Category: English

Eight years I’ve waited to marry him. Now his mother is telling me I have to let him sleep with his ex-girlfriend for three nights. “It’s tradition.” I stare at her. Then at Ethan. Then at the woman she just pulled into the room — long legs, glossy hair, smiling at me like she already knows how this ends. “This is Raelynn,” Mrs. Monroe says, patting her hand, “Ethan’s first love. They’ve known each other forever.” “And in our family,” she goes on, voice silky, “before a man marries, he spends three nights with his first love. To say thank you. It’s how it’s always been done.” I almost laugh. I turn to Ethan, waiting for him to shut this insanity down. He doesn’t. He just leans back on the couch, smirking. “It’s a tradition, Val. If you want to marry me, you respect where I come from.” Then, softer — that little tilt of his head he uses when he wants something, “Come on, baby. Eight years you waited. You can handle three nights.” Everyone in the room is waiting for me to lose it. Scream. Throw a vase. Walk out. I don’t. I smile. “Okay. I accept.” Three days later, our wedding goes off perfectly. That night, when Ethan kicks open the door to the honeymoon apartment, his groomsmen cheering drunkenly behind him — There’s already a man in our bed! I step out of the bathroom in a silk robe, drying my hair, and give Ethan a slow, sweet smile. “Forgot to mention, babe. My family has a tradition too. On the wedding night, the bride have to sleep with her ex first. In front of her husband.” … The day I told Ethan okay, he packed a bag and moved into Raelynn’s apartment. Didn’t even kiss me goodbye. Three days. Zero texts. Zero calls. The night before the wedding, I tracked him down at a rooftop bar downtown. I could hear them before I opened the door. “Honestly, Ethan, you’re a legend. First love AND a hot fiancée? Some men have all the luck.” I push the door open. The laughter dies. Ethan’s draped on the couch with Raelynn tucked under his arm. He raises an eyebrow at me. “What are you doing here?” “Sorry to interrupt the reunion,” I say flatly. One of his friends jumps in fast, fake-bright, “Val, listen, this is actually a thing in a lot of families. You sleep with the ex one last time, then you close the door forever. It shows you take the marriage seriously.” “After tonight, Rae’s done. He’s all yours, promise.” “Mm.” I nod. “I understand.” “See? Val gets it. Ethan, you trained her well.” Something flickers across Ethan’s face. Amusement. He likes that. Someone gets bold. “Hey, last night of freedom, right? Let’s make it count. Ethan — kiss Rae. French. We haven’t seen that since you two were nineteen.” Ethan smiles slow. Pulls Raelynn into his lap. And kisses her — deep, wet, hands in her hair — right in front of me. I look away. “Ethan.” My voice doesn’t shake. “I came to remind you. Wedding’s at noon. Don’t be late.” I turn to leave. Behind me, one of his buddies snickers. “Damn, Ethan. She watched you make out with your ex and didn’t even blink. What a wife. Where do I get one?” And then Ethan — lazy, smug, loud enough for me to hear. “She’s been with me eight years. Three miscarriages. Doctor said she can’t have kids anymore. Who else would even take her?” I freeze in the doorway. The deepest wound I have. Tossed out like a punchline. I take a deep breath. Ethan thinks all of that broke me. He thinks I’m damaged goods nobody else would take. But he’s wrong about a lot of things. The truth is — my body is just fine. And he is the one who’s nothing without me.

I drive straight home. Don’t cry. Don’t call anyone. Right before I fall asleep, my phone lights up. Ethan. His voice is lazy, half-bored. “You mad about the bar?” “No.” He laughs. “You’ve gotten weirdly chill lately, Val. It’s freaking me out a little.” Then, smoothly, “Listen. Rae flew in from London the second she heard I was getting married. She and I are ancient history, okay? You’re the one I’m marrying. The three nights thing is just a family thing—” “You don’t have to explain.” I cut him off. “I respect your family’s traditions. Just remember — mine has one too. You’ll respect it tomorrow.” “Sure, baby. What’s the tradi—” A soft moan cuts him off. “Ethan… focus. You said tonight was our last night. Don’t get distracted.” He clears his throat fast. “Okay, gotta run. See you tomorrow. I’ll be there. Promise.” I hang up. Power off the phone. Go to sleep. Numb is better than hurting. … Morning. I turn the phone back on and a text from Dani is waiting. It’s a video. Two bodies tangled in the bed. I know who are they. I close the screen. Calmly. Set the phone face-down. Drive to the venue. In the bridal suite, Dani is shaking she’s so angry, yanking the zipper up the back of my dress. “What is wrong with him? Family tradition? That is not a tradition, Val, that is cheating! Betrayal!” “You walked out on your parents for him. He swore on everything he loved that he’d treat you right. And now he’s posting sex tapes with his mistress the night before the wedding! Does he have any shame?” Probably not. I think. When I chose Ethan, my family lost their minds. They had someone picked out for me already — practically since we were childhood. I said no. I walked out for Ethan. Completely. He swore — swore — he’d never make me regret it. When did it start to change? Six months ago, maybe. A call from overseas. Raelynn crying down the line about some breakup in London. And just like that, his head was somewhere else. Dani grips my shoulders. “Val. I love you. But you cannot actually be marrying him after this. Please tell me you’re not.” I look at myself in the mirror. White dress. Steady eyes. “Dani. You’ve known me since we were six. You know how I work.” I smile. “Someone humiliates me? I humiliate them back. Same way. Twice as hard.”

Ethan strolls in twenty minutes before the ceremony. His groomsmen exhale like they’ve been holding their breath all morning. “Bro, we heard you hooked up like five times last night. We were genuinely scared you wouldn’t make it out of bed.” Ethan smirks. “Please. You underestimate me.” Then his eyes find mine — and for a second, something flickers. Surprise. Maybe even guilt. “Val. You look incredible.” He crosses the room, slips a hand around my waist, voice low and coaxing. “Don’t listen to those idiots. Rae wasn’t feeling great this morning, that’s what slowed me down.” I smile. Say nothing. And then she walks in behind him. Raelynn. In a soft pink dress that’s just a little too fitted, a little too bridal. Smiling at me like we’re old friends. “Val! Congrats, babe! I couldn’t miss this — I had to see you two tie the knot.” Ethan shrugs like it’s nothing. “Rae was a mess this morning, begged to come. I figured why not. The tradition’s done — we’re keeping our distance from here on out.” Dani opens her mouth. I squeeze her arm. “It’s fine.” Raelynn looks me up and down. Then she laughs, soft and mean. “Val, your suit looks kind of… cheap? Didn’t Ethan get you a Tom Ford?” She gasps, all fake-shocked. “When we were eighteen, Ethan promised me a Tom Ford for our wedding. The biggest ballroom in the city. A hundred tables, minimum. A million-dollar day — because that’s what I deserved.” Her eyes drift around the room. The folding chairs. The grocery-store flowers. The cheap linens. “This is… cute, though.” The air goes thin. Ethan coughs. “Rae, come on. Val and I have been together a long time. We don’t care about that stuff.” “Mm.” I say. That’s all. Because here’s the truth: I planned none of this. Ethan did. He said keep it simple. He picked the $80 dress off Amazon for me and chose the cheapest favors in the catalog. I’ve known for a while where his heart really was. The MC starts warming up the crowd. Our engagement photos slide across the screen — eight years compressed into thirty seconds. Raelynn starts crying. Loud, performative, beautiful tears. “I’m sorry, I just— I’m so happy for you, Ethan. You get to marry the person you love. I’ll never get that.” She wipes her eyes. “I got diagnosed with lupus last month. The doctor said it doesn’t get better. I always dreamed of a big wedding before I— before I couldn’t anymore.” Ethan’s face changes. I watch it happen in real time. He turns to me. “Val. Let Rae take your place in the ceremony.” Dani actually screams. “Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND? She wants to wear the dress now? Who exactly are you marrying today, Ethan?!” “It’s symbolic,” Ethan says, like he’s explaining to a child. “Just the ceremony. Paperwork’s still Val and me, tomorrow at the courthouse.” He turns back to me. That soft voice again. The coaxing one. “Baby. You gave me three days. What’s one more hour? It’s just a ceremony — the wedding night is what matters, right?” “I swear. Let Rae have the ceremony. You and I have the wedding night. Deal?” The guests are already whispering. The groomsmen are looking at me with pity. I look up at him. Calm. Steady. Smiling. “Okay.” Ethan exhales. Leans down and kisses my forehead. “That’s my girl. Always so understanding. Head up to the apartment. I’ll be there the second this is done.” Perfect. I didn’t really want to walk down that aisle anyway. We’ll just skip straight to the wedding night.

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My boyfriend pushes me into a military-grade interrogation chair to save his “female best friend” from a wedding prank. He has no clue my family runs the syndicate that runs this city. It’s supposed to be Sienna Lopez’s big day. She schemed, lied, and slept her way into marrying Dominic Cavalier, the head of the Cavalier crime family. During the pre-ceremony games, the groomsmen pull out their toys. An interrogation chair. A crate full of snakes. Props designed to humiliate. Sienna, the so-called tough girl, suddenly turns into a tearful damsel. She looks at my boyfriend Julian with those trembling doe eyes. And he shoves me forward. “They’ve gotta mess with someone. Why the bride? Mess with the bridesmaid instead.” He lowers his voice, trying to sweet-talk me. “Sienna’s an influencer. She married into the Cavalier family. If any of this ends up online and ruins her image, it’s over. Just take her place. She’ll owe you big. I’ll make sure she pays you. Probably more than you make in three months running deliveries.” Then Sienna opens her mouth, simpering at the groomsmen. “Gentlemen, I know you boys love your games. I’d never kill the vibe.” She gestures at me. “This is my buddy’s girlfriend. She’s a delivery driver. Use whatever you’ve got on her. Don’t let it go to waste.” What she doesn’t know? I’m Elena Moretti. The sole heir to the most feared syndicate in New York. Running midnight deliveries in the Bronx was nothing but a bet I made with my grandfather. The family heirs I’ve put my fists through? You could line them up from New York to London. Jax Russo, the one leading the groomsmen, steps forward. Lip ring glinting. He squints at me. “Why does she look familiar?” Of course I look familiar. I beat the shit out of every trust-fund thug in this room at some point. But right now, my signature red hair is dyed black. My bold red lip is bare. My leather jacket is swapped for a plain white dress. Thick-framed glasses and skin tanned a shade darker from months on a bike under the sun. Who’s going to recognize their worst nightmare in this disguise? Sienna laughs nervously. “She’s just a delivery girl. Maybe she’s dropped off your food before.” Jax smirks. He points at the black metal chair behind him, sparking with live current. “Military-grade interrogation unit. Makes grown men piss themselves.” He blows out a ring of smoke. “Delivery girl. Wanna take a seat?” I turn to Julian. My voice is calm. “The first day we got together, you said you’d always stand in front of me. Shield me. Where’s that now?” He looks away. No spine. “Babe, Sienna’s delicate. You’re out in the sun every day. You’re tougher. Just take this one for her.” Fine. My mistake for not seeing through him sooner. I swallow the sting in my chest. I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Then I smirk. “Gentlemen, keep the party going. I’m out.” I head for the door. Sienna shrieks. “Julian! She’s leaving! Who’s gonna take my place?!” Julian blocks my path. His expression is dark. “You throw little tantrums all the time and I let it slide. But right now, in front of all these men, you walk out and disrespect them? You want Sienna to suffer for that? You want the Vance family to pay for it?” I stare at him. Same handsome face. But he’s a stranger now. When I say nothing, Julian grabs my wrist. Each word deliberate. “If you don’t take Sienna’s place today, we’re done.” His eyes are smug. Confident. Sienna giggles behind her hand, leaning toward the groomsmen. “Every time Julian threatens to break up, she folds. She literally can’t live without him.” “And honestly,” Sienna looks at me, contempt dripping, “with your status? Julian is the ceiling of what you could ever land.” I sigh. I glance at my phone. “Julian. Can we break up in one hour instead?”

“It’s our one-year together in an hour,” I add. This is about the heir’s bet. I can’t lose now. Julian gives me that insufferable look. The one that says I knew it. “See? I knew you couldn’t leave me. Baby, I can’t leave you either. That breakup threat? Just a little trick to keep you in line.” He takes my hand, presses it over his heart. “Even though I’m helping Sienna today, you’re the only one in here.” “Do this one small favor for her, and I promise I won’t break up with you.” No wonder he’s so confident. Last week, Sienna kissed Julian right in front of me. “Accidentally.” Drunk. Then laughed about how they’d pinky-sworn as kids. She said, “If there was anything between me and Julian, it would’ve happened already.” He said, “Babe, she’s like a brother to me. It’s not what you think.” And I still didn’t leave him. Everyone thinks I’m desperately in love with Julian Vance. Thinking about it makes me curse my grandfather for the eight hundredth time. “Are we doing this or not?!” Jax loses patience. He kicks a crystal vase off the center table. It shatters across the floor. That savage look in his eyes makes everyone flinch. “Who’s sitting in the damn chair?!” Sienna tugs Julian’s sleeve. Tears pooling. She doesn’t even need words. Julian hands her a tissue. Then shoots me a warning glare. “Sit in that chair. Now. One second of hesitation and we’re over.” I can’t lose the bet at the finish line. I paste on a soft, obedient smile. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Sienna opens her livestream. “Hey babes! Broadcasting my wedding! That’s Jax Russo, the Russo family heir. Hottest psycho in the city.” “My bridesmaid? Oh, she volunteered to play. She’s loving it.” The comments pour in like venom. “Isn’t that delivery girl Julian’s girlfriend? She hooked a rich guy and now she’s attention-whoring at someone else’s wedding?” “Gold-digger trying to seduce Jax Russo? Girl picked the wrong target. That man has ice in his veins.” I glance at the comments. Then at Jax. Hard to connect this so-called monster with the guy who used to tremble like a puppy in front of me. I drop into the chair. Hold out my arm. “Hook me up.” The bodyguard connects the electrodes. Sienna cuts in. “Jax, let me ask the questions. I know her better.” She lowers her voice so only we can hear. “Don’t you want to see her lose control of her bladder on camera?” Jax drags on his cigarette, waves a hand. Whatever. Sienna smiles sweetly. “First question.” “Have you ever killed an animal? A pet?” I think for a second. Nod. “Yeah.” The comments explode. “Psycho!” “Animal abuser!” “Look at her face, she doesn’t even care!” Julian stares at me. “I didn’t know you were that kind of person.” Jax, though. He leans forward. Interested. “Why’d you kill it?” “To save someone’s life.” It was a wolf. Legal to own overseas. I brought it to the estate, and on day one it tried to rip a courier’s throat out. I put a blade through its neck. But I can’t say that. Too many details that lead back to my identity. I shake my head. “No comment on the details.” Sienna pounces. “Even if an animal bites, you smack it! You don’t slaughter it! You’re cold-blooded!” The livestream chat calls for doxxing me. Threats to show up at my door. “Second question.” Sienna’s smile sharpens. “On your birthday, you faked a pregnancy to force Julian into buying you a forty-thousand-dollar necklace. And for his birthday, you were planning to give him… a wooden box. True or false?” Deny it, get electrocuted live. Admit it, branded a gold-digger forever. That’s her game. I smile slowly. “True.” Comments erupt. “She can’t even spend a hundred bucks on him?” “Classic gold-digger move.” Sienna shoves her phone in my face. “Look, everyone! Not even a hint of shame!” Why would I be ashamed? That box contains the Moretti Onyx Coin. Whoever holds it gets full protection and priority access to every deal in the Moretti empire. The Vance family is drowning in debt. That coin was their only lifeline. But I say nothing. Not yet. Julian’s jaw tightens. “So the rumors were true. You’re only with me for my family’s money. I gave you a forty-grand necklace and you can’t even…” I tap my fingers on the armrest. “That necklace. You know exactly what happened. Want to explain to the livestream? Or should I?” His face goes white. Then red. “…It’s in the past. Drop it.” Jax is bored. No one’s gotten electrocuted. No one’s screamed. “Forget this. She’s telling the truth every time. Boring.” He claps his hands. Bodyguards wheel in the massive crate draped in black cloth. Something hisses inside. Jax rips the cover off. Dozens of snakes. Coiled, writhing, tangled at the bottom. He grins. “So. Bride or bridesmaid. Who’s getting in?”

