Category: English

I used to be the life of our family. Until my sister, Lily, was born. Suddenly, every creative, hyperactive thing I did became a “threat” to her safety. For Lily’s first birthday, I spent a whole month building a mechanical musical castle for her. It had over a thousand tiny custom gears and parts. But when I turned it on, the flashing LED lights and the whirring of the gears terrified her. She burst into tears. That night, my dad smashed my castle to pieces. And my mom slapped me across the face for the first time in my life. The very next day, I was shipped off to “New Life Academy,” a notorious, high-security reform school. I still remember the freezing coldness in my dad’s eyes when he looked at the director. “Dr. Vance, my son is out of control. Make him normal. Whatever it takes.” “As for your compensation, I’ll donate three million dollars to your academy today. And I’ll personally cover all your son’s future tuition and research funds.” Three years later, they came to the academy to bring me home. They looked at me—dressed in a stiff, pressed white button-down and black slacks, hands folded perfectly over my stomach, walking with strides so precise they could have been measured with a ruler. They looked absolutely thrilled. My dad smiled and opened his arms wide. “Tyler, buddy. Dad’s here to take you home.” I took a sharp step back, bowed at a perfect thirty-degree angle, and spoke in a flat, monotone voice. “Protocol Three of the New Life Academy: Unnecessary physical contact within three meters of strangers is strictly prohibited.”

My dad’s arms froze in mid-air. The smile on his face slowly melted away, leaving nothing but sheer shock. My mom quickly stepped forward, pulling his arms down, trying to force a bright, cheerful smile onto her face. “Oh, look at Tyler! He’s so polite now. That’s a good thing, right?” She reached out, trying to take my hand. I stepped back again, keeping exactly three meters of distance between us. My mom’s smile completely froze. My dad’s face darkened, but he tried to keep his patience. “Tyler, stop playing games. Let’s go home with Mom and Dad.” I didn’t move. I just stared at them with empty, hollow eyes. Exactly sixty seconds later, I nodded once. “Command confirmed: Go home.” I turned on my heel and marched forward. Every single step I took was of the exact same length. They followed silently behind me, the air heavy with tension. The car pulled up to our familiar suburban house, but I felt absolutely nothing. They led me to my room. Plain white walls. Plain white sheets. A bare white desk. Aside from the bare essentials, there wasn’t a single decoration. It looked exactly like a high-end hospital ward. My dad spoke, his voice carrying a desperate, pleading tone. “Tyler, look! We made a brand new room just for you. You always used to complain about how messy your room was. You’re going to love this one, right?” I scanned the room and nodded. “This complies with Appendix Two of the New Life Protocol: Standard Environmental Cleanliness.” The muscles in my dad’s jaw twitched. Dinner time. I sat at the dining table, my spine perfectly straight, my hands resting flat on my thighs. Once dinner started, I picked up my fork and only ate the steamed broccoli directly in front of me. The number of times I chewed, the exact intervals at which I drank water—everything followed an invisible, rigid schedule. My mom watched me, her eyes filled with an overwhelming, painful ache. She picked up a piece of juicy pot roast and put it on my plate. “Tyler, sweetheart, this was your absolute favorite. Come on, try some.” I put down my fork. Then, right in front of her, I used my fork to pick up the meat and placed it onto an empty side plate. I raised my head, looked at her suddenly pale face, and recited calmly: “Protocol Seven of the New Life Protocol: Reject unsolicited gifts to eliminate greed.” “You don’t have to follow those stupid rules at home!” My dad finally snapped. He slammed his hand on the table and roared. I turned my eyes to him, devoid of any emotion. “The Protocol is life. It cannot be violated.” The silence in the dining room became suffocating. Right then, a little girl in pink pajamas came waddling into the room. She was holding a plush doll, holding it up toward me. “Tyler, play with me!” It was Lily. I instantly stood up from my chair and took two rapid steps back, putting distance between us. “Protocol Nineteen of the New Life Protocol: Contact with highly addictive entertainment materials is strictly prohibited.” My response was instant, robotic, and cold. Four-year-old Lily was terrified. She stood frozen on the spot, her lips trembling, and then she let out a loud, piercing sob. Her crying shattered the silence of the room. Three years ago, a cry just like this had made my dad smash my castle. History was repeating itself. My mom’s face twisted in anger. Without even thinking, she screamed at me. “Not again! Why do you always—” But the moment her eyes met mine—completely blank, empty, lifeless—the fire in her voice was instantly snuffed out by a wave of pure dread. Her mouth hung open, but she couldn’t utter another word. A chilling shiver ran down her spine. My dad, visibly frustrated, scooped up the crying Lily and waved his hand dismissively. “Fine! Just go back to your room!” I didn’t argue. “Command received.” I turned, took my ruler-straight strides, and left the dining room. Behind me, Lily’s crying continued, accompanied by the increasingly heavy, panicked breathing of my parents. They had finally gotten their “perfect” son. An absolutely obedient, rule-following machine.

