Category: English

1 My arch-nemesis and I both suffer from highly specific, incredibly inconvenient disorders. I have skin hunger, a physical condition that leaves me desperately touch-deprived. He has episodic amnesia, and when his memory wipes, I am the only person he remembers. So, we made a deal. He said, “Let’s partner up. I’ll help ease your skin hunger, and you play along whenever my brain resets.” It sounded like a reasonable transaction. What I didn’t expect was for his amnesiac self to genuinely believe I was his girlfriend. He would kiss me, touch me, and make out with me until my lips were completely swollen. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I looked him dead in the eye during one of his episodes and lied, “Actually, I’m your sister.” His world shattered. But a second later, he looked at me with dead-serious eyes and asked: “So, are we doing the whole forbidden taboo thing?” 2 My touch starvation had flared up out of nowhere. I practically dragged myself across campus to find Owen, my childhood friend turned rival, only to find him cornered by a girl confessing her love. She was reading some cheesy love poem, holding out a bouquet of flowers, and dragging the whole thing out forever. I tried to hold it together, standing on the edge of the crowd. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my eyes grew hot and watery from the sheer, agonizing itch under my skin. Owen’s best friend spotted me. Seeing my state, he muttered to the guy next to him, “Holy crap. Look at Nora. She hates Owen so much her eyes are literally bloodshot.” If it were any other girl, people would have assumed I was heartbroken over the campus golden boy getting taken. After all, Owen was the resident heartthrob, and the line of girls wanting to date him could easily wrap around the university twice. But I was Nora West. Owen’s sworn enemy. Sensing something, Owen glanced up. His eyes locked onto me through the crowd. His expression shifted instantly, and he shoved the bouquet back into the poor girl’s hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not looking for a relationship. Thank you, though,” he said, blunt and final. The girl’s face went pale. She stood frozen in the middle of the whispering crowd, completely mortified. Owen’s buddy groaned. “Bro, come on. You didn’t have to humiliate her like that.” Owen shot him a dark look. “Shut up.” I was losing my mind. The proximity of all these random people was making my skin crawl. “Owen, get over here. We need to settle this,” I snapped. Giving him a sharp glare, I turned on my heel and walked away. If I stayed any longer, I was going to lose my composure. Owen trailed right behind me, his long strides easily keeping pace. Behind us, his friends watched in genuine concern. “Man, how deep does their grudge go? They’re totally going to throw hands.” We didn’t throw hands. Instead, the moment we were behind closed doors, we crashed into a tight, desperate embrace. “Better?” Owen muttered, his voice laced with his usual irritation. I swallowed a pathetic whimper, gripping him tighter. “Give me a second.” Seeing how bad my touch starvation was, Owen reached down, yanked his shirt over his head, and tossed it aside, leaving his chest bare. Then he pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his strong arms around me. To tease me, he bounced his leg slightly, causing me to jolt up and down against him. I glared at him, but he just smirked. “Your condition is seriously freaky, you know that?” I reached out and pinched his bare collarbone, twisting the skin until he winced. “What is your problem?” he hissed, baring his teeth. “Do you want me to drop you on the floor?” “Shut up,” I muttered, closing my eyes to focus on the soothing sensation of skin-on-skin contact. Owen took one look at my exhausted face and fell silent. I rested my cheek against the warm crook of his neck, and every single tense muscle in my body slowly began to unravel. “I didn’t mean to ruin your peacocking session out there,” I murmured. “You should probably go back and clear things up with that girl.” Owen’s public persona was always the polite gentleman. Even when he wasn’t interested, he usually had the decency to let a girl finish her speech. He would give a vague nod, then find a private moment later to let them down easy. Some people called him a player for it; others praised his high emotional intelligence. I, on the other hand, didn’t play those games. I shut guys down before they could even finish their first sentence. That directness almost cost me last month when a guy, driven mad by rejection, tried to throw acid at me. If my reflexes hadn’t been lightning-fast, my face would have been ruined. Just thinking about it made my blood boil. “Hey, Nora. If you’re in a bad mood, take it out on a punching bag, not my chest,” Owen grumbled. I blinked, realizing I had subconsciously balled my hand into a fist and thumped his bare skin. “Oh, please. A little tap won’t kill you.” Owen and I had known each other since we were in diapers. Since we shared the last name West, everyone in school used to assume we were siblings. I used that misconception to screw him over countless times. Whenever I picked a fight with someone outside of school, I’d leave them with his name: “You got a problem? Go talk to my brother, Owen West!” By middle school, he had been forced into the role of the local bad boy, constantly dealing with idiots trying to challenge him. In high school, our rivalry shifted to academics. We made a bet: whoever got the lower grade on any test had to call the other “Mom” or “Dad.” To two teenagers with pathologically inflated egos, failing a test was practically a death sentence. Over those three years, I had to call him “Dad” twenty-five times. He called me “Mom” forty-nine times. Every single time the words left our mouths, we wanted to strangle each other. God, he was infuriating. At least my GPA was slightly better, meaning I held the ultimate bragging rights. But after graduation, our dynamic took a sharp, bizarre turn. Out of nowhere, Owen developed a strange form of episodic amnesia. It was completely unpredictable, striking at any given moment without warning. The kicker? When the fog rolled into his brain, I was the only constant left. Not only did he remember me, but he was also utterly convinced we were dating. If I tried to deny it, he would spiral so violently he’d turn suicidal. The first time I told him the truth, he broke down, grabbed a blade, and slit his wrists, landing himself in the ICU. Honestly, I had never seen so much blood in my life. After a few terrifying episodes, I learned my lesson. Owen West was a certified psychopath when he lost his mind. Once he snapped back to his senses, the rational Owen proposed a truce. “Look,” he had said, rubbing his temples. “You have skin hunger, and I have this memory issue. Let’s make a deal. I’ll be your physical anchor when you need touch, and you play along whenever my brain resets.” It seemed like a fair trade. But I hadn’t factored in just how intensely the amnesiac Owen would commit to the boyfriend role. He would kiss me, touch me, and even try to drag me to bed. When his memory finally returned, I’d be sitting there with swollen, bitten lips. Owen would stare at my mouth, clear his throat, and mutter, “Sorry. I’ll tell myself to be gentler next time.” A surge of pure fury would wash over me, and I’d slap him across the face. He never fought back. He just took it. Naturally, to compensate for our bizarre private arrangement, our public hostility grew even more extreme. We acted like we wanted each other dead. Even the classmates who didn’t know us personally knew about the legendary feud between Nora and Owen. If I was invited to a party, Owen wouldn’t show up. If Owen was there, I was a no-show. It was a classic case of mutual exclusion. I let out a heavy sigh at the memory. Still holding me close, Owen smirked, his voice dripping with arrogance. “What’s with the sigh? Is my chest not comfortable enough for you? You should check around campus, girls would pay a fortune to be where you are right now.” My eye twitched. I reached up, grabbed a handful of his dark hair, and started shaking him. “Ow! Nora, you psycho!” Owen yelled, trying to swat my hands away. “This is why you’re single! No sane man would ever want you!” As if I gave a crap about what some hypothetical man wanted. We ended up wrestling on the floor. He pinned my wrists, and I wrapped my legs around his neck in a chokehold, both of us straining with every ounce of strength we had, refusing to back down. Suddenly, the classroom door flew open. A group of students froze on the threshold, staring at our tangled bodies. Owen and I scrambled apart, desperately trying to untangle ourselves and stand up. Owen, showing an infuriating amount of calm, casually grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his bare torso. “It’s not what it looks like!” I gasped, my face flushing scarlet. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to think there was anything romantic going on between us. “Holy shit!” one of the guys whispered loudly. “Nora just absolutely wrecked Owen! She literally tore his shirt off!” “That is brutal. How much does she hate him to literally rip his clothes?” It didn’t help that there was a fresh, angry red scratch on Owen’s pale cheek where my fingernail had caught him during our struggle. Against his fair skin, it looked like a major battle wound. Owen and I stood there in dead silence. Unbelievably, not a single person suspected anything other than sheer, unadulterated violence. Naturally, as the rumor mill spun, the story morphed into something legendary. A simple wrestling match turned into me viciously disfiguring the campus golden boy. To make matters worse, Owen had to take the next few days off due to family matters. His sudden absence practically confirmed the rumors. I didn’t bother correcting anyone. Once Owen showed up with an intact face, the rumors would die down on their own. Some people, however, couldn’t let it go. A group of girls cornered me near the library. The ringleader’s eyes were red and swollen, and she glared at me with pure venom. “Nora West,” she demanded, her voice trembling. “You need to go to the police station and turn yourself in right now.” I stared at her, wondering if I had temporarily lost my hearing. But she stepped closer, repeating her ridiculous demand. “Go turn yourself in! I know Owen is too sweet and gentlemanly to press charges against you, but you can’t just assault someone and ruin their face! That is a crime!” My expression didn’t flicker. Having dealt with insane situations my entire life, I had developed a remarkably thick skin. “First of all, his face is perfectly fine,” I said coolly. “Second, if you think I committed a felony, feel free to call the cops yourself.” I tried to push past them, but they blocked my path. “Nora, don’t you dare walk away!” I scoffed, losing my patience. “Look, who even are you? Do I know you? What is your connection to Owen? I know his entire social circle, and I’ve never seen your face. Who do you think you are?” The girl puffed out her chest. “My name is Gemma Harrington! I am Owen’s girlfriend. That gives me every right to stand up for him!” I burst out laughing. The claim was so absurd she might as well have claimed to be his long-lost mother. Gemma’s face turned red with rage. “You toxic, miserable girl! You think you’re so special just because your family has money? You’re going to get what’s coming to you!” “Please,” I sighed. “Owen’s family is just as wealthy as mine. If he wanted to sue me, he would have done it already. Speaking of which…” I gestured with my chin over her shoulder. Everyone turned around to see Owen walking toward us, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Nora, I’ve been waiting for you for four hours.” I immediately went on the offensive. “Hey, your ‘girlfriend’ here is cornering me with her squad.” Owen’s eyes swept over Gemma and her friends, his expression instantly darkening. Under his cold gaze, Gemma shrunk back, her confidence evaporating. Owen was clearly in a terrible mood and had zero intention of playing nice. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, his voice flat. “And when I do date, it will only be with someone from a family of equal standing.” It was a harsh reality, but Owen and I had accepted it long ago. We had no desire to rebel against our families for some dramatic, doomed romance. Besides, who said you couldn’t find a genuine connection within your own social class? My parents had an arranged marriage and ended up madly in love. It worked out fine. Gemma gasped, looking deeply humiliated. “Owen! I’ve been chasing you for months! I literally saved up for weeks to buy you that two-thousand-dollar watch!” Her friends chimed in, glaring at him. “Seriously, Owen? Gemma sacrificed so much for you. The least you could do is respect her feelings!” “I never accepted the watch,” Owen countered coldly. “I’ve made it clear to everyone: don’t buy me things. If I had to date every girl who showed interest in me, I’d need a harem. Back off.” Tears finally spilled over Gemma’s cheeks. “You jerk!” she screamed, then turned and bolted down the path, sobbing hysterically. Her friends looked at each other, then ran after her. “Gemma! Wait up!” I crossed my arms and looked at Owen. “So, you waited four hours, and your fangirl wasted ten minutes of my life. Let’s call it even.” Owen scoffed, stepping closer. “She isn’t my girlfriend. And you definitely made me wait on purpose.” I absolutely had. Tonight was his mother’s birthday dinner, a joint celebration with our families. Owen had come to pick me up early. I figured making him wait was a perfectly reasonable way to keep him humble. He glared at me, his jaw clenching. “You are unbelievable, Nora. Just wait.” I smirked, thoroughly enjoying his irritation. But as it turned out, karma was a fast-moving beast. By the time we arrived at the West estate, the dining room was already full. No matter how much Owen and I tore at each other’s throats, our parents remained thick as thieves. During the main course, Owen’s mother looked over at me with a warm smile. “So, Nora, darling, when are you going to bring a boy home? You’re graduating soon. It’s about time you started dating.” Instantly, every eye at the table locked onto me. I opened my mouth to offer some polite, generic excuse, but before I could speak, Owen reached across the table, grabbed my hand, and announced, “Actually, we’re already dating.” My father dropped his fork with a loud clatter. My parents and his exchanged wild, bewildered glances. “Is this… a joke?” my mother managed to ask. At that exact moment, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Of all the times for his amnesia to flare up, he chose his mother’s formal birthday dinner. Before I could react, Owen grabbed my shoulders, pulled me toward him, and pressed his lips to mine. He didn’t just give me a polite kiss; he kissed me deeply, parting my lips and making a very audible, very embarrassing sound right in front of our parents. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay, we believe you! Stop!” his father yelled, shielding his eyes. “Owen! Get your hands off my daughter!” my dad roared, half-rising from his chair. My mom quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. Needless to say, dinner ended abruptly. Since everyone knew we supposedly despised each other, I knew I was in for a brutal interrogation the second we got home. “Sweetheart,” my dad said gently once we were back in our living room. “You have to be mature about this. You can’t just pretend to date Owen as some twisted way to get back at him.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I know, Dad. I’ve got it handled.” But inside, panic was setting in. This had to stop. If people thought I was dating Owen, I’d never find a decent guy. Besides, the idea of being publicly linked to him was nauseating. The next morning, Owen met me on campus. For once, he looked genuinely apologetic. “I’m really sorry about last night,” he muttered. “When the amnesia hits, I can’t control my actions. You know that.” Seeing Owen swallow his pride was a rare sight. He practically had to drag his ego through the dirt to say those words. Seeing my cold expression, he quickly tried to justify himself. “Come on, Nora. I’ve bailed you out plenty of times when your touch starvation flared up. Remember last week? I was in the middle of a critical ranked match, and I abandoned my team because you called. My friends still think I have some secret, needy girlfriend.” He wasn’t wrong. We had a mutual arrangement, but his episodes were getting progressively worse. Now that our parents were involved, we were playing with fire. What we did in private was one thing, but letting it spill into our real lives was a recipe for disaster. As Owen kept talking, his voice suddenly trailed off. The frustration in his eyes faded, replaced by a blank, hazy look, which quickly morphed into pure, radiant joy. “Norie,” he whispered, a soft smile spreading across his face. “I love you so much. You’re my girl, right?” Oh, great. He was slipping under again. I took a deep, shuddering breath. Was this going to be my life? Constantly locking lips with my sworn enemy? I didn’t want this. His mother was right, I needed to find a real boyfriend. I shook my head, stepping back. “No, Owen. I’m not your girlfriend.” His brows furrowed. “That’s not true.” Terrified of triggering another self-harm episode, I scrambled to fabricate a convincing lie. “Listen to me, Owen. We can’t date. We’re siblings. I’m Nora West. We share the same last name because we’re brother and sister.” Owen’s eyes widened, his pupils trembling as he tried to process the information. I held my breath, praying this wouldn’t send him into a downward spiral. Instead of panicking, he just stared at me, his face a complicated map of disbelief and intense conflict. “Oh, god,” he whispered, looking utterly devastated. “I’m in love with my own sister.” Then, looking at me with absolute sincerity, he asked: “So, are we doing the whole forbidden taboo thing?” What was wrong with this guy? He had the nerve to call my skin hunger freaky, but his amnesiac brain was on a whole different level of twisted. Owen’s eyes were rimmed with red. “Nora, please. I don’t care about the rules. I love you. I can’t live without you.” Looking into his intense, desperate gaze, I felt a sudden wave of dizziness. He was so completely different from his usual self. The amnesiac Owen had no defenses. He only loved me, only remembered me, and his eyes followed me like I was his entire universe. And now, he was begging me to break the ultimate taboo. “Owen, we really are siblings,” I lied, trying to sound gentle. “If you don’t believe me, you can text our parents.” He frowned. “Who are our parents?” I sighed, pulling out my phone. I opened my chat with my mom and shot her a quick message: What’s the relationship between Owen and me?