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Every time my billionaire husband brings his latest mistress home, he graciously leaves a gorgeous college boy in my bed as a consolation prize. “I need a little excitement, you need company. Fair trade. No hard feelings.” That’s what Asher always says, like he’s negotiating a merger instead of cheating on his wife. This time, though, he really screwed up. He drags another boy toy into our living room, then pulls me aside with that smooth, coaxing voice of his. “Chloe got pregnant. We tried everything, but she wants to keep it, and she won’t unless I make her my wife.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear like he’s doing me a favor. “So we’re getting a quick divorce. Temporary. Just until the baby’s born.” “And before we remarry, you can have your fun with him. I won’t say a word.” Behind us, his entourage of leeches is already pouring whiskey. Later, when I’m out of earshot, one of them whispers, “Damn, Asher. You crawled a hundred miles on your knees for that woman. You’re really just gonna hand her over?” “Yeah, man. You didn’t even tell the kid to keep his hands off her?” Asher takes a long, lazy drag of his cigarette. “I’m not into cuckold porn, gentlemen.” “Scarlett’s a prude. A trophy wife with a stick up her ass. She won’t touch him.” “Genius, Ash. Pure genius. You bring the boy home, she sends him away, and somehow you end up the good guy. Hat’s off.” They’re already laughing, already counting their winnings, because every single time before, I played my part. Cold face. Fat check. “Get out of my house.” I’m sitting on the velvet armchair across the room, scrolling my phone, pretending I can’t hear them. Then I look up and smile. “Sure. Whatever you want.” Asher’s cigarette freezes halfway to his lips. The room goes dead silent. Lena recovers first. “Scarlett, sweetie— what did you just say?” I set my phone down on the coffee table. My eyes drift past Asher and land on the boy still standing awkwardly by the staircase. “I said yes.” I let my gaze sweep him from head to toe, slow and appraising. “He’s not bad looking, I’ll give you that.” Someone actually gasps. “She agreed?!” “No way. She’s not kicking him out this time?” “Asher, did you hear that?” Asher’s expression doesn’t shift. That lazy half-smirk is still glued to his mouth. But Chloe, the pregnant princess, suddenly clings tighter to his arm. “Ash, baby, sis finally came around. You should be happy.” He doesn’t answer her. He grinds his cigarette into the crystal ashtray, walks over to the boy, and claps him on the shoulder. “Take good care of her tonight.” Then he loops an arm around Chloe’s waist and walks her up the stairs. I turn to the boy. He’s still standing there, ears glowing red. “You commute, or are you staying?” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Whatever— whatever you want.” “Then stay.” I walk down the hallway, and the whispers start up behind me like static. “Wait, is she serious?” “Last time she pulled this, half of us caught a beating from Asher!” “Relax. She’s bluffing. She always bluffs. Like touching one of those boys would melt her precious skin off.” “Remember the football player? She literally had security drag him out by his collar.” “Nah, this time she’s just rattled. The pregnancy spooked her. She’ll fold by morning.” I keep walking. Their words pelt my back like little needles. Not deep. Just everywhere. And the worst part? They’re right. For three years, I’ve been exactly that woman. Too proud. Too icy. Too convinced that the words “I’m a prude” were some kind of holy shield. Every time Asher paraded a new boy in front of me, I’d hand over a check and toss him out like trash. I told myself that was winning. That at least I was the clean one in this filthy marriage. And now? Chloe’s belly is showing. My “purity” didn’t save a damn thing. Just bought me a divorce decree, a cold side of the bed, and a living room full of vultures laughing behind my back.

I push open the bedroom door upstairs. “This is it.” Then I lean against the doorframe and really look at him. Jace Holloway. Six-foot-two. Valedictorian. Top-ranked moot court champion at his law school. Full ride to grad school, dean’s list every semester. Asher really splurged this time. No more random gym rat from a downtown bar. “Selling yourself for cash?” I ask. He nods. No hesitation. No excuses. The old Scarlett would’ve smirked, tossed a few thousand at his feet, and snapped, “Take it and get lost.” God, I used to feel so righteous doing that. Standing on my little moral pedestal, waving my prudishness around like a sword. As if any boy who touched me would somehow stain me. As if Asher’s parade of pretty things were dirty just for showing up. And what did all that purity get me? The “dirty things” left. Asher never came back to me anyway. Honestly? Which one of those boys was ever dirtier than the man who sent them? “Tell the housekeeper if you need anything,” I say. I walk past him into the room. He follows, quiet, careful. “My name’s Jace.” “I know. Asher told me.” I keep walking, straight to the balcony. He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t push. Smart boy. Down on the lawn, Asher’s friends are starting to scatter. I watch their backs disappear into the night, one black sedan after another. I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve watched me get humiliated. When I come back inside, my eyes catch on the divorce papers sitting on the nightstand. Three years. Three years of looking the other way every time Asher pulled some new stunt. Because of what happened back then. Because something broke between us, and neither one of us knew how to fix it. He had his reasons. I had mine. Debts always come due. In the beginning, I told him: just don’t bring them home. Then it became: just don’t get one of them pregnant. I kept retreating. He kept advancing. And now we’re both tired. I pick up the pen and sign my name. The bathroom door clicks open. Jace walks out, hair still dripping, a towel slung low around his waist. The second he sees me, his ears flush bright red. “Sorry— I just got out—” I stand up. God, Asher really picked a blusher this time. The other boys, the ones I sent away with checks, they always had a flicker of resentment in their eyes. One of them actually shouted at me: “Are you and your husband sick? One of you pushing me in, the other shoving me out— what the hell am I, a prop?” I’d just stared him down. “Take the money and shut up.” Looking back, the kid was right. We are sick. Both of us. One with a cuckold fetish. One with a frigid martyr complex.

My phone lights up. A text from Asher: Get some sleep. I stare at those three words and almost laugh. He’s never sent me anything like that. Not once in three years. But tonight? Tonight he sends it. Because Jace is still in my room? Because the great Asher Vance is finally starting to wonder if his prudish little wife might actually go through with it this time? I don’t reply. Outside, the last lights in the estate flick off. The whole house goes still. Chloe’s moved in. Jace has moved in. This place finally looks like what it is. A trash can. Stuffed with whatever anyone feels like dumping in. Including me. I turn off the lamp. There’s a smile on my mouth I can’t even see. He thinks I’m still the old Scarlett. He thinks I won’t. He thinks I never could. He thinks my so-called purity will hold the line forever. He’s wrong. — The next morning, my lower back still aches from a night of bad sleep. Jace is in the kitchen helping Maria, our housekeeper. When he sees me coming down the stairs, the spatula nearly slips out of his hand. I smile at him. Where’s all that smoldering eye contact from last night, kid? I’ve barely sat down when Asher strolls into the dining room. “You’re up early.” He drops into the chair across from me, smirking like he knows a punchline I don’t. “How was your night?” Before I can answer, the front door bangs open. Tyler Brooks comes barreling in first. “Ash! Ash, who won? Who won?!” “I bet twenty grand she folded before noon!” “I bet she kicked him out before midnight! Three to one odds, Ash, you’re holding the pot—” He stops dead when he sees me at the table. Three grown men, all suddenly very interested in their shoes. “Scarlett. Hey. Morning.” Asher picks up his coffee. Takes a slow, satisfied sip. Like the bet his buddies just placed on his marriage is some kind of trophy. “Sit down, boys. Breakfast is ready.” I stand up and walk toward the kitchen. “You should head to class,” I tell Jace. He blinks, unties the apron, and slips out the front door without a word. The door clicks shut. Two seconds of silence in the dining room. Then Tyler stage-whispers, “See? Told you. Sent him packing first thing in the morning.” Big Ron laughs. “What, you doubted Asher? That man can read his wife like a goddamn paperback.” “That’s why Asher’s the king,” Tyler says, all worship. “You wanna marry one of these, boys? Find one who knows her place.” Asher leans back in his chair, eggs already gone, that smirk still hanging on his lips. Drinking it in. I exhale slowly and walk back into the dining room. Asher and I open our mouths at the exact same second— “Have dinner at my parents’ place tonight—” “Two o’clock. Courthouse. Be there.”

The dining room goes still. I drop the signed divorce papers right on the table between us. “Let’s get this done.” Asher freezes for a second. His eyes drop to the signature line. He doesn’t move. I know exactly what he’s thinking. The old me would’ve ripped that paper in half with shaking hands. Cried. Screamed, “Asher, you don’t get to just decide we’re done!” Made him chase me around the house for hours before anything got signed. He looks up at me, that same lazy drawl in his voice. “What’s the rush, baby? I told you, we’ll handle it after Chloe’s first trimester.” “I can’t wait that long,” I say. “Two o’clock. Courthouse. Are you coming or not?” His eyelid twitches. “Scarlett.” He pushes the papers back toward the middle of the table. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” “Better sign before you wake up too,” I shoot back. “Otherwise you’ll change your mind and tear it up again.” The silence stretches. Then Chloe comes drifting down the staircase like a ghost in a silk robe. “Sis, please don’t be upset. I just— I don’t want my baby labeled illegitimate, that’s all.” Her voice cracks beautifully. “The divorce can wait until after the first trimester, really!” Her eyes are already brimming. She looks more torn up about my marriage than I do. Asher glances at her. That tragic little face. That trembling lip. That soft “don’t be upset”— it lands on his ego like a slap. When did Asher Vance ever get rushed into a divorce? “You think I won’t sign?” He laughs once, sharp, and grabs the pen. Tyler jumps up. “Ash, hold on—” “Shut up.” Asher doesn’t even look at him. He scrawls his name and slams the pen down. That signature smirk crawls right back onto his mouth. “There. You all witnessed it.” He nods at his entourage. “After the baby’s born, we remarry. Everyone heard me.” Then he leans down to my ear, voice dropping into something almost tender. “You’re the woman I dragged back from death itself, Scarlett. None of those girls out there hold a candle to you.” “This kid? He’ll be ours to raise. Only you get to be his mother. Got it?” I let out a soft laugh. So this is what he calls love. I don’t say a word. I just grab the suitcase I packed last night and walk out the front door. Behind me, Chloe’s voice floats out, soft as cotton: “Ash… she’s not really leaving for good, is she?” Asher doesn’t answer. Originally his plan was clean and tidy. Divorce on paper, but I keep my room. My closet. My place at the dining table. The illusion of a wife, parked in the corner like a vase. Me actually leaving? Wasn’t in the script. But it doesn’t matter. Not to him. “You little troublemaker,” he murmurs to Chloe, brushing her hair back. “Bet you’re loving this, huh?” “That’s not fair!” Chloe pouts. “You always tease me. I’d never break up someone’s marriage on purpose— my conscience won’t let me.” She rests her hand on her belly, eyes shining. “It’s all for the baby.”

She looks like a wilted little flower in a storm. Asher melts. “Okay, okay. No more teasing. I’m sorry.” I’ll give Chloe this much— she’s smarter than the rest of them. She doesn’t post passive-aggressive captions on Instagram. Doesn’t call me to flex about whose bed Asher’s in tonight. Doesn’t text me photos of his hand on her thigh. She plays the wide-eyed innocent. “I’m just trying to fit in! I’d never come between you two!” One sharp word from me, and Asher’s already convinced she’s the victim. I’ve seen prettier girls. Younger ones. Bolder ones. They all crashed and burned because they were in too much of a hurry. Pushing him to commit. Texting me to back off. Chloe? Chloe just moved in. Belly first. Calling me “sis” like we’re family. She did what none of them could. — 1:50 p.m. I’m sitting on a wooden bench outside the courthouse. I’ve called Asher nine times. This time he picks up. “Where are you?” I ask. His voice is so casual it’s insulting. “I’m at Chloe’s prenatal appointment. Can’t really leave. I’ll swing by when we’re done.” “I told you. Two o’clock. Divorce filing.” “The divorce isn’t going anywhere, sweetheart.” Like he’s coaxing a tantruming toddler. “Wait till Chloe’s done with her ultrasound. Talk later.” He hangs up. Wait. Always wait. I look around the lobby. Couples shuffling in and out. Some dabbing their eyes. Some staring straight through the wall. Some signing with steady, expressionless hands. I used to cry like that. The full breakdown. Begging. Snot and mascara everywhere. And every time, Asher would soften, pull me back, and reward me with a “fine, we won’t get divorced.” Like that was a prize. Today I’m done collecting his prizes. A clerk calls the next number. I pull up my contacts and text my lawyer: Megan— file for divorce. Contested. I’ll send the paperwork over this afternoon. — That night, after my father-in-law’s third call, I drive out to the Vance estate alone. The whole way there I’m rehearsing. How do I tell the old man? That his son knocked up his side piece? That he’s pressuring me to sign? That I’m filing in court? Family politics. Sometimes they’re worse than the actual lawsuit. I show up alone. The old man pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “Where’s Asher?” “Busy.” “Busy?” He sets the fork down hard. “What the hell is more important than his wife?” I don’t answer. Mr. Vance and my late father were brothers in everything but blood. They served together. Bled together. He’d wanted Asher and me married since we were kids. His wife wasn’t sold. My family wasn’t rich enough. I’d been seriously sick as a teenager, and she decided my “energy” was wrong for her son. But Asher refused to walk away. He drove out to St. Bartholomew’s, the old cathedral on the hill, and walked the entire mile-long stone pilgrimage path on his knees. A hundred steps. By the end, his knees were raw and bloody. He knelt at the altar and said: “I don’t need to be with Scarlett. I just need her to be okay.” When I heard about it, I cried for two days straight. He was always the one running toward me. I was always the one shrinking back, scared I wasn’t enough. After that I grabbed his hand and said, “I’m done hiding. If you want to marry me, I’ll say yes.” I got better. I went home with him. The old man was so happy he transferred a third of his stock options into my name as my dowry. “For the family to see,” he said. “So you’re protected.” Back then I thought Asher’s mother was the worst thing standing between us. Now I know. Outsiders never destroy a marriage. Only the two people inside it can do that.

I’m still figuring out how to start when the door swings open. Asher walks in with Chloe tucked under his arm. He sees me and stops short. The old man’s face goes black. “You bastard. You bring that girl into my house?” Asher just pulls out a chair for Chloe, easy as anything. “Dad, relax. It’s just dinner.” Then he glances at me. “Scarlett, head home. I’ll deal with you later.” Like I’m an inconvenience he double-booked. He leans in, lowers his voice like he’s doing me a courtesy. “I didn’t think you’d actually show.Tonight Chloe’s the one I’m here for, okay?” I laugh. She’s the one he’s here for. He’s running cover for a mistress. Bringing her to family dinner before the ink on our divorce is dry. I used to think Chloe was a phase. New toy, fresh smell, gone in a few months when he got bored. Guess I had that one wrong. Then his mother walks in. Her eyes slide over me, then over Chloe. “So this is the pregnant one? Lovely. We just collect strays now, do we?” One sentence. Two women insulted. The Asher I used to know would’ve stepped in front of me. “Scarlett is the woman I chose. Watch your mouth.” Tonight he just frowns and pulls Chloe closer. “Mom. Don’t talk about my woman like that.” Sharper than he ever was when he was protecting me. Chloe melts into his shoulder, eyes glistening, the perfect picture of a fragile thing under attack. She always looks like the world is bullying her. Not like me. I get insulted and my face doesn’t even move. Whatever they throw at me, I just swallow it. I stand up. “I’m leaving.” The old man calls after me. He can’t make me stay. Asher doesn’t even look up. The second I’m through the front gate, I think about that pilgrimage. The cathedral steps. The bloody knees. “I don’t need to be with Scarlett. I just need her to be okay.” Well. He got his wish. — The divorce moves faster than I expected. Asher figures we’ll be remarried by Christmas anyway— Chloe pops the kid out, they hand it off to the housekeeper, life resumes. The day we sign the settlement, he shows up forty minutes late. But he signs. Smooth. No fuss. Then he leans toward me, voice dropping into something almost coaxing. “You always wanted a wedding, didn’t you?” “When we remarry, I’ll throw you the real thing. The beach you love. The white dress you used to dog-ear in magazines. Whatever you want. I’ll give you all of it.” I look up at him. “Asher. Don’t bother.”

