a naive country bumpkin like you to treat her ‘savior’ as her one true love.” “Looks like I won.” Louder laughter burst from the crowd. A girl I remembered from high school, who always followed Sylvia Diaby around, pointed at me and shrieked, “I remember her. That’s her. Back in high school, she wore that washed-out old uniform every day. So ugly.” Someone else immediately joined in. “Right, right. I once saw her hiding in the corner of the cafeteria, eating leftovers. I thought she looked poor and pathetic back then. I didn’t expect she’d dare dream of marrying into wealth.” “Wasn’t her mother that maid who crawled into a man’s bed? Like mother, like daughter. Cheapness runs in the bones.” “Exactly. She really thinks she’s something.” One sentence after another. Every humiliating thing about my past and present, everything I never wanted to look back on, was torn open bloody and spread in front of everyone. Those self-conscious, embarrassing memories I had desperately tried to forget had become their most entertaining jokes. I looked at Wayne. The man who had once told me, I don’t care about your past. I only care about your future. Now, he was laughing with those people, enjoying my collapse. So it wasn’t that he didn’t care about my past. He was simply enjoying the process of personally forcing me back into it. Tears burned in my eyes. But I bit my lip hard and didn’t let them fall. I couldn’t cry here. I couldn’t let them see my final humiliation. Supporting my weak body, I climbed off the bed. Ignoring their probing, contemptuous gazes, I picked up the clothes scattered on the floor and put them on one by one. The laughter in the room gradually quieted, replaced by an eerie silence. Perhaps they hadn’t expected me to remain so calm. I smoothed the last wrinkle from my clothes, straightened my back, and walked step by step out of the suffocating room. The hallway was empty. It was as if it belonged to another world from the debauchery inside. I leaned against the cold wall, took out my phone, and dialed a number I knew by heart with trembling fingers. The call rang for a long time before it connected. A gentle female voice came from the other end. “Tina?” It was my mother. Years ago, she had married overseas. Her husband was a wealthy man who treated her with respect, and she became his lawful wife. More than once, she had offered to bring me to her, even to have me adopted under her husband’s name so I could become a legitimate daughter. But I had refused. I didn’t want to burden her. I didn’t want to make her life difficult in her new family because of me. Back then, she had only sighed and said, “All right. Mom respects you. But remember, whenever you want to come back, Mom will come take you home.” I had once thought I would never make this call. But now, I truly couldn’t hold on anymore. “Mom, I agree to come back to you.” The moment I spoke, my voice broke. The other end was silent for a few seconds. She didn’t ask what had happened. She didn’t ask why I was crying. She only said in a voice so steady and reassuring, “Okay.” One word. Yet it was like a pair of warm hands reaching across the ocean, holding up the version of me that was about to collapse. “Tina, send me your address.” “I’ll have your brother pick you up.” I ended the call. That last okay was like a lifesaving straw dropped into the deep sea where I was drowning. Just as I put away my phone, the door behind me opened. Sylvia Diaby, my so-called half-sister, stood leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. Her exquisitely made-up face was filled with undisguised mockery. “Oh, isn’t this our family’s little pitiful thing?” “What, couldn’t help crying to your maid mother?” Her voice was sharp and thin, like nails scraping glass. I gripped my phone tightly. I didn’t want conflict right now. I only wanted to leave. Immediately. Seeing that I didn’t speak, she grew more interested and walked toward me step by step in her heels. “Why aren’t you talking? Cat got your tongue?” “Let me tell you, crying is useless. What can a lowborn thing like your mother teach you besides climbing into men’s beds?” She stopped in front of me and looked me up and down condescendingly, as if looking at garbage. “Oh, right.” As if suddenly remembering something, she covered her mouth and laughed. “She can teach you how to seduce men harder.” “After all, that’s the ancestral craft of you mother and daughter, isn’t it?” My knuckles turned white around my phone. A metallic taste rose in my throat. But I held it back. I told myself I was about to leave this hell. There was no need to argue with a mad dog. I turned sideways, wanting to walk around her. But she had no intention of letting me go. Smack. With a crisp sound, she slapped my phone out of my hand. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. The screen instantly shattered into cracks, like my already-broken heart. “I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?” Her voice suddenly rose, sharp and piercing. I looked at the black, dead object on the floor. It was the first smartphone my mother had bought me after saving money for a long time. I bent down, wanting to pick it up. Even if it was broken, I wanted to take it with me. Just as my fingertips were about to touch the remains of the phone, a rhinestone-studded pointed heel kicked my shoulder hard. The force made me lose balance, and I tumbled awkwardly onto the floor. The cold marble pressed against my cheek. I looked up. Sylvia stood there, looking down at me from above, a proud, cruel smile on her face. This scene was exactly like all those times in childhood when she and her friends pinned me to the ground and bullied me. So after all these years, I was still the pitiful worm lying on the floor, looking up at her. “Oh, sister, what are you doing? Such a grand bow?” Derek’s voice came from not far away, carrying his usual nauseating frivolity. A group of men and women surrounded him, all watching the show. They looked at me lying on the floor like a monkey in a zoo. “Still haven’t left? Thick-skinned, aren’t you?” Derek raised his brows and sauntered over. Someone in the crowd whistled obscenely at me. “What, not going to lift your skirt and let us see again?” “Tsk. Only letting Wayne see? That won’t do.” Filthy teasing rose one after another. Sylvia exaggeratedly covered her ears, full of disgust. “You’re dirtying my ears.” Then she turned and intimately hooked her arm through Wayne’s, who had appeared behind her at some point. “Wayne, let’s ignore this dirty thing. Where do you want to eat tonight?” Her voice instantly turned sweet and coquettish. The crowd immediately began cheering. “Candlelit dinner! Candlelit dinner!” “Kiss! Kiss!” Amid the noise, I saw Wayne smile. He lowered his head and looked at Sylvia, tenderness almost spilling from his eyes. He said, “Whatever you want.” Those three words were like three poisoned blades thrust into my heart. They left arm in arm, followed by the jeering crowd, leaving only a beautiful and cold silhouette behind. The vast hallway soon held only me, Derek, and a few of his followers who hadn’t left. Derek clearly had no intention of letting me go. He walked up to me and kicked my arm with the tip of his shoe. “See that?” “Only someone like my sister is worthy of Wayne Ashford.” He crouched down, gripped my chin, and forced me to look up. “What are you? A bastard born from a maid, and you dare dream?” His eyes were cold, like a snake flicking its tongue. “Behave yourself from now on.” He let go of my face, stood, and brushed off nonexistent dust. Before leaving, he casually waved at the remaining men like he was ordering servants. “She’s yours.” “Play as you like.” The men immediately revealed malicious smiles. They closed in on me step by step, like hyenas that had smelled blood. I struggled to get up, but one of them stepped on my back and pinned me to the floor. “Why run? Your brother gave you to us.” “Let us have some fun.” A hand shoved me roughly. Flashes lit up, accompanied by shutter clicks and excited howls. Cold, sticky hands wandered. I fought desperately, only to be met with harder punches and kicks. “Bitch. Still moving?” “Ungrateful trash.” Curses and beating sounds mixed together. I felt like my bones were about to break. My consciousness blurred beneath endless pain and humiliation. I didn’t know how long passed before they seemed to get tired of playing. I was dragged like a broken rag doll. My hands and feet were tied roughly, and some unknown cloth was stuffed into my mouth. Finally, the wardrobe door opened. I was shoved inside heavily. Bang. The door shut. The world sank into complete darkness and silence. I didn’t know how long I had been locked inside the wardrobe. When the door opened and blinding light rushed in, I could barely open my eyes. The first thing I saw was my father’s dignified face. Derek and Sylvia stood behind him, waiting to enjoy the show. I rarely saw my father. In this family, he was a symbol, a representation of power, not a father. I didn’t hold much hope that he would punish his precious children for me. But surely he would at least scold them a little. After all, I was his child too. But he only calmly swept his gaze over my miserable state, then turned to Derek and Sylvia. “You went too far.” There was not a trace of warmth in his voice. “If the photos get out, the family’s reputation will be affected. Be more restrained next time.” Then he glanced at me. His eyes were full of undisguised disgust. As if I were a filthy object that brought him shame. Then he turned and left. He didn’t look at me again. My heart sank completely. So he didn’t not know. He knew everything. He had merely allowed it. No. He had indulged it. My father’s support became Derek and Sylvia’s strongest backing. The smugness on their faces could no longer be hidden. Sylvia grabbed me out of the wardrobe with so much force that I staggered. She took out her phone and opened the album in front of me. Inside were photos of me being humiliated yesterday. “Don’t want these photos spread, do you?” Her smile was sweet and vicious. I looked at those humiliating images and nodded in shame again and again. “Sure.” Sylvia sneered. “Then curse your mother in front of us.” “Each curse, I delete one photo.” “No repeats.” I bit my lower lip hard and refused to speak. Seeing this, Derek said nothing and simply swung his fist. Bang. One punch landed on my face. The taste of blood instantly filled my mouth. A tooth mixed with blood fell onto the floor. “Ungrateful thing. Are you going to curse or not?” They continued pressing me. I shook my head. Then fists and slaps rained down on me. Again. And again. Only when they got tired did they finally stop. I lay on the floor, my whole body in pain, my consciousness beginning to drift. Under my hopeless gaze, Sylvia uploaded the photos one by one to social