The next day, my dad tried to use material things to win me back. He bought a massive, brand-new LEGO Star Wars UCS Millennium Falcon set with over seven thousand pieces. It was the dream toy I used to beg for every single night. He pushed the giant box in front of me, a hopeful look in his eyes. “Tyler, look at this. Dad bought it for you.” I walked over, my eyes resting on the box for exactly three seconds. Then, I picked it up calmly, walked over to the storage closet, and placed it on the very top, hardest-to-reach shelf. I turned around to face his bewildered expression. “Protocol Fifteen of the New Life Protocol: Engagement in unnecessary, complex creative activities is prohibited to prevent mind-wandering.” My dad’s face went completely pale. The gift he had spent hours tracking down and buying was treated by his own son as a contraband item that needed to be locked away. My mom tried to appeal to my emotions. She pulled out a thick family photo album, gesturing for me to sit next to her on the couch. I didn’t move. Seeing this, she had no choice but to hold the album up to me, pointing at one of the pictures. “Tyler, look. This is you. You were so cute.” In the photo, a nine-year-old boy wearing a paint-stained T-shirt was laughing hysterically at the camera, a bit of frosting smeared on his cheek. I stared at the photo, completely expressionless. After thirty seconds, I nodded. “Data verified. Subject: Tyler Miller. Time: Ninth birthday.” I paused, then added, “Emotional response module: Not activated.” My mom’s hands began to shake violently. She looked at my dad, pleading for help. My dad’s throat tightened, but he couldn’t say a word. In the afternoon, Lily was chasing a ball around the living room. She slipped, fell forward, and her knee hit the sharp corner of the coffee table hard. “Ouch! Mommy! Daddy!” She screamed in pain as blood started to ooze from her knee. “Lily!” My parents gasped, rushing toward her. But I was faster. My body reacted like an automated emergency response unit. I rushed to the medical cabinet, opened it, and grabbed the antiseptic wipes, cotton swabs, and bandages. There was not a single second of hesitation. I marched over to Lily and knelt down. Lily was sobbing hysterically, looking at me with pure terror in her eyes. In a flat, even voice, I said, “Initiating emergency medical procedure. Step One: Clean the wound.” My fingers were as steady as surgical clamps. I precisely wiped the bleeding cut with the antiseptic swab. I wiped it exactly ten times. Every five wipes, I switched to a new swab. The sting of the medicine made Lily cry harder, and she started thrashing around. “Command: Remain still.” I said coldly. Lily seemed shocked by the absolute lack of warmth in my voice. Her crying stopped for a second, and she actually froze. I quickly cleaned, disinfected, and applied the bandage. Once done, I stood up and reported to my stunned parents. “Procedure complete. Wound depth: approximately two millimeters. Length: three centimeters.” “Recommendation: Monitor for twenty-four hours to prevent infection.” With that, I turned to wash the used medical tools. The living room was dead quiet, save for Lily’s quiet whimpering. My mom stared at my rigid back, her lips trembling before she finally managed to speak. “Before… when she just got a tiny scratch, you would cry even harder than she did…” I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. My eyes were hollow, as if I were analyzing a word I couldn’t comprehend. “Cry?” I tilted my head, searching through my internal database for the command. A few seconds later, I gave my answer. “No such command exists in database.” In that moment, I saw it clearly. For the first time, pure terror crept onto their faces. They were finally starting to realize something. What they had erased wasn’t just my “behavioral issues.” It was my humanity.

Late at night. I lay on my plain white bed, but my body felt like it was trapped in an invisible cage. The nightmares hit me like a tidal wave. *“Subject 734. Violation of solitary containment protocol. Thinking unauthorized thoughts.”* *“Punishment: Waterboarding…”* *“No… please…”* *“Alert! Alert! Emotional fluctuation exceeds limit! Initiating electroshock therapy…”* I began to thrash violently on the bed. Cold sweat poured down my forehead, and my teeth gritted so hard they made a grinding sound. “It hurts… I’m sorry… I’ll be good…” I muttered incoherently. My parents were startled awake in the next room. They rushed into my bedroom, flipped on the lights, and were horrified by the sight of me in agony. “Tyler!” My mom let out a sob, tears instantly streaming down her face. She threw herself onto the bed, reaching out to hold me and wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Tyler, don’t be scared. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here…” But the moment her hand touched my skin, my eyes snapped open. Those eyes weren’t empty anymore. They were filled with an absolute, terrifying panic and pain. Like a wild animal cornered in a trap. “Alert! Alert! Violation of Protocol Three! Unnecessary contact with strangers!” I used every ounce of my strength to shove her away. “Initiating Level Two Punishment!” A shrill siren seemed to blast inside my brain. I bolted upright, gripping my head with both hands, and my body began to convulse violently. My jaw clenched so hard it clicked, and animalistic groans forced their way out of my throat. It was a pure, physiological reaction to extreme pain. My parents were completely paralyzed with horror. They stood frozen, watching me convulse and twitch on the bed, not daring to take a single step forward. After what felt like an eternity, the convulsions suddenly stopped. I released my head, sat up perfectly straight like a soldier, and the agonizing panic in my eyes instantly vanished back into a dead, hollow void. It was as if the brutal struggle from a moment ago had been nothing but a hallucination. I looked up at their terrified faces and said in a chillingly calm voice: “System glitch resolved.” “Please leave. It is currently designated rest hours.” My dad’s lips trembled, but he couldn’t form a single word. My mom collapsed onto the floor, staring at the empty shell of her son. A deep, bone-chilling coldness crept from her toes straight to her chest. This was the hell they had built for me, all in the name of “discipline.” My dad sat in the living room and called Dr. Vance all night, but nobody picked up. It wasn’t until 9:00 AM the next morning that the call finally went through. “Vance! What the hell did you do to my son?!” my dad screamed into the phone. “What is this punishment mechanism?!” On the other end of the line, Dr. Vance’s voice sounded incredibly polite, almost amused. “Mr. Miller, please calm down. That is just our latest ‘Deep Sleep Therapy.’ It uses subconscious conditioning to correct unwanted behaviors. A few minor rejection side effects are perfectly normal.” “Normal?! He was convulsing like a lunatic! He was screaming about electroshocks and waterboarding!” My dad’s voice shook with pure rage. The laughter on the phone vanished. Dr. Vance’s tone turned ice-cold. “Mr. Miller, let me remind you that *you* were the one who demanded we use the most efficient, absolute methods to make him ‘normal.’ You signed the papers.” My dad’s breath hitched. Dr. Vance continued slowly, his voice like a slithering snake. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention. My son just got a full ride to MIT. He’s heading to Boston next month.” “We really have to thank you for that generous three-million-dollar donation. Our family will always remember your kindness.” It was a blatant, naked threat. Using his own son’s future and that three-million-dollar “donation” to shut my dad up. My dad slammed the phone down. I heard the dull thud of his fist hitting the wooden desk, followed by his ragged, heavy breathing. He was trapped, completely helpless against the monster he had personally funded. Meanwhile, my mom was losing her mind. She searched frantically on Google and Twitter for any information on “New Life Academy.” But other than the glowing, heavily moderated reviews on their official website, she found absolutely nothing. Just as she was about to give up, she stumbled upon an encrypted underground forum for parents. She paid a hacker to bypass the password. Inside, she found a hell completely different from the polished website. Row after row, post after post, of pure agony and blood.

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I lived like a dog for a whole year for my pregnant director, Samantha Vance. I did all her spreadsheets, drove her to prenatal checkups, and even had to wash her stained maternity underwear when she had bladder leaks in her third trimester. She always promised me that once she went on maternity leave, her director position would be mine. Yet, on the first day back to work after the New Year, she walked into the office wearing a skin-tight dress and stiletto heels. Her stomach was as flat as a board. There was no baby. And my promotion announcement was nowhere to be seen. I asked her where the baby was. I asked her about the promotion she promised. She slapped me right across the face. “Who the hell are you cursing on the first day of the year? I don’t even have a boyfriend. Where would I get a baby from?” But my Amazon order history was packed with maternity supplies, and my phone was filled with secret photos of her ultrasounds. I ran around the office, showing my phone to everyone, trying to prove my innocence. But everyone thought I had gone completely insane with jealousy. “She’s desperate for a promotion. Creating fake pregnancy rumors about her own boss? How has this psycho not been fired yet?” Due to a “severe breach of company conduct,” the security guards dragged me out of the building like a dead dog and threw me onto the street. Every time I tried to explain, Samantha had her goons corner me in dark alleys, beating me up and forcing me to get on my knees and apologize. During my last attempt to claw back my phone for the evidence, I was pushed down a flight of stairs. Everything went black as I broke my neck. But then, I opened my eyes again. I was back. Back to the first day of work after the New Year. **1** I sat at my desk, my head spinning. Around me, my coworkers were wishing each other a Happy New Year, and the HR manager was handing out welcome-back coffee gift cards. I wasn’t dead. I was alive. Was everything that happened just a nightmare? I quickly tapped my phone screen. The latest photo in my gallery was a sneaky picture I took of Samantha during her 4D ultrasound. In the photo, Samantha’s face was glowing with maternal warmth. She was looking at the screen, rubbing her belly, her eyes curving into happy crescents. “Elena, you’ve worked so hard this year. Once this little one is out, the director chair is yours.” That was the promise she made me right before the holiday, when she was eight months pregnant. For that promise, I had lived like a dog for a year. When she wanted to drink at corporate dinners, I took the shots for her. I drank so much that I got stomach ulcers and ended up in the ER, only to drag myself back to her apartment to make her hangover soup. When her legs swelled up during her third trimester, I knelt on the floor to massage them, only for her to kick me in the shoulder, complaining my hands were too rough. When she craved a specific smoothie from a shop three miles away during a heavy storm, I biked there to get it. I wiped out on the wet asphalt, my knees bleeding, but I still protected the thermal bag in my arms. And most humiliating of all, when she had bladder leaks late in her pregnancy, I was the one who washed her underwear. Everyone in the office called me “Samantha’s obedient golden retriever.” I was the butt of every joke behind my back. But I didn’t care. My family was from a small town, and my younger brother needed a kidney transplant. I desperately needed the salary and the status of that director position. If being a dog for a year got me the crown, so be it. “Elena, what are you staring at? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The HR manager tossed a coffee card onto my desk. “Get to Samantha’s office. She just arrived and asked for you. Probably wants to talk about your promotion. You’re a lucky girl.” I took a deep breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was it. Samantha was about to pop. She had promised I would take over the department after the holidays. Clutching my phone, I rushed toward the elevator. *Ding.