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It was the eighteenth time the Castellanos and the Marchettis tried to put me and Dante at the altar, and once again every made man in the ballroom walked out behind my adopted sister. My mother called. Impatient. Not even pretending to care. “Mirella’s stomach is acting up again. We’re flying the Family doctor in. Just cancel, you’ve done it enough times, you know what to say to the room.” Then Gianna, my maid of honor, my blood sister since we were six, clicked her tongue at me through the phone. “You serious right now, Aria? Your ceremony matters more than Mirella nearly hitting the floor? When did you get this cold?” And Dante? My fiancé, the Don of the Castellano Family, didn’t even bother dialing. Just a text. Six words. Ceremony’s off. We’ll talk later. I read those six words over and over. He’d used that same line on me eighteen times. A cold laugh slipped out before I could stop it. And just like that, I felt nothing. Eighteen times. Enough. I walked out of the bridal suite, straight past the wall of amethyst violets. Mirella’s favorite flower. Never mine. The whole hallway reeked of her. The family chapel was at the end of the hall. I went inside and shut the door behind me. I dropped to my knees in front of the cross. Three days, I whispered. That’s all I want. Three days to cut every one of them off, and let them lose every damn thing they got because of me. The candles flickered once. Somewhere far away, I swear something answered back. I picked up the microphone and walked onto the engagement stage. Every inch of it draped in amethyst violets. Mirella’s favorite. Funny how that always worked out. “My apologies, everyone. Tonight’s ceremony is canceled.” The room of capos, consiglieres, and Family wives traded looks. Not one of them looked surprised. “Knew it. Eighteen ceremonies and not one’s gone through. If I were her, I’d have stopped showing my face years ago.” “The whole Marchetti house has bent the knee to that little sister for years. If I were Aria, I’d have stepped aside, kissed Dante goodbye, and at least walked out with my name still meaning something.” “Oh, honey. You don’t get it. Every time Don Dante’s tried to walk away from her, something happens. Last spring the Family lost three container ships off the coast of Naples. Two billion in product, gone overnight. The spring before that, the Atlantic City casino burned to the ground. He’s tested it more than once. That’s the only reason he hasn’t put her on a plane back to Sicily for good.” “So she’s, what, some kind of charm?” “Call her whatever you want. The man is stuck with her, and the whole East Coast knows it.” I walked off the stage with their stares on my back. I heard every word. The corner of my mouth ticked up. This time, a few burned ships were going to be the smallest of their problems. I changed out of the gown and drove back to the Marchetti estate to grab my things and disappear before sunrise. But the second I stepped into the foyer, the front gates opened and the whole convoy came rolling in. Three black SUVs, a dozen Family soldiers, and Mirella in the middle of all of them, leaning on Dante’s arm like she’d just walked out of a hospital instead of brunch. The moment they saw me, every smile in the foyer dropped. Dante’s eyes went black. “Aria. You canceled and didn’t give the room a single reason. Now every Family from here to Sicily is going to be whispering it was Mirella again. Do you understand what that does to my name?” My father scoffed. Didn’t even look up. “You really screwed up this time, Aria. Every other cancellation, you cleaned it up yourself. I never had to lift a finger. Get on the phone. Call the columnists, call the wives, call every gossip we own, and tell them the truth. Tell them you were being a brat.” Gianna already had her phone out. “I’ll start working the wives. By morning every Family on the coast will be saying Aria threw a tantrum and walked out. Nobody will be saying Mirella’s name.” I didn’t say a word. I just stood there and watched them. Two more nights. That’s all I needed. “Aria. Are you listening? I’m telling you straight. If you don’t fix this, I can’t promise when the next ceremony happens. Or if it happens at all.” Dante stopped right in front of me. Voice sharp. Done with me. And then Mirella finally opened her mouth, voice soft as silk. “It’s all my fault. I came between Dante and my sister. Blame me for everything.” “There are still a few good dates left this month. Please. Don’t push the ceremony back any further.” She didn’t even finish before she started coughing. Dante crossed the foyer and rubbed her back like she was made of glass. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. Don’t even think about it. Your sister can’t live without me. We could put this off another year and nothing would change.” “Then you’re the one who doesn’t get it.” That was the first thing I said since I walked in. Every head in the room snapped toward me. I lifted the bag in my hand. “I’m leaving.” The words barely left my mouth. The next second, a sharp crack split the air. The slap echoed through the whole foyer.

I tipped my head and let out a bitter laugh. My mother’s hand was still shaking from the slap. “You’ve got the nerve to keep pushing me? After everything we’ve done for you? This is what we get?” “You want to walk out? Where? You think the whole Family won’t talk? You think they won’t say we threw you out like trash?” She was screaming by the end, voice cracking. “I should’ve never had you, Aria. Not one damn day of peace since Mirella came home. Not one.” The taste of blood spread across my tongue. I ran my tongue along the corner of my lip. Yeah. Every other time, I would have made a scene. Because I didn’t get it. I didn’t get how Mirella smashed my father’s antique pistol and somehow I was the one who broke it. I didn’t get how the security cameras caught her tripping on the staircase, and they still swore I pushed her. I didn’t get how I bought a bouquet of lilies, she turned out to be allergic, and suddenly I was a bully. This wasn’t the first time my mother had hit me. The last time was two days ago. Mirella wanted to wear my engagement gown and I said no. She fainted on the spot. My mother shoved me into the wall and took a pair of scissors to the custom gown I’d waited six months for. Mirella was tearing us apart, and we were almost done. So yeah. I used to scream. I used to drag every soldier and capo into the foyer and beg someone, anyone, to tell me I wasn’t losing my mind. Not this time. The truth was, I’d always brought this Family good fortune. Every single one of them. The day after I was born, the Marchettis pulled a port deal out of nowhere that yanked the Family back from the edge and made my father the most feared Don on the East Coast. His stage-two liver cancer cleared the same week. Every doctor in New York said it was impossible. Gianna was nothing but a forgettable kid from a forgettable little Family before she met me. Once she started running around with me, she grew into the kind of beauty that turned every head in a room. Landed every audition. Won Best Actress at twenty-two. Became the most bankable face in the country. And Dante. He was nobody back then. A teenager running cigarettes and stolen watches out of the back of a flea market in Queens. Cops chased him. Older crews beat him bloody. He slept on a cot in his cousin’s shop. Until the night he found me wandering lost down by the docks and walked me home. I fell for him before we made it back to the gate. After that, every move he made hit gold. Built his own crew. Never lost a deal. By thirty, he was Don of the Castellano Family, with his hands in half the ports from Boston to Miami. For twenty years, this whole Family treated me like the sun rose and set on me. Dante looked at me like I was the only thing keeping his heart beating. They got everything they ever wanted. Then Mirella was brought home. And every last one of them changed. My father’s voice went cold. He didn’t even glance at me. “Take it all back. The dress. The earrings. The watch. Pull every diamond off her wrist and her neck. Not one Marchetti thread walks out that door with her.” “You want out, Aria? Go. But don’t come crying back. I’ll be on the front page of every paper in the city tomorrow disowning you for good. You won’t carry my name another day.” They didn’t even let me grab a coat before two soldiers shoved me out the front door. Dante exhaled and pressed a key into my hand. “It’s an apartment downtown. Go there. Sleep it off. I’m not doing this with you again, Aria. None of us are.” “I should’ve saved Mirella that night. Not you.” I scoffed. “Then marry her.” He let out a long, exhausted breath. “Don’t start. I told you I’d put a ring on you and I will. That doesn’t change.” “Mirella is sweet. She’s a good girl. I’m not going to stand here and let you treat her like she’s something to throw away. Don’t pull that again.” He turned and walked back up the steps. I dropped the key on the marble and turned to leave. Mirella came running across the foyer and grabbed my sleeve. “Sister, don’t go. I’m the one who reached for what was never mine. I don’t deserve any of this.” “You stay. I’ll go. I’ll be packed and out before sunrise, I swear.” I knew exactly what she was doing. So I stood there. Let her clutch my sleeve and squeeze out her little tears. But the second she realized I wasn’t shoving her off like I always had, she gasped, clutched her chest, and crumpled at my feet. “Mirella!” “Somebody call the doctor! Mirella, honey, stay with me!” Every soldier and house staff member in the foyer came running and crowded around her. Dante’s hand closed around my throat. His eyes were black. “You laid a hand on her? Don’t think for a second I won’t put one on you, Aria.” Turns out, when you’re past furious, all you can do is laugh. I hadn’t even touched her. Somehow I’d still done it. “Dante. I really hope none of you live to regret this.” My father’s voice cracked across the foyer. “Get her the hell out of my sight. Lock her in the cellar. I’m not done with her tonight.”

The cellar was cold. Damp. The kind of dark that crawled under your skin. Second time I’d been thrown down here. The first time was still fresh. I’d caught Mirella sneaking into Dante’s wing of the estate at two in the morning. Found her curled up in his bed like she belonged there. She broke down sobbing. Said she’d been sleepwalking. Said her foster father back in Sicily used to lock her in a closet at night, and ever since, her feet just carried her somewhere she felt safe. She didn’t know it was Dante’s bed. She didn’t mean it. Please don’t be mad. My parents bought every word. Dante crouched down in front of her like she was made of porcelain and told her, soft as silk, that his door was always open. Anytime she was scared. Back then I was still out of my mind in love with him. I wouldn’t let a single woman near his office. Every female assistant on his floor got transferred out within a month. The only women allowed near him were the cleaning staff, and they had to be over fifty. So I walked over and slapped Mirella across the face. My father had me hauled down to this cellar that same night. Seven days. One bowl of broth a day. No light, no blanket, no door cracking open. They didn’t drag me out until I was too weak to stand and I agreed to apologize on my knees. This time, starvation wasn’t the plan. My father came down the stone steps with a riding crop in his hand. Dante walked in behind him. “Family code says thirty for what you did. Mirella got down on her knees and begged me to go easy on you. She asked for the crop instead of the belt. So now it’s fifty.” A pause. Then he raised his arm. Crack. The first lash tore a red welt across my back before I even felt it land. He went again. And again. A dozen strikes in. The welts split open one after another. By the tenth, every blow was hitting raw meat. My skin was on fire and somehow numb at the same time. The crop had been soaked in something. Even through the haze of pain, I could smell it. Vinegar. Salt. Some kind of brine. So that’s what begging for the crop really meant. “Apologize to your sister.” “You going to apologize or not?” He never got the answer he wanted, so he just hit harder. By the time he counted to fifty, my back and the backs of my arms were open. Strips of skin hung loose. Blood ran down my spine and pooled on the stone floor underneath me. I’d stopped feeling individual blows somewhere around twenty. I curled into the corner, forehead against the cold stone, breathing in shallow gulps. My father dropped the crop on the ground and turned for the stairs. “Stubborn as a damn mule. Just like her grandmother.” That was all he said before he left. Dante crouched in front of me. “Mirella sent down ointment and a clean shirt. After everything you put her through, she’s the one taking care of you.” “You’re her sister, Aria. Act like it.” “Just apologize. End this.” He shook out the shirt Mirella had picked out for me. Laid it across my back like he was doing me a kindness. The second the fabric touched my open wounds, my whole body locked up like someone had thrown me into a barrel of salt. I doubled over on the stone and couldn’t breathe. Mirella hadn’t sent ointment. She’d dusted that shirt with something. The sting was deep, chemical, the kind that bit straight into raw skin. I bit down on my tongue until I tasted iron just to keep from screaming. Dante stood up and looked down at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Christ. The dramatics. Mirella’s been white as a sheet from pain her whole life and you’ve never seen her put on a show like this.” He walked out. I waited until I heard the cellar door slam upstairs before I let myself breathe. Then I lay there on the cold stone, staring at the blood on my own hands, and counted. Two more nights. Two more nights and every last thing this Family had bled out of me was coming home.

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My husband finally agrees to a family portrait for our daughter’s fifth birthday, and I’m so giddy I book the most exclusive studio in the city before sunrise. Lumina Elite Studios. Six months waitlist. I pulled strings. I’m sitting in front of the vanity in a custom Valentino gown, makeup flawless, hair styled to perfection. The lights are warm. The photographer is ready. But Julian and Lily are nowhere to be found. The studio’s closing time comes and goes. My phone finally buzzes. Julian:Forgot to mention. Company arranged a year-end trip. Took Lily with me. Back in a week. Then a voice note from my five-year-old daughter, all giggles and sunshine: “Mommy, the trip is sooooo fun! We’ll take pictures with you when we get back, okay?” I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I just smile, type back a cheerful “Sounds good, sweetie!” and then open a different chat. To Logan Chase. CEO of Chase Holdings. My oldest friend. Also, technically, Julian’s boss. Me: Funny. Why didn’t you tell your biggest shareholder you were sending the whole company on vacation? Three seconds later, my phone rings. “What vacation?” Logan’s voice is sharp, baffled. “Chloe, are you dreaming? It’s Q4. We’re squeezing blood from stones over here. Nobody’s on vacation except Julian. He requested PTO last week. The rest of us are pulling all-nighters.” My fingers tighten around the phone. “Got it.” “Whoa, hey, wait. Chloe, what’s going on?” I press my lips together. In the mirror, I see a woman in a ten-thousand-dollar gown, sitting alone in a studio she rented out for the whole afternoon. A walking punchline. “Come pick me up,” I say flatly, sending him the address. “Five minutes. Don’t move.” I sit frozen at the vanity as the staff start packing equipment. I can feel their eyes shift. The whispers earlier were envious. Look at her, must be nice to book the whole place out. Now they’re something uglier. Pity. Naked, suffocating pity. “Bet she got stood up.” “Poor thing. Money can’t buy a husband who shows up.” The studio manager appears beside me, holding a thick leather portfolio against her chest. Her smile is too soft, too careful. “Ma’am, please don’t be too upset. I’m sure your husband had an emergency. Why don’t you take a look at our portfolio? Pick a style for next time.” She slides the album in front of me. I’m too numb to refuse. I flip the cover. And every cell in my body turns to ice. The first page is the studio’s flagship piece. A massive, gilded family portrait. Cream backdrop. A man in a crisp navy suit, smiling like he’s in a cologne ad. A woman in white silk, glowing. And between them, a little girl in a pink tulle dress, clutching a bouquet of daisies, her eyes crescent-moon happy. That little girl is my daughter. That man is my husband. And the woman… The manager mistakes my frozen face for awe. She launches into her sales pitch, practically beaming. “Oh, you have excellent taste! That’s our signature family. Such a lovely couple. They’ve come every year since the baby’s first month.” “The husband’s a CEO at some Fortune 500. Seven figures, easy. Gorgeous man. And the wife is a total sweetheart. Devoted to her husband and daughter. The little girl is a natural in front of the camera, our whole staff adores her.” Every word is a knife sliding between my ribs. Six years ago, I quietly funded Julian’s career. I hid him inside Logan’s company so no one would push him around. I anonymously invested millions to make sure he became Top Performer of the Year, then VP, then CEO. And every time I tried to take a picture of Lily, she’d scream and hide behind Julian. “Mommy, GO AWAY! I HATE pictures!” Julian would always smirk and say, “Babe, drop it. She doesn’t like your photography. Honestly, neither do I.” She doesn’t hate pictures. She hates pictures with me. My eyes drift back to the woman in white. At first glance, just familiar. But now… Vivian Rose. The poor scholarship girl I funded through four years of college. The one I personally called in favors to place at a Fortune 500 firm after she couldn’t land a job. I gave that girl a degree. A career. And apparently, my husband. And my daughter. “Ma’am? Ma’am, do you like this style? If so, we can…” A roar of an engine outside. Tires screeching. Then footsteps pounding through the lobby. “CHLOE!” Logan bursts in, hair wild, leather jacket half-zipped. His eyes sweep over me, the empty studio, the Valentino gown. “Damn, girl. Look at you. Red carpet ready.” He grins, then frowns. “Where’s Julian? Where’s Lily? Thought you were doing the family portrait thing?” I close the album. Slowly. Carefully. Because I refuse to let him see the picture inside. “Chloe? Why do you look like that?” I lift my chin and smile. A smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Take me to The Grand Sovereign. Apparently, my daughter’s having a birthday party tonight.”