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1 During the latter half of the Levitan Group’s online auction, my phone buzzed repeatedly with notifications from my smart vacuum. Gizmo is stuck. Please assist. My brow furrowed. My husband, Samm, was an extreme germaphobe with severe obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Everything from the alignment of the coasters to the exact angle of the bedsheets had to be precisely positioned. Even our intimate moments required a rigorous sanitization process beforehand. Every cleaning path of our robot vacuum, Gizmo, had been meticulously programmed by Samm himself. It was practically impossible for the machine to get stuck. I opened the vacuum’s camera feed while texting my husband back home. “Gizmo is sending distress signals. Check on him when you get back from work.” A few minutes later, his reply came through: “K.” Just as I was about to message the building manager, a pair of pale, bare feet appeared on the camera feed. In the next second, a familiar, soft giggle echoed through the speaker. “Let’s do it right here.” A pair of women’s slippers was carelessly kicked aside. I closed the feed, immediately backed up the video, and forwarded it to my assistant, Paige. “Compile a complete inventory of all marital assets. Book me a flight. I’m heading back to New York immediately.” … I strode out of the conference room. Paige hurried to catch up, flipping open her folder. “Ms. Ashford, I identified the woman in the video.” She handed me a photograph and briefed me as we walked. “Her name is Fiona. She’s an intern who joined through the youth recruitment program you established. She only has an associate degree and was assigned to clean and organize the executive suite.” I glanced at her resume. “She was given a rare opportunity in the executive offices, yet she chose to throw it away. Add her to the layoff list.” I handed the folder back, took a couple of steps, and paused. I tapped my finger on Fiona’s name. “Pull all her expense reports, corporate card transactions, and keycard access logs. Every single one.” “Understood, Ms. Ashford.” We waited in the elevator lobby for three minutes. With a soft chime, the elevator doors slid open. Before we could step in, the regional manager blocked the way, holding a massive bouquet of roses in one hand and a tablet in the other. “Congratulations on winning the bid, Ms. Ashford! Mr. Levitan rented out an entire restaurant floor. Tonight is a celebration for our overseas team!” The tablet screen lit up, showing a video call from Samm. “You’ve worked hard these past two months. I’ll make it up to you when you return.” His voice was deep and steady as he sat upright in his office chair. I didn’t say anything, gently pushing the roses aside. “What’s wrong? You look pale,” Samm’s face filled the screen, his expression intense and focused. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and forced a neutral expression. “Nothing. I’m allergic to roses.” The screen went quiet for a second before he let out a soft laugh. “I thought you liked them. I’ll remember that next time.” Next time? My chest tightened with a sharp, familiar pain. The first time he had ever sent me roses, my face swelled so badly I had to stay indoors for three days. Back then, Samm had been so guilt-ridden that he had the entire rose garden at our estate paved over overnight. But now, his memory only held the preferences of his intern. Samm glanced at his watch. “I only have a minute. I have an international board meeting.” I froze, my eyes landing on the vibrant checkered tie around his neck. It was loud, flashy, and completely unlike anything in his closet. “Samm, do you know what day it is?” He paused, rubbing his temple. “Right. I almost forgot. It’s your birthday.” He glanced up, scanning the flight information projected on his screen. “I’m sorry. The last flight out tonight has already departed. Let’s celebrate tomorrow instead.” Before I could speak, a pale, slender hand entered the frame. “Samm, can you zip me up?” The call was abruptly disconnected. The black screen of the tablet reflected my pale, hollow face. The manager beside me held his breath, while Paige asked softly, “Ms. Ashford, should I cancel your ticket?” “No. We fly tonight.” Three hours later, my flight landed. The arrivals gate was packed with people, each holding a bunch of red roses. The scent was suffocating. I pulled my coat collar up and hurried through the crowd, covering my nose. “Happy birthday, Fiona!” A familiar masculine voice cut through the noise, freezing me in my tracks. Looking up, I saw twenty-four rose-shaped fireworks bursting across the night sky, marking Fiona’s twenty-fourth birthday. In the center of the crowd, a girl in a white dress and a ponytail threw herself into Samm’s arms. He caught her, spinning her around. When they stopped, his usually cold, distant eyes held a tenderness I hadn’t seen in five years. “You are the best gift the universe has ever given me, Fiona.” A bystander whispered in envy, “Must be nice. She casually mentioned wanting to see the ocean, and her billionaire boyfriend flew her out overnight.” Another joined in. “When you have that kind of money, you can celebrate anywhere.” I stood in the crowd, pulling a pack of allergy medication from my purse and swallowing the pills dry. The bitterness lingered on my tongue. Taking my phone out, I dialed Samm’s number. A few yards away, the man pulled out his phone and switched it off. I gripped the phone so tightly my fingers throbbed with a sharp ache. As I suddenly loosened my grip, my diamond wedding ring slipped from my ring finger, rolling into the bustling crowd and vanishing from sight. For five years, I had memorized every single one of Samm’s triggers. Every time we shared a bed, I scrubbed myself raw, terrified of causing him even the slightest discomfort. Thinking back to the footage of Samm and Fiona, a wave of nausea washed over me. I dialed my mother-in-law’s number. “Eleanor, Samm is having an affair.” There was a long pause on the other end, followed by a soft, resigned sigh. “Victoria, you know how Samm is with his condition. It was a miracle he found a woman he could tolerate. Try to be understanding.” She already knew. Sensing my silence, she tried to soothe me. “Victoria, I promise you, the Levitan family only recognizes you as our daughter-in-law. Once you give us an heir, I will transfer the majority of my Levitan shares to you. With nearly forty percent of the company’s stock, you can live comfortably without worrying about Samm’s little distractions.” Her voice was dripping with sweet persuasion, offering a tempting fortune. But what she didn’t know was that on the day our families merged our business interests, my parents had already transferred all their Levitan shares to me. The last shred of warmth I felt for this family evaporated under her empty promises. Paige sent me a link to an online profile. “Ms. Ashford, this is Fiona’s private account.” I tapped the link. The pinned post was a grid of photos. Eight showed sweeping views of the city skyline, while the center photo was a selfie. The angle of the shot could only have been taken from Samm’s and my private penthouse suite. The pink diamond necklace my parents had gifted me for our wedding was draped around her neck. The caption read: The view from our private suite. It feels so good to have someone who remembers every little thing I like. I scrolled down. During a charity golf tournament last year, I had sprained my ankle. Samm had only helped me up before breaking into a cold sweat, visibly shaken by his severe germaphobia. Yet, on Fiona’s profile, the man who couldn’t bear human touch was kneeling on the floor, gently massaging her ankle. The caption: A little slip, and the big boss gets so worried. Although only his profile was visible, I had gazed at the small mole on his jawline too many times to mistake it for anyone else. I systematically compiled every image and forwarded them to my lawyer. It was only when my hands gripped the steering wheel that I realized I was shaking. I drove straight to the Levitan Hotel. Throwing the keys to the valet, I took the private elevator to the penthouse. When the doors opened, the place was a disaster. My custom-tailored gowns in the walk-in closet were covered in neon yellow stickers reading Trash and tacky. The silk nightgown from my wedding night lay crumpled on the floor, slapped with a label that read Desperate and cheap. Even the organic herbal remedies and therapeutic salves I had painstakingly prepared for Samm’s skin condition had been dumped into the trash can. I clenched my teeth, stepping back out of the closet. Taking deep breaths, I used my phone to document every piece of damage. I also took a photo of a white pill lying under the coffee table, texting Paige to have it collected and analyzed. Years of corporate experience had drilled one rule into my mind: always leave a paper trail. The next morning, Paige knocked on my door with a cup of coffee. “Ms. Ashford, I tried to pull the security footage, but the hotel staff said the penthouse cameras require authorization from either Mr. Levitan or Fiona. They refused to hand it over.” I let out a cold laugh. The Levitans might own the hotel chain, but the Ashfords were a legacy family of architects and builders with just as much leverage. Our marriage had been a merger of equals, though my feelings for Samm had been genuine. Knowing how protective he was of his personal space, I had managed the hotel’s interior operations without ever stepping on his private authority. Now, that respect was being used against me. I looked up and handed her a stack of financial reports. “Request the footage as a major shareholder of Levitan Enterprises. My personal property was damaged and stolen. Pulling those tapes is entirely within my legal rights. Also, publish the layoff notice we drafted yesterday immediately.” By afternoon, I was holding a team meeting in the hotel’s conference room when Fiona, dressed in a light summer outfit with a beach bag slung over her shoulder, burst in. “On what grounds are you firing me?!” she demanded, her eyes welling with tears as she looked around at the watching staff. “I was just doing my job for Mr. Levitan, and you’re throwing me out! I don’t have a wealthy family or a big background. I’m just trying to make a living! Just because you were born with a silver spoon, Ms. Ashford, doesn’t mean you have to ruin my life!” Faced with her performance, I slammed the folder containing the evidence onto the table. “Doing your job? You used Samm’s authority to embezzle high-end hotel vouchers and resell them for personal profit. The paper trail is right here. Do you want to review it?” Instead of backing down, Fiona let out a bitter laugh. “Ms. Ashford, I really don’t understand what you’re so afraid of.” She spread her hands, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “I’m just a cleaner. How could I possibly have the power to do all that? If my presence bothers you so much, I’ll leave! But the rest of you better watch your backs. Our dear Ms. Ashford doesn’t tolerate anyone she doesn’t like!” Giving me a venomous look, she leaned in and whispered, “If you push me, you’ll be the one who ends up humiliated. Just watch.” With that, she ran out of the room, crying hysterically. A few employees looked as though they wanted to speak up for her, but none dared to. Not even five minutes passed before Samm’s name flashed on my screen. I ignored it. Seconds later, whispers of “Mr. Levitan” echoed outside the room. Samm strode in, wearing his signature white gloves to avoid direct contact with the door, keeping a careful distance from me. “Did you issue Fiona’s termination?” “Yes.” “Victoria, you’re letting your personal feelings interfere with business again.” Looking at his cold, dismissive eyes, my remaining respect for him crumbled further. “Have you been up to the penthouse lately?” Samm frowned, adjusting his cuffs. “What does that have to do with Fiona’s termination?” I held up a flash drive. “She vandalized and stole my personal property, and she embezzled hotel assets. It’s all on this drive.” Samm interrupted me impatiently. “I authorized her access to the penthouse. She’s just a young girl who got curious. There’s no need to make a mountain out of a molehill.” “A molehill?” I let out a sharp laugh and tossed the flash drive at him. “Take a look for yourself and tell me if it doesn’t meet the threshold for grand larceny.” Samm’s face darkened. He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the spot on his suit where the drive had hit him. “Whatever is damaged, I’ll pay for it. I’ll have her apologize to you. But you will withdraw the termination. Fiona did nothing wrong, and she shouldn’t have to endure this kind of humiliation.” I stared at the white gloves he wore. I was the one who had them custom-made by hand from Europe every month, keeping spares in our home, his car, and his office. Yet, he had never once tried to see things from my perspective. He only stood on his moral high ground, correcting me. My voice turned entirely cold. “The notice stands. Samm, I want a divorce.” Samm fell silent for a moment, then scoffed. “So that’s what this is about. You’re upset because I can touch Fiona without any issues, aren’t you?” He tossed his handkerchief into the trash can, a lie slipping easily from his lips. “Victoria, my relationship with Fiona is purely professional. I am simply looking out for an employee.” I lost every ounce of my patience. Stepping closer, I held up my phone. “Looking out for her? Samm, is this how you look out for your employees?!” As I drew near, Samm instinctively slapped my hand away. A sharp, burning pain flared across my skin. “I’m sorry,” Samm muttered, his brow furrowing as he stared at the red mark on my hand, hesitating to reach out. “You got too close.” I put my hand behind my back. “Leave.” The remaining staff members exchanged uneasy glances, keeping silent for the rest of the meeting. By evening, a heavily edited video of Fiona’s confrontation in the lobby was circulating online. It showed only her weeping about being bullied, while I sat there looking cold and unbothered. Public opinion flared up instantly. People began twisting the operational guidelines and standard auditing policies I had established, claiming I was exploiting lower-income workers. Within hours, I was painted as a bitter, insecure heiress abusing her power. I stared at the toxic comments flooding my screen. “Find out who leaked the video and who is driving this narrative,” I told Paige. I had seen this kind of online smear campaign since I was a child. Later that night, Fiona’s account updated. She posted a photo of two hands clasped together, showing off matching diamond bands. Samm’s back was turned to the camera. The caption read: He said once I wear this ring, I’m his forever. Someone commented: Why is his face always hidden? Is he married? Fiona replied immediately: What do you know? He’s a prominent businessman. He has to maintain his privacy. I scoffed and typed a reply: I know quite a few prominent businessmen, but I don’t seem to recognize this one. A few seconds after posting, a text from an unknown number popped up. It was Fiona: Delete that comment right now, or I’ll make sure you regret it! I didn’t bother replying. By nightfall, my comment had climbed to the top of the thread. Thousands of users began questioning Fiona’s role in Samm’s life, calling her out as a homewrecker. Panicking, she made a grand announcement: her boyfriend would be proposing to her at a luxury hotel the following day, and the entire event would be livestreamed. I opened the livestream link and watched the waiting viewer count climb past one hundred thousand. The next morning, I met with my lawyer to finalize the divorce agreement, ensuring every asset division was precise and documented. On my way back to the hotel, Paige called. “Ms. Ashford, we traced the source of the leaked video. It was Fiona herself. Should we file a defamation lawsuit?” “No. Keep the evidence. We’ll settle everything at once.” The moment I stepped into the hotel lobby, a group of beauty influencers holding phones blocked my path. The woman at the front raised her voice. “Are you Victoria Ashford? What kind of fake vouchers are you selling? The hotel refuses to let us check in!” She reached out to shove me, but I caught her wrist firmly, stopping her in her tracks. “First, did you verify the identity of the person who sold you those vouchers? As a major shareholder and design consultant, I have no reason to sell fraudulent vouchers. Second, all legitimate hotel vouchers are registered with the buyer’s name. Yours have no registration numbers, meaning they are counterfeit.” A few people in the crowd began to hesitate. “She has a point. And her voice doesn’t sound like the person we spoke to online.” The leader wasn’t convinced, thrusting her phone near my face. “You’re just making excuses! The girl who sold them to us said her name was Victoria Ashford! I don’t care, you’re the one pocketing our money!” I smiled calmly. “If I were the seller, there would be transaction records. You are welcome to check. However, if you can provide the contact information and payment details of the person who sold them to you, I will personally arrange for you to stay in an executive suite for free today.” The group wavered, whispering among themselves as they sat down in the lobby to look up their purchase history. Right then, the lobby manager entered, accompanied by several police officers. The lead officer stepped forward, showing his badge. “Are you Victoria Ashford?” I nodded calmly. “We received your report regarding stolen property. Please accompany us to the scene to identify the items.” I glanced at the influencers, my lips curving slightly. “Of course. Everyone, please follow me.” At the end of the top-floor hallway, the penthouse door was slightly ajar. Romantic music drifted out into the corridor. Inside, Samm was down on one knee. Fiona, wearing my pink diamond wedding necklace, was crying tears of joy. A phone was set up nearby, broadcasting the scene live, carefully framing only the side of Samm’s face. Just as Fiona was about to say yes, I pushed the door wide open. In the dead silence that followed, only the rapid clicking of camera shutters filled the room. I covered my mouth in mock surprise, looking at them. “Samm, why are you proposing to our cleaning lady in our hotel?”

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1 Five years after I cut ties with my mother, the Chief of Homicide, I live-streamed a murder on the dark web. The very woman who once swore she wouldn’t care if I died in a ditch had personally extradited me, locking the heavy steel cuffs around my wrists. In the interrogation room, my mother looked as if she had aged a lifetime overnight. Her hair was shot with gray, and her hands shook so violently she could barely point her finger at me. “Zachary, how did you turn into this?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “A total disregard for human life, three cold-blooded murders, and a live broadcast to mock the law. I wish I had never brought you into this world.” Watching her chest heave with righteous anger, I curled my lips into a mocking smile. “You never liked me much when I was obedient anyway,” I said, leaning back. “Your heart has always belonged to your precious adopted son, hasn’t it?” I pulled a blood-stained commendation medal from my pocket and tossed it onto the metal table between us. “You always said he was better than me, that he was the one destined to inherit your legacy. So how come he couldn’t even beat a failure like me?” My mother’s pupils dilated. She lunged across the table, grabbing me by the collar. “What did you do to Dominic?!” I didn’t answer. I just stared into her eyes and smiled. Just as the air was leaving my lungs, she abruptly let go of me, stumbling backward. With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone. “No, it’s not possible, it can’t be,” she mumbled to herself, desperately dialing Dominic’s number. The words My Baby Boy flashed on the screen in bold letters. But there was no answer. And there I sat, her biological son, right in front of her, lacking even the right to be in her contacts list. After her fifth call went straight to voicemail, she snapped. “It was you!” she screamed. “Dominic told me he won a vacation voucher. You lured him out of the country!” If the deputy hadn’t held her back, she would have torn me apart with her bare hands. “Dominic just graduated from college, Zachary! How could you do this to him?” At the thought of the other three young victims who had died on my live stream, my mother looked as if she might faint. The deputy grabbed his radio, his voice urgent. “We have a fourth victim. All units, initiate an immediate search for Dominic’s location!” My mother carefully picked up the blood-stained medal from the floor, clutching it to her chest as if it were a holy relic. When I was a child, she wouldn’t even let me look at her medals; yet she had let Dominic wear this one as a lucky charm every single day. “Zachary, where did you hide him?” I shrugged. “Find him yourself. You never believed a word I said when we lived together, so why start believing me now?” My mother clutched her chest, her face pale with fury. The look she gave me was filled with pure hatred. “When I adopted Dominic, I only wanted to give you some company,” she hissed. “I never blamed you for being less capable than him, but your mind was always twisted. When he got top marks, you chose to cheat on your exams instead of studying harder.” She took a ragged breath. “When you wanted to drop out, I found you a decent job at the factory, but you couldn’t even keep your head down. You ran around with thugs. Dominic went to convince you to return to school, and you hired people to beat him up!” Her eyes were bloodshot, her knuckles white. “Dominic was the one who cried and begged me not to lock you up. He didn’t want you to have a criminal record. I gave you money for a prep school, and you took it and ran off to some lawless border town to make quick cash.” She slammed her palm onto the table. “I have spent thirty years in force, putting monsters behind bars, and I end up raising a murderer for a son!” The deputy and the recording officer stared at me with undisguised disgust. Ever since Dominic had entered our home, everyone had looked at me with those exact same eyes. I was used to it. I let out a cold snort, closed my eyes, and met her anger with absolute silence. My silence only enraged her further. She pulled a small, tarnished gold locket from her pocket and threw it at me. “When your father was alive, we had nothing. He worked extra shifts assembling cheap holiday lights until he nearly went blind just to buy you this locket. He said you deserved to have what other kids had. After he died in that crash, this was the only thing you had left of him, and you pawned it for a pack of cigarettes!” Her voice trembled with disgust. “It was Dominic who used his own allowance and scholarship money to buy it back for you! And just because I wouldn’t let him hand it back to you until you sorted your life out, you went around telling everyone Dominic was my secret bastard!” At the mention of my father, my breathing caught. I stared fixedly at the little gold locket resting on the metal table. Seeing that her words had finally pierced my armor, my mother softened her tone. Her hands, which used to swing me high into the air when I was a little boy, now pressed flat against the cold table. “Zachary, tell me where Dominic is,” she pleaded. “You’re still young. If you cooperate, we can still ask for a lighter sentence.” I let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Are you kidding me, Mom? I’ve killed people. What kind of lighter sentence are you talking about?” I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You just want to wrap this up quickly so you can send me to the gallows and get back to your precious adopted son.” “You!” My mother choked on her words, her face turning crimson. The deputy quickly stepped in, handing her a bottle of blood pressure medication. When he turned back to me, his eyes were filled with disgust. “Zachary, you’ve gone too far,” the deputy said, his voice cold. “I’ve been to your mother’s house. The walls are still covered in your elementary school certificates. They’re yellowed with age, but she never had the heart to tear them down.” He took a step closer. “Dominic lived in a small, curtained-off corner of the living room for years, while your bedroom was kept exactly as you left it. Your mother dusted it every single day, keeping it spotless. Whenever colleagues praised Dominic, she always made sure to clarify he was her adopted son, never once speaking ill of you. She didn’t even change his last name to hers. Her love was silent, and you warped it into this?” My mother wept quietly into her hands. “Zachary, do you know why Dominic worked so hard to get into the police academy?” she sobbed, throwing the medal onto the table. “He felt guilty. He thought his presence in our home divided my love and brought you unnecessary pressure. He gave up his own dreams to inherit my badge so you could live your life without any burden.” She covered her face, crying like a lost child. “He was disqualified during the background check because of his biological mother’s record, and he wept for days. You had the chance, and you threw it away. I failed as a parent. Why did I ever adopt him? If I hadn’t, none of this would have happened.” This was the first time I had ever seen my mother cry. To me, she had always been an invincible shield, a guardian of justice. I stared at the medal on the table, a bitter smile playing on my lips. She claimed to love me, yet she had forgotten that my dream, my very first dream, had also been to wear that uniform. She had forgotten how she used to ruffle my hair, teaching me self-defense moves, playing cops and robbers with me in our tiny backyard. The person who had systematically destroyed that dream, ensuring I could never wear the badge, was the very boy she was mourning. “Zachary, if you still consider me your mother, tell me where he is,” she pleaded, looking up. “Is he alive?” I stared at my silver handcuffs. Once, I had worn a silver bracelet she had made for me. It had been lost so long ago I couldn’t even remember what it looked like. Just like I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be loved. “Susan, if you still consider me your son, go to my father’s grave,” I said quietly. “The clue you want is there.” The moment the words left my mouth, my mother bolted out of the room. The station mobilized every available officer, rushing to seal off the local cemetery. But there was no sign of Dominic there. Inside the columbarium, right beside my father’s urn, they found only a small, dusty digital voice recorder. My mother returned to the interrogation room, her face pale, holding the recorder in her hand. “This is your clue?” she asked, her voice tight. “This device has been sitting in that grave for five years. What does this have to do with Dominic?” The technician spent a grueling hour restoring the corrupted audio files from the dusty recorder. The file was two hours long. When the audio began to play, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room. The sound of a teenager crying and begging for mercy echoed through the speakers, desperate and raw. My mother slammed her fist against the wall. “Zachary! You recorded yourself bullying Dominic five years ago? Were you trying to drive him to suicide?!” I laughed so hard tears began to stream down my face. “Susan, everyone says you’re a brilliant detective, that you love me so much. Have you managed to brainwash yourself too? If you actually cared about me, how can you not even recognize my voice?” I stood up, the chains of my handcuffs rattling against the metal table. “That’s me, Susan! That was me being tormented, begging for mercy, and being ignored! It was me! It was me!” My mother’s eyes widened in horror. The audio continued to play. Then, Dominic’s voice came through the speaker, light and dripping with malice. “Scream, Zach. Scream louder. Let your dead dad hear how his precious little boy is being broken, haha.” My voice on the tape was raw from screaming. “You’ll pay for this, Dominic! My mother is going to lock you up!” A sharp, violent slap echoed through the recording. “Your mother?” Dominic sneered. “Are you still living in a fairy tale, Zach? It’s survival of the fittest. You think she’s going to choose you? A failure who cheated on his exams and can’t even get into a community college, or a straight-A student on a scholarship? Who do you think Susan will believe?” Even though I had known the answer back then, my younger self on the tape kept screaming, stubborn and desperate. “My mother is the Chief of Homicide! She won’t be fooled by a monster like you! Your mother was a murderer she caught! She took you in out of pity, but you’re rotten to the core! You framed me for cheating, you stole my locket, you paid those thugs to violate me!” The audio suddenly glitched, looping on the words violate me over and over again, like a curse echoing in the small room. My mother stood frozen, turning into stone. Everyone in that room knew who Susan had chosen to believe five years ago. And even now, she struggled to accept the truth. “This… this isn’t real,” she whispered, her lips turning blue. “You forged this, didn’t you? You made this up to frame Dominic!” The technician looked down, his voice barely audible. “Captain Beckett, the audio is completely genuine. There are no signs of editing or digital manipulation.” My mother collapsed into her chair, her face completely blank. Looking at the tiny recorder, my mind drifted back to that cold afternoon five years ago. After months of being framed by Dominic, I had bought that cheap recorder to gather proof. I had gone to my father’s grave to cry and tell him what was happening, only to be cornered by Dominic and three older thugs he had hired. As they dragged me down, I managed to slip the recorder into the gap beside my father’s urn. It had stayed there for five years, waiting for the light of day. “How could this happen?” my mother murmured. Just then, the door was kicked open. “Captain! We found the fourth victim!” The officer handed a stack of photos to my mother. In the pictures, Dominic was kneeling, his arms stretched out and pinned to a wooden cross in a decaying offshore warehouse. His head hung low, frozen in a posture of eternal repentance. His body was pale and cold, having been dead for days. My mother’s chest heaved, and before she could take another breath, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto the floor. The next time I saw her was the day before my trial. She wore civilian clothes, her shoulders slumped, her spirit completely broken. In the visitation room, she slowly picked up the receiver. “Zachie.” The nickname felt as if it belonged to another lifetime. “Why didn’t you tell me Dominic was hurting you?” I toyed with the black telephone cord. “I did tell you. You just chose not to believe me.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “I taught you to use the law to protect yourself. Why did you have to kill them?” I stopped playing with the cord and looked her straight in the eyes. “Susan, even now, you still don’t believe me.” I let out a soft sigh. “But it doesn’t matter. After tomorrow, your wish will finally come true.” “What do you mean?” The guard tapped my shoulder, signaling that my time was up. I hung up the phone and walked away, ignoring her hand slamming against the glass partition. The next day, the courtroom was packed to the brim. “The defendant, Zachary Beckett, committed four counts of homicide in an offshore territory, three of which were broadcasted live on the internet with extreme cruelty, causing severe social harm…” The gallery erupted into shouting. The families of the victims wept and screamed for justice. “My daughter was so young! He stabbed her to death!” “My wife had a heart attack watching that stream! He destroyed our family! He deserves the death penalty!” I remained silent, looking toward the back row. My mother sat with her face buried in her hands, refusing to look at me. “I have nothing to say,” I told the judge. The gavel fell. Death penalty. The courtroom erupted into cheers. I closed my eyes and whispered in my heart: Mom, your wish has finally come true. Susan walked out of the courtroom in a daze. When she finally came to, she found herself sitting on her old sofa, staring at a faded photograph in her wallet. It was a picture of me when I was seven, missing a front tooth. I had lost that tooth in a schoolyard fight. She remembered holding me that day, telling me: “When you are bullied, tell Mom. But while you are waiting for me to get there, you must protect yourself. Strike back if you have to.” Strike back? Susan’s face turned white. She grabbed her keys and bolted back to the police station. “Pull up the live stream of Zachary’s murders! There is something wrong with this case!”