* The doors slid open. My eyes traveled up. Samantha stepped out. She was wearing a tight, cropped top and a miniskirt, showing off a perfectly flat midriff. She carried a limited-edition Chanel bag on her arm. In that second, my brain short-circuited. Where was the belly? Where was the huge, eight-month pregnant belly that made her waddle and hold her lower back? I froze, staring blankly at her flat stomach. She was eight months pregnant. It had only been a ten-day holiday. How could she look like she had never carried a child in her life? “Are you planning to stand there blocking the door all day?” Samantha walked past me, slamming a heavy stack of reports against my chest. “Last month’s data is absolute garbage. Redo it. I want a new proposal on my desk by midnight.” Instinctively, I reached out to touch her waist, my lips trembling. “Sam… your… your baby bump…” *Slap!* Samantha backhanded my hand away with brutal force. “Are you out of your mind? Why are you touching me?” She pulled a sanitizing wipe from her bag, aggressively rubbing the spot I had touched. “Ugh, what a disgusting way to start the morning.” *** **2** The entire open-plan office fell dead silent. Dozens of eyes locked onto us. Ignoring the stinging pain on my hand, I shoved my phone screen right in front of her face. “Sam, where is the baby? We just went to the prenatal checkup before the holidays! Here is the photo! Look! Where is the baby? Did something happen to it?” I was genuinely panicking. That was a life. A baby I had spent a year catering to as if it were royalty. Samantha glanced at my screen. Without even looking closely, she swiped her arm. My phone flew out of my hand, crashing onto the tiled floor and sliding several feet away. “Elena, have you gone completely insane trying to get a promotion? You’re making up sick, disgusting rumors about me being pregnant? I don’t even have a boyfriend! Where would I get a baby? If you’re mentally unstable, go see a psychiatrist, don’t throw a tantrum in my office!” “No boyfriend?” I pointed at the cracked phone on the floor. “Then why did I drink myself to the ER for you? What about the bottles of prenatal vitamins and calcium pills in your cabinet? What about the maternity pads I changed for you?!” “How can you pretend you weren’t pregnant?!” Samantha let out a cold laugh, turning to the whispering crowd. “Do you hear this? You feed a stray dog, and it bites you. I mentored her, and now she’s cursing me, claiming I had an illegitimate child. Elena, you are fired. Pack your things and get out.” “I’m not leaving!” I pushed past Samantha, losing my mind as I sprinted into her private office. I just needed to find proof. I frantically tore open her desk drawers and cabinets, searching for any trace of her pregnancy. But everything was gone. It was as if the baby had never existed. As if my entire year of slaving away for her was just a delusion of my own mind. “Security! Are you guys dead?!” Samantha’s shrill voice echoed from the door. “Get this psycho out of here!” Two beefy security guards rushed in, grabbing me by my arms. “Let go of me! I’m her assistant, I’m looking for proof!” My feet dangled off the ground as I kicked wildly. “Samantha, you monster! You aborted the baby just to clean up your track, and now you’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?!” “She’s still spouting nonsense!” Samantha spat. “Drag her out! Toss her into the street!” They dragged me across the floor. My skirt rode up, and the friction against the carpet burned my thighs. As we passed the cubicles, I desperately grabbed a doorframe. “Chloe! At the annual gala, didn’t I drink a whole bottle of whiskey for Samantha? You saw me throwing up blood! Say something!” “Valerie! You saw her morning sickness! You literally asked her if she was expecting! Tell them!” Chloe shrank back into her chair, eyes darting away. “Elena… don’t drag me into this. You just got drunk because you wanted to party. Samantha even paid for your Uber to the hospital…” Valerie kept her head down, typing furiously. “I don’t know anything. Leave me out of your drama.” “Let go!” the guard barked. I screamed as my fingers slipped from the doorframe. *Thud!* They threw me onto the cold concrete sidewalk outside the office building. My phone was tossed out after me, hitting my forehead and instantly raising a painful bump. I refused to believe this was happening. Samantha could buy off my coworkers, she could destroy physical evidence, but she couldn’t silence everyone. Marcus. The company driver. He was the one who drove us to every single prenatal appointment. He was an old, honest guy who had once slipped me a chocolate bar, telling me I was working too hard. A black Buick SUV slowly rolled out of the underground garage. It was Marcus’s car! Ignoring my bruised knees, I ran like a madwoman and threw myself in front of the hood. Before the car could even come to a full stop, I banged on the driver-side window. “Marcus! Marcus, please help me! Tell them! Didn’t you drive Samantha to the OB-GYN clinic this past year? Didn’t you?!” The window rolled down halfway, revealing Marcus’s weathered face. He glanced at Samantha, who was watching from the glass doors of the lobby, and then looked at my disheveled self. “Elena,” Marcus sighed. “Are you under too much stress? When did I ever drive Ms. Vance to a hospital? This past year, I only drove her to client dinners and golf courses. I’ve never been to an OB-GYN.” *** **3** My fingers clawed at the window seal. “You’re lying, Marcus! On the thirteenth of last month, in the freezing snow, the car broke down and I had to push it! We were going to her gestational diabetes screening! Did you forget?!” “Get some help, kid,” Marcus said, rolling up the window so fast it almost caught my fingers. “Don’t try to scam me.” “Still putting on a show?” A smug male voice sounded behind me. I turned around. It was Lucas Sterling. The vice president. Everyone in the office whispered about his secret affair with Samantha. I knew the truth—the baby was his. In my past life, I had walked in on Lucas rubbing Samantha’s bump, whispering, *“Daddy loves you, little angel.”