media. As if that wasn’t enough, she shoved the phone screen in front of me and read the filthy comments beneath them one by one. “Haha, look at this one. Says you must be good in bed.” “This one is even better. Asking how much for one night.” “Tsk, tsk, Tina, you’re famous now.” Those filthy words hurt me more than their fists ever could. “Had enough?” A cool voice sounded from the doorway. It was Wayne. He leaned against the doorframe, his expression faint. “Uncle just warned you, and you’ve already forgotten?” “When he comes back, I’m afraid he’ll be unhappy.” Derek and Sylvia looked at each other. Their excitement finally faded a little. Only then did they stop. But before leaving, Sylvia still unwillingly found rope and tied my hands and feet. “Before we come back tonight, stay here obediently.” “If you dare run, I’ll break your legs.” With that, the three of them left together, laughing and harmonious. The door shut. The room returned to dead silence. Only I remained, bound and abandoned on the cold floor. I didn’t wait to die. I wriggled my body little by little toward the desk. Using the sharp corner, I began grinding the rope around my wrists. Once. Twice. My skin tore, blood seeping out, burning painfully. But I didn’t stop. Five whole hours. Just as I thought the bones in my wrists would be ground apart, the rope finally snapped. I broke free. I had to leave this hell. I stumbled out of the house. After so much torture and blood loss, my consciousness had already started to blur. Just as I reached the entrance, my legs weakened, and I was about to fall. But I fell into a warm embrace. “Don’t be afraid.” A gentle male voice sounded above my head. “I’m taking you home.” I struggled to raise my head and saw his face clearly. It was Everett Lin. My stepfather’s eldest son, the publicly acknowledged sole heir of the Lin family. At that moment, a sharp female voice tore through that brief warmth. “Oh, Tina, found another man to seduce already?” Sylvia and Wayne had returned. She looked Everett up and down. Seeing that he was unfamiliar, she naturally assumed he was some lowly nobody. “Where did you find this lover? He looks decent enough.” She spoke with contempt. “Two lowborn things together. What a perfect match.” But beside her, the moment Wayne saw Everett’s face clearly, his entire body went stiff.

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1 I was twenty-eight and single. My parents were desperate, so they called in my married brother, Lucas, to share his secret to finding a wife. “It was pure luck,” he laughed. “No one would believe Victoria and I were pen pals in the 21st century.” Useless advice. I went back to my minimum-wage grind until I cleaned the attic that weekend. Deep in a dusty closet, I found a heavy box of letters Lucas and Victoria wrote as teens. He used the pen name Atlas; she was Aurora. The handwriting was bold and free-spirited. I froze. Atlas was my pen name. Trembling, I dumped the box. Every letter signed Atlas was in my exact handwriting, mixed with Aurora’s sweet replies. Papers fluttered to the floor as my knees buckled. Victoria was my old pen pal? But she didn’t just disappear? When I turned eighteen, right after my birthday, her letters abruptly stopped. I kept writing to her, week after week, but my words vanished into the void. She never disappeared. She just started writing to my older brother instead. I stared closely at the letters signed by Atlas. The tone, the phrasing, the cadence… it was exactly how I wrote. But the handwriting… Lucas had always possessed a terrifying talent for mimicking my script perfectly. Did Lucas… No. It was impossible. I shook my head violently, trying to clear the paranoid thoughts. Outside, the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway snapped me back to reality. I frantically gathered the scattered letters, shoving them back into the bottom of the wooden chest. But because they had spilled everywhere, they were completely out of order. It took me longer than I wanted. Just as I slammed the lid shut, the front door downstairs clicked open. “Guess what I got my amazing husband to celebrate ten years of knowing each other?” It was Victoria’s voice. I stayed frozen in the shadows of the upstairs hallway, listening. Lucas paused, pretending to think. “A new ring?” “Nope.” I heard the soft click of a velvet box opening. Victoria laughed softly. A vintage Rolex was resting inside, customized with a brilliant aquamarine stone set into the dial. It was a rare piece I had recently read about from a Sotheby’s auction. Lucas gasped, taking the box with wide eyes. “Oh my god, babe! It is gorgeous! But what is the occasion for something this crazy?” Victoria’s smile faltered. “Did you forget our promise?” Lucas blinked at her, completely confused. “In our very first year of writing to each other,” Victoria said softly, “you told me that if we stayed in each other’s lives for a decade, I had to gift you a watch with an aquamarine stone. Do you… do you really not remember?” “Of course I do!” Lucas recovered instantly, pulling her into a tight embrace with a loud laugh. “I was just messing with you, babe!” Victoria gently pushed the watch box onto the console table, her tone slightly deflated. “I think someone actually forgot. It feels like I am the only one who remembers the little things from back then.” “I did not forget! Stop making things up! I am sorry, babe. Come here.” Lucas wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. Victoria’s feigned annoyance melted away instantly. A genuine, loving smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Then she looked up, saw me standing at the top of the stairs, and quickly pushed Lucas away. “Simon is here.” Lucas looked up, clearly startled. I stood there, my fists clenched so tightly behind my back that my nails dug into my palms. “Hey, Simon,” Lucas smiled smoothly. Victoria waved me down. “Come look at the gift I picked out for your brother. What do you think?” Looking at that beautifully crafted watch, the words died in my throat. Every single detail was perfect. It was exactly how I had pictured it when I wrote that sentence in my bedroom ten years ago. It was just the wrong man wearing it. “Simon, what is wrong?” Victoria asked, her brow furrowing. “Are you feeling sick?” I shook my head silently. “Well, we did not forget about you. Here, your brother picked out a custom engraved gold pendant for you. For good luck.” A heavy velvet pouch was pushed into my hands. No matter what I wanted to scream in that moment, it was not the time or the place. I took the pouch. I muttered a quiet thank you, turned around, and practically ran back up the stairs. In my panic, I didn’t notice the sharp, suspicious glare Lucas shot at my back. I locked myself in my room for the rest of the day. I pulled out a small, hidden shoebox from under my bed. It was filled with old, yellowed stationery. Letters from Aurora. The letters I had sent after these never received a reply. [You have not written to me in weeks. Did something happen?] [I put twenty bucks in this envelope. I saved up for a while. If your stepmom locks you out of the kitchen again, go buy yourself some pizza.] [It has been three months. If you do not reply soon, I am actually going to be mad. Did you finally get a smartphone? My WhatsApp is…] [I am moving to New York for college! If you still want to write to me, my new address is…] [There is a hundred bucks in here. I actually have a real job now! Please make sure you are eating enough.] I couldn’t read any more. I gathered every single letter, crumpled them up, and threw them straight into my trash can. That evening at dinner, the clinking of silverware stopped when Lucas suddenly spoke up. “Simon. Have you been writing letters to my wife?” My head snapped up. My parents and Victoria looked at Lucas in total confusion. With a loud slap, Lucas threw a stack of crumpled, yellowed letters onto the dining table. They were the ones I had thrown away, mixed with a few unsent drafts I had written to Aurora years ago. Victoria froze the second she saw them. “These… these are my old letters. But I sent these to you, Lucas. Why does Simon have them?” “Simon!” Lucas slammed his hands on the table, glaring at me. “Do you have any idea how sick this is? She is your brother’s wife! Just because you cannot find a woman of your own, you steal my old pen name, forge my handwriting, and try to creep on my wife?!” Victoria picked up the letters with trembling hands. She looked at me with a mixture of shock and profound disgust. “No wonder I felt like your tone was a bit weird for a few months back then. It was you.” “I didn’t!” I tried to speak, but my father violently threw his chopsticks against the porcelain bowls. “Simon! We told you to go out and find a girl! We did not tell you to become a shameless degenerate! Hitting on Victoria? Have you lost your mind?!” “I am not! I just…” Lucas’s furious shouting completely drowned out my defense. Victoria quickly wrapped her arms around Lucas, pulling him close and whispering soft words to calm him down. Then she turned her cold gaze to me. “Simon. I am married to your brother. There is absolutely zero possibility of anything ever happening between us. Do not ever try a stunt like this again.” Without another word, she helped Lucas out of the dining room. Her eyes were filled with nothing but pure concern for her husband. My parents were so disgusted they abandoned their dinner entirely. Within seconds, I was the only one left in the room. The yellowed letters lay scattered across the mahogany table. They felt like they were mocking my absolute helplessness across the span of a decade. “That is not what happened!” I suddenly grabbed the letters and sprinted up the stairs. “Victoria, the truth is I…” I stopped dead right outside their bedroom door. Lucas had his face buried in Victoria’s shoulder. Her beautiful, usually composed eyes were filled with undeniable heartbreak for him. “Shh, it is okay. Do not be upset.” As she comforted him, her own eyes grew red. She reached up and gently wiped a tear from my brother’s cheek. Seeing that absolute, raw devotion… every single word I wanted to say died in my throat. What would telling her the truth accomplish now? I was looking at a wife who loved her husband with every fiber of her being. Even if she found out the origin of their relationship was a stolen identity… would a decade of real, lived-in love just vanish into thin air? I turned around and walked away. As I passed the hallway trash can, I dropped the letters back in. The atmosphere at the breakfast table the next morning was suffocating. I broke the silence. “Dad, Mom. Set me up on a blind date.” My mother choked on her coffee. They knew exactly how much I despised arranged setups. Victoria looked up from her plate, her eyes locking onto mine. “I