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1 Seven years into my relationship with Tina, I realized I was trapped in a slow, silent punishment. Every time she chose her childhood friend, Lucas, over me, a piece of the evidence that I had loved her was stripped from my mind. The first time it happened, she left to spend Lucas’s birthday with him, and I woke up unable to recall the first time she and I had ever held hands. The second time, she put his name on a project proposal I had pulled all-nighters to write. When I woke up the next morning, the memory of the pouring rain on the night she confessed her love to me was gone. For our seventh anniversary, she booked a private fireworks display by the waterfront, plastering it all over social media for everyone to see. But when her call came through, urging me to hurry, I was sitting alone in the office breakroom, staring blankly at the unsaved number flashing on my screen. “Stop playing around,” she said, her voice sharp. “You know exactly what day it is.” Beside her, someone chuckled. “Tina, is your boyfriend throwing a fit again?” She sighed, her impatience cutting through the receiver. “He’s always like this. The more important the day, the harder he tries to make a scene.” I watched the fireworks burst against the night sky outside the window. There was no jealousy in my chest, no dull ache of betrayal. I simply asked, quite sincerely, “I’m sorry, but who is this?” … When the phone rang a second time, I handed it to the receptionist, asking politely, “Do you know whose number this is?” The receptionist blinked, staring at the screen that read Tina. “Uh, Thomas, that’s Tina. Your girlfriend.” I stared at the name. My fingers pressed against the rim of my mug, the heat from the coffee barely registering. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said. The call connected, and Tina’s voice came through, sharp and hushed. “Thomas, cut it out. The fireworks are almost over. Get down here.” In the background, a man offered a soft, mocking chuckle. “Don’t be so hard on him, Tina. Thomas is probably just jealous.” Tina sounded as if she had pulled the phone slightly away, though she made no effort to hide her words from me. “He always does this. The more you humor him, the more entitled he gets.” I brought the phone back to my ear. “Ms. Shen, if you’re a client, please go through the proper channels. If not, please stop calling me.” There was a cold, heavy silence on the other end. Then, a sharp laugh. “You still remember my last name, yet you’re pretending you don’t know who I am?” I didn’t answer. I hung up and blocked the number. The receptionist stared at me, bewildered. “Thomas, haven’t you two been together for seven years?” That number, seven, echoed in my mind, but it brought nothing with it. It was as if someone had pulled every photograph out of an album, leaving behind nothing but empty plastic sleeves. On my desk sat a blank leather album I had uncovered from my locker earlier that afternoon. The cover was worn, but the pages inside were painfully clean. Each sleeve had a tiny numbered sticker in the corner, from one to seven. I had asked my colleagues if it belonged to me. They laughed, saying of course it did, and reminded me that I put a new photo in it every single anniversary. Yet, when I searched my phone, I couldn’t find a single photograph of Tina. When I left the building, Tina was waiting by the entrance, holding a sleek silver gift box. Her tense expression softened slightly when she saw me, and she reached out, grabbing my wrist. “Alright, let’s go. I’m here to pick you up.” I looked down at her hand. “Let go of me.” She didn’t. Instead, she pushed the silver box into my arms. “This is for you. Happy seventh anniversary. Lucas said the watch from this fireworks collection was stunning, so I had them reserve a set for us.” I didn’t hold onto it. The box slipped from my grip, hitting the concrete with a dull thud. A delicate silver necklace slid out, its pendant shaped like a tiny, intricate firework. The receptionist, who was walking out behind me, gasped softly. Tina’s face darkened instantly. “Thomas, do you really have to humiliate me in public?” I bent down, picked up the box, and handed it back to her. “This isn’t mine.” She stared at me for several seconds, then let out a dry laugh. “You’re getting really good at this act. Before, when I was an hour late, you’d ignore me for two days at most. How long are you planning to stretch it this time?” Lucas stepped out of her car, wrapped in her gray scarf. “Thomas, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice laced with practiced fragility. “I wasn’t feeling well today, so Tina took me to the clinic first. She only put together the fireworks show because she was worried you’d be upset.” I looked at the scarf around his neck. It was a deep charcoal gray, with a crooked, hand-stitched ‘T’ in the corner. He noticed my gaze and touched the wool lightly. “Oh, this? Tina said it was just sitting in her car collecting dust, so she told me to wear it.” Tina stepped closer, pulling the scarf tighter around his neck. “He has a cold, Thomas. Stop staring at him.” I asked quietly, “What does that letter mean?” Tina froze for a fraction of a second before recovering her cold composure. “Nothing. Just an old rag.” An old rag. My fingertips brushed the cover of the empty photo album in my bag, and a fleeting, disjointed image flickered in my mind. A cold winter night, someone clumsily threading a needle, promising that we would fill this album with a new photo every year, and on the seventh, we’d finally get married. But before the face in the memory could clear, Lucas let out a soft, dry cough. Tina immediately let go of my wrist, turning to support him. “Get in the car first,” she murmured. Then she looked back at me, her voice commanding. “Thomas, stop making a scene. Bring the album tomorrow. I’ll help you remember everything.” Before the car door clicked shut, Lucas caught my eye through the window, his fingers resting deliberately over the stitched ‘T’. When I brought the empty album into the conference room the next morning, Tina was busy adjusting the projector height for Lucas. Lucas, cradling his laptop, smiled up at me. “Thomas, you’re here. Tina mentioned you were originally running this project. I was worried I wouldn’t present it well, so I was hoping you could back me up today.” I slipped the album into my bag and pulled out a chair. “Why is his name on my proposal?” Tina’s finger paused on the remote control. Her voice was flat. “Lucas is up for a promotion, and he needs a strong portfolio piece to show the board. Your position is secure, Thomas. You don’t need this one victory.” I stared at the title slide. The strategy was the result of seven straight nights of my life, but the footer now read: Presented by Lucas. The department head tried to smooth things over. “Come on, Thomas, you and Tina are practically family. Don’t sweat the small stuff. The kid needs a break.” Lucas quickly pushed his laptop toward me. “How about I do the opening, Thomas, and you handle the core strategy? You’ll still get all the credit.” Tina frowned slightly. “He claims he can’t even remember who I am. What is he going to present?” A few people in the room snickered. The sound was soft, but it felt like a needle pricking the back of my neck. I stood up and unplugged the projector cable. “If I’m not fit to present it, then this proposal isn’t fit to be used.” Tina grabbed my wrist, her grip firm enough to keep me from moving the cable. “Thomas, professional meetings are not the place to vent your personal frustrations.” I looked down at her hand. “You said last night you’d help me remember.” Her eyes softened a fraction. “Let’s get through the meeting first. This afternoon, I’ll take you to the old art studio where we had our first date.” Lucas’s laser pointer slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the table. He leaned down to retrieve it, his voice dropping to a fragile whisper. “Tina, my stomach is acting up again. I think I forgot to take my medication this morning.” Tina immediately let go of my wrist. “Where is it?” “Probably in the car,” Lucas murmured. “I can go get it myself.” But she was already grabbing her coat. “I’ll go with you.” I stood in front of the door, holding out the printed copies of the proposal. “Before you leave, change the name back.” Tina looked at the papers, refusing to take them. “Thomas, don’t force me to say things that will embarrass you in front of everyone.” “You already have,” I said. She brushed past me, her shoulder clipping my bag. The empty photo album tumbled out, hitting the floor and sprawling open. A yellowed sticky note slipped out from the first page. It was her handwriting: Year One. Under the fireworks, I promise: Tina will always choose Thomas first. The room fell dead silent. Lucas picked up the note, his eyes instantly welling with tears. “Oh… so this was yours, Thomas? I’m so sorry. I thought Tina wrote this for me years ago. No wonder she told me yesterday that the old promise didn’t count anymore.” Tina’s expression shifted. “Lucas.” He quickly covered his mouth, looking horrified. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I took the note back from him. “What does that mean?” Tina avoided my gaze. “It was just a silly joke.” “Was the scarf a joke too?” I asked. Her patience finally snapped. “Thomas, an old scarf, a dusty note, do you really have to cross-examine me over every little piece of the past?” The department head cleared his throat. “The clients will be here any minute. Thomas, maybe you should step outside and cool off.” I looked at the faces around the table. They all knew whose work that proposal was. They knew Tina and I had been together for seven years. Yet every single one of them was waiting for me to back down. Lucas hovered by the doorway, offering a soft, conciliatory murmur. “Thomas, why don’t we put both our names on it? Having you as the co-author still looks great.” I let out a quiet laugh and closed the album. “No need.” Tina’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if she believed I had finally come to my senses. She reached out to smooth my lapel. “I’ll see you this afternoon at the studio. I’ll help you remember.” I stepped back, avoiding her touch. “Ms. Shen, your clients have arrived. You should get on stage with Lucas.” The clients walked in, and Lucas immediately took his place at the podium. Tina cast one last look at me before stepping up beside him, clicking the remote to display the first slide. A text from an unknown number buzzed on my phone: Want to know the third thing you forgot? Go to the old art studio. Don’t bring Tina. When I walked into the dusty studio, the elderly owner looked up, surprised. “You’re finally here to pick up the painting,” he said. I hesitated. “What painting?” He dragged a long cardboard tube from beneath the counter, blowing the dust off it. “The fireworks landscape you and Tina painted seven years ago. You told me you were saving it for your proposal on your anniversary. Actually, Tina was here a few weeks ago. She wanted to alter the signature.” My grip on the tube tightened. “Altered to what?” The owner glanced toward the door and lowered his voice. “To some young fellow named Lucas. He said those fireworks were where his and Tina’s story began.” The bell above the door chimed. Tina pushed her way in, followed by Lucas and a few colleagues from the firm. She frowned when she saw the tube in my hand. “Who told you to come here alone?” Lucas stepped forward, his eyes bright with false excitement. “Oh, the painting is here! Tina has been looking for this everywhere. She wanted to display it at my promotion party.” I looked at Tina. “Is this painting not mine?” She remained silent for a long moment before reaching out and taking the tube from my hand. “It’s just a silly college sketch, Thomas. It doesn’t matter who uses it.” The studio owner spoke up, indignant. “How does it not matter? Thomas painted the entire skyline back then. Tina only painted that tiny silhouette at the bottom.” The colleagues began whispering among themselves. Lucas’s face paled, and he stammered, “I… I didn’t know. Tina just told me this painting meant a lot to her. I thought she wanted me to have it.” Tina pulled the yellowed canvas from the tube. In the corner of the painting, under the bursting colors, were two small figures, one in a white dress, the other holding a camera. In the signature block, the name Thomas had been lightly rubbed away with an eraser, and the name Lucas had been faintly penciled over it. I stared at the smudged canvas. A sudden image flashed in my mind: a hand covered in bright acrylic paint, holding mine, a warm voice whispering, We’re using this when we propose. Nobody else gets to touch it. Sensing my silence, Tina’s voice softened. “Thomas, you forgot anyway, didn’t you? If it’s gone, let it go. We’re trying to start over here, but you have to give me a way to reach you.” I looked up at her. “And starting over means erasing my name?” Lucas’s eyes filled with tears again. “Thomas, please don’t misunderstand. The party is starting soon, and Tina just didn’t want me to go up there empty-handed. I never wanted to steal what’s yours.” The department head chimed in. “Thomas, you’re not in the right headspace. Don’t make a scene in front of the clients. Lucas just landed a massive account. He needs this night to go smoothly.” Tina handed the canvas to her assistant. “Get this framed.” I reached out to stop him, but Tina caught my hand. Her voice was a low, urgent whisper that only I could hear. “Don’t do this to me, Thomas. Lucas cannot afford any mistakes tonight.” Lucas was always the one who couldn’t afford to make mistakes. I pulled my hand back, my fingernail dragging across the edge of the canvas, leaving a thin, white scratch. Tina’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Thomas, this childish behavior has to stop.” The celebration was held in the small hall right next to the studio. Lucas stood before the framed painting, giving a speech about how the fireworks symbolized his journey and the deep trust Tina had placed in him. As the room erupted into applause, Tina stood right behind him, adjusting his microphone with an encouraging smile. Two guests near me whispered, “Tina really treats Lucas differently. Even with Thomas losing his memory, she still puts Lucas first.” The other laughed quietly. “Seven years doesn’t mean a thing. At the end of the day, the one who gets chosen is the winner.” I sat in the corner, holding the empty album, turning the pages one by one. The second page was empty, but on the third, there was a torn piece of an old medical receipt from three years ago. The clinic’s name was listed, and the department read: Cognitive Evaluation, Initial Consultation. Before I could read the doctor’s name, Tina walked over and snatched the paper from my hand. “This is garbage,” she said coldly. I looked up. “I was going to the hospital three years ago?” She folded the receipt into her palm. “You were under a lot of stress back then. I took you for a check-up, and the doctor said you were fine.” Lucas strolled over, holding a glass of juice. His eyes lingered on her closed hand as he murmured, “Tina, Dr. Harris just asked if you were still planning to bring Thomas in for his follow-up tomorrow.” Tina’s expression hardened. “Lucas.” He instantly shut his mouth. A cold sensation crept up my spine as I looked at the two of them. Dr. Harris. Follow-up. Original plan. The gallery lights illuminated the stolen painting. As I looked down, I saw a slip of paper peeking out from Tina’s coat pocket. It was an appointment card. The patient’s name was mine, but the notes section had only three words: Stimulus-Induced Recall. When I slid the appointment card back into Tina’s pocket, Lucas was kneeling on the carpet, carefully tying the delicate leather straps of her heels. She sat on the sofa, her emerald dress brushing his wrist. Lucas looked up, his voice barely a whisper. “Tina, what if Thomas sees us? Won’t he be upset?” Tina didn’t look away from me as I approached, though her foot remained in his hands. “He doesn’t remember anything anyway. Why would he care?” I stood by the door. “I’m coming to the appointment tomorrow.” Her hand paused on her cufflink, then she stood up, smoothing her skirt. “I was planning on taking you anyway, Thomas. I told you, I’m going to help you remember us.” Lucas bit his lip. “But the doctor said we need familiar faces and settings. Shouldn’t I come too? I’ve been there for almost everything these past few years.” I looked at Tina. “Why was he there?” She avoided my eyes, picking up my album. “Because you’ve forgotten too much. I can’t explain it all on my own. Lucas is observant. He can fill in the blanks.” The next day in the consultation room, Dr. Harris flipped through my files, his expression grave. “Thomas’s memory loss isn’t just a simple case of stubbornness. Severe emotional distress will only worsen these blackouts. Ms. Shen, I warned you before: do not use substitute stimuli.” I looked at Tina. “What is a substitute stimulus?” Tina cut in, her voice clipped. “Doctor, his mood has been highly unstable lately. Please just get to the point.” Dr. Harris sighed. “It refers to taking his personal milestones or keepsakes, handing them to someone else, and making him watch. It forces his brain to actively shut down to avoid the pain of betrayal.” Lucas, sitting on the adjacent chair, clutched the edge of his shirt. “Doctor, isn’t that a bit dramatic? Tina was just trying to show him what he was missing.” Show me. The memories of the gray scarf, the fireworks painting, the stolen proposal, none of it had been an accident. Tina reached out and took my wrist, her voice softening. “Thomas, don’t look at me like that. You were becoming so hypersensitive back then. I only did it to help you accept reality, to stop treating everyone around me like an enemy.” I looked at her. “So you knew I would forget?” She was silent for a beat. “I knew you’d be hurt. I didn’t think you’d actually forget.” Dr. Harris pushed a consent form across the desk. “I do not recommend proceeding today. Unless Thomas consents, we cannot perform the situational stimulus.” Tina reached for the pen. “I’ll sign for him.” I pressed my hand flat against the paper. “No.” Her brow furrowed. “Thomas, don’t you want to remember me?” Lucas chimed in, his eyes red. “Thomas, Tina canceled two board meetings and went to so much trouble to gather all these things for you. Don’t throw her effort back in her face.” I stared at Tina. Her eyes held exhaustion, but beneath it lay a deep, unwavering certainty. She was absolutely certain that I was just throwing a tantrum. She believed that once the past was laid out before me, I would crawl right back into my place. Outside the office, her assistant knocked gently on the glass. “Ms. Shen, the waterfront venue is ready. The pyrotechnics team wants to know if they should proceed with the seven-year proposal script.” The proposal script. My fingertips went numb. It felt as if a heavy velvet curtain had been violently ripped away inside my mind. The rain from seven years ago, the smell of acrylic paint in the studio, the clumsy stitch on the charcoal-gray wool, and her voice whispering under a canopy of light: On our seventh year, you’re going to marry me. The memories rushed back. But as they flooded my mind, they brought no warmth, only a profound, chilling detachment. The woman standing in front of me had taken every promise she ever made me, stripped them down, handed the pieces to another man, and then brought me the ruins to prove she still cared. Tina didn’t notice the shift in my eyes. She let out a long breath, looking as though she had finally won. “Perfect. Thomas, let’s go to the waterfront. I’ll give you the proposal we missed. Once you see the fireworks, I know you’ll remember.” Lucas’s face drained of color, his fingers desperately clutching her sleeve. “Tina, let me come too. Just in case Thomas gets overwhelmed, I can help explain the details.” Tina hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Alright. Come with us.” I looked down, letting out a quiet, humorless laugh. I reached into my bag, tore the very last page out of the photo album, and slipped it into my coat pocket. The wind off the river was freezing. In the middle of the decorated deck stood the stolen fireworks painting, flanked by the gray scarf, the silver necklace, and seven empty photo frames. Tina handed a small velvet box to Lucas. “Hold onto this. Give it to me when the first firework goes off.” Lucas took the box, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Of course.” She turned back to me, holding her hand out. “Thomas, enough. Walk with me to the painting.” I looked at her open palm, then at the ring box in Lucas’s hand, and finally at the sky where the first launch was about to ignite. Tina finally sensed the eerie stillness in my demeanor. Her brow furrowed. “Thomas? Did you… did you remember something?” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I reached out, took the velvet box from Lucas’s hands, and clicked it open. Engraved on the inner band of the platinum ring were two letters. They weren’t S & T. They were S & L. Lucas lunged forward to grab it, his voice trembling. “Thomas, don’t touch that! It’s just a prop for the ceremony!” I snapped the box shut and handed it back to Tina. “Here is your prop. And here is your co-star.”