Logan doesn’t ask questions. He just floors it. The Grand Sovereign is the most exclusive hotel in the city. It also happens to be owned by Logan. We pull up to the entrance, and the first thing I see is a massive welcome banner outside the ballroom. The same family photo from the studio. Vivian curled into Julian’s side. Lily perched on Julian’s shoulders. And in glittering gold script: “Happy 6th Birthday, Our Beloved Lily!” Six. Lily is five. I read it three times. My brain refuses to compute. Logan’s jaw locks. He’s the owner of this entire building, and someone rented his ballroom to throw a party mocking his best friend. He moves to grab the nearest manager, but I touch his arm. “Not yet.” I push the ballroom doors open. Music. Champagne. Two hundred faces turning at once. Most of them are Julian’s employees. I don’t show up at his office often, but I’ve dropped off lunch a few times. Some of them recognize me. “Oh my God, isn’t that Mrs. Miller? The trophy wife?” Someone laughs. The whispers crash over me like a tidal wave. “What’s SHE doing here? On a night like this?” “I heard she doesn’t even work. Just spends Julian’s money all day.” “Look at that dress. Probably swiped his black card to buy it.” Julian is on stage. White tux. Long ceremonial knife in his hand. Vivian’s hand on top of his, both of them poised over a five-tier cake. The picture of a perfect couple. He sees me. And he doesn’t even flinch. He just frowns, like I’m a stain on his rug. “Chloe? What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay home. Don’t embarrass me.” He doesn’t even step down from the stage. He scolds me from above, like I’m a misbehaving dog. I keep walking. “Embarrass you?” My voice is hoarse. I point at the banner. “Julian. Is Lily five years old, or six?” His eyes flicker. Just once. Then he doubles down, chin high. “What’s the difference? Five, six, who cares?” That’s when Vivian glides forward. Custom gown. Champagne flute. Demure smile. The very picture of grace. “Chloe, sweetie, since you’re here, why don’t you grab a seat in the back? Tonight’s a celebration. Lily’s birthday, and my promotion. Don’t ruin it for everyone.” A small body launches itself at me before I can answer. A shove against my hip. Hard. “Get AWAY from her!” My five-year-old daughter. The girl I rocked through fevers, whose first word was Mama, whose tiny fingers I held while she learned to walk. She’s wearing a princess dress. And she’s looking at me like I’m her enemy. “You can’t bully Mama Vivian! Mama Vivian says you’re a useless loser! She says you’re just dragging Daddy down!” Something inside my chest cracks clean in half. “Lily…” My voice breaks. “Baby, I’m your mama…” “NO YOU’RE NOT!” She wraps her arms around Vivian’s leg and tilts her chin up like a queen. “Mama Vivian is my real mama! She’s pretty and rich and buys me everything! She says I have her smart blood, NOT some loser’s blood like yours!” The room erupts. Laughter. Howling, vicious laughter. “Oh my GOD, she’s been raising another woman’s kid?!” “Five years of changing diapers for nothing!That’s gotta be the cuck of the century!” Every employee who ever called me Mrs. Miller with a polite smile is now twisting the knife to suck up to Julian and Vivian. Six years ago, I was funding Vivian’s senior year of college. That same year, Julian “happened” to meet me at a coffee shop, weeping about how his ex broke his heart, how he just wanted a stable, gentle woman to settle down with. It was a setup. From day one. They needed a free meal ticket. A dumb, rich nanny. They picked me. And my own daughter… I already know the answer to that one. “Julian.” I drag in a breath. My voice is steel. “So these last five years. Was all of it an act?” Logan can’t take it anymore. He shoves to the front of the crowd and jabs a finger at the row of executives. “You blind idiots! Look at me! Look at me and tell me you don’t recognize who I…” “SECURITY!” Julian cuts him off, irritated, like Logan is a fly buzzing in his ear. “Get these two psychos OUT of here. Especially the bum next to Chloe. What’s he, your broke cousin? Dressed like a trailer park reject.” The employees are practically vibrating to impress him. Before security can move, three big middle-managers are already rolling up their sleeves and circling us, grinning like wolves.

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Every bridal boutique in New York prays I’ll walk through their door, because I pay in full and never use the service. That’s because on every single shoot day, my fiancé finds a brand-new excuse not to show up. This is the 33rd time Ethan Caldwell has left me standing alone in a bridal shop because of Tiffany Sinclair. I call him. His voice is flat, distracted. “Tiff just wanted some fresh coconut water, babe. Go easy on her.” “I already flew down to Malibu with her. I really can’t get back. Let’s reschedule the shoot in a week.” Then Tiffany snatches the phone. “Oh my God, you’re really calling about this? You should be used to canceling these shoots by now.” In the background, Ethan laughs — soft, doting. A tone I’ve never heard him use with me. I hang up. The boutique attendant gives me that practiced, sympathetic smile. “Miss Lawson, you can cancel the shoot, but the deposit is non-refundable.” This time, I don’t take off the dress and walk out. I smile, and dial a number. Within minutes, Ethan’s best friend, Hunter Brooks, is standing in the boutique doorway. Under a dozen stunned stares, I slip my arm through his—his hand is shaking with excitement—and turn to the attendant. “Okay. We can start now.” … It’s evening by the time we finish. I change out of the gown, sink into the lounge sofa, and casually leave a five-star review for the boutique on my phone. The review goes live. Ten seconds later, Ethan’s name flashes on my screen. But it’s Tiffany’s syrupy voice that comes through. “Chloe, you’re really shooting wedding photos alone and writing reviews about it? Doesn’t it feel a little pathetic?” I lean back into the sofa. “Not as pathetic as you.” “My review went live ten seconds ago and you’re already calling. Watching my every post like some creepy little stalker — who’s the pathetic one here?” She loses it. “I wasn’t stalking you! It just showed up on my screen, okay?!” I’m not done with her. “Malibu is across the country. Do I look three years old to you?” She scrambles. “I — I just forgot to turn off my location! What’s it to you?!” I hang up. Seconds later, Ethan’s text lights up my screen, dripping with blame. [Chloe, do you have ANY idea how hard it is to calm Tiff down?] [She called you because she cares. Why would you snap at her? Now I have to fix what you broke. Happy?] I don’t reply. Instead, I open Instagram and post the digital wedding invite the boutique sent me. Caption short and sweet: Friends — see you all this weekend at the wedding. The comments explode. [OMG CHLOE!! You and Ethan are FINALLY tying the knot?? Congrats babe!!] [Wait — I thought you two broke up?? You’re really getting married?? I’ll be there!!] I’m about to start replying when Ethan’s comment shoots straight to the top — colder than his text, in front of everyone. [Chloe, are you out of your mind? I’m in Malibu with Tiff. I’m NOT flying back this weekend. Stop being so delusional.] [For the record—clear this up. Tell everyone you made the wedding up.] The thread goes silent for a beat. Then more notifications flood in. I just repost the invite. Same caption. Friends — see you all this weekend at the wedding

What I didn’t expect, Ethan booked the next red-eye home. What I really didn’t expect, Tiffany flew back with him. It’s two in the morning when he slams the front door open. Tiffany’s eyes are puffy and red. The second she sees me, she breaks. “Chloe, you must be loving this. E and I just took a little trip together and you had to fake a wedding to drag us back in the middle of the night.” “You ruined my entire island trip!” I glance at Ethan. Then at her. “Nobody told you to fly back.” Ethan’s voice is sharp. “Chloe. Take down that post.” “No.” He inhales hard. “Chloe, how long are you going to keep this up?” “Family, friends — everyone is watching. You’re literally trying to force me into marriage!” Tiffany sniffs. “She’s just jealous because we are close. E, she wants you to crawl back to her.” “E and I are just friends, Chloe. Take it down already!” I ignore her. Eyes back on Ethan. Same word. “No.” He laughs with bitter and furious. “Fine. Send out a thousand invites. Without a groom on the day, you’re the joke. Not me.” I smile. “You can show up or not. It doesn’t matter. You’ve already been missing from my life for a long time. Haven’t you?” His face goes cold. Tiffany feels the silence and grabs his arm, shaking it like a child. “E, don’t listen to her, she’s guilt-tripping you!” “Nobody dies without somebody else, okay? The world keeps spinning!” But Ethan softens his tone. “Chloe, I get it. You’re using this little game to lock me down.” “But I really hate seeing you like this. You used to be so easygoing, so reasonable. Why are you making everything ugly now?” He adds, like it explains everything, “You know how much friendship means to me.” I look at their fingers, laced together, tight, and let out a laugh. “Friendship? Ethan. You call that level of intimacy friendship?” He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I say it slowly, making every word clear, “I’m saying. You. Have. No. Boundaries.” Tears pour down Tiffany’s face on cue. “Chloe, ENOUGH! E and I have known each other for twenty years!” “Just because you don’t have any guy friends doesn’t mean other people can’t! Why are you so controlling?!” Ethan pulls her into his shoulder, stroking her hair. “Chloe. Apologize. Right now.” I almost laugh. “Apologize for what?” He explodes. “You made Tiff cry! You owe her an apology!” That’s when the doorbell rings. Hunter walks in. Ethan blinks. “Bro — what are you doing at my place at 2 a.m.?” Hunter’s eyes flick at me. He answers, weight in every word. “I’m here to help Chloe move out.” Ethan stares for a second — then exhales, relieved. “Thanks, man. But it’s not that serious. Chloe and I are just having a couples’ fight.” His tone turns smug, knowing. “You’re a real one, bro. One Instagram post and you saw right through her drama.” “Help me talk some sense into her, yeah? Women need to know their place. Stop embarrassing themselves.” “I gotta take Tiff to a hotel. She’s wrecked from the flight. I’m gonna rub her feet.” Hunter looks down. He smiles slowly and strangely. He pauses. Says nothing to Ethan about what’s really going on. “Sure, bro. I’ll take it from here.”

I move out that same night. When Ethan figures it out, he switches to text bombing me. [I know you’re mad, but you can’t push me like this. Marriage is a big deal. You can’t just announce a wedding this weekend. I’m not mentally ready.] [Chloe, it’s not that I don’t want to marry you. It’s just bad timing. Tiff’s been in a rough place. She needs me. Can’t you just wait?] [I’m being real with you. I’m not ready to get married. The more you push me, the less I want to marry you.] I don’t reply. Not one message. … All the way until the night before the wedding. That’s when Tiffany sends me a video. The lighting is dim—clearly a suite at that boutique hotel in Malibu. Then her call comes through. “You saw the video, right? If even that doesn’t make you cancel… Wow! You really are something.” My voice stays flat. “I saw it. I’m not canceling.” She hangs up on me. A few seconds later, a photo lands in my inbox. Soft hotel light. Ethan and Tiffany were kissing. I look at it. Type three words back. [Not. Canceling. It.] … Wedding day. I stand at the hotel lobby in my gown, greeting guests. Ethan walks wearing gym clothes. His eyes catch on me — and for half a second, I see real shock there. Real awe. “That dress you picked alone… It actually looks good.” Then Tiffany—in a full evening gown—slides her arm through his. The whole room goes silent. A groom in sweatpants, arm-locked with another woman. The bride standing alone across the room in white. Ethan ignores the stares and starts babbling. “Look, I need to be straight with you. There’s nothing going on between me and Tiff.” “That photo and video you saw? Camera angles. We staged it. We just wanted you to cancel the wedding. We didn’t think you’d take it this far.” Tiffany nods beside him, voice sugar-sweet. “It’s true, Chlo. It was all my idea. I just wanted to test how much you really care about E.” “You sat through that video and those photos without breaking. Honestly? I’m impressed by your love.” I look at the two of them. I smile. “Even if you two are sleeping together, I don’t care.” Ethan’s face shifts. He notices my tone changes right away. “I’m telling you the truth. She’s literally just a friend. You know Hunter? Same exact thing.” Tiffany jumps in. “Right, we’re just friends!” Ethan launches into the same speech again. “You know how much my friends mean to me. I’d never ditch a friend just because I’m dating someone.” I look at him standing there, righteous as ever, and I can’t help it. “Ethan. You keep preaching about how much your friends mean to you.” “So how come you haven’t noticed you’re already missing one?”