want to get married,” I said flatly. My mother wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Well, it is about time you came to your senses.” “Yeah.” I looked down at my food. Lucas reached over and patted my shoulder with a forgiving smile. “Simon, I am sorry about yesterday. I lost my temper and did not consider your feelings. I apologize.” “But I am so glad you finally figured things out. Do not worry, I will personally vet the candidates. No more weirdos.” I gave a stiff nod. When I casually glanced up, I caught Victoria staring at me. There was an emotion in her eyes I couldn’t quite decipher. I looked away and kept eating in silence. They found a match for me incredibly fast. Her name was Sloane. We were the exact same age. She was a self-made entrepreneur with a net worth pushing nine figures. I was genuinely shocked my parents managed to pull a candidate like her. And I was even more shocked that someone making minimum wage like me was even allowed in the same room as her. But I didn’t care. As long as I was actively dating, the toxic tension in the house would slowly evaporate. But the night before I was supposed to meet Sloane, Victoria sought me out. I was sitting in the living room with the lights off. Victoria quietly sat down on the sofa next to me. “Have you really thought this through? Are you sure you want to rush into marriage?” I blinked, then nodded. “Look, do not hold a grudge over what happened the other day. I did not mean to be so harsh.” “I am over it, Victoria.” Her gaze lingered on my face for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, she nodded. “If she treats you poorly, you come tell me. I am family. I will always have your back.” I paused, looking at her in surprise. She stared right back, her eyes swirling with that same complicated emotion I couldn’t read. Having no other response, I just nodded. “Thank you.” We went back to our respective rooms. But a few minutes later, when I stepped out to grab a glass of water, I heard Victoria’s voice echoing softly from the balcony. She was on the phone. “Yes, he kept his distance tonight. You can go ahead and marry him.” “Of course I am watching out for you. You are my best friend. I would never hand you over to a man with impure intentions.” “Look, I do not care if he still harbors those disgusting fantasies in his head. As long as he keeps them buried and behaves, it is fine.” “Just marry him quickly. I am sick of looking at his face in this house.” “Victoria!” I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved the balcony door open. “I am not a creep! I never did anything to you!” Victoria whipped around, her eyes widening in pure shock. Through the phone speaker, I heard Sloane’s confused voice. “What is going on over there?” “Nothing.” Victoria instantly hung up. She stepped forward and tried to shove me back inside. “What is wrong with you? I thought you went to sleep.” “I am not the disgusting creep you keep telling everyone I am! Lucas was never your pen pal! It was me! I never hit on you! I never lied to you!” Victoria’s brow furrowed deeply. “What are you talking about?” “I am telling you,” I breathed heavily, “I am Atlas…” Her expression darkened into a scowl. “Victoria, I…” Smack. A sharp, stinging slap landed squarely across my cheek. The door to my parents’ master bedroom swung open instantly. Lucas’s bedroom door down the hall clicked open right after. “What is all that shouting?” “Victoria? Simon? Why are you two out here in the dark?” I held my burning cheek, staring at her in absolute disbelief. “You are completely hopeless,” Victoria sneered, looking at me like I was trash. Lucas rushed over. Seeing the bright red handprint on my face, his expression twisted into pure disgust. “Simon, do not tell me you tried to…” I gritted my teeth. “How can you treat me like this?!” Lucas shoved me hard against the wall. “I literally begged Victoria to set you up with her wealthy best friend, and you still cannot keep your hands off my wife?! Are you that pathetic? You only want women who belong to someone else?!” “I didn’t do anything!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “I never lied! Who is the real Atlas, Lucas?! You know exactly what you did! You have absolutely no right to judge me!” “You…” Lucas froze, his face draining of color. A second later, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. My father’s thick, calloused palm cracked across my jaw so hard I saw stars. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor. “Have you no shame?!” my father roared, his face purple with rage. “That is your brother’s wife!” Victoria stood over me, looking down from her pedestal. She pulled Lucas protectively behind her. “Lock him in the basement for a few days,” she said coldly. “Let him think about what he has done.” The family’s private security guards stepped forward immediately. They grabbed me by the arms and dragged me toward the cellar doors. I thrashed wildly. “I am not lying! I am Atlas! Let me go!” Lucas let out a theatrical, choking sob, burying his face in his hands. But right before they shoved me down the dark concrete stairs, I saw Lucas peek through his fingers. He locked eyes with me. There were no tears. Only a cold, lethal threat. I do not remember much of those two days in the dark. At first, I was consumed by a burning rage. Then, total physical exhaustion. By the end, my heart was just dead. On the third afternoon, Victoria