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1 When I first drifted back to consciousness, my wife was pinned beneath another man, locked in a desperate, wet kiss. The nasal cannula pinched my nose, sealing my voice deep in my throat. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream. All I could do was listen to their heavy, sticky breathing filling the quiet room. “Gentler,” Danielle whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t press on Ray’s legs. I spent two hours massaging them today.” The man didn’t seem to care, his movements remaining heavy. “He’s just a living corpse. Do you honestly think he’s ever waking up?” Four years ago, a horrific car crash had reduced me to a persistent vegetative state. “If he hadn’t shielded me with his own body, I’d be dead,” Danielle murmured, her voice laced with a complex grief. “Thank God you transferred to this hospital to take care of him.” “It’s exhausting. When is he finally going to die?” the man suddenly muttered. Danielle stopped. She reached over to adjust my oxygen tube, keeping her silence. The next morning, Dr. Gould, the neuro-rehabilitation specialist, did his routine rounds. He stood at the foot of my bed and delivered the final verdict. “I’m sorry, but the patient is officially brain dead.” Danielle broke down instantly. “No! That’s impossible! You’re a fraud! My husband was perfectly fine last night!” My best friend, Devon, stepped forward and pleaded with the specialist. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gould. She’s just hysterical. Ray is still so young. Please, take another look.” The specialist turned to a young woman standing at the back of the ward. “Dr. Nora, you just returned from your residency abroad. Come and evaluate his condition.” A pair of warm, soft hands gently took mine to perform a muscle strength test. This was my last chance. I summoned every ounce of soul left in my shattered body, squeezing my finger against her palm. Once. Then again. Three short, rapid pressure points, followed by three long, deliberate ones. Nora’s hand froze. The patient had moved. It wasn’t a muscle spasm, nor was it an involuntary reflex. It carried a deliberate, haunting rhythm. Having participated in a radio communications club during her university years, she recognized it instantly. It was the universal call for help in Morse code. S.O.S. Suddenly, another hand shoved Nora aside, snatching my hand back. “Dr. Nora.” Danielle stared at her husband with tear-brimmed eyes, her voice trembling with protective possessiveness. “My husband has undergone countless surgeries since the accident. He has fought so hard to stay with me.” Nora studied her quietly. Danielle took a wet wipe from the head nurse, gently cleaning my pale, vein-mapped hand. Her entire posture was defensive, like a guard dog protecting its bone. “I mean no harm, it’s just a routine check,” Nora said, keeping her tone strictly professional. “The patient just moved.” The ward fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. Dr. Gould stepped forward to examine me again. After a moment, he delivered his usual clinical sigh. “It’s just a pathological reflex common in vegetative patients.” “No, it wasn’t,” Nora insisted, her voice quiet but resolute. Every eye in the room locked onto her. The temperature in the ward seemed to plummet. Devon suddenly burst into tears, squeezing past Nora to the foot of my bed. “Dr. Nora, please. Don’t give us false hope anymore.” He checked the warmth of my feet, then tucked the blanket around me with practiced care. As he leaned in, a familiar scent drifted into my nose. My instincts had been correct. The man who had been holding my wife in his arms last night carried this exact same scent. When the truth finally laid itself bare, a delayed, agonizing wave of pain crashed over me. The soles of my feet, where Devon had just touched, began to burn. The phantom pain shot up my legs, piercing straight through my heart. I wanted to move my finger again. I wanted to tell Nora that my loyal brother of fifteen years and my devoted wife were sleeping together right next to my helpless body. But my index finger remained limp, as useless as the rest of my paralyzed limbs. Dr. Gould cast a sympathetic look at Danielle. “We need to document the official time of death.” The head nurse calmly checked her watch, preparing to write. Danielle’s hand shook as she gripped my forearm. “Ray… don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.” The room was filled with weeping, but amidst the chaos, Devon reached out and pulled the nasal cannula from my nose. A sharp buzz rang in my ears. My final countdown had begun. On the monitor, my heart rate began to plunge. My oxygen levels dropped, and my blood pressure bottomed out. The air in the room grew thin, suffocating me. My heart felt like an ancient machine, its gears slowing to a agonizing crawl. The crying around me grew louder. Everyone’s face was painted with grief, knowing that the patient was taking his final, ragged breaths. Beep— The cardiac monitor flattened into a solid, continuous line. Nora bolted to the machine. “Why is the monitor disconnected?!” Devon scrambled, his hands shaking as he checked the wires. “The leads fell off.” Nora stared at him, her eyes cold and sharp. “Nurse Devon, this is a severe, life-threatening oversight.” Devon hurriedly pressed the electrodes back onto my chest. “Dr. Nora, I swear it was an accident.” The head nurse frowned. “Devon, you’ll be working overtime to reflect on this.” She quickly adjusted the oxygen levels back to a therapeutic range. A fresh rush of oxygen flooded my nose. Like a drowning fish thrown back into the water, I gasped internally, reeling back into existence. “This is ridiculous,” Dr. Gould muttered, his face turning red. He was a highly paid specialist hired by Danielle’s wealthy family. One second he was declaring a patient dead, and the next, a mere resident was openly challenging his authority. “Nora, watch your words,” Dr. Gould hissed. “The patient was clinically brain dead years ago. We only kept him on life support because his family couldn’t let go.” The only sound left in the room was the steady, rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor. “The patient was communicating with me,” Nora said. Danielle looked up in shock. “What did you say, doctor? My husband is still alive?” Nora walked directly to my bedside and took my hand again. My finger didn’t move. She waited for a full, agonizing minute. No miracle occurred. Her expression gradually grew heavy. Had she made a mistake? Was it really just an involuntary reflex? Just as Nora began to pull her hand away, my index finger hooked around her palm. A faint warmth seemed to flow into my hand, thawing the stiffness of the past four years. I gathered every shred of willpower I possessed. Tap-tap, tap-tap-tap, tap. I tapped out a name in Morse code. H-I-M. Nora gasped, her eyes scanning the room. Nurse Devon. The male orderly. Dr. Gould. She squeezed my hand tight, tapping a question back into my palm. W-H-O? Before I could answer, Devon stepped forward with a penlight. He peeled my eyelids open, and the harsh light flooded my vision. Through the glare, I saw Dr. Gould’s furrowed brow, Danielle’s desperate gaze, and Devon’s hypocritical mask. “There is no pupillary tracking, and he isn’t responding to sound,” Devon reported smoothly. “Dr. Nora, whatever movement you felt was likely just a random muscular spasm common in comatose patients.” Dr. Gould nodded in agreement. They had run these tests a thousand times over the last four years. Danielle buried her face in her hands, weeping. Devon closed my eyes, plunged me back into darkness. Suddenly, Nora snatched Devon’s ID badge with two fingers. Her voice carried an icy, aggressive edge. “Since when does a nurse override a doctor’s diagnosis? Would you like to take my coat and sit in my chair, Nurse Devon?” “Dr. Nora, I didn’t mean…” Devon stammered. My index finger twitched twice more. This time, everyone saw it. “He moved! He really moved!” the head nurse cried out in disbelief. “Ray’s finger is moving!” Nora’s voice was resolute. “Since the patient has regained partial consciousness, I suggest we formulate an entirely new treatment plan immediately.” “Treatment?” Danielle reacted violently to the word. “Dr. Nora, the accident shattered his skull. Dr. Gould had to perform two craniotomies just to save him. He suffered terrible seizures during recovery. If he has to go through that hell again, I’d rather let him rest in peace!” She grabbed Dr. Gould’s sleeve, treating him like her final lifeline. “Dr. Gould, I want to withdraw treatment. I’m signing the papers.” Dr. Gould’s lab coat was pulled askew by her desperate grip. Outside the ward, other families had gathered, some even holding up their phones to record the scene. With so many eyes on him, Dr. Gould softened his tone. “Calm down. Let’s start with a brain MRI to assess the damage first.” Danielle nodded numbly. This was the first time a comatose patient had shown signs of recovery in this ward, and the news spread like wildfire. “Nora, in my office. Now,” Dr. Gould muttered. The head nurse and the orderly began wheeling my bed out for the scan, transferring me away from that nightmare of a room. Yet, my mind was filled with dread. As they adjusted the pillows under my head, the head nurse whispered, “Don’t worry, just close your eyes.” The heavy hum of the machine enveloped me, and I drifted into sleep. When I woke up, I was being moved back onto the gurney. The radiologist handed the report to the head nurse, who looked at it and immediately stepped away to make a phone call. Was the damage too severe? My heart twisted with anxiety, but I could do nothing but wait. In the office, Dr. Gould took off his lab coat. “You were recruited directly by the Chief of Medicine,” he began, looking out the window toward the newly constructed rehabilitation wing. “When I was a resident, I kept my mouth shut and followed orders.” Nora stood her ground. “Yes, Doctor.” “Do you have any idea how much money has been spent keeping him alive over these four years?” Gould asked, turning back to her. “The surgeries, the specialized equipment, the imported medications. None of it is covered by insurance. I hear his wife’s company is on the verge of bankruptcy just trying to keep him here. If you hadn’t made that scene today, his passing would have been a quick mercy for them.” The phone rang, interrupting him. The urgent MRI results were ready. Gould opened the file on his computer. Patient Raymond: Brainstem structure intact. Significant preservation of cortical function. Nora leaned in, pulling up his scans from four years ago. “Doctor, he’s showing clear signs of waking up!” She looked at Gould with genuine excitement, only to find him smiling at her with cold, calculating eyes. “Nora, I can pull some strings to shorten your residency by a year and get you transferred to the prestigious new wing,” he offered softly. It was a massive temptation. Nora felt a chill run down her spine. Raymond’s desperate plea for help flashed before her eyes, his thin, needle-scarred hands trembling on the bed. “What do you need me to do, Doctor?” she asked quietly. Gould’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just write a statement admitting to a misdiagnosis. Say you mistook a common neurological reflex for signs of recovery.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly. “We all make mistakes when we’re young. Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you.” “Is that so?” Nora stood up straight. She reached over and spun his computer monitor around. On the screen was the hospital’s internal group chat. Raymond’s MRI report had already been uploaded. Dr. Gould: The patient in Bed 5 is waking up. The message had already been forwarded dozens of times. Gould’s face turned white. “Nora, how dare you…” “You are a brilliant physician, Doctor. I still have so much to learn from you,” she said, slipping out of the office. Once in the hallway, she wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. She had taken a massive gamble, and she had no idea if she would win. But she remembered her oath to protect life. The patient wanted to live. She was going to help him. In the staff restroom, Devon was panicking. He had heard the rumors, and he immediately dragged Danielle into the emergency stairwell to talk. “Danielle, if Ray wakes up, I’m finished,” Devon whispered, his hands shaking. “Will he remember what happened that day?” Danielle slapped his hand away. “Devon, you’re crossing the line.” Devon stared at her, his face turning pale. Danielle’s lips curved into a soft smile. “When Ray wakes up, I’m going to give him the wedding of his dreams. I owe him that much.” Whenever she spoke of Ray, her eyes softened with genuine affection. It was a terrifying contrast. Did she love him? Yet just last night, this same woman had been clinging to Devon’s waist, whispering sweet nothings right beside her husband’s bed. After Danielle left, Devon took out his phone with trembling fingers. “Auntie, Ray is getting worse. The doctor says we need a direct family member to make the final call.” Up on the landing, Nora watched them through the gap in the stairs. She had stumbled right into a sickening web of betrayal. The weeping wife and the devoted best friend were nothing but monsters wearing masks of grief. Suddenly, her palm tingle with memory. Two short taps, three short taps, one long. H-I-M. The “him” Raymond was warning her about was Devon. Nora quietly followed Devon back to the ward. Inside, the head nurse was changing my IV bag. I lay there in a daze until the heavy door creaked open. “Ray… my baby…” My mother’s voice sounded exhausted. “Careful, Auntie,” Devon’s voice was gentle as he guided her to the bed. My mother grabbed Nora’s hand, tears streaming down her face. “Is my son… is he really leaving us?” Nora looked at her. “Are you the patient’s mother? His current state is—” “Doctor, my son has suffered far too much,” my mother interrupted, sobbing. My heart clenched. I wanted to tell her that I was getting better, that I wasn’t going to die. My father sighed heavily. “Martha, don’t cry. Time is running out. Let’s say our goodbyes.” “Dad, what are you saying? Ray is going to be fine!” Danielle cried out. Nora watched them, disgusted by the sheer hypocrisy in the room. The unfaithful wife was begging to keep her husband alive, while the parents seemed eager to bury him. My mother sat down, her hand gripping mine. These hands used to cook for me and brush my hair, but now they felt rough, calloused, and worn down by the years. “Ray,” she whispered, pulling my hand down to rest on her stomach. I felt a sudden jolt. My mother had lost so much weight, yet her stomach was rounded and firm. Had she fallen ill because of the stress I caused her? My mother let out a small, weary smile. “Sweetheart, Mom is pregnant with a baby boy. You’ll have a little brother to take care of us now. You can go in peace.” The words hit me like a physical blow. A sharp, violent alarm shattered the silence of the ward. My blood pressure spiked, and my heart rate soared from fifty-eight to over a hundred and forty beats per minute. The monitors screamed in protest.