* “Lucas!” I lunged forward like a drowning person catching a life raft, grabbing his leg. “You know the truth, right? That was your baby! Samantha got rid of it, and now she’s blaming me! Just tell the truth, please! I just want to clear my name!” Lucas looked down at me, disgust in his eyes. “Elena, I thought you were just stupid. I didn’t realize you were malicious.” Lucas kicked me square in the chest. He didn’t hold back. The kick sent me flying backward, my spine crashing hard against the concrete edge of a planter. The wind was knocked out of me, and a metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Samantha and I are child-free. We hate kids, and everyone in this company knows that. How dare you spread such vile lies, claiming she was carrying my child? You’re defaming my character.” “Defaming?” I choked out. “Lucas, are you even a man? When Samantha had severe morning sickness, you were the one who ordered me to buy those expensive sour plums! You made me boil bird’s nest soup for her! Now the baby is gone, and to protect your VP seat, you’re acting like none of it happened?!” “Where’s your proof?” Lucas pulled a neatly folded expense report from his coat and slapped it onto my face. “You claim you drank for Samantha? Look closely at the entertainment expense reports for the past year. Who signed off as the host?” I grabbed the paper. In bold ink, the signature at the bottom of every single dinner expense was *Lucas Sterling*. “No… this is impossible…” My eyes widened. “I was the one who drank… I got hospitalized… Lucas wasn’t even in the room…” “Then you’re either delusional, or you’ve fabricated a savior complex to force a promotion.” A crowd had gathered around us. Several people were holding up their phones, livestreaming the drama. “Look at this, guys. This is the psycho assistant who tried to ruin her boss with fake pregnancy rumors. Got shut down instantly.” “So disgusting. If she can’t get promoted, she tries to drag everyone down.” “She looked so innocent, who knew she was such a snake?” I stood in the center of the crowd, shivering violently. The memories were rewritten, the evidence was gone, and every witness had turned against me. I was nothing but a joke. So, I called the police. I refused to believe they could bribe the police. I refused to believe medical records could be faked. Inside the interrogation room. Two detectives sat across from me. Beside them sat Samantha, crossing her legs, and Lucas, looking grim. “Detectives, I have proof!” With my swollen, trembling hand, I unlocked my cracked phone. Thank god, it still worked. I tapped on the video file. “Look! This was taken right before the holidays!” I thrust the screen toward the detectives, my voice cracking with desperation. “This is Samantha! Look at her belly! Is that fake? Is that voice AI-generated?!” In the video, Samantha was holding her massive belly, smiling at the camera. *”When the baby is born, I’ll make sure he calls you Auntie Elena.”* The detective frowned as he watched the video, then turned to Samantha. “Ms. Vance, can you explain this?” Samantha calmly opened her designer bag and pulled out a manila envelope. “Detective, with how advanced deepfakes are these days, I’m sure you’re aware of what people can do,” Samantha said, giving me a pitying look. “That video is a complete fabrication. Here, I have my actual medical records from the most prestigious hospital in the city.” *** **4** She emptied the envelope. Several diagnostic sheets with official hospital seals slid onto the table. *Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS).* *Uterine lining thickness: 0.4cm (Severely thin).* *Diagnosis: Primary Infertility.* Samantha pointed at the documents, her eyes welling with tears. “Detective, my greatest pain in life is that I can never be a mother. Elena, as my assistant, knew this. She used deepfake technology to create this video just to mock my trauma and spread rumors in the office… It’s like she stabbed me right in the heart.” The detective picked up the documents, checking the official stamps and security watermarks. They were 100% authentic. “No! This is fake! She bribed the hospital to get these!” I lunged across the table, trying to grab the papers. “Check the surveillance cameras! Check the garage! The cameras must have caught me helping her into the car! Her belly was huge, you can’t fake that on CCTV!” “Be my guest,” Lucas sneered, handing a USB drive to the detective. The detective plugged it in, and the projector on the wall turned on. The footage showed Samantha walking through the garage over the past few months. In every clip, she was wearing fitted dresses, her waist incredibly slender. There was no baby bump. I stared at the screen, my reflection looking back at me like a textbook lunatic. Samantha wiped her tears. “Detective, you see? She has been obsessively stalking me, projecting some weird fantasy onto me. Now that her scheme failed, she’s trying to drag me down.” The detective’s gaze turned cold as he looked at me. “Ms. Miller,” he said, closing his notebook. “Based on the evidence, you are being charged with harassment, defamation, and public disturbance…” “I didn’t do it! I’m not crazy!” I screamed in despair. “That’s enough.” Lucas stood up, straightening his tie as his lawyer handed over a document. “Since Ms. Miller’s actions have severely damaged our company’s reputation and caused our stock price to dip today, we are suing her for $300,000 in damages. We also demand she be detained immediately.” Three hundred thousand dollars. Even if I sold my organs, I couldn’t pay that. I stared at my cracked phone on the table. It was my only hope. I snatched for it. “Still trying to destroy evidence?” Lucas reacted instantly, grabbing my arms and slamming me face-first onto the metal interrogation table. Samantha leaned down, whispering in my ear. “Elena, for the sake of our past year, I’ll give you one chance.” She pointed to the concrete floor of the precinct. “Kneel down right now. Give me three deep bows, record a video admitting you’re a delusional psycho who made up stories because you wanted to sleep with Lucas, and we’ll settle this quietly. I’ll drop the charges and the lawsuit.” If I knelt and recorded that video, I would be a social pariah forever. My name would be ruined, and I would never be able to clear it. “Go… to… hell…” I spat through my teeth. “I’ll see you both in prison…” Lucas snapped. “You ungrateful bitch!” He grabbed me by my hair. *Crack!* He slammed my forehead against the edge of the metal table. A blinding pain exploded in my skull. My ears rang loudly, but through the static, I could still hear Samantha’s soft, wicked chuckle. “Some people just have to learn the hard way.” My body went limp, slipping onto the floor. My consciousness began to drift. Before I blacked out completely, my blurry vision focused on the digital calendar hanging on the wall of the interrogation room. The glowing red numbers were pulsing. And then, everything clicked.