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Ever since Mom’s affair, Dad had started doing something strange. Every single day, he would sprinkle a handful of flour inside her underwear. His face would go paper-white as he muttered under his breath, “Now it’s clean. Now I can see everything clearly.” Mom would just stand by the edge of the bed, her head bowed low, letting him do whatever he wanted. When she finally stepped out of the bedroom and caught me looking up at her with worried eyes, she would offer a gentle, weary smile. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s just a little sick. We’re just playing a game.” But today, Mom had to go out of town on a business trip. While she was packing her suitcase, she secretly pulled out that flour-dusted pair of underwear and swapped it for a clean one. The moment Dad saw it, he completely lost his mind. He lunged forward, grabbing her suitcase, his voice rising to a sharp, hysterical shriek. “Why did you change it? Are you going to see that divorced lobby host from your office again?! Even with the flour, you still want to throw yourself at him? Aren’t you afraid of rotting down there?!” Mom was pulled off balance, stumbling. She finally shoved him away with all her strength. “I’m going to Pinecrest Springs to meet a client! How am I supposed to wear that in public?! Can you stop being so damn paranoid every single second of the day?!” Dad stumbled backward, colliding heavily with the wardrobe. Instantly, tears spilled over his eyelashes. “If you weren’t so desperately starved that you’d sleep with a piece of human garbage who already has a kid, do you think I’d be paranoid?” Mom’s face flushed a deep, angry crimson. “At least Sean’s daughter is his own flesh and blood from his marriage! It’s not like you, dragging a rapist’s bastard into my life and expecting me to clean up your mess! If I were picky, I never would have married you in the first place!” Outside the window, a sudden crack of thunder shook the house. Dad froze, his outstretched hand slowly dropping to his side. I shrank deeper into the corner of the sofa, tears silently tracking down my face. I knew, right then, that Dad had finally broken. … The moment those words left her mouth, Mom’s expression shifted. She rushed over and clamped her warm palms over my ears, her voice laced with sudden panic and regret. “Lucy, don’t listen to that. Mommy was just out of her mind with anger. I was talking nonsense.” Her hands were hot against my ears, creating a muffled hum like I was underwater. But I didn’t feel anything. I just stared at Dad through the gaps of her fingers. Dad stood there, completely still. He didn’t scream. He didn’t make a scene. He simply crouched down, picked up the discarded underwear, folded it with meticulous care, and placed it gently into the laundry hamper. Then, he picked up Mom’s train ticket from the coffee table and stared at it for a very long time. Pinecrest Springs. When those words registered in my mind, a loud buzzing filled my ears. Suddenly, the memories came rushing back. Pinecrest Springs was the very first place I had ever seen the man Mom was sleeping with. It was on Dad’s birthday. He had taken me to Pinecrest Springs to celebrate. We had changed into our swimsuits and were heading to the hot springs. As we passed the locker rooms, Dad suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes were locked on two pieces of clothing hanging on the door of an adjacent private dressing room. A woman’s blouse and a man’s suit jacket. I recognized the blouse—it was Mom’s. I knew it because of the gold brooch pinned to the collar, a birthday gift Dad had saved up to buy her. From inside the dressing room came low, ragged gasps. A man and a woman, making noises like two wild beasts tearing each other apart. Dad’s face drained of all color. I didn’t understand what was happening. Hearing Mom sound like she was in so much pain, I thought someone was hurting her. So, I charged forward, threw the door open, and screamed, “Don’t hurt my mommy!” But inside, there was only a naked man. He scrambled past me in a panicked rush, fleeing into the hallway. And Mom, sitting on the bench inside, looked like a ghost. That day, Dad cried for hours. When Mom finally came home later, she dismissed it with cold impatience, telling Dad he was making a mountain out of a molehill. I remember her saying, “Back then, when that woman kept you chained up for three days and three nights, I was still willing to marry you. What is so hard for you to stomach now?” That night, Dad held me close as we slept. His tears fell continuously, soaking into my hair, cold and wet. I thought he was asleep, but his lips were moving, whispering fragmented, broken words. I caught pieces of it: not mine, rapist, bastard. I didn’t fully grasp what those words meant back then, but I knew one thing: I probably wasn’t Mom’s daughter. So, Mom, you don’t need to cover my ears. I’ve known for a long time. A warm drop of water splashed onto the back of my hand. I looked up. It was Dad’s tear. Seeing the look on Dad’s face, Mom must have felt a prick of guilt. She grabbed her phone, stepped out onto the balcony, and lowered her voice to make a call. “Hey, Megan, can you cover my trip today? Something came up at home… What? He’s already there?” Through the glass door, I could hear a man’s muffled crying coming from the receiver. Even through the phone, it sounded high-pitched and pathetic. Mom’s expression instantly changed. She barked, “I’m on my way,” and hung up. She stormed back into the bedroom, grabbed her suitcase, and headed straight for the front door. But this time, Dad didn’t run after her. He only knelt down and gently wiped the tear from the back of my hand. “I’m sorry, Lucy. Daddy really wanted to try. I wanted so badly to give you a real family.” He looked up at me, his eyes terribly red. “But Daddy is just so tired. I don’t think I can keep going.” Mom didn’t come home that night. Instead, my body betrayed me, and I came down with a raging fever. Dad stayed by my side all night, constantly changing the cool washcloth on my forehead and measuring my temperature. I heard him making phone calls—likely to Mom. The phone rang and rang, but no one ever picked up. By morning, the fever still hadn’t broken. Dad scooped me up onto his back and rushed me to the hospital. I clung to him, my eyelids feeling as heavy as lead weights. In my hazy, feverish state, I heard a man’s voice very close by. “Gently, sweetheart. Just hold on a little longer. It’ll be over soon.” The voice sounded familiar. I forced my eyes open. Through the blur, I saw three people standing outside the neighboring examination room. Mom. Sean. And a girl, about half a head taller than me, holding up a bandaged finger and whimpering dramatically. Mom didn’t see us. She was leaning over, signing some paperwork. The nurse called out, “Who is here for Kylie Reynolds?” Mom looked up, her voice quiet but distinct: “I’m her mother.” At that moment, it felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head. I woke up completely. As Mom turned around, her eyes collided with mine. She froze. Dad froze, too, his arms tightening around me. Sean was the first to react. A practiced smile plastered across his face, and he hurried over, his voice dripping with nervous urgency. “Hey, man, please don’t misinterpret this. The kid had a tantrum last night and ran out. We spent the whole night looking for her. She cut her finger, so we came to get it looked at. I’m new to this area and didn’t know where to go, so I had no choice but to call Evelyn for help.” But Dad didn’t even look at him. He gently set me down on my feet and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “Lucy, does it still hurt?” Before I could answer, someone lunged forward and shoved me hard. I went flying, my forehead slamming violently against the plastic armrest of the hallway chairs. The pain was so sharp my vision went black. Dad let out a panicked cry, wrapping his arms around me as he whirled around. The girl stood behind me, her eyes red, pointing a finger at me as she screamed. “You little bastard! You shameless thief! Stop trying to steal my mommy!” Sean shrieked, lunging forward to grab the girl’s arm. The next second, he raised his hand and slapped himself hard across the face. Once, twice, three times. The slaps were loud and sharp, echoing down the corridor. Everyone in the hallway turned to stare. He sobbed as he kept slapping himself, his tears smudging whatever dignity he had left. “It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! Don’t listen to her, she’s just a child, she doesn’t know what she’s saying—she probably picked it up from TV! I promise I’ll discipline her when we get home!” Dad never looked at him. He carefully examined my forehead, and only after ensuring the skin wasn’t broken did he stand up. His gaze cut past Sean, landing squarely on Mom. His eyes were as still and empty as a stagnant pool of dark water. Mom shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her brow furrowing. “Alright, stop looking at me like that. We ran into each other, that’s all. Is this dramatic display really necessary?” Mom opened her mouth to say more, but suddenly she swayed, her knees buckling as she began to collapse. Sean was fast, catching her in his arms and rushing her into the adjacent examination room. The hallway fell quiet. The girl stood there, completely abandoned. She glanced at me, then at the examination room door, her lip trembling before she turned and ran in after them. I stood alone in the hallway. I hadn’t realized Dad had let go of my hand. I looked up and saw him leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes closed. “Daddy?” He opened his eyes, looked down at me, and gently stroked my hair. “Let’s go home, Lucy.” “Aren’t we getting my medicine?” “No.” He took my hand and led me toward the exit. As we passed the examination room, I heard the doctor’s voice drift out: “Congratulations, Ms. Crawford. You’re pregnant. It’s been almost three months. The fainting was just due to emotional stress. You need to rest.” My mind flashed back. The day we ran into Mom in the dressing room was exactly three months ago. Dad’s grip on my hand tightened. I looked up at his profile, but his face remained completely serene. When Mom’s eyes met his through the open door, Dad spoke only two words, his voice flat and empty: “Congratulations.” Then, he turned and led me away. “David!” Mom screamed from behind us. Dad’s footsteps never faltered. On the drive home, Dad didn’t say a single word. When night fell, Mom finally came back. When she walked into the living room, Dad was sitting quietly on the sofa. She sat down opposite him, her expression turning uncharacteristically solemn. “David, we need to talk.” Dad didn’t speak. Mom sighed, her voice softening into a gentle, coaxing tone she might use on a stubborn child. “I want to keep Sean’s baby.” She paused, glancing toward me, then back at Dad. “You know the state of your own body… After what happened back then, you were damaged so badly. The doctors said you could never get me pregnant again. The child I’m carrying right now is my only chance to have a baby of my own. It’s not that I don’t care about you, but you can’t be this selfish, right?” I stood by the bedroom door, watching Dad. His back was perfectly straight, his hands resting on his knees, his knuckles turning a stark, bloodless white. “Once the baby is born safe and sound, I’ll find a way to send Sean and his daughter abroad. They won’t interfere with our lives anymore. You’ll still be Mr. Crawford, Lucy will still be my daughter, and nothing has to change.” As she spoke, there was a faint, hopeful spark in her eyes. She looked as though she believed she was making a massive sacrifice, as though Dad ought to be drowning in gratitude. Dad suddenly let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Okay.” Mom blinked, clearly not expecting him to agree so easily. “You… you agree?” Dad lowered his gaze, his voice incredibly calm. “Yes. Take care of yourself.” A relieved smile broke across Mom’s face, the heavy tension leaving her shoulders. She stood up, walked over, and patted my head. “Be a good girl, Lucy. Mommy has to step out for a bit, but I’ll be right back.” I didn’t say anything. I just watched her silhouette disappear through the front door. Once she was gone, Dad looked away from the empty doorway. He leaned down and pulled a document from the drawer. It was a divorce agreement. He beckoned to me. “Lucy, come here.” I walked over and stood before him. He pulled me into a tight embrace, resting his chin on the top of my head, gently swaying me back and forth. “What if Daddy took you to live somewhere else? Somewhere far away. Would you like that?” I nodded. That night, for the first time in a very long time, we slept peacefully. The next morning, Dad had our bags packed and was ready to take me to the airport. But the moment he opened the front door, he was met face-to-face with Mom. Her face was contorted with pure, unbridled rage. Before Dad could even react, she threw her hand back and slapped him hard across the face. “David, how can you be so vicious?! Sean is already in fragile health, and you hired people to assault him?!” Dad was completely stunned. He cupped his smarting cheek, blood slow-dripping from the corner of his lip. “What are you screaming about? When did I ever hire anyone to touch him?” But Mom didn’t listen. She grabbed my arm and dragged both Dad and me out of the apartment. I stumbled blindly behind her, my knee slamming violently against the doorframe, a sharp burst of pain shooting through my leg. At the hospital. Inside Sean’s hospital room. The moment the door opened, a thick, metallic smell of copper and sweat hit my nose. Sean was half-reclined on the bed, his hair a tangled mess, his face slick with tears. His shirt was torn in several places, exposing skin covered in angry purple and blue bruises. Seeing Dad, Sean shrank back in terror, letting out a piercing shriek. “Stay away! Don’t let him near me! Don’t touch me! You animals!” Mom stopped in her tracks, her words hissed through clenched teeth. “David, just because you can’t father a child yourself, you can’t bear to let anyone else have one? Do you have any idea what your petty, sick jealousy has done to Sean? He’s severely injured!” Sean sobbed harder, his shoulders shaking violently. There was a dark, dried patch of blood staining his bedsheets, turning a grim, rusty black. Mom’s voice grew louder, her eyes shot through with broken red veins. She, too, had miscarried on the way here because of the extreme emotional upheaval. “What did he do wrong? What did the baby do wrong?” “Did you think that if you dragged Sean down into the dirt, you wouldn’t feel so filthy anymore? You wanted him to be just like you?” She stared at Dad, her words dropping like heavy, frozen stones. “David, looking at you right now makes me want to vomit.” Dad’s lips trembled. He shook his head desperately, tears finally spilling over. “I didn’t… I didn’t do this…” “Still lying!” Mom waved her hand, and the heavy door was pushed open. Several people were shoved into the room. Three women, their faces bruised and swollen, one of them bleeding from the corner of her eye. They cowered on the floor, terrified to look up. Mom demanded coldly, “You said a man paid you to drug and assault Sean. Is this him?” The woman at the front looked up, quickly nodding. “Yes! It’s him! He told us the guy was a cheap, divorced home-wrecker who would run away and wouldn’t dare call the cops!” The other two nodded in unison. The movement was so perfectly synchronized it felt rehearsed. Dad’s face went completely pale. I tore myself from Mom’s grip, throwing my small body in front of Dad, tears blinding me. “Daddy was with me the whole night! He never went out! You’re lying! You’re all bad people!” But Mom’s expression only darkened further. “David, you’ve even taught Lucy how to lie for you. I see I need to teach you a lesson you’ll actually remember.” She gestured with her chin toward the bruised women. “Take him to the empty room next door. Whatever you did to Sean, do the exact same thing to him.” A loud ringing filled my ears. Mom added, her voice chillingly casual: “It’s not like it’s his first time anyway. He’s got experience.” The women stood up, moving toward Dad. Dad seemed to lose the last shred of his spirit. He shoved me back out of harm’s way, screaming, “Lucy, close your eyes! Don’t look!” But for the first time in my life, I didn’t obey. I watched their hands claw at Dad’s arms, dragging him out into the corridor. “Daddy! Daddy!” I chased after them, but Mom grabbed me by my collar, hoisting me up like a helpless, squirming animal. The door to the adjoining room slammed shut. I dropped to my knees outside the door, crying hysterically, pounding against the wood until my knuckles bled. “Please! Please don’t touch my daddy!” There was no sound from inside. I turned back to find Mom. She was standing at the far end of the corridor, her back to me. Sean had somehow limped out of his room and was clinging to her. Mom’s arms were wrapped gently around his waist. The next second, a dull, heavy thud echoed from inside the room—the sound of something massive striking the concrete below. Then, the air was sliced by a chorus of panicked screams. The door to the adjoining room burst open from the inside. One of the women stumbled out, her clothes disheveled, her voice pitching into a terrified shriek: “He’s dead! The man jumped out the window!!”