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1 Bored out of my skull at home, I dragged my wife to join a couples’ reality show. She was a woman who seemed surgically attached to her faded sweatpants and fuzzy slippers. The internet immediately ripped us to shreds. [A washed out actor and a deadbeat couch potato. A match made in heaven.] [What does Cole even see in her? Does he like the way her slippers squeak? Or maybe he loves how she outruns grandmas for discounted eggs at the grocery store?] Right after the broadcast started, the hottest rising star Jaxon paraded his elite corporate wife around, soaking up all the spotlight. The producers asked both couples what they had been up to lately. Riley dangled one of her fuzzy slippers from her toes. “Fishing down at the local pay to fish pond.” I scratched my head. “Living off my wife’s savings.” Jaxon practically oozed a sickening sense of superiority. He flawlessly flexed that his wife had just been hired as a Vice President at Apex Holdings, pulling in a cool three million dollars a year. Then he shot me a look of pure, fabricated pity. “Hey Cole, why don’t I have my wife get yours a janitorial gig at Apex? At least she would get dental and a 401k.” My mouth twitched uncontrollably. I genuinely did not have the heart to shatter his little fantasy. Because the actual founder and Chairman of Apex Holdings was currently tugging on the hem of my shirt with big, pitiful eyes. “Honey, we can talk about the janitor gig later. My two dollar bargain bin fishing rod snapped yesterday. Can I get a ten buck bump on my allowance tomorrow?” Jaxon covered his mouth, laughing so hard tears actually formed in the corners of his eyes. “Cole, your wife is absolutely hilarious.” Sienna’s lips curled into a smug smirk. “We actually are hiring cleaning staff at Apex right now. If Cole’s lady is struggling, just say the word.” Riley aggressively scratched her messy hair. “A real job? No way. That would totally cut into my fishing time.” The live chat instantly flooded with question marks. [This woman is unbelievable! Absolute trash!] [Cole is going to be dragged down for the rest of his life by this street bum.] [Sienna is such a boss. That is a high value woman right there. The other couple is an absolute joke.] I looked at Riley’s gorgeous face. It was a face that somehow radiated an aura of pure, unadulterated foolishness. I rolled my eyes hard. “No ten dollar raise. Five bucks, max.” I rejected her coldly. Riley squatted on the ground, looking entirely wronged. “Fine, five bucks it is. At least I can buy two boxes of premium nightcrawlers.” Seeing the tension, the director raised his megaphone and cleared his throat. “It seems our two couples have vastly different lifestyles.” “To give the audience a more direct look at your spending habits, we are moving into our first interactive segment.” “Wives, please hand over your phones. We will project your shopping cart histories onto the big screen.” Jaxon’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He practically sprinted to hand Sienna’s sleek phone to the production staff. I nudged Riley’s slipper with my foot. “Hand it over.” Riley flinched like she had been electrocuted and clamped both hands over her sweatpant pockets. “No way! This is a total invasion of privacy!” Her suspicious reaction sent the livestream chat into an absolute frenzy. [Oh my god! This jobless loser definitely has something shady on her phone!] [Check her right now! These deadbeats who live off their partners are always the ones cheating!] “Did your girl buy something she shouldn’t have behind your back, Cole?” Sienna let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I suppose it makes sense. Zero income brings a lot of stress. Finding cheap thrills on the side is perfectly normal.” I stared at Riley’s shifting, guilty eyes. A flare of irritation sparked in my chest. This little gremlin spent her entire life fishing and cooking my dinners. Was she actually hiding something from me? “Riley.” My voice dropped an octave, dripping with ice. “Are you going to take it out, or do I have to do it myself?” Riley swallowed hard. She looked up at me like a kicked puppy. “Honey, it is really nothing bad. It is just… it is kind of embarrassing.” “Hand it over!” I was entirely out of patience. I reached right into her pocket, fished out the phone, and tossed it to the staff. Riley clutched her face in agony and let out a dramatic wail. “It is over. My pristine reputation is ruined.” The staff opened Sienna’s luxury shopping app first. Item one: A high end designer men’s watch, priced at ninety thousand dollars. Item two: Custom handcrafted golf clubs, priced at fifty six thousand dollars. Item three: Bespoke diamond cufflinks, priced at over two hundred thousand dollars. A collective gasp echoed through the studio. Jaxon covered his face, blushing with a perfectly rehearsed bashfulness. The comments went wild. [Oh my god! Is this the power of a three million dollar salary?!] [She spoils him so much! Sienna is the dream wife!] [This is how you do the female CEO aesthetic properly!] The director nodded in deep satisfaction and signaled the cameras to pan right. “Now, let us take a look at Miss Riley’s shopping cart.” The staff clicked on a bright orange, notoriously cheap knockoff app on Riley’s home screen. Rows of loud, colorful, deeply discounted items popped onto the massive screen. Item one: [NIGHT ANGLER PRO] Ultra bright headlamp. Original price five bucks, slash the price with friends to get it for just ninety nine cents! Item two: [GRANDPA CHIC] Pure cotton sweat absorbent tank top. Clearance price three dollars. Item three: [POND KILLER] Secret recipe catfish bait. Buy two get one free. Two dollars and fifty cents. Item four: Lifetime subscription to an auto checkout bot for grocery store egg discounts. Sixty bucks. The entire studio plunged into a deafening silence. Five whole seconds passed. Then the live chat exploded with a magnitude never seen before. [What the hell is secret catfish bait?! This chick actually fishes at pay ponds!] [Slash the price to ninety nine cents?! I am dying of laughter!] [Sienna buys high fashion, Riley buys grandpa tank tops. What kind of agonizing life is Cole living?!] Jaxon let out a loud snort. “Cole, I am so sorry, I did not mean to laugh.” “But your lady is just… she is just so down to earth!” Sienna shook her head, her face plastered with thick, syrupy sympathy. “Riley, if you are really hurting for cash, I can reimburse you for these.” I stared dead at the rows of absolute junk on the screen. The veins in my temples were visibly throbbing. I turned my head slowly to look at Riley. She was still squatting on the floor with both hands covering her face. “Is this what you meant by embarrassing?” I asked through gritted teeth. Riley peeked one eye through the gap in her fingers. She looked completely devastated. “You just do not understand, honey.” “That headlamp might only be ninety nine cents, but it is incredibly bright! It is a game changer for watching the bobber at night!” She pointed desperately at the fourth item. “And the local supermarket marks down their eggs every night at nine. Those grandmas move like professional sprinters. I can never beat them!” “With this bot, I can lock in the inventory and instantly snipe the deal!” The room went dead silent again. The chat stalled for a full ten seconds before another nuclear explosion of text took over. [Help me! Spending sixty bucks on an egg sniping bot? What kind of chaotic brain operates like this?!] [Incredible! If my mom had this bot, she would wipe out the entire grocery store!] [Cole looks like his soul just left his body! Hahahaha!] The director rushed in for damage control. “It appears Miss Riley is a remarkably practical person.” “Ahem, well, let us move on to our next task.” “The crew will now confiscate all wallets and phones.” “For the next two days, you must earn your own living expenses. The first couple to earn one thousand five hundred dollars wins and gets to stay in the luxury Presidential Suite.” “The losers will be sleeping outside in a leaky tent.” The staff immediately moved forward to collect our things. Sienna handed over her phone and designer wallet with absolute grace. “Making money? That is child’s play for me.” When it was our turn, Riley guarded her pockets with her life. “No! I just added the pond owner on Snapchat! He stocked the pond with a hundred pounds of massive bass today!” “I need real time updates!” The staff member looked at me, pleading for help. I reached out and smacked the back of Riley’s head. “Hand it over! You will get it back when we finish shooting, or you are sleeping on the couch tonight!” Riley pouted heavily, pulling her phone out along with two dull quarters. “This is my secret stash. I was going to buy spicy chips with this…” The audience erupted into laughter. Sienna did not even try to hide the sheer disgust in her eyes. The timer started. Sienna took Jaxon straight to the city’s highest end financial district. She smoothly talked her way into an exclusive investment mixer, laughing and clinking glasses with men in tailored suits. Jaxon stood off to the side, looking impossibly proud. Then the camera cut to us. Riley was squatting on the curb, chewing on a blade of grass. She was staring blankly across the street at a group of park Zumba moms. “Honey, if I go lead their dance routine, how much do you think they would tip me?” I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “With your stiff joints, they would think you are trying to scam them for medical bills.” Just as we were trying to figure out how to avoid starving, a sleek black Maybach suddenly screeched to a halt right in front of us. “Oh my god! Boss! It really is you!” A heavy set man practically climbed out of the passenger window in his excitement. “I was watching the livestream and thought I was hallucinating! What are you doing squatting on the curb?” It was Mr. Henderson, the city’s most notorious real estate tycoon. Riley spit out the blade of grass and lazily lifted her eyelids. “Hey Henderson. Can you not see the cameras? I went bankrupt. I am begging on the streets.” Henderson’s eyes darted around, catching on quickly. “Understood! Say no more!” He hopped out and pulled a massive cooler from his trunk. “Boss, this is top tier Wagyu beef I just had flown in from overseas.” “Slice it for me, and I will pay you five hundred bucks for the manual labor! How does that sound?” The chat went completely ballistic. [What the hell? Who is this fat guy?] [This is so staged! The producers have no shame! They are faking it just to make Cole look good!] Riley waved her hand in pure disgust. “Slicing meat takes too much effort. I might strain my fishing wrist.” “Pass.” Henderson started sweating profusely. “Then… then how about you wash my car? Just spray it with the hose for a second! I will give you fifteen hundred!” The viewers collectively lost their minds. [Is this a car wash or money laundering?! Where are the broadcast regulators?!] [Sienna is inside busting her ass to secure investments, and Riley is out here hiring paid actors! This makes me sick!] Riley rubbed her chin. “Just spraying water… fine.” She grabbed the hose Henderson offered and carelessly splashed some water on the immaculate, gleaming Maybach. “Done. Pay up.” Riley tossed the hose on the ground. Henderson respectfully pulled out a thick stack of cash. “Your water spraying technique is incredibly artistic! You have practically blessed my vehicle!” I stood off to the side, wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole. The blatant bootlicking was so aggressive it was making me physically cringe. With the cash secured, we effortlessly won the challenge and checked into the Presidential Suite. Meanwhile, Sienna and Jaxon were forced to miserably set up their leaky tent outside. Early the next morning, the director gathered all the guests in the main hall. “Cole, you two cheated!” Jaxon screamed at the top of his lungs, pointing a trembling finger right at my face. “Fifteen hundred dollars to spray a car? Do you think the audience is entirely stupid?!” Sienna glared coldly at the director. “Are the producers going to let this slide?” “I can have Apex Holdings pull every single cent of sponsorship money from this show with a single phone call.” The director started sweating buckets. “Please calm down, Sienna. It is definitely a controversial situation…” “Cole, Riley, your methods yesterday clearly violated the spirit of the rules. The production team has decided to void your results.” “As a penalty, you must complete double the workload today.” I actually laughed out loud. “Violated the rules? Which page of the rulebook says we cannot wash a friend’s car?” “Sienna can use her corporate connections to pull money at a mixer, but we cannot use our connections to wash a car?” “Why do you not just rename the show ‘Sienna’s Solo Showcase’ and get it over with?” Jaxon scoffed loudly. “Connections? You call that connections? You hired a cheap actor!” Sienna took a step forward, towering over Riley with a lethal glare. “I do not care what kind of gutter trash tricks you used yesterday. Today, I will not let you find a single loophole.” “In the face of true power, your pathetic little street smarts mean absolutely nothing.” Riley let out a massive yawn and casually dug a pinky into her ear. “Right. Are you done?” “If you are done, can I go eat breakfast now? The lobster porridge in the suite is getting cold.” Her absolute refusal to care completely shattered Sienna’s composure. She lunged forward and grabbed Riley by the collar of her cheap shirt. “Stop playing the fool!” “Do you believe me when I say that with one word, I can have you thrown off this show right this second?!” The atmosphere in the room plummeted below freezing. The cameras zoomed in tight, refusing to miss a single second of the explosive drama. “Vice President Sienna, your clothes are very expensive.” “If you tear something, you will not be able to afford the replacement.” Sienna looked at Riley like she had just heard the funniest joke in the world. “I cannot afford it? I could buy ten thousand of these rags just to set them on fire!” She violently let go, pulling out a silk handkerchief to wipe her hands in disgust. Then she snatched a glossy folder from her assistant and slammed it onto the table. “Take a good look at this, Cole.” I frowned, picking up the folder and opening to the first page. It was a Joint Declaration of a Total Industry Blacklist Against Mr. Cole. The bottom was entirely covered in the official crimson stamps of every single subsidiary under Apex Holdings. Film, commercial, fashion… a total, inescapable blockade. The last page was a lawsuit demanding catastrophic breach of contract damages. It claimed my damaged public image had harmed their brand, demanding a penalty of ten million dollars. “Ten million dollars.” Sienna’s cold, calculating voice echoed through the studio. “Cole, you are a washed out has-been. You could sell your organs on the black market and still not come up with that kind of cash.” The live chat turned into an absolute bloodbath. [I knew I hated Cole and his wife! Finally, some justice!] [Ten million! Cole’s entire life is over.] [This is brutal. Is this really necessary…] “Sienna, is this… is this really the right place for this?” the director pleaded weakly. “Shut up!” Sienna snapped fiercely. “Apex Holdings just bought this show out entirely!” She looked down her nose at me and Riley, her eyes brimming with pure malice. “I am giving you three seconds.” “Get on your knees, beg for forgiveness, and announce your retirement from the industry.” “Otherwise, the court summons will be waiting on your doorstep tomorrow morning.” Sienna started the countdown. Jaxon held up his phone, ready to record our humiliating defeat. “Three.” “Two.” “One.” Riley pulled out her phone and slowly unlocked the screen. “Since you are acting like such a big shot, let us play a fun little game.” “Let us cast the Apex Holdings Executive Management group chat onto the big screen. Let us see just how much weight this Vice President throws around at the office.” The entire room erupted in shock. Jaxon outright barked a laugh. “You have the Apex executives’ group chat? Who do you think you are? The Chairman of the Board?” Sienna crossed her arms, smirking coldly. “Impersonating Apex employees is a felony. Our legal team will absolutely ruin you for this.” Riley ignored them completely and jammed the cable right into her phone. The giant screen flashed. A group chat titled [Apex Holdings Beggars Group] appeared for the entire world to see. [Bob (CEO)] [David (CFO)] [Marcus (Legal Director)] The comment section instantly flatlined. [Holy shit… she actually has it!] [I just googled it, the CEO of Apex really is named Bob!] [What is up with that group name? Beggars Group? I am crying!] Sienna stared unblinking at the screen. A cold bead of sweat slid down her forehead. Riley typed a quick message into the chat. [@Bob, Bobby boy, come out and greet our guests.] Everyone held their breath, their eyes glued to the massive screen. Less than three seconds later. A reply popped up. [Bob (CEO)]: You absolute menace! When are you coming back to sign the papers?! The representatives for the five billion dollar overseas merger have been trapped in conference room B for three days! Right after, the other executives started flooding the chat. [David (CFO)]: Boss! I emailed you the quarterly financials a month ago! Just look at them for five minutes, I am begging you! [Marcus (Legal Director)]: Please have mercy on us! Forget the fish! Pay attention to us! The messages on the big screen were scrolling up at warp speed. Every single one was a desperate complaint about Riley entirely abandoning her job. And right there, plain as day, Riley’s nickname in the group chat was fully visible: [Your Lord and Savior (Chairman)].