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The Praise Moon Festival, open to all unmated beastkin in the tribe, was held once every three years. Whoever caught a moonflower could enter a binding contract ceremony. I had planned to stay home. But Ash, my fiancé, loved a spectacle. He signed me up without asking. So I pulled my brother James and my childhood friend Liam aside. “Tomorrow, three females will toss their moonflowers at the same time. If Ash can’t catch mine, you two need to make sure you grab it for me.” They both nodded and promised. But when my moonflower fell, they charged toward Chloe—a rabbit beastkin from our tribe—and helped Ash catch hers instead. My moonflower landed squarely in the hands of Rex, a lone dragon beastkin who’d lost three mates and was about to leave the territory for good. My heart hammered with panic. I went straight to the Elder to negotiate the return of my moonflower and cancel the binding contract. But at the corner of the hall, I overheard the three of them whispering. James spoke first, addressing my fiancé. “Ash, you caught Chloe’s moonflower. By tribal law, you’ll have to enter a contract with her. What are we going to do about my sister?” Ash cradled Chloe’s moonflower like something precious. “What can we do? It’s just a ceremony. It’s not like we’d have to register it with the Alliance. It’s a fake wedding, nothing more.” “At least this way, Chloe’s mother will stop pressuring her to marry.” “As for Iris—worst case, she throws a fit, refuses the contract, and gets her tribal mark erased. She’s a female avian beastkin. What difference does it make whether she stays on the Clan Register or not?” Liam chuckled in agreement. “Iris has always believed in the Moon God’s blessings. Just sweet-talk her a little, and she’ll go along with your contract with Chloe.” I stood frozen in place, a bitter smile pulling at my lips. They’d all forgotten. Staying on the Clan Register to inherit my mother’s land was the dream I’d carried my entire life. It was the reason I needed to marry in the first place. And now the Moon God had given a sign. How could I possibly refuse? … The walk home was short. When I pushed through the door, James was the first to greet me, his voice low and urgent. “So? You went to the Elder to refuse the contract. What did he say?” Our parents looked over too. I hung my coat on the hook by the door. “Nothing much.” My father slammed his teacup down on the table. “If you refuse the contract, you know what that means—tribal law demands your mark be erased. Don’t come crying about it later.” “You’ve been with Ash for eight years. How did you let something like this happen?” I said nothing. After all these years, I was used to it. Whenever something went wrong, he blamed me. Never stood up for me. Never once felt sorry for what I went through. He only ever cared about Chloe, because Chloe was his first love’s daughter. Anything involving the Bennett family, and he’d take their side without a second thought. Even when it was never my fault. My mother had always been timid, silent in the face of my father and James’s favoritism. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then simply pushed a bowl of hot corn chowder toward me. I glanced at her and felt nothing I hadn’t already made peace with. As long as she was safe and well, that was enough. I could marry anyone. The doorbell rang just as I sat down. James went to answer it. Ash and Liam walked in side by side. Chloe trailed behind them. The moment she stepped inside, she called out in that sweet, clinging voice of hers, “Uncle! I’m here to mooch dinner!” Her rabbit ears drooped slightly, and she gazed up at my father with that coy look of hers. He beamed, couldn’t stop grinning. “Sit, sit, come sit down!” He pulled out a chair for her himself. They’d just come back from the sanctuary, where the Moon God’s blessing had been confirmed. Chloe’s moonflower had landed right in Ash’s arms. By tribal law, they were now “destined by the Moon God.” As for whether I accepted or refused the contract—none of them cared either way. Chloe settled into the seat beside Ash. He forked a piece of barbecued rib onto her plate first, then seemed to remember I existed and dropped a chunk of roasted bell pepper into my bowl. “You should eat too, Iris.” I looked down at it. I set it aside without a word. I’d hated bell peppers since I was a child. Was he so giddy from catching his sweetheart’s flower that he’d forgotten even that? At dinner, James started cracking jokes. “Rex showing up to the Praise Moon Festival—can you imagine? The guy must be desperate for a wife.” Liam leaned in eagerly. “Right? He’s been in the western territory less than three months. Word is he killed off three mates before he got here. Dragon bloodline or not, who’d marry a cursed beast?” My father took a sip of tea. “Tribal law says whoever catches the moonflower enters the contract. There was a bit of a mix-up today, but Ash and Chloe—their contract stands.” “Chloe and her mother have had it hard enough. They can’t lose their tribal marks. Everything else can wait.” My mother spoke up, her voice tight. “But what about Iris—” “And whose fault is that?” My father cut her off, his tone sharp. “She couldn’t even convince the Elder herself.” “When the time comes, Ash and Iris can register at the Alliance. For now, we follow tribal rules.” My mother’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she could only lower her head. I was about to tell her not to worry when Ash took my hand. His voice was patient enough. “Iris, nobody wanted this to happen today. Three moonflowers fell at once—it was chaos.” “I didn’t expect to catch Chloe’s either.” “Once things settle down here, we’ll go register at the Alliance. Nobody’s going to remember a ceremony. Okay?” I took a sip of soup and nodded. “Okay.” He blinked. I rarely gave in that easily. In the past, I would have made a fuss, waited for him to coax me, dragged it out a little before letting it go. But his surprise lasted only a moment. Then he released my hand, quick and relieved, like he’d finally set down something heavy. He turned to Chloe, his gaze soft. “What about you, Chloe?” Her face flushed instantly. The tips of her rabbit ears trembled. “My mom insisted I enter the Festival. She wanted me married off. I didn’t have a choice. But at least it was you who caught my flower.” “I’ll do whatever you all decide.” Everyone laughed and launched into plans—how grand the ceremony should be, which band to hire for the Moon God hymns. No one remembered that I was supposed to be Ash’s bride. I finished my meal in silence and set down my fork. “You all keep talking. I’m full.” The chair legs scraped against the floor. The table went quiet for a beat. As I walked away, I heard Chloe whisper, “Is Iris upset?” Ash reassured her gently. “Don’t overthink it. Iris isn’t the sensitive type. She’s probably just tired from the Festival.” My steps faltered for just a moment. So that’s how useful the word “tired” was. It could explain away every grievance, silence every question, and let everyone feel perfectly justified.