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My breakup with Aaron Lockhart was far too polite. It was civilized. Dignified. Which is probably why it took until the second year after we parted ways for me to finally admit the truth to myself: Aaron had never loved me. His split from his new flame, however, was a spectacular, tabloid-worthy disaster. Even my Nana, who usually paid absolutely no attention to society gossip, was utterly captivated by the drama playing out on our small television. It was nothing like our quiet end. No screams, no broken plates. For Aaron and me, it had been a single, soft “goodbye,” and then—nothingness. But as Nana watched the broadcast, her brow suddenly furrowed in deep concentration. “Vera, sweetie,” she muttered, squinting at the screen, “why does this young man look so familiar?” I was holding two different diamond rings under the jeweler’s loupe, comparing their cuts, and answered without looking up. “He’s practically royalty in the city, Nana. You’ve probably seen him on some news segment.” Nana fell silent for a moment, then slapped her knee. “I remember now!” she gasped. “He came into the shop yesterday while I was watching the counter. He ordered two diamond rings—and he specifically asked for you to hand-deliver them!” 01 My hands froze. The two rings slipped through my fingers, clattering onto the glass counter before bouncing onto the floor. I scrambled to pick them up, my heart hammering against my ribs. I forced a tight laugh, looking up at Nana. “You must have him confused with someone else. He’s in New York, Nana. We’re all the way in Newport. Why on earth would he come to our little shop?” There was another truth I kept to myself: Aaron was impossibly fastidious. He was a man who wore custom Tom Ford and wouldn’t dream of wearing socks that weren’t designer. There was no universe where he would step foot into a no-name local boutique like ours to choose an engagement ring. But Nana was resolute. “No, I’m sure of it. A face that handsome isn’t easy to forget.” She hobbled toward her bedroom, her limp more pronounced today. I quickly followed, hovering nearby in case her balance gave out. After rummaging through her dresser, she pulled a crumpled slip of paper from her apron pocket. The elegant, sharp handwriting on it made my chest tighten. Two diamond rings. Pickup in two weeks. Nana looked at me with an apologetic sigh. “Oh, my foolish head. Ever since the accident, I can’t keep things straight. I forgot all about this order.” “It’s okay,” I whispered, trying to soothe her. “I’m sure we can still manage it.” My eyes drifted to the date stamped at the bottom of the slip. Two weeks ago. The breath caught in my throat, and my smile froze. 02 After making sure Nana was comfortable, I rushed out to the shop. It wasn’t a large boutique, but it demanded constant attention. The margins were razor-thin, the expenses were overwhelming, and I couldn’t afford to hire staff. I had to do everything myself. When I was stretched too thin, Nana would try to help me watch the counter. Like two days ago. My friend Hannah’s daughter had a parent-teacher conference, but Hannah and her husband were stuck out of town. She had begged me to go in her place, offering to help Nana get an appointment with a renowned specialist in return. I had agreed. But I hadn’t realized that leaving the shop for just half a day would lead to this. I had forgotten to check the weather forecast before leaving the house, and by the time I was halfway to the shop on my old bicycle, a cold coastal drizzle had begun to fall. By the time I arrived at the storefront, I looked like a drowned rat. As I struggled to unlock the heavy metal security grate, cold water splattered against my bare shins. Suddenly, footsteps echoed on the wet pavement behind me. A reflection stretched across the puddle at my feet—the silhouette of a tailored suit, a glimpse of a Patek Philippe watch, and a man impatiently tapping the handle of an umbrella. I turned around slowly, already knowing who I would see. Aaron stood there, his lips pressed into a thin, displeased line. “So this is your shop?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, low-frequency judgment. “You told me you wanted to take the world by storm. Is this the grand result?” I forced a professional smile. “Mr. Lockhart. Are you here to collect your rings?” Aaron stared at me, his eyes dark. “You look pale. Don’t tell me you haven’t even started them.” The customer is always right. I bowed my head slightly, offering a practiced apology. “I am incredibly sorry. They aren’t finished yet. Could you possibly give me a little more time?” Aaron continued to stare, his gaze heavy and unreadable. I shifted under his scrutiny, feeling utterly exposed. When we were together, I had never bowed my head to him. To meet again like this, with me shivering and soaked, felt like a quiet humiliation. Aaron’s brow furrowed—his signature sign of impatience. But before I could offer another apology, the passenger door of the sleek black Mercedes parked at the curb opened. The woman from the tabloids—the one at the center of his recent media storm—stepped out. She held up her white designer dress, stepping daintily to avoid the puddles. She reached to loop her arm through Aaron’s, but he smoothly turned away, pretending to adjust his coat. “I told you we shouldn’t have commissioned rings from a place like this,” she complained, her voice dripping with artificial sweet sweetness. “There are so many elite jewelers in Manhattan. Why come all the way here? Now our engagement party is going to be a mess.” “I am deeply sorry,” I interjected quickly. “When is the engagement party? Perhaps I can rush the order.” She looked at me critically. “Three days from now. Can you actually manage that?” As long as the design wasn’t overly intricate, I could. I knew Aaron’s tastes; he favored clean, classic lines. Nothing ostentatious. Just as I was about to nod, Aaron cut in. “I want to add an engraving,” he said. My phone was dead, so I frantically fumbled in my bag for a pen and a damp notepad, gesturing for him to continue. I had only managed to get the security grate halfway up, and the rain was picking up, blurring my vision. Perhaps worried I wouldn’t capture his instructions properly, Aaron reached out and tilted his umbrella over my head. I looked up, offering a small, grateful nod. Aaron’s throat bobbed, and he averted his eyes. “Make sure you write this down. I want engravings on the inside of the bands.” “Engrave the letter V in the women’s ring.” “And the letter A in the men’s.” My pen stopped. I looked up at them, stunned. The woman smiled warmly, stepping closer. “Our initials. Vicky and Aaron. Oh, where are my manners? I’m Vicky West.” She looked at Aaron, then back to me. “Aaron, it seems like you two know each other. Aren’t you going to introduce us?” After five years of silence, how were we supposed to define what we had been? I stood there, frozen. But Aaron spoke with perfect, cool detachment. “This is Vera Ward. We went to college together.” Vicky smiled and extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Vera.” I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and forced myself to take her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss West. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 03 And I had. Long before today. Back when Aaron and I were together, her name would frequently slip from his friends’ lips. They would often adopt a hushed, wistful tone whenever they spoke of her. “If Vicky hadn’t left for Europe,” they would say, “Aaron wouldn’t have become… like this.” I never understood what they meant by “like this.” To me, Aaron was a perfect partner. He was emotionally stable, gentle, and in all the years we spent together, we never once had a screaming match. Whenever a conflict arose, he would calmly sit down and analyze the pros and cons with me. If other men tried to pursue me, he would dismiss them with effortless, polite grace. Once, while having coffee with Hannah, I was listing his virtues when I noticed her expression turn complex. “You’ve never had a single fight?” she asked. “Never,” I replied. “And when that young guy from next door kept asking for your number, Aaron didn’t react at all?” I thought back to that afternoon. “No. We’re adults, Hannah. Why would he get upset over a kid?” Hannah sighed and turned her phone screen toward me. She had been texting her own boyfriend: Just grabbing coffee with Vera. Some guy just tried to get her number. The indicator showed the boyfriend was typing, erasing, and typing again. Finally, a message came through: Okay. Come home the second you’re done. A second later, another text popped up: I’m literally going to lose my mind if you don’t. I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s not very different from Aaron.” “It’s entirely different,” Hannah countered gently. “Don’t you see, Vera? You two don’t fight because Aaron has no sense of possession. He doesn’t get jealous. Sometimes, I honestly wonder if he’s capable of loving you at all.” She patted my hand. “Anyway, let’s not talk about him. Happy birthday, sweetie.” All the way home, Hannah’s words echoed in my head. When I unlocked the door, I found Aaron sitting in the living room, reading the evening paper. On the coffee table sat a birthday cake. It had clearly been sitting out for hours; the frosting was beginning to melt. Seeing me enter, he smiled. “Happy birthday, Vera. I bought you a new bag. See if you like it.” Normally, regardless of what he bought, I would smile and tell him it was perfect. I never wanted to be the difficult girlfriend. But tonight, with Hannah’s words ringing in my ears, a sudden, childish urge took hold of me. “I don’t like it,” I said. In truth, Aaron had immaculate taste. It was exactly the kind of bag I loved. I stood there, waiting for him to show some flash of anger. Aaron blinked in surprise, then let out a soft laugh. “Well, looks like my streak of guessing right has ended. What would you prefer instead? I’ll get you whatever you want.” My voice rose, thin and sharp. “Don’t you even know what I like?” The words left my mouth, and instant regret washed over me. It was the first time I had ever raised my voice at him. Aaron fell silent for a moment. He folded his newspaper, his expression returning to its usual, calm composure. “I’m sorry. I should have paid closer attention to your preferences. I’ll make sure to get it right next time. For now, why don’t you keep the bag anyway? I have an urgent meeting to attend, so I have to head out. I hope you understand.” As if to prove his point, his phone began to vibrate. He answered it, and as he listened, his expression darkened in a way I had never seen before. It must have been a severe crisis. He gave me a brief nod, ignoring the melting cake, and turned toward the door. For some reason, I called out to his retreating back. “Aaron. Someone asked for my number at the cafe today.” The words felt pathetic the moment they left my lips. Our unspoken rule had always been to never interrupt each other’s work. Aaron paused, his shoulders tightening. I could tell he was incredibly stressed. But out of sheer, polite habit, he gave me a measured response. “That’s nice. Have a good time.” But his voice sounded strained, almost tight. The door clicked shut. I sat alone on the sofa, staring at the gift I had claimed to hate. I took a bite of the melting cake. It tasted incredibly bitter. The television was still on, playing a late-night entertainment news broadcast. “…Vicky West, heiress to the West Group, returned to the country today. Miss West, after so many years abroad, do you have anything to say to the cameras?” The woman on screen smiled with radiant confidence. “Of course. I returned for one specific person. The brilliant Aaron Lockhart. I believe he’s attending the gala tonight.” My spoon froze halfway to my mouth. “I hear he has a girlfriend now,” the reporter prompted. “Is that a regret?” Vicky laughed softly. “It’s a pity we missed our chance back then. But I wonder if he’d do me the honor of having dinner tonight?” Suddenly, the reporters in the broadcast began to clamor, rushing toward the background of the shot like bees to a flower. Through the crowd, a familiar face appeared. Aaron offered a polite, measured nod, his eyes locking with Vicky’s from across the room. I squeezed the metal spoon until my knuckles turned white. In all our years together, Aaron had never allowed us to appear in public. He kept our relationship entirely private. When I asked him why we couldn’t go public, he told me it was to protect me. I had graduated from the same university as him. My starting point in life wasn’t as high as his, but I had worked tirelessly to build a name for myself in my field. I wasn’t wealthy, but I was respected. Yet, he had bypassed all his rules of “protection” to stand in the spotlight for Vicky West. 04 On my twenty-fifth birthday, I finally understood that love is a luxury I couldn’t afford to waste my time on. Before the broadcast could even finish, my phone rang. It was our neighbor. “Vera, you need to come to the hospital right away. Your Nana is having another episode. She doesn’t know where she is.” I turned off the television and rushed out the door. Nana’s dementia was worsening. By the time I reached the hospital, she was staring at me blankly, asking who I was. She had wandered out of the house in a state of confusion and had been struck by a car. The impact had fractured her tailbone, leaving her unable to stand. The driver had fled the scene, and though the police had been called, there were no leads. Fortunately, her confusion was temporary this time. After a while, she squeezed my hand. “I’m so sorry for being a burden to our Vera.” I tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “You’re never a burden, Nana.” I was an orphan, abandoned at birth. Nana had found me and raised me on her own. She never had children of her own; I was her daughter in every way that mattered. But with her condition deteriorating, she couldn’t be left alone. My current corporate job paid well, but the hours were brutal. I had already written my resignation letter, planning to find something local that would give me the flexibility to care for her. I asked the neighbor to watch over her for an hour while I ran back to our apartment to pack some essentials. I expected the apartment to be empty. But when I opened the door, Aaron was sitting on the sofa, holding my resignation letter in his hand. His brow was furrowed, his finger tapping rhythmically against the coffee table. “Are you unhappy at work?” he asked, his voice calm. “Is someone making things difficult for you? Why are you resigning?” I kept packing, my hands moving quickly. “Nana needs full-time care. This job takes up too much time.” Aaron’s expression tightened. “This job is a perfect stepping stone for your career. You have a real future there. Why didn’t you consult me before making this decision? You’re throwing away your hard work.” It was the first time he had ever spoken to me with such disapproval. It was true that Aaron had helped me secure that job. Early in my career, because of my appearance, I was often dragged to corporate dinners to act as arm candy for clients. During one of those dinners, Aaron had walked into the room. He had looked at me, his eyes freezing. I had been terrified. He had asked me out that night, and I had lied, telling him I had to work late on a design draft because my pride wouldn’t let me admit I was being forced to attend a drinking event. My lie had been stripped bare in an instant. My boss had practically forced me into the seat next to Aaron, pouring a glass of whiskey and telling me to toast him. The amber liquid in the glass seemed to mock my fragile dignity. Aaron’s face had gone cold. My boss, misinterpreting his silence, grabbed my arm to pull me up. “Stop acting pure. If you knew who he was, you’d be begging to get close to him. I’m giving you an opportunity—” The sound of a chair scraping against the floor cut him off. Before anyone could react, Aaron took the glass of whiskey and poured it directly over my boss’s head. The room fell into a stunned silence. “I believe this lady is a valued member of your design team,” Aaron had said, his voice quiet and lethal. “This display makes me seriously question the professional standards of your firm.” From that day on, I was never asked to attend another client dinner. Later, Aaron had asked me why I didn’t just walk out. “Nana needed surgery,” I had told him with a tired smile. “I needed the bonus from that project. If I quit, I wouldn’t have received a dime.” Aaron had clenched his jaw. “You have me. What were you afraid of?” “No one can guarantee you’ll be here forever,” I replied. Perhaps even then, I knew we wouldn’t last. Even after that night, he had never introduced me to his world. But today, he had stood proudly at Vicky West’s side. I kept packing, but my tears finally broke, spilling silent and hot down my cheeks. Aaron didn’t notice. He stared at the resignation letter, his voice restoring itself to that maddening, logical tone. “What’s wrong, Vera? You seem emotional today. If there’s an issue, we can discuss it rationally.” Rational. Always so rational. For once, I wanted to see him lose that perfect composure. I wiped my nose and spoke softly. “Aaron, let’s break up.”