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After catching my husband cheating with a financially struggling student, I live-streamed the affair and filed for divorce on the spot. Julian Carter dropped to his knees, stabbed himself through the abdomen with a knife, and begged for my forgiveness. “I’ll never betray you again. Please, give me one more chance.” I touched the swell of my belly, where new life grew, and my heart softened. I said yes. But on our wedding night, he erased every trace of my identity and forced me to become the lowliest servant in the Carter household. “Chloe jumped to her death because of you. You’ll spend the rest of your life atoning for her!” After six months of torture, I lost the will to live. Desperate, I climbed to the roof to jump. Yet halfway up, I glimpsed two entangled figures through a window. Julian Carter was holding the woman who was supposed to be dead, locked in a passionate embrace. “Darling, I’ve been ‘dead’ for half a year. I’m tired of playing games.” “Good. Tomorrow, I’ll restore your status and make you my wife.” I clenched my fists. I’m done playing along with this charade. 1 As I dragged myself up to the second floor of the massive five story villa, I suddenly saw two figures entangled in the glass conservatory. “When are we finally going to tell her the truth? I am so sick of being your secret little mistress.” “Be patient, baby. We can do it whenever you want.” The man responded with raw passion. The sight of his back swaying back and forth made my heart physically ache. Suddenly, my cloudy, chaotic brain cleared up. Memories I had lost came flooding back. I am not the maid of the Carter family. I am Julian Carter’s partner of six years. I am his legally wedded wife. Our happy days lasted right up until the afternoon I caught him in bed with another woman. For months, our lives devolved into total chaos. We fought, we screamed, and we tore each other apart. Until the day Chloe threw herself off a building and died. That was when Julian completely lost his mind. He put on a brilliant performance, playing the deeply remorseful husband, begging me on his knees to remarry him. But on the very night we signed the papers, he erased every trace of my identity and locked me in the basement of his villa. “From now on, you are the lowest piece of trash in the Carter household. I am going to make you pay for her life with your blood!” He ignored my desperate pleas and forced a memory altering drug down my throat. For the last six months, I genuinely believed I was a worthless slave working to pay off a massive, unforgivable debt. I lived in absolute misery. I bit my lip so hard the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. “What the hell are you doing standing around? Go prepare dinner right now!” The head maid glared at me, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and violently dragged me down the stairs. In this house, my status was lower than the dirt on their shoes. “Tonight we have flown in fresh sweet shrimp for Madam,” I said, bowing deeply, keeping my head completely lowered. Chloe, covered in fresh hickeys, lazily opened her eyes. “Why aren’t you serving me on your knees today?” My blood ran cold. For the last six months, every single day, I had to carry their plates from the kitchen and crawl on my knees to serve them. “I am sorry. I forgot.” I had no way to contact the outside world. I had to swallow my raging fury and force myself to drop to my knees at her feet. With a sharp crash, the porcelain plate shattered right next to my ear. Chloe kicked me hard, sending me sprawling directly into the jagged shards. “You have zero manners. Beg for forgiveness!” I twitched in pain. “I am… I am so…” Now that my memory was back, the words physically refused to leave my throat. “Why is she acting up tonight?” Julian gave me a suspicious, razor sharp look. His dark eyes scanned me, trying to see right through my pathetic facade. “Up her dosage before bed.” “Understood, sir.” The newly hired butler bowed respectfully. With my skin bleeding from the broken porcelain, I served them their meal while they ate in absolute luxury. “Analyze all of these and give me the breakdown.” Julian tossed a thick stack of corporate contracts onto the floor in front of me. “Just like before. You are only allowed to analyze them. Do not memorize anything.” I nodded submissively, but my stomach churned with violent disgust. Even though he hated me this much, he still needed to use my brain to run his empire. I flipped through the pages, frantically memorizing every single clause, loophole, and project detail. When Julian first married me, it was precisely because of my intellect. “I love a partner who can fight alongside me. I love your fire and your brilliance.” He used to be completely obsessed with me. Our wedding was so extravagant it felt like he was announcing his love to the entire planet. “Are we hosting the lawn wedding here tomorrow night? If you need anything, just tell Stella to get it ready.” Chloe snuggled deeper into Julian’s chest. A cheesy romantic drama played on the massive TV. “Yeah! I want to wear her custom wedding dress, and I want her diamond ring!” “You have to transfer this villa to my name, and the lawn decorations have to be top tier!” “Of course, baby. Everything is yours now.” My pen stopped moving. I had heard those exact same promises a million times before. For years after our wedding, we were insanely in love. I thought I had secured a lifetime of romance and partnership. Until he dragged my dignity through the mud for a broke college student. “I sponsored your education for seven years. I saved you from human traffickers. And this is how you repay me?” I had screamed at them, staring at the two bodies still tangled together in my marital bed, feeling like I was dying. “Do not you dare touch her! If you make a scene, get the hell out of my house!” 2 His warm, devoted eyes had turned completely to ice. He wrapped his arms protectively around the girl, acting like I was a monster about to slaughter her. “Julian told me he was sick of you. I only sacrificed my own body to help you keep your husband.” The once timid, pathetic girl poked her head out from under the covers and gave me a victorious, mocking smile. “You absolute bitch!” I lunged forward and slapped her across the face. An instant later, a much harder, more vicious slap cracked across my own cheek. Julian looked at me with pure disgust. “I pursued her! Chloe is completely innocent. Do not you dare insult her!” He hit me so hard I coughed up a mouthful of blood. Then, more blood started pouring from my nose. Julian had completely forgotten that I had a mild blood clotting disorder. A single injury took me weeks to recover from. “Ah! Blood! I am so scared!” The flicker of guilt that had just appeared in Julian’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by furious anger the second Chloe started trembling. “Go find a doctor right now! Are you trying to scare her to death looking like a corpse?!” The man who used to tear up whenever I got a tiny paper cut had completely transformed into a brutal stranger. I used the hidden camera on my necklace to record the entire scene and live streamed it directly to the internet, announcing our divorce to the world. “I am exactly this kind of woman. Do not worry, Julian. I will hate you for the rest of my life!” I thought that was the end of us. But instead, he grabbed a kitchen knife and plunged it straight into his own stomach. “I still love you! I was just looking for a cheap thrill.” “Please do not be this cruel to me. We promised we were going to spend our lives together.” He collapsed into a pool of his own blood, begging me. My heart softened. Even if I didn’t want him anymore, I couldn’t bear the thought of my unborn child growing up without a father. So, right before he lost consciousness, I agreed to remarry him. But on the night of our remarriage, just as I was about to tell him I was pregnant… He forced my jaw open and poured a glass of heavily drugged liquor down my throat. “I erased every trace of your existence. I completely control your family’s company, and they are about to declare bankruptcy.” As sheer terror filled my eyes, he gave me a terrifying, psychotic smile. “You cyberbullied Chloe until she jumped off a building. Did you honestly think I would ever forgive you?” “From now on, you are the lowest slave in the Carter family. You will spend the rest of your miserable life paying for your sins!” I hated them both, but I never once wanted Chloe dead. I never believed a pathetic affair was worth someone losing their life, but Chloe was gone. That split second of shock was all Julian needed to pin me down and force the drugs into my system. And then, I endured six months of absolute, grinding hell. “Hurry up and wash Madam’s feet!” The maid grabbed my dangerously thin arm and dragged me in front of Chloe. A massive wave of humiliation drowned me. For the last six months, I had lost my memories. I genuinely believed I was a psychotic killer who had murdered her family. I used to kneel on the floor crying, begging her for forgiveness. When she threw glass vases at my head, I would willingly look up to take the hit. “I can do it myself. I know she still hates me…” Chloe put on a pathetic, wounded expression, covering her face as if she were crying. Julian’s face darkened. “Who gave you permission to stand while talking to Chloe?” He demanded coldly. The maid immediately kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to the floor. “Apologize! Or I will force you to drink Ms. Chloe’s dirty footwater!” I knelt on the floor, staring at the maid who used to bow to me, now treating me like absolute garbage. Without money, power, or an identity, any random nobody could crush me. A bucket of freezing, dirty water was dumped over my head. I couldn’t stop myself from gagging. “She just hates me!” Chloe screamed, fake crying as she wildly scratched at Julian’s chest. “She threw up! It is disgusting! She is so dirty!” Julian looked down at me with zero emotion. “If she is dirty, go wash her.” Several people dragged me away, forcibly stripped me naked, and scrubbed my skin raw with dry, heavy bristle brushes until I bled. They forced more drugs into my stomach, triggering waves of violent vomiting that felt like a medical stomach pump. Eventually, I dragged myself back to the basement, completely broken. Just a second before I passed out on the cold concrete, a pair of strong hands caught me. “Miss.” 3 I let out a weak, barely audible groan. The newly hired butler took off his glasses. A pair of deep, incredibly bright eyes looked down at me. “I am so sorry. You have suffered so much.” Last week, the old butler couldn’t handle the sheer cruelty of my torture anymore and quit. The man who replaced him seemed like just an ordinary, efficient worker. Julian had absolutely no idea that this man was my only remaining lifeline. He was one of the impoverished students I had sponsored years ago. He was the one who had secretly swapped my memory altering drugs. He was the reason I was finally awake. “We are leaving tomorrow night. I promise you, I will make them pay.” Shannon’s eyes were practically boiling with hatred. The sheer intensity of his emotion stunned me for a second. An instant later, his face returned to total calm. “I brought medicine. Let me apply it for you.” I had zero strength left in my body. I had to let him carefully treat my wounds. Halfway through, the sound of loud, aggressive moaning echoed from the ceiling. I almost forgot. Every single night, Julian and Chloe aggressively slept together in the master bedroom directly above me. When I had no memories, I used to pray they would hit me harder. I even handed Julian the knife to punish me. But Julian always hesitated. “What the hell is wrong with you! She explicitly said she wants to be punished! Did not you stab yourself for me?” Julian’s eyes darted away nervously. “Stella has a blood clotting disorder. I cannot…” “Are you still pitying her?!” Chloe stamped her foot in a massive rage, turning to storm out. Julian dropped the knife and chased after her. After that, they changed their strategy to mentally break me. They reduced the physical torture and started aggressively making out in front of me at every possible opportunity. “It is honestly pathetic. They actually think this hurts my feelings.” I said with a mocking laugh. “Memories or not, I would never want trash like him back!” “I know. Get some sleep.” Shannon replied in a deep, soothing voice, gently covering my bloodshot eyes with his hand. Right before I drifted off, I felt a soft, gentle kiss brush against my hair. But in the middle of the night, a horrifying nightmare seized me. The sounds of desperate, agonizing screams echoed in my mind. I woke up gasping for air, drenched in a cold sweat. I pushed open the heavy basement door and crept silently upstairs. “Stella’s parents are still fighting back? Then torture them too.” “Just do not kill them. I do not care if you break their legs or cripple them.” Julian’s laptop was open. On the screen was a live feed of my parents screaming in agony. “You have no soul! We gave you everything to build the Carter Empire, and this is how you repay us?!” “Where is my daughter? Did you kill her?! Answer me!” Julian didn’t answer. He just gave a cold, sinister laugh. The next second, the sickening crackle of a stun gun echoed from the speakers. My parents let out the exact same agonizing screams I had heard in my nightmare. “Hit them harder.” “…Heart condition? Shove pills down their throats and keep hitting them. I own the best private hospitals in the city. They won’t die.” “That is what they get for trying to kidnap Chloe. If they keep resisting, they will die before they ever see Stella again!” Listening to my parents’ desperate sobs, the blood in my veins turned to liquid fire and rushed straight to my head. Without thinking, I kicked the door open, grabbed a massive porcelain vase, and smashed it directly down onto his skull. “Die! Go to hell!” I screamed like a complete maniac, smashing the heavy base into his head over and over again, until a maid snuck up behind me and swung a metal baseball bat directly into my spine. I collapsed to the floor, vomiting blood, gasping heavily through a crushed throat. “Drink this, and by tomorrow, you won’t remember any of this.” Julian’s forehead was pouring blood, but his voice was smooth and hypnotic like a demon’s. He forced a bitter, burning chemical down my throat. I bit my lip so hard I almost tore it off, desperately trying to stay awake, but the darkness dragged me under. 4 First thing in the morning, Chloe dragged me into the massive walk in closet. Her silk robe was half open. She forced me to my knees on the floor. Then, standing directly in front of my own custom wedding dress, she pulled Julian toward her. “Look. Doesn’t doing it right here make it feel like I am the one you married?” Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before pushing her against the dress. I remained kneeling perfectly straight, handing them a condom at the exact right moment. When they finally finished, I handed them a warm, damp towel to clean themselves. “She is a total vegetable now.” Chloe giggled maliciously. “She didn’t even blink. Does this mean she is completely broken? It is no fun anymore.” In the beginning, my body’s lingering instinct to love Julian made me absolutely lose my mind when they touched each other. I would cry, scream, and smash everything in the room, only to be dragged away and locked in solitary confinement like a psychotic animal. Now, even when they were inches away from my face, I stared blankly at the wall. “Should we give her the antidote?” Chloe rolled over, wrapping her arms around Julian’s neck. “Let her fully understand what we are doing to her. Think she would die from pure anger?” Julian panted heavily, not answering immediately. A few moments later, he started moving against her again. “We are getting married tomorrow. Why do you care about her?” “She only exists to pay off her sins. Who cares how she feels?” The woman laughed, completely satisfied. She wore the wedding dress stained with their fluids and slipped the diamond ring that used to belong to me onto her finger. “Look at you, Stella. You had all the money and power in the world, and now you are literally under my feet.” “I was actually grateful when you saved me. But why did you have to show me how incredible the high life is?” She flicked her wrist, and a leather riding crop cracked across my back. I violently twitched in pain. “Why do you get to have absolutely everything, while I have to beg on my knees just for the scraps you throw at me?” “So I decided to just take what is yours.” “Oh, by the way. Your baby? I whipped it out of you. Julian doesn’t even know.” She smirked with pure, concentrated evil. I couldn’t stop my body from trembling. The first time I suffered morning sickness near Chloe, she threw a massive tantrum. To calm her down, Julian handed her a bamboo cane. She was only supposed to leave a few red marks, but the second she saw the slight curve of my stomach, she lost her mind. “Why do you still have a safety net! I am going to destroy you so you can never crawl back!” She swapped the bamboo cane for a spiked leather whip and lashed it directly into my stomach. The sheer, agonizing pain actually shattered the amnesia drugs for a few moments. I lunged at her like a wild animal and bit down on her hand with all my strength. I almost tore a chunk of her flesh off before the maids rushed in and injected me with heavy horse tranquilizers. The romantic orchestral music started playing. The wedding banquet officially began. The two of them walked arm in arm down the aisle. I trailed right behind them, crawling on my bleeding knees. This was a new game Chloe had invented five minutes ago. She wanted me to be her kneeling bridesmaid. “I am finally marrying you.” Julian spoke to Chloe, but his eyes flicked down to look at me. I stayed completely dead eyed, showing zero reaction. He stared at me for a long time, his lips moving slightly. In the end, he didn’t say anything. He just held Chloe’s hand and walked out to the venue. The lawn was packed with elite guests, all cheering for the newlyweds. I watched them toast, exchange serious vows, and share an intimate kiss. “Oh, right. Today, I want to publicly thank the woman who made my true love possible. I would like to invite her to speak.” Chloe’s eyes glinted with pure malice. She held the microphone and whispered down at me. “You can start repenting now.” When my memories were blocked, that exact phrase was the trigger for my brainwashing. I was supposed to drop to the floor sobbing, confessing my horrific sins, declaring I was worthless trash who didn’t deserve to breathe. I was supposed to beg them to punish me and beat me in front of everyone. She hated me that much. Locking me up and erasing my identity wasn’t enough. She wanted to turn me into her permanent, degraded toy. I slowly turned my head to look at Julian. His eyes immediately darted away, his head turning to avoid my gaze. A moment later, he grabbed Chloe’s hand. “Just say it, Stella. Do it this one last time.” “You deserve to confess your crimes in front of everyone anyway.” He genuinely thought I was still drugged out of my mind. But this morning, Shannon had given me the antidote. I let a soft, ghostly smile touch my lips, crawling forward until I was right at their feet. Under the confused and disgusted gazes of hundreds of guests, I spoke softly. “I was wrong. I refuse to offer another pointless apology. Today, I will follow Chloe’s instructions and eliminate my sins completely.” “I will use my own life to ensure you two stay together forever.” I slowly pulled off the heavy winter coat they had forced me to wear, exposing a body completely covered in horrifying, blood soaked lacerations. And then, while Julian stared in absolute, frozen horror, I threw myself directly off the top floor balcony of the villa. As I plummeted toward the ground, staring up at the sky, a man’s hands suddenly appeared over the railing. He reached out desperately, clawing at the empty air, trying to grab me. But he caught absolutely nothing.

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1 My husband, Bennett, was a man ruled by cold, unrelenting logic. Whenever I bought him a gift, he would analyze its design, calculate its market value, debate its utility, and ultimately conclude that I had overpaid and made a foolish purchase. When I was criticized at work and came home upset, he never offered a single word of comfort. Instead, he would look at me and say, “Clearly, you made a mistake. If you had done your job perfectly, why would your supervisor criticize you?” So, when I recently found out I was pregnant and struggled with severe morning sickness, I leaned against him and whispered, “This is too hard, Bennett. I don’t think I can do this.” He looked at me, his eyes entirely serious, and said, “If you find it so miserable, get an abortion. You don’t have to carry it.” I froze. Eventually, I took his advice and terminated the pregnancy. But when we returned from the clinic, he fell to his knees in front of me, weeping, promising he would never let his logic get the better of him again. The day I returned from my initial prenatal checkup, my lower back was throbbing. I walked into the house, supporting myself with one hand, stepping with agonizing care. Bennett was sitting on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone. He did not say a word, nor did he look up. A surge of resentment flared in my chest. Since I had discovered the pregnancy, I had gone to every single hospital appointment alone. I watched other expectant mothers accompanied by attentive partners, while Bennett never once offered to join me. He had not even brought it up. Even now, after a long day at the clinic, he did not care to ask how the baby was doing. I had tolerated his neglect in the past, telling myself that his work was stressful, but this time, the silence was too heavy to bear. “Bennett, the baby in my womb is yours,” I said, my voice trembling. “Can’t you show a little fatherly responsibility?” He set his phone down, turning his head to look at me with that familiar, analytical stare. “What exactly do you want me to do?” It was always this question. Every time I expressed frustration, he would calmly ask what I wanted him to do, as though he were incapable of human empathy unless provided with an explicit checklist. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. “You see how much I’ve been struggling since the pregnancy began. I can’t sleep at night, I’m constantly running to the bathroom, and I’m taking multiple medications just to keep my thyroid levels and blood sugar stable. You…” “It is indeed a difficult process,” he interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact. “But you have a logical alternative. You can terminate the pregnancy. You can choose not to have it.” I stood frozen, my ears ringing. An abortion? I had only been venting, seeking a gentle word or a warm embrace to soothe the erratic emotions brought on by pregnancy hormones. Instead, he had offered to end our child’s life. I knew he was a man who took everything literally, analyzing every statement as a sterile problem to be solved without ever considering the human heart behind it. But was I just another problem to him? Was our unborn child merely a variable to be eliminated? My heart throbbed with a sharp, physical pain. “Are you joking with me?” I whispered. “Of course not,” he replied, his voice flat and even. “I am looking at the root of your physical distress. To resolve the issue permanently, abortion is the only logical solution.” The pain in my chest deepened. “So, you are suggesting this for my sake? You are looking at this from my perspective?” I stared at him, desperately hoping for a nod, a sign that some part of his advice was born of love. If he said yes, I could forgive him, just as I had forgiven his coldness a thousand times before. But he shook his head. “No. It is not about your feelings. I am simply analyzing the facts.” A hollow, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I tilted my head back, forcing the tears to stay inside my eyes. “Right. I understand.” “Good,” Bennett murmured, picking his phone back up and returning his attention to the screen. I looked at him, the man I had loved for years, the man I had chosen to build a life with, and felt a block of ice settle over my heart. He was just solving a problem. He was treating me like a client seeking professional consultation, rather than his wife. When we first started dating, I had found his hyper-rationality almost charming, mistaking it for intellect and honesty. Now, I realized that even after marriage and pregnancy, I was still a stranger to him. I dragged my exhausted body into the bedroom and shut the door. Pulling out my phone, I dialed my OB-GYN. “Dr. Barrett, I’d like to schedule a termination.” “Are you out of your mind?” Dr. Barrett’s voice rose in disbelief. “Your scan from this morning showed a perfectly healthy fetus. Aside from the physical toll this will take on you, what about your husband?” “The termination was my husband’s idea,” I said quietly. The line went silent. After a long pause, Dr. Barrett spoke in a softer tone. “Did you two have a fight? Is there someone else?” “No. Nothing like that.” “Then why…” “Dr. Barrett, this is a personal matter, and I’d prefer not to discuss it,” I interrupted, my voice flat. “I am only calling to schedule the procedure. If you have ethical reservations, I can find another clinic.” The doctor let out a long, heavy sigh. “Fine. Monday morning. Come in early.” Today was Saturday. Monday was only two days away. “Thank you,” I said, and hung up. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the blank wall. When we first met, Bennett had argued over every minor disagreement, parsing my words until I conceded. I had excused it back then, thinking he was simply passionate. On our first anniversary, I spent half my monthly salary to buy him a beautiful watch. I had imagined his face lighting up with joy. Instead, he inspected the piece, researched its market value, debated its daily utility, and ultimately concluded that I had overpaid by nearly double. My smile had died on my face, leaving a cold lump in my throat. Shortly before our wedding, my supervisor had unfairly blamed me for a team failure. I came home in tears, looking for comfort, only for Bennett to tell me, “It’s because you didn’t manage up properly. You should work on your communication skills instead of whining to me.” I had stayed awake all night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why I was in this relationship. Once, I asked him directly if he loved me. “Yes,” he had answered. A single, flat word. No hug, no kiss, no warmth. He was simply answering a query. The bedroom door clicked open. Bennett stood in the threshold, his face devoid of emotion. “It’s time to make dinner.” I clenched my fists, the numbness finally giving way to a slow, burning anger. “If I told you I wanted a divorce, what would you say?” He paused, considering the question with academic focus. “We would need a certified attorney to draft a clear division of assets, preventing any messy legal disputes down the line.” I felt the last thread of warmth in my chest snap. “Yes. We would certainly need a lawyer.” I forced myself to look at him without crying. “We aren’t cooking tonight. Let’s go out. To that bistro downtown.” I wanted to use this final evening to say a quiet, private goodbye to the ghost of our marriage. Bennett frowned. “It is not Valentine’s Day, nor is it either of our birthdays. Why go to an expensive restaurant? If you do not want to cook, I can order takeout.” A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and fast. His frown deepened. “I only said we shouldn’t go out, and now you are crying? Fine, fine. We will go to the bistro.” He turned and walked down the hallway. I sat on the bed, staring at my slightly rounded stomach, and used both hands to slowly push myself up. Bennett stood by the front door, watching my struggle without taking a single step to help me. During the drive, and then the walk from the parking lot, he kept a brisk pace, leaving me to jog slightly to keep up. At the restaurant, the waitress noticed my condition and carefully guided me to the table, shielding me from a passing busboy. Bennett, however, had already seated himself and was scanning the menu. “Do you have any dietary restrictions?” the waitress asked, pen poised over her pad. Before I could open my mouth, Bennett answered, “None.” The waitress frowned, looking between us. “Sir, you aren’t the pregnant one. How would you know?” “Because she is my wife,” Bennett explained, his voice perfectly reasonable. “I know her habits. From the day we met, she has never had any dietary restrictions. She eats spicy food, sour food, raw food, everything.” The waitress’s expression hardened. “That was before. She is carrying a child now.” “I am aware,” Bennett replied, his tone polite but dismissive. “But gestation does not alter her baseline biological makeup. She is still the same person.” I saw the waitress’s knuckles turn white. I quickly spoke up to defuse the tension. “Just something simple and mild, please.” She nodded, shooting a glare at Bennett, and purposely stepped on his leather shoe as she turned to leave. “Excuse me,” she said flatly, before walking away. Bennett looked down at his shoe. “Her service is incredibly unprofessional. She will likely be terminated by the end of the quarter.” I stared at him. “Did it ever occur to you that she was standing up for me? I am pregnant, Bennett. I actually do need extra care.” He shook his head. “That is an emotional justification, not a logical one. A professional should never let personal bias affect their work.” I stopped talking. I barely touched my food while he ate with efficient, quiet hunger. On Monday morning, Bennett surprised me by standing at the door with his car keys. “I am coming with you to the clinic.” I hesitated. “There’s no need. I’ve handled the previous appointments myself.” “I am your husband,” he argued, his logical faculties fully engaged. “I was unavailable for the prior visits due to scheduling conflicts. Today, I have an open calendar. Therefore, it is my duty to accompany you.” I didn’t argue. At the hospital, he walked five paces ahead of me through the sterile corridors, never looking back. In the waiting room, other husbands sat close to their wives, whispering soft words of encouragement. Bennett sat two seats away from me, his head bowed over his phone. When my name was called, he followed me into the room. Dr. Barrett looked at him, then turned to me, her voice heavy with reluctance. “Cathy, I need you to tell me you’ve thought this through.” Bennett spoke up. “What is there to think about? It is a standard procedure. We are ready.” Dr. Barrett’s eyes flared with anger. “Sir, your wife is about to undergo a significant procedure. I suggest you both consider the weight of this decision. You have responsibilities as parents.” Bennett frowned. “I am fulfilling my responsibility. I am present, and I am supporting her choice to resolve her physical distress. What more do you expect?” I closed my eyes. “Dr. Barrett, please. Let’s just begin.” I lay on the cold operating table, tears leaking silently into my hair. My sweet baby, it is not that I do not want you. I just cannot let you grow up in a home without love. When the procedure was over, I was wheeled into the recovery room. My face was entirely white, my lips dry and cracked. Bennett rushed to my side, a rare look of confusion crossing his face. “Why are you so pale? What kind of checkup was this? Where is the baby?” It was the very first time he had asked about our child. I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. “The baby is gone. I had the abortion.” “What?” Bennett gasped, his face draining of color. “You, you terminated the pregnancy? Why?” “I did exactly what you suggested,” I said, my voice empty of all emotion. “I resolved the issue at its root. Now, I won’t suffer, and I won’t whine to you ever again.” Bennett’s hands began to shake.