I walked out into the yard. The moon hadn’t risen yet. Only the stars scattered coldly across the sky. “Iris.” Ash followed me out, a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. “You barely ate. Are you angry?” “Yes.” Honest as always. He laughed once and stubbed out the cigarette. “Don’t be petty about this. It’s your tribe’s customs that caused the mess. Three flowers dropped at once—who could tell them apart?” “Like I said, the tribal ceremony doesn’t count. Once we register at the Alliance—” “Ash.” I cut him off. He paused. I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. “From the very beginning, I told you I didn’t want to enter the Praise Moon Festival.” This was the tribe’s marriage tradition. It meant the Moon God had witnessed two souls and joined them as one. For thousands of years, the tribe had believed in it. I respected that belief. I didn’t want to participate because I already had Ash. I didn’t want to make a mockery of the Moon God’s will. But he’d had James put my name on the list. By the time I found out, my name was already recorded. There was no taking it back. Back then, I had no idea Chloe was also entering. He stared at me for a second. “It’s already happened. What’s the point of bringing this up now?” “You’re right. Nothing I say matters, because you never listen.” Ash frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. That look on his face—I’d seen it for eight years. Impatience, barely held in check. “Iris, what’s the point of digging up old grievances? The Festival was an accident. There was nothing I could do. If you’re really that unhappy, I’ll have someone talk to the Elder tomorrow. We’ll just go through the motions—keep it simple so you don’t lose face.” I looked at him. “Just go through the motions?” “A binding contract means marriage. Everyone in this tribe understands that. Are you really going to pretend you don’t?” Ash pinched the bridge of his nose. “Iris, be reasonable—” “Reasonable?” I let out a short laugh. “When I try to reason with my father, he says I’m talking back. When I try to reason with my mother, she tells me not to take things so seriously. When I try to reason with James, he calls me petty.” “I thought being with you would be different. But it turns out you’re exactly the same.” His mouth opened. “I didn’t—” “You didn’t listen to me,” I said. “You just assumed I’d give in eventually.” The way my father assumed I’d shut up in the end. The way my mother assumed I’d swallow it. The way James assumed I’d shrug it off. “Iris…” His voice softened. He reached for me. I stepped back and turned into the darkness. The plume feathers along my spine shivered in the night wind, as if they, too, were trembling on my behalf. Behind me, his footsteps followed for two paces, then stopped. Chloe’s soft voice drifted over—”Ash, what happened?”—and someone inside called him back to discuss the ceremony. He didn’t come after me. Three years ago, when he proposed, his eyes had been full of light—bright and warm and all for me. Now that light had gone somewhere I couldn’t find.