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Ten years into my binding with the Redemption System, Cynthia pushed me down the stairs. Blood pooled between my thighs, staining the cold marble. When Jared rushed over, I thought he was coming for me. But he didn’t even look my way. Instead, he swept his sobbing cousin into his arms. “Cynthia is pregnant,” he hissed. “Don’t scare her.” Three days after my miscarriage, Jared came into my room. He picked up the small wooden bassinet he had handcrafted months ago. “You won’t be needing this anyway,” he said, his voice flat. “I’m giving it to Cynthia.” He paused at the door, not looking back. “I’ve decided. Once Cynthia gives birth, I’m bringing her in as my official mistress.” “I’ll let you keep your dignity as my wife. Just… stop making things difficult for her.” If this had happened before, I would have broken down. I would have screamed, fought, demanded answers. But that day, I only nodded quietly. That night, I summoned the system interface that had lain dormant for years. [Host, do you wish to initiate the extraction process from this world?] This time, I didn’t hesitate. “Confirm.” 1. The next morning, Jared came back. I sat by the window, quietly folding white paper cranes for the dead, ignoring him completely. Jared didn’t seem annoyed by my silence. “Norma, don’t be like this,” he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We can have other children.” “I had the doctor write up a prescription for your recovery. Take it regularly, rest well, and your body will heal.” He reached out, taking my hand. His palm was warm, but I felt absolutely nothing. No spark, no comfort. The doctor he mentioned was the specialist he’d hired specifically to care for Cynthia’s pregnancy. He’d probably just asked the man to scribble a generic prescription on his way out, without even bothering to check my pulse. A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. This was the tenth year of my redemption mission. When I first arrived in this world, Jared was a hostage, broken and humiliated in a rival territory. According to the original plot, years of abuse and torture were supposed to turn him cold, ruthless, and violent—a dark warlord who would eventually seize control of the state and leave a trail of blood in his wake. My job was to save him. To redeem him. When the rival captors whipped him, I threw myself over his body, taking the blows. When he burned with a deadly fever, I climbed freezing mountains to find the rare herbs, slipping down a ravine and cracking two ribs in the process. When we finally returned to his homeland and he led the forces to war, I stood by his side, taking a poisoned arrow meant for him. He conquered his enemies, secured his power, and became the most feared commander in the nation. At his victory gala, the system notified me that my mission was complete. That was my seventh year here. That night, Jared got terribly drunk. He clung to me like a frightened child, burying his face in my neck, whispering, “Don’t leave me… please.” He was a brilliant, sharp man; he had long suspected I didn’t belong to his world. Looking at his tear-stained eyes, my heart softened. I closed the system prompt. I chose to stay. At the time, I truly believed I would never regret it. But in just three short years, we had come to this. Slowly, I pulled my hand out of his grasp. Jared sighed, trying to soothe me. “Norma, I’ve already arranged for a priest to pray for our baby’s soul. You need to let go.” “Cynthia is devastated too. Even with her pregnancy, she stayed up all night copying scriptures for the baby. Her wrists are so swollen she can barely hold a pen, but she refused to stop. She truly cares for you like a sister.” My hands froze mid-fold. Like a sister? With the woman who murdered my baby? I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Jared, Cynthia pushed me down those stairs.” Jared’s face hardened instantly. “Norma, do you hear yourself?” “You slipped. Cynthia cried for hours, blaming herself for not catching you in time, and now you’re trying to pin this on her!” “Cynthia wouldn’t even step on an ant. How could she possibly hurt you?” I stared at him, my heart entirely numb. I suppose when you experience enough disappointment, you stop feeling the sting. It just becomes background noise. Ever since Cynthia entered the picture, she was always twisting her ankle or coming down with mysterious headaches. And every single time, I was the one blamed. Once, unable to take it anymore, I confronted her, demanding to know why she was doing this to me. “Because… it’s fun,” she had whispered, her smile innocent and sweet. “Let’s play a game, sister. Do you think the Commander will believe you, or me?” The second the words left her mouth, she threw herself backward over the balcony railing, plunging straight into the lake. And just like that, another sin was added to my name. I had explained myself a thousand times back then. He never believed me once. Just as telling him the truth now was utterly useless. I stopped looking at him, lowering my gaze back to the paper crane in my hands. Jared let out a long, heavy sigh. “Norma, Cynthia has no one else in this world. She’s fragile, and she scares easily. She only wants a safe place to live. Why can’t you just tolerate her?” “Do you really want to see her pregnant and homeless before you’re satisfied?” A knock sounded at the door. “Commander, Miss Cynthia is suffering from severe morning sickness again. She’s asking for you.” Jared stood up immediately. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you tomorrow.” Without looking back, he hurried out of the room. A dull, familiar ache throbbed in my lower abdomen. I curled into a ball on the bed, cold sweat drenching my collar. Ping! The system’s chime echoed in my mind. [Congratulations, Host. Your points have been successfully redeemed. You will officially extract from this world in ten days.] A faint, tired smile touched my lips. Good. I was finally leaving. 2. The next morning, I walked down to the estate’s private canal, gently placing the folded paper cranes onto the water, watching them float away. Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. “My deepest condolences, sister.” I turned. Cynthia stood a few paces away, a delicate shawl draped over her shoulders. My fingers tightened into fists. A smug, mocking smile played at the corners of her lips, though her voice remained sweet. “Don’t look at me like that, Norma. I truly feel for you. You’ve been in this house for three years, and the moment you finally conceive, it’s gone.” She raised a hand, gently caressing her own rounded stomach. “Isn’t it funny how timing works? Two babies, almost the exact same age. One is blessed to enter this world, while the other is washed away in a puddle of blood.” “I guess some people just aren’t meant to have blessings. Don’t you think, sister?” The raw grief and hatred surged through me, snapping my restraint. I lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar. But before I could do anything, Jared appeared. He violently wrenched my hand away, shoving me back as he shielded Cynthia behind him. “Norma! She is pregnant! Even if you despise her, have some goddamn boundaries!” Cynthia cowered behind his back, her voice trembling. “Jared, don’t blame Norma… I only wanted to talk to her…” My wrist throbbed from Jared’s tight grip. I stared at him, a hollow laugh escaping my throat. “Jared, you have never once believed me.” How many times had we played out this exact scene since Cynthia arrived? I met her during our second year of marriage. A rebel faction had ambushed the northern border, and Jared led the counterattack. The battle ended quickly, and he returned victorious. But he didn’t return alone. He brought Cynthia. “Norma, this is Cynthia. I was injured and fell down a ravine; she saved my life.” The moment Cynthia saw me, she fell to her knees, weeping. “Please, Madame, have mercy on me!” “I don’t ask for a title or status! I only wish to serve as a maid, to stay by the Commander’s side…” She began to cough violently, gasping for air as if she might collapse. “Quick! Call the doctor!” Jared shouted, lifting her into his arms and rushing off before I could even process what was happening. He hadn’t given me a chance to speak. It was as if my permission didn’t matter at all. That night, he came to our bedroom late. He kissed my forehead gently. “Norma, I missed you so much.” “Don’t overthink things. Cynthia saved my life, and she was injured because of me. I have to take responsibility for her.” “Once her injuries are fully healed, I’ll arrange a place for her outside.” I had nodded. Jared was right. Cynthia was his savior; it was only right to care for her. So, I personally arranged for the best doctors and sent rare medicines to her courtyard daily. But a month later, Cynthia was poisoned. I tried to explain to Jared. “I had the doctors inspect every single batch of medicine before it was sent. There was nothing in them.” Jared sat at his desk, slowly turning the signet ring on his finger. When he looked up, his eyes were cold. “Norma, I remember you know your way around poisons.” I froze. Those deep, dark eyes stared at me, already delivering his verdict. Yes, I knew poisons. Years ago, when Jared contracted a deadly plague, I had experimented on my own body, tasting dozens of toxins to find a cure that could counteract the disease. He recovered. But my body was left permanently damaged. To this day, whenever it rained, my joints ached with an agonizing, deep chill. He knew all of this. And now, my sacrifice was the very evidence he used to convict me. “The poison was slow-acting. A normal doctor wouldn’t detect it,” Jared said, letting out a heavy sigh. “No one else in this manor has the knowledge to pull that off, Norma.” “I told you I have no feelings for her. Why must you resort to such underhanded methods?” That was the first time he falsely accused me. I felt a wave of devastation, but mostly, a burning anger. Anger that he could believe a stranger so easily over me. We had a screaming match that night, ending in a bitter silence. And now, here he was, shielding Cynthia in the exact same way. “Norma, I saw it with my own eyes. How do you expect me to believe you?” “For years, you’ve made her life miserable, trying to hurt her at every turn. Now that you’ve lost your own child, do you want to drag Cynthia’s baby to the grave with yours?” “When you were pregnant, didn’t you pray every day for our baby to be healthy? Why can’t you show her an ounce of that mercy?” “Even if you don’t care about yourself, you should at least show some decency to build good karma for our dead child!” Every word felt like a poisoned blade twisting in my chest. Tears spilled over my eyelashes, burning my cheeks. “Jared… then tell me, how did she get pregnant with your child in the first place?” Jared’s expression faltered. The grip on my wrist stiffened. A long, suffocating silence stretched between us before he finally spoke, his voice strained. “Norma, what’s done is done. We have to move forward.” “The baby is gone. Do you really want to destroy the lives of everyone who is still alive?” With that, he let go of my hand, wrapped an arm around Cynthia, and walked away. Move forward? I let out a bitter, silent laugh. He had no idea that for the two of us, there was no forward left. 3. I stumbled back to my courtyard, my limbs heavy and weak. That night, a raging fever took hold of me. My maid returned from the main house, her face red from crying. “Every single doctor in the estate was called to Miss Cynthia’s quarters. When I tried to beg them to come, her maids cursed at me and threw me out.” I rubbed my throbbing temples. It didn’t matter. I only had a few days left anyway; I didn’t have the energy to fight her. During my years traveling with Jared’s army, I had picked up some medical skills. I weak-handedly wrote down a simple herbal prescription and sent my maid to brew it. I had barely taken a single sip of the bitter liquid when my bedroom door was slammed open. “Norma! What is the meaning of this?” Jared stood in the doorway, his face dark with fury, holding my handwritten prescription in his hand. I didn’t know what crime I had committed this time. Exhausted, I muttered, “I’m sick. Am I not allowed to take medicine?” Jared let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Norma, at least make your lies believable.” “Your cheeks are flushed. Do you look sick to you?” “Cynthia is weak and needs the rare snow ginseng to sustain her pregnancy. You had to go and hoard the last of it for yourself? Do you really hate her that much?” My prescription did call for a small amount of snow ginseng. But the estate’s storeroom had plenty. I had only requested enough for two doses. How could it possibly have run out? “Believe whatever you want, Jared.” I tried to push myself up to walk away, but the room spun violently. My knees buckled, and I tumbled toward the floor. “Norma!” Jared lunged forward, catching me before I hit the ground. The moment his hand touched my skin, he froze. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me?” I had told him. He just chose not to believe me. Jared lifted me in his arms, carrying me to the bed. He ordered the maid to bring cold water, then soaked a cloth, gently wiping the sweat from my forehead. His movements were so tender, so familiar, that for a second, my mind drifted. I remembered when I first got pregnant. My morning sickness had been unbearable. One evening, after I had thrown up until my stomach was empty and raw, he had sat by my bedside just like this. He rubbed my back, whispering softly: “Sweetheart, stop torturing your mother. Daddy made a little wooden rocking horse for you. When you’re born, I’ll take you out to ride it.” During those weeks, his hands had been covered in tiny cuts and splinters. I had begged him to let a master carpenter handle it, but he refused, insisting on crafting it with his own hands. After weeks of clumsy work, he had finished that little rocking horse. But after my miscarriage, that very rocking horse had been carried off to Cynthia’s courtyard. A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. Of course. My baby was gone, but he would have other children to inherit his legacy. Jared didn’t notice my shift in mood. After wiping my hands, he sighed softly. “Norma, I’m sorry I misunderstood you. But you should have explained it to me clearly.” “Cynthia is fragile. She isn’t strong like you; she can’t just fight off an illness. Try to be understanding. Missing one ingredient won’t hurt you.” A cold ache settled deep in my bones. Even when I was recovering from a miscarriage and burning with a fever, I still didn’t rank higher than Cynthia’s mildest discomfort. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I turned my face to the wall. “I’m tired.” “Alright. Get some rest.” Jared carefully tucked the blanket around my shoulders and instructed the maid to watch me closely. Then, he picked up the remaining snow ginseng and left. I closed my burning eyes. Seven days left. It would pass quickly. 4. The next morning, I was awakened by a loud commotion outside. Servants were rushing back and forth across the estate. My maid told me that Jared was throwing a lavish birthday celebration for Cynthia, complete with a famous theatrical troupe from the city. I didn’t say a word. I simply picked up my baby’s small wooden memorial plaque, gently brushing away the dust. Hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. Jared walked in, carrying a stack of decorative paper lanterns and writing paper. “Norma, I’m glad you’re awake. I need your help with something.” He set the items on my table. “After what happened, Cynthia has been anxious about the baby. She wants to release prayer lanterns tonight to bless the pregnancy.” “Your handwriting is the most elegant in the house. Cynthia wants you to write the blessings on the lanterns. She truly views you as her sister, which is why she wanted you to do this.” “You don’t have anything else to do today anyway. It’s only a thousand lanterns. You’ll finish in no time.” I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. “Jared… our baby died only a week ago.” He didn’t even look up as he smoothed out the paper. “I know, Norma. But holding onto this grief will only destroy you.” “I’m doing this to give you something to do so you don’t sit in this room depressing yourself. Writing these blessings might help you heal.” “Besides, when Cynthia’s child is born, they will call you ‘Mother’ anyway. They will be your child too. What’s the difference?” A surge of pure rage and grief rushed to my head, making my fingertips tremble violently. “I won’t write them.” Jared’s brow furrowed. “Norma, why are you being so difficult?” “As the mistress of this house, you’ve ignored Cynthia’s pregnancy completely, and now you won’t even help with a simple favor? When did you become so petty?” “These inscriptions won’t take much of your time. Just write them quickly. Don’t delay the lantern release tonight.” He threw the papers onto the table and hurried back out to check on the festival stage. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. He was so busy. So busy that he had completely forgotten. Today was the seventh day since our baby died—the traditional day of mourning. Cynthia’s birthday celebration was incredibly loud. The music and laughter drifted over the high walls, echoing clearly in my quiet courtyard. I didn’t touch a single piece of the paper Jared had left behind. When he returned later that evening and saw the blank sheets, his face darkened with anger. But before he could unleash his fury, Cynthia gently touched his arm. “Jared, let it go. Sister doesn’t like me; it’s natural she wouldn’t want to write them. Please don’t blame her.” In the end, Jared only threw me a disgusted glare before leading Cynthia away. I watched them walk out. Outside, the night air was chilly. Jared carefully wrapped a thick cloak around Cynthia’s shoulders. She looked up at him, smiling softly as she leaned into his chest. They looked exactly like a happily married couple. I pulled my gaze away, forcing down the bitter ache in my heart. It didn’t matter. I was leaving soon anyway. Whatever they did had nothing to do with me anymore. I dragged my exhausted body to bed and closed my eyes. Late that night, I was startled awake by a sudden noise. I opened my eyes to see a dark silhouette standing right next to my bed. I let out a sharp scream, bolting upright. The figure panicked, scrambling out the window into the night. A second later, bright torches illuminated my courtyard. My bedroom door was violently kicked open, and the room filled with armed guards. The cold night wind rushed in, rustling a pile of unfamiliar men’s clothing scattered across my floor. Jared stood at the threshold, his face pale with rage, while a sobbing Cynthia clung to his side. “Norma. You had better have a very good explanation for this.”