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I once babysat for my best friend, and she destroyed my life. In my past life, she claimed an emergency and begged me to watch her toddler. I agreed. An hour later, the child fell off my couch and slipped into a coma. When she rushed to the hospital, she broke down completely, screaming that it was all my fault. Overnight, I became the jealous villain who resented her happy family. Her parents blocked the entrance, livestreaming the ordeal to force me into paying. They coerced me into signing away my future to cover his lifelong medical bills. I was dragged into her miserable existence, spending every day at the hospital caring for him. Feeding him. Changing his bandages. Bathing him. While she pocketed my money, she cursed me daily. “You are pure evil. Why aren’t you dead yet?” She dragged me through hell for eight agonizing years. Only when my mind shattered and my heart gave out did I learn the truth. She had deliberately fed the child adult sedatives to set me up. When I opened my eyes again, she was shoving the toddler into my arms. “You’re my best friend. Watch him for me?” I stepped back and slammed the door. “Who is your best friend? If you can’t care for a kid, don’t have one.” 1 I leaned against the closed door as a flood of memories rushed into my brain. I clearly remembered the day my spirit finally broke and my body gave out from the exhaustion. Before my vision faded, I heard her and her mother arguing in the hospital corridor. “Mom, what are you afraid of? I fed him those sedatives myself. I controlled the dosage perfectly. He won’t die, the worst case is just a little brain damage! Greg isn’t his real dad anyway. His biological father took off ages ago. Now we can just let Stella play the guilty fool and fund his life forever!” From outside my apartment door, Harper’s perfectly disguised, anxious voice pulled me back from my past life. “Stella, what do you mean by that? Aren’t we best friends for life?” “Did something happen to you? Please do not scare me like this.” I looked through the peephole and saw Harper standing in the hallway. Her face was caked in heavy makeup, and she was squeezed into a low cut, sequined bodycon dress. The suffocating stench of her cheap perfume practically seeped through the cracks of the door. In her hand, she was dragging her two year old son, Toby. Everything was exactly the same as that cursed night eight years ago. “Stella, are you okay? If you do not open the door right now, I am calling the cops.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, forcing my racing heart to calm down. Seeing her pull out her phone through the peephole, I let out a heavy sigh and yanked the door open. The second she saw me, Harper immediately shoved the toddler toward my chest. She spoke at lightning speed, slapping on a pathetic, pitiful expression. “Stella! Oh thank god you are fine. I honestly thought you were having a mental breakdown and was about to dial 911.” “Listen, I have an urgent client meeting right now. Can you please watch the baby for a bit? I will be back so soon! I am begging you, you are the only person in the world who treats me right!” If this had been my previous life, my soft heart would have caved, and I would have taken the boy. But this time, I just stared at her with absolute ice in my eyes and took a deliberate step backward. Toby grabbed at thin air and stood frozen in the hallway. I looked her up and down, my gaze lingering on her six inch stiletto heels. “What kind of client needs you to dress like you are heading to a nightclub?” Harper’s face dropped. Her eyes darted around nervously before she instantly switched back to playing the victim. “Stella, what are you talking about? It is strictly business! Aren’t you my best friend? Why is it so hard for you to just do me a simple favor?” “I already told you, I am not your best friend.” I locked eyes with her and repeated myself slowly. “If you do not have time to raise a child, you never should have given birth to one.” Without a moment of hesitation, I slammed the door shut. The heavy thud completely severed her stunned expression and her vicious cursing from my world. “Stella, you absolute psycho! Fine, do not help me! Let’s see how smug you are tomorrow!” Listening to the sharp clacking of her heels stomping furiously down the hallway, I turned around, pulled out my phone, and ordered two high definition hidden cameras with night vision. Having known her for years, and being a licensed psychotherapist myself, I knew exactly how her twisted mind worked. Once she set her sights on a goal, she would never pivot. Since I refused to take the bait tonight, she would definitely find another way to abandon the child and leave. This time, I wanted to see exactly how she planned to put on her little show without me playing the fall guy. 2 The next morning, I arrived right on time at the psychotherapy clinic where I worked. The moment I slipped on my white coat, the neighborhood app group chat exploded. Because Harper and I lived in the same building, right above and below each other, plenty of the residents knew who we were. “Did you guys hear? The toddler from the third floor had a terrible accident last night. He is in the ICU!” “Oh my god, what happened?” In the group chat, Harper sent three consecutive voice memos, each a full minute long, filled with hysterical, gut wrenching sobs. “If it wasn’t for Stella, my baby would never be in this condition!” I stared at the screen, genuinely confused. I never even opened the door for her after that first interaction. How on earth was she pinning this on me? To uncover the truth, I immediately pulled up the app linked to the hidden cameras I had rushed to install around my doorway last night. The footage on the screen sent a cold sweat straight down my spine. After I locked her out last night, Harper didn’t actually leave. She stood right in front of my door, smacked the wood twice, and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Stella, I brought the baby over for you!” Then, the most terrifying thing happened. From the empty hallway, my own voice echoed with crystal clarity. “Okay, just leave him at the door. I am in the shower right now, I will open the door and grab him in a minute!” The tone, the pitch, the exact cadence of the words. It sounded exactly like me. In the video, Harper put on a brilliant theatrical performance, yelling back, “Okay, I am leaving now! Hurry up and grab him when you are done!” With that, she turned on her heels and strutted away without looking back once. The two year old boy stood awkwardly in the eerily quiet hallway for a few minutes. Terrified and alone, he slowly wandered toward the stairwell. A few moments later, the sickening, heavy thuds of a small body tumbling down a flight of concrete stairs echoed off camera. In the group chat, Harper continued her performance. “I had a massive emergency last night, so I brought my son upstairs to her. She told me herself that she was in the shower and to leave him at the door! She said she would grab him! Even if she changed her mind, how could she just leave a baby stranded in the hallway and let him fall down the stairs!” “Why is my life so cursed? How did I end up with such a cold blooded, backstabbing friend!” Brenda, the nosy neighbor from down the hall, was the first to fire shots. “What a complete sin! When I got up to get water last night, I actually heard Dr. Stella say she was coming out to get the baby! If you promised to watch the poor child, how could you just lock him out?” The scandal fermented rapidly. My college roommate, Sarah, tagged me in our alumni group chat. “Stella, this is pure evil. You promised to babysit and then just left the kid to die? Harper constantly praises you, and this is how you repay her?” Harper, sensing she had the crowd in the palm of her hand, immediately started steering the narrative. “Honestly, I should have seen her true colors ages ago. You guys do not know this, but she constantly brings different people back to her apartment. Men, women, total strangers. She refuses to get married or have kids because her private life is completely degenerate. She probably had a lover over last night, faked being in the shower to make me leave the baby, and just watched my son get hurt on purpose!” The group chats instantly boiled over. The public outrage caught fire like dry grass, and the flames engulfed me in seconds. Reading the filthy, degrading insults flashing across my screen, I let out a cold laugh. As a clinical psychotherapist, the people I brought to my apartment were severely depressed, highly vulnerable patients who required extreme privacy. To protect them, I had converted my spare bedroom into a strictly confidential trauma therapy room. Yet in Harper’s mouth, this became ironclad proof that I was a promiscuous degenerate. That afternoon, the glass doors to my clinic were shoved open violently. Harper’s parents, accompanied by a pack of aggressive relatives, stormed into the lobby. In my previous life, these were the exact same people who used crocodile tears and moral blackmail to force me into signing my life away. “Stella, you murderer! Get out here right now!” Martha dropped right onto the floor of the clinic lobby, throwing a massive, theatrical tantrum. Robert held up his smartphone, shoving the camera lens aggressively into my face. “Look at this, everyone! This is the face of pure evil! She looks like a professional, but behind closed doors, she is a monster who leaves babies to die!” Penny, my young assistant, cowered behind the reception desk. “Dr. Stella, should we call the police?” “No rush,” I said smoothly, adjusting the collar of my white coat. In psychology, there is a concept called group polarization. When a mob is drowning in high running emotions, the more you try to defend yourself, the more they believe you are lying. You have to wait until they are screaming at the top of their lungs, drunk on their own self righteousness. Only then, when you smash the ironclad evidence directly across their faces, will they truly understand what it means to be ruined. 3 I walked right up to Martha. “Are you done screaming? This is a medical clinic, not your personal circus. If you do not want to be arrested for trespassing, get out.” Martha froze for a split second before dialing her shrieks up to eleven. “Listen to her, everyone! Look at her attitude! My poor grandson is fighting for his life in the ICU, and she refuses to even apologize! Stella, you are going to pay for this! You are going to cover every single medical bill, or we will riot in here every single day until you lose your license!” Looking at their greedy, salivating expressions, everything suddenly made perfect sense. It didn’t matter if I had helped her in my past life, or if I had rejected her in this one. Their ultimate goal was always the exact same. Extortion. I smiled pleasantly directly into Robert’s camera lens. “Be my guest. I will wait for your lawsuit.” By the third day, the situation escalated into total chaos. Harper somehow hired a shady PR agency to package the incident into viral clickbait, pushing it straight to the top of the local trending charts. The headlines were wildly inflammatory. [SHOCKING! Promiscuous Female Therapist Jealous of Best Friend’s Happy Family, Leaves Two Year Old to Die in Hallway!] In the viral video, Harper wore zero makeup, looking pale and completely devastated as she sat on a hospital bench. She cried beautifully for the camera. “I do not blame her for refusing to help. I only blame myself for being blind enough to treat a venomous snake like a sister.” “My baby’s brain was deprived of oxygen. He might never walk again. But what about her? She is still sitting in her luxury clinic, taking money from innocent patients.” The moment the video dropped, the internet went rabid. Someone splashed bright red paint across the glass doors of the clinic, spray painting the words “Tramp” and “Murderer.” All of my client bookings were canceled. Extremists even dug up my personal phone number, sending me death threats around the clock. “Trash like this doesn’t deserve to be a doctor!” “Bringing random people home every night, who knows what kind of sick stuff she is into. Disgusting!” “She said men and women, right? Gross.” The clinic owner couldn’t handle the pressure anymore and called me into his office. “Stella, we deeply respect your clinical expertise, but this public relations nightmare is just too massive. How about we put you on administrative suspension for now?” I quietly packed my personal belongings without arguing. A suspension was perfect. It gave me all the free time I needed to finally pull the net closed. That evening, I went back to my apartment. Harper’s husband, Greg, sent me a massive paragraph of text. In my previous life, Greg was a genuinely good, clueless guy. Harper played him like a fiddle. He truly believed the incident was just a tragic accident. In the end, to pay for the medical bills, he drained his savings and took out massive loans. His text message tonight was dripping with exhaustion and fury. “Stella, I always thought you were a decent person. Harper can be a little demanding sometimes, but Toby is innocent! You were right inside the apartment. If you had just opened the door to check, if you had just reached out a hand, my son wouldn’t have tumbled down those stairs. You are a woman too. Do you have no soul at all?” Reading his message, a cold, sharp smile curled on my lips. Tumbled down the stairs? Harper and her mother really spun a magnificent fairytale. I opened my laptop and created a master folder. Inside, I dropped the photos I had collected over the last few days of Harper grinding on different men at various nightclubs. Next, I added the official, legally filed medical logs of the desensitization therapy I conducted for my severe depression patients at my apartment. Then, I grabbed a flash drive, drove straight to the hospital, and secured the final, most crucial piece of evidence. Everything was in place. Now, all I needed was an audience. 4 Day four. The final day of Toby’s supposed critical window. Harper brought her parents, Greg, and a massive swarm of clout chasing streamers armed with selfie sticks to ambush me right outside my apartment building. They had calculated exactly when I would come downstairs to grab my mail. The second I stepped out of the lobby, a dozen blinding ring lights and camera lenses were shoved aggressively into my face. “Stella! The murderer finally shows her face!” Martha lunged forward, clawing the air, aiming straight for my hair. I stepped smoothly to the side, letting her stumble past me. Harper hid against Greg’s chest, hyperventilating as she sobbed. “Stella, I do not even want your money anymore! I just want you to go to the hospital, look my son in the eye, and say you are sorry. Just one simple apology.” The surrounding neighbors and streamers roared in righteous fury. “Absolutely shameless! She ruined a child’s life and acts like nothing happened!” “Look at her, chat! This is the degenerate therapist! We are going to ruin her career today!” Greg glared at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice completely raw. “Stella, you owe us an explanation right now! We do not care if you bring shady people home to sleep around, but the fact that you let my son fall down a flight of stairs out of pure jealousy means you are sick. How do you even sleep at night!” Facing the screaming mob, I didn’t panic. I didn’t shake with fear, and I certainly didn’t drop to my knees to beg for mercy like I did in my past life. Dressed in a sharp, perfectly tailored suit, I kept my spine completely straight. I swept my calm, icy gaze across every single person in the crowd. Finally, my eyes locked onto Harper’s pathetic, tear stained face. “You all want an explanation?” I pulled a compact megaphone from my bag. My voice cut through the chaos with piercing clarity. “Number one. You accuse me of bringing random men and women home to sleep around. These are the official medical documents I filed with the police precinct yesterday. Every single person who enters my apartment is a clinically diagnosed patient bound by a strict medical nondisclosure agreement.” “Because you clout chasers decided to spread malicious rumors and dox their identities for views, two of my severely depressed patients suffered major clinical regressions. Harper, acting as their medical proxy, I have officially filed a massive lawsuit against you for severe privacy violations and criminal defamation!” The crowd went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Harper’s theatrical sobbing caught violently in her throat. “Number two,” I continued, giving her absolutely no room to breathe. I stared directly into Greg’s eyes. “Greg, you just said your child fell down the stairs?” Greg blinked, stunned. “Harper said he lost his balance while waiting for you to open the door.” “Is that right?” I let out a sharp laugh and held up a stack of official hospital records. “Then why does the emergency room toxicology report state that your child had a massive overdose of adult strength sedatives in his system? Furthermore, the security footage from the complex clearly shows Harper getting straight into a Porsche right after abandoning him.” “And finally, why did the forensic scan of Harper’s laptop show a deepfake AI voice cloning software used to mimic my exact voice?” I held my phone to the microphone. The fake recording of my voice echoed across the courtyard, matching the timeline perfectly. The crowd erupted. Every single camera lens violently whipped around, zooming in on Harper and Martha, whose faces had drained of all color. Greg looked like he had been struck by lightning. He stared down at the trembling woman in his arms. “Is she telling the truth? You fed our son sedatives? Where the hell did you go?!” Martha was equally pale. She clearly knew the plan, but she never expected it to be caught on tape. “No! No, Greg, listen to me! It is a deepfake video! She faked the evidence!” Harper shook her head frantically, desperately lunging forward to snatch my tablet. I took a step back, watching her completely shatter. The real show was just getting started. “There is one last piece of business. Since everyone is already gathered here, we might as well lay all the cards on the table.” I paused for dramatic effect, giving Greg a look of profound pity before dropping the ultimate bomb. “Greg, before you let your wife’s family extort me for cash, as an unbiased third party, I highly suggest you do something first.” My voice wasn’t particularly loud, but in the tense silence, it felt like a gunshot. “Go to the hospital and check his blood type. Or better yet, run a paternity test.” “See if the boy fighting for his life in the ICU actually has your DNA.”