unlocked the heavy cellar door. “My husband and I have discussed this.” She emphasized the word husband heavily. “We are willing to keep this little incident a secret from your fiancée. But you are going to sign a non-disclosure agreement.” She dropped a legal document onto the dusty floor in front of me. She looked down at me with eyes made of ice. “From this day forward, you and I have absolutely no connection whatsoever.” I slowly lifted my head. “If you ever cross the line again,” she warned, “I will not care that we are family. I will destroy you.” I stared into her cold, merciless eyes. I picked up the pen with trembling fingers. I signed my name on the dotted line and pressed my thumbprint in red ink. Victoria carefully folded the contract and tucked it into her designer blazer. I was finally allowed out of that suffocating basement. The afternoon sun was blinding. I didn’t care about the pen pal mystery anymore. I didn’t care who Victoria thought she was writing to. Victoria kept her word. During my dates with Sloane, she never said another bad word about me to her best friend. And against all odds, Sloane actually fell for me. I didn’t fully understand why, but my parents were absolutely thrilled and pushed for an immediate engagement. They had two sons. One married the formidable CEO Victoria. The other was marrying the self-made tycoon Sloane. Love didn’t matter. The prestige was enough for them. I had only one condition: after the wedding, I was moving out of the family estate permanently. They agreed without a second thought. The wedding was fast-tracked. That weekend, I was getting married. When the fleet of wedding cars pulled up to Sloane’s private estate, she was sitting in the back of a Rolls-Royce, wearing a breathtaking white gown. She smiled brightly and reached her hand out to me. I didn’t hesitate. I took her hand. Just as I leaned in to lift her out of the car, a frantic voice shattered the romantic atmosphere. “Stop! This is a mistake!” Victoria violently shoved her way through the crowd of groomsmen and photographers. She stood in front of Sloane, completely out of breath. “He cannot marry you.”

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1 The day I went into labor, my mother stood outside the delivery room for thirteen hours straight. The nurse kindly offered her a chair, but she refused to sit, insisting, “If I sit, my heart won’t be at peace. Standing keeps the baby moving.” At four in the morning, when I was finally wheeled out of the delivery room, I saw my mother leaning against the wall. Her feet were so swollen she could barely keep her shoes on, yet she was still clutching my hospital paperwork. When she saw me, her face broke into a tremulous smile before she burst into tears. “My sweet girl, you’ve suffered so much…” “Where is Jordan?” I asked. My mother averted her gaze, waiting a long moment before murmuring, “Jordan… had an urgent matter at the office. He’ll be back soon.” It was only later that I discovered his “urgent matter” was flying to Miami because his assistant and childhood friend, Summer, had sprained her ankle during a company retreat and couldn’t get down the trail. He had flown out immediately to carry her down himself. Looking at my wrinkled newborn and my mother’s swollen, tear-stained face, I realized our marriage was nothing but a sham. The day I was discharged, I left the signed divorce papers on his desk. … My labor had lasted from three in the afternoon until four the next morning. For thirteen agonizing hours, my mother was the only person waiting outside. The nurse, seeing how pale she looked, had brought over a chair. “Ma’am, please sit. This is going to take a while.” My mother shook her head, her voice trembling. “No, no. If I stand, my daughter will have an easier time.” The nurse sighed and walked away. Later, I learned that my mother hadn’t dared to drink a single sip of water all night, terrified of missing the doctor’s call while in the restroom. Her feet, already prone to swelling, had ballooned so much that her shoes were cutting into her skin. When they rolled me out of the delivery room, the anesthesia was still wearing off, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Through the haze, I saw my mother leaning against the corridor wall, the crumpled paperwork clutched tightly in her hand. She smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening, before her tears began to fall. “My sweet girl… you’ve suffered so much…” My throat was parched. I licked my dry lips and whispered, “Mom… where is Jordan?” My mother’s smile froze. She turned her head, staring at the flickering light at the end of the hallway before whispering, “Jordan… had an emergency at the office. He’ll be back soon, sweetheart.” I forced a faint smile and stopped asking. My mother was notoriously terrible at lying; whenever she tried, the tips of her ears would turn bright red. As the nurse wheeled me to the postpartum ward, I held the wrinkled newborn in my arms. She was tiny, her mouth working as she slept, looking like a vulnerable little kitten. I looked down at her, and tears began to pool, spilling onto her blanket. I knew exactly what his “emergency” was. The emergency’s name was Summer, his assistant—the girl he called “the sister I grew up with,” the girl whose smiling face had been his phone wallpaper for three years. Right before I entered the delivery room, he had called to tell me Summer