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It was the third day since my stepsister started seeing the glowing screen comments floating in midair. She was kneeling in the middle of our living room, wearing my favorite silk nightgown. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her fingers white-knuckled around three folders—our family’s potential marriage alliances. “Quanna just got back to the family,” Sophia choked out, her voice trembling with manufactured martyrdom. “She shouldn’t have to suffer for us like this. Those three marriage arrangements… I’ll take them in her place.” My father, Charles, frowned, adjusting his glasses. “One is bankrupt, one is terminally ill, and the third is confined to a wheelchair. Think carefully, Sophia.” Sophia lowered her head, her voice quivering with a delicate, fragile resolve. “I’m willing to do it.” Yet right above her head, the floating text was practically exploding with activity. [Go, baby girl! All three of these guys are future billionaires!] [In the original timeline, the sister rebuilt her entire life through them. Don’t let her touch them!] [Steal the contracts, and Sophia becomes the ultimate main character of this high-society story!] I watched her carefully orchestrated display of selflessness and felt a cold, bitter amusement bubble up inside me. In my previous life, I had indeed bound myself to those men. One saddled me with millions in debt. One systematically dismantled my career. One used me as nothing more than a pawn in his corporate game. By the time I turned twenty-seven, I had lost everything. And now, Sophia was practically begging to take my place in the slaughterhouse. I slowly set down my teacup and slipped a sleek black pen across the glass table. “Go ahead,” I said softly. “Sign them.” 1 The living room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. My father was the first to find his voice. “Quanna, don’t let pride make your decisions.” I leaned back against the plush velvet sofa. My hair was still damp from the shower, and a stray droplet rolled slowly down my collarbone, disappearing into the neckline of my robe. I felt detached, observing them like characters in a play. Sophia shot a quick look at me, a flash of smug triumph gleaming behind her tear-filled eyes. But just as quickly, she lowered her gaze again. “Dad, Quanna isn’t being childish. She just doesn’t want to make things difficult for the family.” My stepmother, Lydia, immediately welled up with tears. “Sophia, why are you being so foolish? Those alliance contracts were meant for Quanna the moment she was brought back to this house.” Sophia bit her lower lip. “I’m a Harrington, too. Quanna suffered for so many years out there. I can’t just sit here and enjoy the wealth while she takes the fall.” The comments above her head scrolled by in a rapid, neon-blue blur. [Our girl is too sweet!] [She has no idea she’s claiming three legendary top-tier leads. Hilarious! Quanna is going to regret this for the rest of her life.] [First up, Daniel Barrett. Bankrupt and buried in debt right now, but in three years his clean energy company goes public and his net worth skyrockets into the billions.] [Second, Adrian Keller. A sickly tech genius whose microchip designs will dominate the global market.] [Third, Christian Hawthorne. The exiled son of the Hawthorne dynasty who will eventually orchestrate a coup and take over the empire.] I picked up my tea and took a slow sip. It had gone cold. And terribly bitter. In my past life, I actually believed Sophia. I thought her tears were real, that she genuinely cared about me. She wept as she offered to take one of the burdens off my shoulders, and every time I stumbled into a crisis, she would stand beside me and whisper, “Quanna, I can’t do much, but I’ll always be here with you.” It took me years to realize she wasn’t keeping me company. She was waiting for me to hit rock bottom. She was waiting for me to clear the landmines on her path so she could swoop in and claim the spoils. My father pushed the folders closer to me. “Quanna, what do you say?” I stared down at the three dossiers. The first: Daniel Barrett. The Barrett family was bankrupt, drowning in litigation, and all their major projects were frozen. The second: Adrian Keller. The black sheep of the Keller family, perpetually hospitalized, notoriously volatile, running a few obscure labs that the market had already written off. The third: Christian Hawthorne. The former golden boy of the Hawthorne family, paralyzed from a car accident, confined to a wheelchair, and stripped of his succession rights. To the outside world, they were toxic waste. But the floating comments knew they were gold mines. And so did Sophia. She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. “Quanna, please don’t carry any guilt. If you just give me your blessing, I’ll take care of it all.” I set my cup down with a soft click. “Okay.” Sophia blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?” I slid all three folders right back to her. “You said you wanted to do this, right? Don’t just make pretty speeches. Sign.” Lydia’s expression tightened. “Quanna, a marriage alliance isn’t a game.” I looked at her, a cold smile touching my lips. “Which is why I didn’t draft a transfer of marriage. I drafted this.” I pulled a fresh document from beneath the coffee table. “It’s an agreement to change the designated representative for the Harrington alliances. You’re right, a marriage contract itself can’t be easily transferred. But the legal entity representing our family in negotiations—the one who handles the joint ventures, the personal guarantees, the dowries, and the performance bonds—that can absolutely be changed.” My father stared at me, his eyes wide. “When did you prepare this?” “The day I returned to this house,” I said smoothly. “After all, the only reason you brought me back from the foster system was to use me as collateral for these three families, wasn’t it?” The silence returned, heavier this time. For a split second, Sophia’s mask of fragile innocence cracked. But the floating text only grew more frenetic. [Quanna is actually pretty cooperative!] [She has absolutely no clue what she’s giving away!] [Sign it! Sign it now!] Sophia scanned the agreement, her manicured fingers tightening against the paper. “Make sure you read the fine print,” I murmured. “Once you sign, you are the sole representative. Every loan, every joint venture guarantee, and every performance bond has your name on it. I walk away entirely clean.” She quickly forced another sweet smile. “Don’t worry, Quanna. I won’t regret this.” I handed her the pen. “Perfect.” She signed her name in a flurry of quick, elegant strokes, as if terrified I might change my mind. Just as she finished the third signature, my phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with the name: Daniel Barrett. I didn’t reach for it. Sophia’s eyes locked onto the screen, a hungry spark igniting in her gaze. “Quanna… it’s Daniel.” I slid the vibrating phone toward her. “He’s your Daniel now.” Sophia swiped to answer, her voice immediately dropping into a soft, breathless coo. “Daniel? It’s Sophia.” There was a long pause on the other end. Finally, a low, gravelly voice rasped, “Where’s Quanna?” Sophia looked at me, waiting. I picked up a dry towel and slowly patted the remaining moisture from my hands. “Tell him,” I whispered, “that I’ve returned the merchandise.” 2 The next morning, Sophia left for the Barrett estate before sunrise. She had carefully chosen a simple white sundress, left her hair loose, and applied barely-there makeup. She looked like a tragic angel on her way to save a fallen soul. When I walked downstairs, Lydia was in the kitchen packing a thermos of homemade broth. “Sophia, don’t let them walk all over you,” she fretted. Sophia smiled with practiced maturity. “Mom, Daniel is just going through a rough patch. You have to look at the bigger picture.” The comments above her head chimed in right on cue. [Sophia has such a great vision!] [A woman who stays by his side during his darkest hours is a woman a man will remember forever.] I grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge. “I don’t know about remembering her forever,” I remarked, twisting the cap off. “But he’ll certainly keep an immaculate record of her bills.” Sophia’s smile stiffened. Lydia whipped around, glaring at me. “Quanna! Your sister literally sacrificed herself to save you from these marriages. If you can’t be grateful, the least you can do is keep your mouth shut.” I took a slow drink. “I’m just giving her a friendly warning. The Barrett family owes a lot more than just money right now.” Sophia tilted her chin up, her expression hardening. “Quanna, I know you’re bitter. But this is the path I chose. No matter what happens to Daniel, I will never blame you.” I nodded thoughtfully. “Did you record that?” Her face went pale. I pulled up my phone and tapped the screen. “It’s fine. I did.” Her eyes instantly welled with fresh tears. “Quanna… why do you always have to assume the worst of me?” I didn’t bother to answer. There was no point. Whether she was good or bad would show soon enough in her actions. Within three days, Sophia’s Instagram feed was entirely dedicated to Daniel Barrett. The first post was a photo of them at a cheap, run-down diner. Caption: Even the bitter moments are sweet when I’m with you. The second showed a receipt from a high-end luxury consignment store where she had sold her limited-edition designer bags. Caption: Bags can be replaced. You can’t. The third was a candid shot of Daniel’s profile, his head bowed over a stack of legal documents. Caption: I believe in you. I know you will rise again. Our university group chats were flooded with praise. “Sophia is literally an angel.” “The biological sister couldn’t run away fast enough, but Sophia stepped up to suffer in her place.” “She deserves the world.” I scrolled past the comments while sitting in a quiet, private office at the bank. The banker slid a thick folder across the mahogany desk. “Ms. Harrington, here are the audited statements from your late mother’s old accounts. However, there are a few transactions from a decade ago that still require secondary verification.” I took the sheets. Near the bottom of the ledger, a specific transfer caught my eye. It was made to the Barrett family’s holding company. The amount wasn’t massive, but the memo line was fascinating: Margaret’s Green-Tech Materials Phase 1 Licensing Fee. Margaret. My mother’s name. I tucked the documents safely into my leather tote. My phone buzzed again with a text from Sophia: [Quanna, are you free tonight? Daniel wants to take the family out for dinner.] It was followed by a photo. It was Daniel sitting in a cramped, dusty office. His white button-down shirt looked worn and slightly frayed at the cuffs, but his wrist displayed a gleaming Rolex. In my previous life, that watch had fooled me. I had assumed it was the last relic of his pride, a desperate attempt to maintain his dignity. It took me years to realize it wasn’t dignity at all. It was vanity—the kind of vanity that made him prioritize looking wealthy over paying his low-wage employees. Dinner was held at an exclusive, low-key bistro downtown. When Sophia walked in, clinging tightly to Daniel’s arm, my father and Lydia immediately stood up to greet them. Daniel was tall and lean, his handsome features sharp and cold, carrying that defensive, brittle arrogance of a wealthy man who had recently lost his fortune. His eyes locked onto me, and he paused. “Quanna.” I looked up from my menu. “Daniel.” He stared at me, his jaw tightening. “You just handed our arrangement over like it was nothing?” “I didn’t hand it over,” I said, casually picking up my fork. “I cut my losses.” Sophia immediately tightened her grip on his sleeve. “Daniel, please don’t mind her. Quanna is just being defensive.” Daniel looked down at her, his voice dropping. “Do you think of me as a loss, too, Sophia?” Sophia shook her head frantically. “No! Never. I would never think that.” A tight, humorless smile crossed Daniel’s face. “Good.” He pulled a document folder from his briefcase and slid it in front of Sophia. “We’re restarting the Barrett green-energy project. But the lenders are requiring a co-signer for the bridge loan.” Lydia’s breath hitched. “A co-signer?” “It’s just a formality,” Daniel said smoothly. “As soon as the main venture capital round closes, your name will be removed from the liability.” Sophia stared at the contract, her pen hovering, sudden hesitation flitting across her face. The floating comments surged across her vision: [Sign it! This is his first step back to the top!] [Stand by him now, and he’ll reward you tenfold later!] [In the original timeline, Quanna got her massive share of Barrett equity by signing this!] Sophia gritted her teeth, her hesitation vanishing. “I’ll sign.” I set my fork down with a quiet clink. “Did you actually read that?” She shot a defensive look at me. “Are you trying to stand in my way again, Quanna?” I smiled, leaning back. “Not at all. I’m just reminding you that the term ‘co-signer’ has legal weight. It’s not a performance.” Daniel’s eyes narrowed into a cold glare. “What is your problem, Quanna?” I raised my water glass in a mock toast. “No problem at all. I wish you two a long, beautiful life together. In sickness, in health, and in joint liability.” Sophia’s face flushed a deep crimson. But that night, she signed anyway. Daniel drove her back to our estate. Before he got into his car, he stopped and looked at me under the driveway lights. “You’re going to regret this, Quanna.” I gave him a polite smile. “Pay your staff their back wages first, Daniel. Then you can worry about my regrets.” His face contorted with anger, and he slammed his car door shut. Three days later, before Sophia could even archive her romantic diner photos, Daniel’s creditors marched onto campus. They unfurled a massive red banner right outside the university gates. In bold block letters, it read: SOPHIA HARRINGTON CO-SIGNED FOR HER FIANCÉ. WHEN WILL THE BARRETT DEBTS BE PAID? Sophia stood frozen in the middle of a gathering crowd, her iced latte slipping from her hand and splashing all over her white sneakers. Right then, my phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number: [Ms. Harrington, my name is Oliver Wright. I’m ready to take on your late mother’s estate case.] 3 The day I met Oliver Wright, Sophia was trending on local news blogs. It wasn’t a national scandal, but several viral clips had surfaced of her being cornered by angry creditors outside the university library. She stood there in her delicate white dress, silent tears streaming down her face. Some comments pitied her, but most mocked her online. The top-voted comment read: ‘Imagine ruining your credit and future for a bankrupt boyfriend. Are rich girls really this naive?’ I swiped the video away and pushed open the door to the private room at the quiet cafe downtown. Oliver was already waiting. He wore a crisp black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a thick stack of legal briefs resting on the table in front of him. He skipped the pleasantries as I sat down. “Your mother’s estate is far more complicated than you think, Quanna.” “If it were simple, I wouldn’t need the city’s sharpest attorney,” I replied. He studied me for a brief second before opening a file. “The twenty-one percent stake your father currently holds in Harrington Group originally belonged to your mother’s pre-marital startup. Furthermore, a substantial portion of the trust funds under your stepmother’s name can be traced back to your mother’s intellectual property royalties. The issue is time. The paper trail has some critical gaps.” I slid the bank records I had obtained across the table. “Will this transfer to the Barrett family bridge that gap?” Oliver flipped to the final page, his eyes narrowing as he read. “Margaret’s Green-Tech Materials Phase 1 Licensing Fee.” He tapped his finger against the paper. “You handed the Barrett contract to Sophia on purpose, didn’t you?” I didn’t deny it. “Before the Barretts went under, they held a sub-licensing agreement for my mother’s early patents. If Daniel wanted even a ghost of a chance at a comeback, he had to revive that project. And the moment he did, the original licensing contract would have to be brought into the light.” Oliver looked up, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. “You weren’t worried she might actually help him succeed?” I smiled. “She wanted a future billionaire. But she forgot to check how deep the financial grave is before jumping in.” Oliver’s expression remained professional, but his gaze softened. He pulled another document from his briefcase. “Daniel registered a new corporate entity this morning. The named President and Registered Agent is Sophia Harrington.” I took the document. There it was in black and white: Sophia Harrington. I couldn’t help but laugh. “She certainly moves fast.” “Your sister likely views this as a grand gesture of trust,” Oliver said quietly. “Isn’t it?” “It’s a liability shield,” his voice was cool, analytical. “If the company goes under or gets sued, the registered agent is the first one they serve.” I set the paperwork down. “Then let’s make sure it does.” Oliver’s fingers paused over the file. “Within strictly legal boundaries, of course,” I added. He stared at me for a long moment, as if seeing me clearly for the very first time. “You aren’t nearly as fragile as the rumors suggest, Ms. Harrington.” I took a sip of my coffee. “I used to be. But the price was too high.” Oliver didn’t press further. He simply slid a second folder toward me. “Your mother’s patents weren’t just licensed to the Barretts. Adrian Keller’s current research lab is also utilizing a core framework that looks suspiciously identical to her designs.” I stared at the name. Adrian Keller. My second potential suitor. In my previous life, he had demanded my absolute devotion. He made me quit my internships, cut off my friends, and withdraw from competitions just to manage his lab’s administration. He used to tell me, “If you want to stand beside me, Quanna, you need to stop wasting your time on trivial things.” But when his breakthrough finally came, he locked me out of the gala dinner. His excuse was that I didn’t hold an official title in the company. Sophia had walked right past me, her hand wrapped around his arm, whispering, “Quanna, don’t be mad at Adrian. He just respects corporate protocol.” I tapped my fingers against the warm ceramic of my cup. “How long until we can move on the Barrett family?” “Very soon,” Oliver replied. “Daniel is using the old technical patents to secure his new round of funding. The moment those filings go public with your mother’s original licensing codes, we have the legal standing to demand discovery of the original agreements.” Right on cue, my phone began to vibrate. It was Sophia. I pressed answer, and her hysterical crying filled the line. “Quanna… please, can you come to the Barrett office? Daniel says there’s a problem with the financing documents. These investors… they keep saying I’m the registered agent, and they’re holding me personally responsible!” I switched the call to speakerphone. Oliver leaned back in his chair, quietly listening. “I thought you said you wouldn’t blame me, no matter what happened to him,” I said calmly. Sophia choked on her breath. “But I didn’t know being the President of the company meant all of this! Quanna, you were the one originally engaged to him. Can you please talk to him? Please?” I let out a soft laugh. “Sophia, this is the very first test of being a billionaire’s partner. Are you giving up already?” The line went completely dead. I hung up. Oliver slid a sleek business card across the table. “I’ll accompany you tonight.” I looked at the card. “I didn’t think a partner at your firm had this much free time, Mr. Wright.” His eyes met mine, steady and unwavering. “Our first piece of hard evidence should surface tonight. I wouldn’t miss it.” At seven that evening, Oliver and I walked into the Barrett corporate office. Sophia was huddled in a chair in the main conference room, her eyes swollen. Daniel stood by the window, his expression dark and tense. On the glass table lay the venture capital prospectus. On the very top page, a specific patent serial number was highlighted in yellow: WT-NY-07. My mother’s project code. As soon as my fingers touched the paper, the door swung open. Daniel glared at me from across the room. “Who gave you permission to touch my files?” Oliver stepped forward slightly, shielding me with his frame. “Mr. Barrett, from this moment on, every word in these files is considered active evidence in my client’s case.” 4 Daniel looked at Oliver’s card, his expression instantly souring. “An attorney?” Oliver placed the card neatly on the table. “Oliver Wright. I represent Ms. Quanna Harrington in the investigation regarding the estate and intellectual property assets of her late mother, Margaret Harrington.” Sophia stood up, looking lost. “What estate? Quanna, I thought you came here to help me.” I kept flipping through the documents on the table. “I’m here to help myself. And to see how your future billionaire plans on taking flight.” Daniel lunged forward to grab the folder, but Oliver held down the edge with a firm hand. “I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Barrett. This prospectus references proprietary technology owned by my client’s mother. If you can provide a valid, legal license for its use, we can discuss terms. If not, we will file for an immediate injunction to freeze these assets.” A vein pulsed in Daniel’s temple. “Quanna, do you really have to destroy everything I’ve built?” I met his gaze coldly. “When you held back three months of pay from your employees, Daniel, no one accused you of being unfair. I’m just playing by the rules.” Panic set in on Sophia’s face. “Daniel, what is going on?” Daniel ignored her completely, keeping his eyes on me. “It’s just draft paperwork. We were on a tight schedule, so my team used the existing files. We were planning to update them later.” “Submitting inaccurate patent information to federal lenders is a serious compliance violation,” Oliver noted, his voice smooth and dangerous. Sophia’s face drained of color. “But… my name is on the registration. I’m the one who signed off.” No one in the room answered her. The reality finally broke through her denial. She whipped around to face Daniel. “You told me being the registered agent was just a formality!” Daniel frowned, irritated. “Sophia, this isn’t the time. Just go out there and keep the institutional investors calm for five minutes.” She looked at him in disbelief. “Me? How? I don’t even understand what this technology does!” Daniel’s voice softened into that practiced, manipulative tone. “When you signed those papers, didn’t you tell me you trusted me completely?” At those words, Sophia’s tears finally spilled over. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. In my previous life, he had used those exact words on me when I asked why my name was listed on his personal loans. “Quanna, didn’t you say you’d stand by me through the darkest times?” Now that it was Sophia standing in my place, he didn’t even bother to change the script. The heavy doors to the conference room burst open, and three representatives from the venture firm walked in, looking furious. “Mr. Barrett, the patent rights on this energy project are heavily contested. We can’t move forward with this round. Who is the registered corporate officer here? Sophia Harrington? We need an explanation immediately.” Sophia shrank back as they surrounded her, her fingers shaking violently. She looked at me, terrified. “Quanna… help me.” I took a step backward toward the exit. “Don’t look at me. I already returned the merchandise.” The floating screen above her head was flashing erratically: [What is happening? Why is Daniel throwing Sophia under the bus?] [This must be a test. Every lead has a rough period where he tests his partner’s loyalty.] [Hold on, Sophia! Once you pass this, you’ll be a billionaire’s wife!] Sophia seized onto those words like a lifeline. She quickly wiped her cheeks, steeling herself. “Yes… it’s just a test.” She turned to the investors, her voice trembling but determined. “Gentlemen, we will resolve the patent dispute immediately. The Barrett clean-tech project is the future of energy.” Daniel’s expression relaxed slightly. “Sophia. Sign this amendment on behalf of the firm first.” Oliver spoke up, his voice quiet but sharp enough to cut through the room. “That amendment carries personal, unlimited liability.” Sophia’s pen froze just millimeters above the signature line. The room fell dead silent. Daniel stared at her, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. “Do you not trust me, Sophia?”

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