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“A family of five. Four of them were tenured Ivy League academics. I was the sole exception. The year I bombed my SATs and college applications, my mother announced in front of the entire country club, “”I have no son.”” Then she practically adopted the neighbor’s valedictorian daughter and cleared out my bedroom. Ten years later, in the hallway of State Memorial Hospital. She stared at the badge on my chest, chasing me up eight flights of stairs. I didn’t even turn my head. “”Appointments must go through the proper channels. My specialist clinic is on Tuesday mornings. You need to book three days in advance through the patient portal.”” Care to guess if she ever got that appointment? Chapter 1 State Memorial Hospital, Neurosurgery Department. Tuesday morning. I had just finished a craniotomy. Four and a half hours. My lower back was killing me. As I stripped off my scrubs and headed toward my office, all I could think about was whether the cafeteria still had any meatloaf left. The hallway was bustling. I kept my head down, scrolling through my phone to see how many consultations I had lined up for the afternoon. Forty-seven. I sighed. Then, a voice exploded behind me. “”L-Luke?”” My footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. That voice. It had been ten years, but I could recognize it in my nightmares. But I didn’t look back. I kept walking. Urgent footsteps echoed behind me, high heels clicking frantically against the linoleum. Clack, clack, clack. “”Luke Harrison! You stop right there!”” I sped up. Not because I was afraid of her. It was because I still had a chart tucked under my arm, and I needed to brief the family in Bed 34 on post-op care. I was busy. Truly. “”Luke! Is that you? Turn around and look at your mother!”” I ducked into the elevator lobby and hit the button for the eighth floor. Right as the doors slid shut, I caught a glimpse of a figure lunging forward, her hand slapping against the metal, just a second too late. Getting to the eighth floor, I thought that was the end of it. Three minutes later, the stairwell door banged open. Margaret Harrison. Fifty-eight years old, retired tenured professor, state-awarded educator of the year, wearing a navy cashmere coat, clutching her knees and gasping so hard she looked like she might pass out. She had climbed eight flights of stairs. I was standing by the nurses’ station signing off on orders. I saw her in my peripheral vision, but my pen didn’t stop. “”Luke… Luke Harrison…”” She was panting too hard to form a complete sentence. I handed the chart to Nurse Chloe and turned around. “”Hello.”” My tone was calm, polite, and standard—the exact same tone I used for every walk-in patient. “”Do you have an appointment?”” Margaret froze. She stared blankly at the badge clipped to my chest. Luke Harrison, M.D., FACS. Chief of Neurosurgery. And right below it, a smaller line: Board-Certified Specialist. Her lips trembled. I checked my watch. “”If you are here for a consultation, my specialist clinic is on Tuesday mornings, and you need to book three days in advance through the hospital portal. My slots for this week are fully booked; I suggest you try for next week.”” “”If this is an emergency, the ER is on the first floor, take a left. They are open 24/7.”” With that, I turned and walked away. A heavy thud echoed behind me. Nurse Chloe rushed over. “”Ma’am? Ma’am, are you alright? Here, sit down, let me check your blood pressure—”” I didn’t look back. It wasn’t cold-bloodedness. I was just really short on time. Bed 34’s family was waiting for me. And to be perfectly honest, I hadn’t had any relationship with this woman for ten years. Legally speaking, anyway. Dr. Ryan Adams, my resident, poked his head out of the office. “”Chief, who was that? Chased you up eight floors. An ex-girlfriend?”” I shot him a look. “”Have you ever seen a fifty-eight-year-old ex-girlfriend?”” Ryan scratched his head. “”Then who…”” “”A patient trying to bypass the waitlist,”” I said. “”Pour me a cup of coffee, please.”” Ryan let out an “”Oh”” and obediently went to the coffee maker. I closed my office door and sat down in my chair. I stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment. Then I picked up the phone and dialed the number for Bed 34’s family. “”Hello, this is Dr. Harrison…”” My voice was steady. My hands were steady. Everything was steady. It was fine. Chapter 2 Speaking of why I was so strictly business with this woman, the story goes back a decade. The Harrisons were practically royalty in the state’s education circles. My dad, Richard Harrison, was the principal of a prestigious prep school and a math genius whose math-lete students could fill a stadium. My mom, Margaret, was the AP English department head. Every year, students wrote tear-jerking valedictorian speeches calling her their guiding light. My sister, Eleanor, three years older than me, was the quintessential “”golden child.”” Yale undergrad, Master’s, Ph.D., and by thirty-five, an associate professor at a top-tier university, already on track for tenure. My uncle, Robert, was the Deputy Superintendent of the school district. Every holiday gathering, there was only one topic at the dinner table: Academia. Whose kid got into Harvard, who coached this year’s National Merit Scholar, which new curriculum got approved. And me? Luke Harrison. I was the anomaly in this family from day one. It wasn’t that I wasn’t smart. I just couldn’t muster any interest in the rigid metrics they took so much pride in. When I wrote creative essays, my teachers said I went off-topic. When I solved math equations using unconventional logic, they called it “”improper format.”” I used to pick ‘C’ for every multiple-choice question on my history finals just because I liked the symmetry. By the time I hit high school, my sister had already won a national writing competition and a state science fair. Me? I barely scraped into a mediocre public high school. My dad came home that day and didn’t say a single word. My mom slammed my bedroom door that night, and the next day enrolled me in three different SAT prep boot camps. For three years of high school, I bounced between tutors. No weekends, no summer breaks. My mom’s catchphrase was, “”Look at your sister, and then look at yourself.”” “”You are a disgrace to the Harrison name.”” “”Are you doing this just to spite me?”” I wasn’t spiting her. I just… wasn’t built for the assembly line they worshipped. But I couldn’t say that out loud. And even if I did, no one would listen. The year of college applications, I bombed. I barely qualified for a third-tier state college. In the Harrison household, “”state college”” had the destructive power of a nuclear bomb. My dad sat in the living room, chain-smoking. My mom threw dishes in the kitchen. My sister called home and carefully suggested, “”Maybe Luke could take a gap year and re-apply?”” My mom screamed back, “”A gap year? So he can embarrass us for another twelve months?”” That night, my mom made a decision. I would re-do my senior year at a charter school. She declared it. She didn’t ask if I wanted to. So I repeated the year. And that year, I studied like my life depended on it. Not to prove anything to them. But because I never wanted to see my mother’s eyes look at me like that again. That look—like she was staring at a piece of garbage. And the result? I did well. Scored high enough to get into a solid, respected public university. You’d think they’d see that as a massive improvement, right? But by the Harrison standard, it was merely a passing grade. My mom held my acceptance letter, her face totally blank. “”What’s your major?”” I said, “”Pre-med. I want to be a doctor.”” She looked up, finally showing an expression. Mockery. “”With your grades? What kind of doctor? A vet?”” That summer, the neighbor’s daughter, Sarah Jenkins, got accepted into Harvard. The whole neighborhood knew. My mom went over with a massive gift basket. When she came back, the way she looked at me was even darker. A month later, she called me into the living room. Sarah and her mother were sitting on the couch. “”From today on,”” my mom announced, “”Sarah is my daughter.”” I thought it was a sick joke. Then I saw Sarah gripping a shiny new key in her hand. The key to my bedroom. “”Your father moved your things to the basement,”” my mom said, not even looking at me. “”Sarah will stay in that room when she comes back for breaks. It faces south, gets good light. Perfect for studying.”” I stood there. I actually felt like laughing. Really. It was hilarious. Chapter 3 September rolled around. Time for me to head off to college. Even though it was just a regular state university’s pre-med track, it was a way out. The night before I left, my mom didn’t yell at me for once. She sat across the dining table, her expression unnervingly calm. “”Luke, I paid your tuition. I’ll transfer a living allowance to you every month.”” I nodded. “”But there is a condition.”” I looked up at her. “”From now on, do not tell anyone you are a Harrison.”” The dining room went dead silent for three seconds. My dad sat next to her, his fork hovering mid-air. He said nothing. “”Your sister is up for tenure next year, and your uncle is at a critical point for his promotion,”” my mom said flatly. “”Your… situation. It wouldn’t look good if word got around.”” I put down my fork. “”Fine.”” Just one word. My mom seemed to let out a breath of relief. The next morning, I walked out with my suitcase. No one saw me off. My dad had left early for a faculty meeting. My mom was on the balcony watering her plants. Sarah Jenkins happened to be walking in, laughing and chatting with my mom. Seeing me with my bags, she paused. “”Luke… you’re heading out?”” My mom chimed in from behind her, “”He’s going to school. Come on in, sweetie.”” Her tone was like she was shooing away a stray dog. As I dragged my suitcase out of the neighborhood gates, I bumped into our neighbor, Mr. Henderson. “”Hey, Luke! Heading to college? Where’re you off to?”” Before I could open my mouth. My mom’s voice rang out. She had somehow followed me down to the courtyard. “”Don’t even bring it up, Bob,”” her voice was loud enough for half the block to hear. “”He’s useless. I don’t have a son like that. As far as I’m concerned, I never had him.”” Mr. Henderson offered an awkward smile and shut his mouth. My hand gripped the handle of my suitcase so tight my knuckles turned white. Then, I let go. I smiled at the neighbor. “”See you around, Mr. Henderson.”” I turned and walked toward the bus stop. Behind me, my mom was still talking: “”Now our Sarah, she’s the real pride and joy! Harvard! Ten thousand times better than my own flesh and blood…”” The weather that day was beautiful. The early September sun was warm. The bus arrived. I got on and found a window seat. As the bus pulled away, the neighborhood I had lived in for eighteen years shrank in the distance. I didn’t cry. Crying didn’t solve anything. From that day on, I never went back to that house. And I never received a single cent of that promised monthly allowance. Not one deposit. I never asked about it either. What was the point? Freshman year, I worked in the campus dining hall for minimum wage. Sophomore year, I started tutoring high school kids for twenty bucks an hour. Junior year, I discovered I had an almost freakish talent for neuroanatomy. Those complex neural pathways, the intricate vascular maps—things other med students spent months memorizing, I could build into a 3D model in my head after one glance. My professor told me I was the most naturally gifted student he’d seen in twenty years. I said, Thank you, Professor. In my head, I thought: If you said that to my mother, she’d laugh in your face. Senior year, I got into the university’s medical school. My mentor was the Chief of Neurosurgery at the state hospital. By my second year of residency, I scrubbed in for my first major surgery. When I made that first incision, my hands were steadier than any veteran’s. My attending watched me and chuckled. “”Luke, your hands don’t look like they belong to a med student.”” “”What do they look like?”” “”Like you were born holding a scalpel.”” I thought of my mother’s words—With your grades? What kind of doctor? A vet? I almost smiled. After completing my fellowship, I stayed on at State Memorial. At thirty, I was made an attending. Exceptionally fast. At thirty-two, Chief of Neurosurgery. At thirty-three, I secured a massive NIH grant. At thirty-four—this year—my name was the lead author on a groundbreaking paper in The Lancet. For ten years, I never reached out to anyone in my family. And they never reached out to me. To be accurate, I don’t know if they ever tried. Because I changed my phone number my freshman year. Then I moved to a different city for med school, another city for my fellowship, and when I finally returned to this city, I bought an apartment on the exact opposite side of town. I thought that was it for the rest of my life. We’d stay out of each other’s way. Until today. Margaret Harrison chased me up eight flights of stairs. Now you know why I told her to book an appointment through the portal. It wasn’t revenge. There just wasn’t anything left to say. Ten years. The only relationship left between me and this woman was that she might be my patient. If she needed medical care, I was a doctor, and I would treat her. Nothing more. Chapter 4 Afternoon clinic wrapped up around 6 PM. I was in my office updating patient logs when Ryan knocked and came in. “”Chief, there’s a situation…”” He looked deeply uncomfortable. “”Spit it out.”” “”That older woman from this morning… the one who chased you…”” I looked up at him. “”She came back this afternoon. Sat in the lobby for hours. The triage nurse asked her what department she needed, and she said she wasn’t here to see a doctor. She was just waiting for someone.”” I looked back down and continued typing. “”That has nothing to do with me.”” “”She was crying,”” Ryan said quietly. “”Just sitting on the bench crying. A bunch of the nurses saw.”” My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second. Then I kept typing. “”The lobby is a public area. As long as she’s not disturbing the peace, security won’t kick her out.”” Ryan stood in the doorway, hesitating, but eventually couldn’t hold back. “”Chief, who is she to you?”” I closed my laptop and slid it into my briefcase. “”Former family.”” “”Former?”” “”Now, she’s a stranger.”” I grabbed my coat and turned off the desk lamp. “”Let’s go. We have two craniotomies tomorrow.”” As I walked to the parking garage, I spotted a figure standing near the main entrance in the distance. A navy cashmere coat. Her hair was much grayer, and she looked much older than I remembered. She was looking at her phone, swiping through something. I bypassed the main entrance and left through the side door. As I drove out of the hospital gates, I glanced in my rearview mirror. She was still standing there. It was getting dark. I pressed the gas pedal and merged into the rush-hour traffic. When I got to my penthouse, I heated up a meal prep container and popped open a beer. I turned on the TV for background noise. My phone buzzed. A text from Nurse Chloe. Dr. Harrison, the lady left. She asked me to pass on a message to you. I opened the thread. She said she wasn’t here for a doctor’s appointment. She was here to see you. I stared at the screen for ten seconds. Then I placed the phone face down on the kitchen island. I took a sip of beer. It was cold. See me? See what? See how the failure you threw out is doing? See if you have the right to reinstate me back into the “”Harrison Family Roster””? Or maybe— Forget it. I have a 7 AM surgery tomorrow. Time for sleep. Chapter 5 The next day, business as usual. Arrive at 7, scrub in, enter the OR. Today’s surgery was a brainstem tumor. The location was incredibly tricky. The whole department had been sweating over the pre-op board review. But this was my specialty. Four hours. A flawless resection. When I briefed the family post-op, they nearly dropped to their knees in gratitude. I caught them, gave them the standard post-op warnings, and had Ryan walk them through the paperwork. On the way back to the office, Ryan trailed behind me, looking like he wanted to say something. “”Talk.”” “”That lady… she’s back.”” I didn’t break my stride. “”Did she make an appointment?”” “”No. She says she’s not here as a patient. She’s just waiting in the lobby. This time she brought a thermos.”” A thermos. My jaw twitched. “”She brought someone with her too,”” Ryan added. “”Who?”” “”Some guy in his late forties or fifties. Balding.”” Balding. Fifties. Richard Harrison was sixty-one. Didn’t fit. My uncle, Robert, was fifty-six. Could be him. “”The guy was pacing the lobby on his phone, talking pretty loud, asking about someone…”” I walked into my office and shut the door. Whatever. I sat down to type up my surgical notes. Two lines in, my desk phone rang. An unfamiliar number. I usually don’t answer external calls on my direct line, but the caller ID showed the city’s Board of Education. I stared at it for three seconds, then hung up. Two minutes later, it rang again. Hung up. The third time, I picked it up. “”Hello?”” “”Luke?”” A deep male voice. I stayed silent. “”It’s your Uncle Robert.”” I leaned back in my chair. “”Can I help you?”” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “”Your mother has been looking for you. Did you know?”” “”I know.”” “”Then why…”” “”Robert,”” I cut him off. “”I am on the clock right now. If it’s a personal matter, call me after hours. If it’s a medical issue, book an appointment through the proper channels.”” The line was quiet. “”Luke, your mother… she’s not well.”” “”What’s the issue?”” “”Your dad says… there’s a mass in her brain.”” My fingers tapped against the mahogany desk. Twice. “”Do you have the scans? Which hospital?”” “”City General. They did the imaging. Said they need to transfer her to a more specialized facility.”” “”Tell them to initiate a standard transfer request. My department can take her.”” “”Couldn’t you just…”” “”Robert.”” My voice was entirely devoid of emotion. “”If she is my patient, I will treat her with the exact same dedication I give to every other patient. No more, no less. That is my professional oath.”” “”But if she’s not here for a doctor, and she’s just here to ‘see me,’ then with all due respect—there is no need.”” A heavy sigh crackled through the receiver. “”Luke, your mother has regretted things for years…”” “”I have surgical notes to file. Goodbye.”” I hung up the phone. I sat there, looking at the city skyline through my window. Regret. Ten years later, now there’s regret. Why? Because there’s a tumor in her brain, and she suddenly realizes the garbage son she threw away happens to be the best neurosurgeon in the state? I let out a dry laugh. I picked up my pen and went back to my notes. My handwriting was steady. Always steady. Chapter 6 Day three. Day four. Day five. Margaret came every single day. Every day, she sat in the first-floor lobby. Sometimes with a thermos, sometimes just sitting there. I always used the side entrance. I never walked through the lobby. But the updates kept trickling in. “”Chief, that lady is back.”” “”Chief, she looks like she’s lost weight.”” “”Chief, she was talking to the security guard today, bragging that her son is a doctor here…”” By day six, the head nurse came to find me. “”Dr. Harrison, I don’t know if I should say this.”” “”Go ahead.”” “”That lady passed out in the lobby today. We took her vitals. Her systolic pressure was 190. We asked about her history, and she admitted she’s been having blinding headaches recently.”” I stopped what I was doing. “”Did the ER evaluate her?”” “”Yes, they got her pressure down and recommended admission for observation. She refused. Said she was fine.”” The head nurse looked at me sympathetically. “”Dr. Harrison, I know it’s not my place to pry into your personal life, but her condition… it doesn’t look good.”” I fell silent. “”Where are her scans? The ones from City General.”” “”She has them with her. She’s been clutching the envelope.”” “”Tell Ryan to go get the scans from her. Bring them to me.”” Twenty minutes later, Ryan hurried in with the films. I snapped the CT scan onto the light box. I looked at it for three seconds. My fingertips went slightly cold. Right temporal lobe. A space-occupying lesion, roughly 3.2 centimeters. Irregular borders. Significant surrounding edema. Given the location and morphology— It was almost certainly a glioma. And judging by the imaging characteristics, it wasn’t a low grade. I pulled the film down and tossed it onto the desk. I stared at that dark mass for a long time. Then I picked up the phone. “”Ryan, bring the patient to my office.”” “”Uh… she’s in the lobby, Chief. Bring her straight up?”” “”Yes.”” Five minutes later, a knock on the door. “”Come in.”” The door opened. Margaret stood in the doorway. She looked infinitely worse than she had six days ago in the stairwell. Her skin was sallow, dark circles hung heavy under her eyes, and she was swimming in that cashmere coat. But the moment she saw me, her eyes lit up. It was a kind of desperate light that made me deeply uncomfortable. “”Sit,”” I pointed to the chair across from my desk. She walked over and sat down, her hands shaking as she clutched the empty envelope. “”Luke… is it… is Mom’s…”” “”Let me lay out the facts first,”” I interrupted her. She clamped her mouth shut. Her eyes were already red. “”First, based on the imaging, you have a space-occupying lesion in your right temporal lobe. Preliminary diagnosis is a glioma. We need a contrast MRI and a biopsy to confirm the grading.”” The color completely drained from her face at the word “”glioma.”” “”Second, while the location is complicated, it is operable. I have performed resections in similar areas, and my success rate is the highest in this department.”” She stared at me, unblinking. “”Third.”” I met her eyes. “”As a physician, I will treat you as my patient and do absolutely everything in my power to cure you. That is my job.”” “”But—”” I paused. “”That is all it is.”” Tears spilled over her eyelashes. “”Luke…”” “”You need to be admitted immediately,”” I said, grabbing my pen and filling out an admission slip. “”Ryan will take you to intake. We’ll schedule the contrast MRI for tomorrow morning.”” “”Luke, Mom knows she was wrong.”” My pen didn’t stop moving. “”Is Bed 28 or 32 open?”” I asked over the intercom. “”Bed 32 is clear, Chief.”” “”Good. Put her in 32.”” I ripped the slip off the pad and slid it across the desk. I didn’t look up once. “”Ryan will walk you down.”” “”Luke!”” She stood up and reached across the desk, trying to grab my hand. I stood up and pulled my chair back half a step. “”Mrs. Harrison,”” I said, cold as ice. “”Please comply with the admission protocols.”” Mrs. Harrison. Not Mom. Her hand froze in mid-air. Tears fell, splashing onto the mahogany desk. I walked around the desk to the door. I pulled it open. “”Ryan, get in here.”” Then I walked out without looking back. Behind me, a muffled, agonizing sob broke out. I stepped into the adjacent breakroom and shut the door. I leaned back against the wall. Closed my eyes. That shadow on the CT scan burned behind my eyelids. 3.2 centimeters. Irregular borders. Significant edema. If it was Grade 3 or higher… I took a deep breath. I couldn’t think about that. She was my patient. Just my patient. And I was her doctor. Just her doctor. That was it.”

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