had sprained her ankle during their Florida retreat and couldn’t get down the trail, so he had to fly out to help her. I had told him I was in labor. He had paused for a brief second before replying, “Your mother is with you, right? The hospital is full of doctors and nurses. What could go wrong? Summer is all alone out there, and I can’t leave her.” Before hanging up, he added, “Don’t make a scene. I’ll be back to help you with the recovery.” I had clutched my phone, breathing through a contraction, and didn’t offer a single word in response. In the ward, my mother fed me warm oatmeal, blowing on each spoonful to cool it down. As she stood with her back to the window, the morning light catching her silver hair, I realized with a pang how aged she had become. “Mom, please sit down and rest.” She shook her head. “I’m not tired. Eat up, then get some sleep.” I took a couple of bites but couldn’t swallow anymore. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from Jordan. “Summer’s ankle is severely swollen. I might have to stay in Miami for a couple of days. Is everything going smoothly on your end?” Just that. No question about the baby, no inquiry about my pain, no mention of the birth weight or whether it was a boy or a girl. It was the kind of message one might send to a distant colleague about a project. I stared at the text for a long time before turning the phone face down. My mother noticed but pretended not to, quietly peeling an egg for me. “Eat more, sweetheart. It’s good for your recovery.” Around noon, Jordan’s mother visited. She walked in carrying a generic fruit basket, and her first words weren’t for me. “Where is the baby? Let me see my grandson.” My mother carefully held out the bundle. “She’s a beautiful baby girl.” The smile instantly vanished from my mother-in-law’s face. She cast a brief glance at the baby, making no move to hold her. “Oh, a girl… Well, a girl is fine. A sweet little thing to pamper, I suppose.” My mother’s hands trembled slightly as she held the baby closer. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, utterly silent. My mother-in-law stayed for less than ten minutes before checking her watch. “Oh, I have a card game scheduled. I must run. Take care, Nell.” She left without even unwrapping the plastic on the fruit basket. My mother walked her to the door, returning with red eyes and a forced smile. “Don’t mind her, sweetheart. We don’t need her. I’m here to take care of you.” “I know, Mom,” I murmured, burying my face in the pillow. In the afternoon, another message arrived from Jordan. “Summer wanted to try this local key lime pie place, so I’m taking her to dinner. Flying back tonight. By the way, has the baby been born yet?” I let out a sudden, hollow laugh, tears streaming down my face. Hearing me, my mother rushed over. “What is it, sweetheart? Are you hurting? Should I call the doctor?” I shook my head and handed her the phone. My mother couldn’t read well, but she recognized the name “Summer”—it was a name she had seen far too often in our home. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you to marry him…” I stayed in the hospital for three days, and Jordan never showed up once. Instead, he posted a photo of the Florida sunset on his social media with the caption: “With the most important person, watching the most beautiful view.” Summer had liked it, leaving a comment: “Thank you, Jordan.” I took a screenshot and saved it to my album. On the third afternoon, I asked my mother to bring a document from our house—the divorce papers I had prepared six months ago. I wanted no alimony, no assets. I only wanted custody of my daughter, and then we would be completely done. My mother’s hands shook as she held the papers. “Nell… are you sure? The baby is so small. How can she grow up without a father?” I looked at her. “Mom, having no father is a hundred times better than having a father like him.” My mother fell silent for a long time before finally nodding. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ll do this together. Your mother will help you raise her.” On the day I was discharged, it was raining. My mother pushed my wheelchair out of the lobby, holding an umbrella in one hand and steering with the other. She tilted the umbrella completely over my daughter and me, leaving her own shoulder soaked by the rain. “Mom, tilt the umbrella toward yourself,” I said. She smiled. “I’m fine. I’m sturdy.” On the way home, I had the driver make a detour to Jordan’s office. I waited in the car with the baby while my mother went inside to leave the signed divorce papers on his desk. On the cover, I had written four words in red: Let’s end this cleanly. As my mother walked out, the receptionist ran after her. “Mrs. West, aren’t you going to wait for Mr. West to return?” My mother replied on my behalf. “No. He has someone more important to wait for.” Back at our apartment, I put the baby to sleep and began packing our lives into three large suitcases—clothes, documents, formula, and diapers. My mother helped me fold the clothes, her tears silent. I took our wedding portrait out of its frame and tore it down the middle. At eight that evening, my mother and I, carrying our bags and the baby, boarded the train back to our hometown. As the train pulled out of the station and the city lights faded into the dark, a profound peace settled over me. Goodbye, Jordan. Goodbye to this city. I deleted his contact information, our chat history, and every photo of him from my phone. It was like deleting an expired app—clean and final. The morning after we arrived in our hometown, I was awakened by my daughter’s cries before dawn. My mother had risen even earlier, and the kitchen was already warm with the steam of freshly cooked oatmeal. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got her,” my mother said, gently taking the baby from my arms. I looked at my mother’s feet, still swollen and shoved into a pair of oversized slippers, making her limp slightly as she walked. My throat tightened, and I quickly turned to check the stove so she wouldn’t see my tears. “Mom, I’m going to take care of you from now on.” She smiled, chiding me gently. “Nonsense. I’m still strong enough to take care of both of you.” During breakfast, our neighbor Aunt Mabel pushed open the door, holding a bowl of warm custard. “Nell! Oh, my sweet girl, look how thin you’ve gotten!” She set the custard on the table, leaning in to look at the baby. “She looks just like you, beautiful!” Then, lowering her voice, she asked, “Where is Jordan? He didn’t come back with you?” My mother’s hand trembled, nearly dropping her spoon. I offered a calm smile. “Aunt Mabel, we’re getting a divorce.” Aunt Mabel’s mouth fell open. “Divorce? Since when?” “Yesterday.” She looked at me, then at my mother, before slapping her thigh. “Good for you! Why should a young woman endure that kind of misery? You and your mother will do just fine on your own.” She squeezed my hand. “It’s a good thing. Focus on your life now.” I nodded, swallowing a spoonful of warm oatmeal, though my tears made it taste salty. At ten that morning, my phone rang. It was the director from my former employer. “Nell, your request to transfer to our local branch has been approved. You can start next Monday.” I was stunned before realizing that this was the transfer request I had quietly submitted three months ago, right after I discovered Jordan’s phone was filled with photos of Summer—from their college days to recent photos of him picking out handbags for her. Our own photos together numbered exactly three, all taken on our wedding day. I had written the transfer request that very night. I had known our marriage wouldn’t last, though I hadn’t expected him to abandon me so completely during childbirth. My mother walked in carrying fresh laundry. “Who was that, sweetheart?” “The office. They want me to start next week.” My mother looked worried. “So soon? You haven’t fully recovered yet…” “The new role is much easier, standard nine-to-five,” I smiled. “You can watch the baby during the day, and I’ll take over at night so you can rest.” My mother’s eyes grew moist, and she nodded quietly. In the afternoon, I turned on my phone, which had been switched off. Immediately, a deluge of missed calls, texts, and notifications flooded the screen. They were all from Jordan. He had tried calling from several different numbers since nine that morning. The latest text, sent ten minutes prior, read: “Nell, where are you? What is this on my desk? There is a limit to these kinds of jokes.” I let out a cold laugh. A joke? While I was in labor for thirteen hours, he was sharing fresh coconut water with Summer on a Florida beach. As I was wheeled out of delivery, he was tying Summer’s shoes to help her down a trail. He didn’t know his daughter’s birth weight, and he couldn’t even remember her birth date. Now he was calling it a joke. Another message popped up. “Stop this now. I’m coming home this afternoon, and we can name the baby together. Are you angry because I didn’t make it to the hospital? I explained to you, Summer really couldn’t manage without me…” I turned the phone face down on the table. Explanation. He always had an explanation. Every time he hurt me, he had a polished speech ready. “Summer is alone,” “You’re his wife, you should be the bigger person,” “Why are you so petty?” He had said it so often that I had actually started to doubt myself, wondering if I was indeed being unreasonable. It was only when I lay on that delivery table, breathing through the agony, that I finally understood—the person who constantly asks you to be understanding is the person who doesn’t love you at all. In the evening, I took the baby to the porch to get some fresh air. The warm sunlight fell over her face as she slept peacefully. My mother sat beside us on a small stool, peeling peanuts and chatting happily. “Nell, I was thinking, the local schoolteacher’s son…” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom, are you already trying to set me up?” My mother’s face turned red. “I… I was just making conversation! I won’t pressure you, I promise.” Our shadows stretched long in the setting sun. I kissed my daughter’s cheek, feeling the heavy burden of the past three years finally lift. But our peace didn’t even last twenty-four hours. At six in the evening, just as dusk was falling, a sudden screech of tires echoed outside our gate. The car door slammed shut with a heavy thud, followed by the sound of hurried, desperate footsteps rushing toward the house. “Nell!” His voice was raw and unrecognizable. Jordan stood in the doorway, his tie askew, his hair a disheveled mess. In his hand, he clutched the divorce papers bearing my signature. The moment our eyes met, he rushed forward frantically and grabbed my hand with a death grip.

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