I stayed out until late. No one came looking for me. When I returned, they were all gathered in the yard around a bonfire, setting off fireworks. Beside them sat roses, wine, and grilled meat that Ash had prepared. Chloe held a sparkler, her face lit by the glow. A few stray sparks clung to her rabbit ears. “Ash, do you think Iris will be upset? Us having fun out here like this…” James waved his sparkler dismissively. “Upset about what? Chloe, you’re too kind. The more you worry about her, the more entitled she gets. Just ignore her.” Liam chimed in with a grin. “Exactly. Don’t waste your energy on her. Think about it—Ash caught your moonflower, of all people. If that’s not fate, what is? The Moon God himself is matchmaking for you two.” Chloe’s blush deepened, her ear tips drooping shyly. “Stop saying things like that. Iris would be upset if she heard…” Ash chuckled but didn’t deny it. “The Elder says all three couples from the Festival will hold their ceremonies together.” “One pair refused the contract, so it’s down to two.” “I won’t let anyone outshine you. I’m going to make sure your ceremony is perfect.” After all, this was the only thing he could give her. A small compensation for her feelings—the ones he couldn’t accept. Chloe lowered her head, her voice thin as thread. “But my gown won’t be ready in time. I’ll have to wear something plain.” James laughed. “Ash already thought of that. He had Iris’s dress altered to your measurements.” Chloe looked up. “Really? But what about Iris?” “She won’t need it.” Ash struck a match and lit Chloe’s sparkler. Silver sparks showered down across his shoulder. I couldn’t move. That dress. I’d had it made by a friend in the tribe who specialized in traditional craft. I’d used feathers from my own molting season, sewn on one by one. There was only one like it in the world. Ash had volunteered to oversee the progress. He’d taken my measurements himself. But when the dress arrived, it was too tight. Now I understood why. The March night wasn’t cold anymore, but a chill crept down my spine in waves. “But getting your tribal mark erased—that hasn’t happened to anyone in thirty years. Iris must be devastated.” Ash reached over and tapped Chloe’s nose with his finger. “You almost ended up married off to a stranger, and you’re still worrying about someone else.” His voice carried a smile—intimate, certain. “Iris does what her father and brother tell her at home. Once she’s married, she’ll do what her husband says. Getting removed from the Clan Register isn’t a big deal.” “Did you see her stand up to me today? She didn’t. She was calmer than I expected. She’s afraid I’ll actually leave her.” Chloe’s voice went small and muffled. “I just think Iris is so pitiful…” “Pitiful?” Ash looked down at her. “All she’s doing is giving up her spot in the tribe to you. Outside of here, nothing changes.” The night breeze carried his cigarette smoke and his laughter straight to where I stood. I gathered my emotions, packed them away neatly, and walked back in.

The yard went half-silent the moment they saw me. Ash still had an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Chloe scurried over and grabbed my sleeve, her rabbit ears quivering. “Iris! You’re back! I was just about to come find you—” I raised my hand to pull free. She tumbled backward with a little yelp and landed on the ground. The sparkler rolled away across the stones. “Chloe!” Ash closed the distance in three strides, shoving me aside. I stumbled back, tripped over the pile of spent firework casings, and went down hard. My palms hit the hot debris. The burn seared through me and I curled inward. James and Liam rushed over too. They hovered around Chloe like she was made of glass, helping her up with the tenderest hands. Not one of them looked at me. Ash turned his head in my direction. His eyes were blazing. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “Chloe was just worrying about you running off. She was worried about your safety.” “And you come back and shove her? Is that how you were raised?” The pain in my palms throbbed upward in waves. Moonlight fell across my hands. Blisters were already rising. He noticed me cradling my hand, and his tone softened—barely. “…Are you okay?” I didn’t look at him. I braced myself against the ground and stood up on my own. A laugh escaped me. “Worried about my safety. So worried she’s out here setting off fireworks to celebrate.” Ash faltered. “What are you talking about? Fireworks after the Praise Moon Festival—isn’t that your tribe’s tradition?” Yes. Tradition. But what did any of it have to do with me? “Move.” My voice was quiet. His brow furrowed. “You shoved someone and you’re just going to walk away without apologizing?” I looked up at him. My palm pulsed with every heartbeat. “Apologize?” I said. “Ask her. Did I even touch her?” Ash didn’t turn around, but behind him, Chloe let out a soft, wet sniffle. That single sound swallowed whatever words he might have said. “Iris, for both our sakes, you’d better apologize right now.” “If you really cared about us,” I said, looking straight at him, “you’d walk out of here with me. Right now.” “Go register at the Alliance. Forget Chloe. Forget the Moon God’s blessing. Forget everything about this Festival. Do you dare?” His lips moved. I waited for him to speak. Waited for him to take that one step toward me. But he hesitated. His head turned, just slightly, and he saw Chloe sitting on the steps, gazing up at him. Those red eyes, glistening and wet. Those rabbit ears, drooping like wilted petals. “Iris…” His voice sank low. “Don’t push me like this. There’s no rush for us. Chloe, she—” “Forget it.” I cut him off and brushed the ash from my skirt. “I was joking.” I already knew the answer. Why force him to say it out loud? Behind me, Chloe choked out, “Iris got burned. Let me get the first aid kit—” Ash grabbed her arm immediately, his voice going hard. “Leave her. She’s the one who shoved you first. Who is this act for?” I pushed open the bedroom door and walked inside. The footsteps outside faded. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at my hand. The burn had blistered right across the softest part of my palm. It hurt. It hurt so much that everything went numb.

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Every time Conrad brought a mistress home, he brought a man for me as well. “I need novelty. You need company. We each get what we want, so neither of us has the right to complain,” he always said. Then his mistress got pregnant, and he brought home yet another man. This time, he informed me coldly, “Sherry won’t have the baby unless I give her a proper title. We’ll divorce for now. Before we remarry, you can get to know him. I won’t stop you.” In private, someone asked him, “Conrad, that’s the wife you knelt through ninety-nine stone steps to win back. Are you really willing to let her sleep with another man?” Conrad merely took a slow drag of his cigarette. “Everyone knows Cecilia has a purist streak when it comes to love. She won’t touch him.” Just as everyone assumed I would do what I had done before, write the man a check and send him away, I smiled. “All right. I’ll do as you say.” … The cigarette between Conrad’s lips stilled. Someone nearby sucked in a sharp breath. “She agreed?” “No way. She’s not kicking him out this time?” Conrad quickly recovered his careless expression. He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, walked over, and patted my shoulder. “Enjoy yourself.” Then he put an arm around Sherry and headed upstairs. Behind me, whispers rustled through the room. “Is Cecilia serious this time?” “Oh, please. She loves Conrad too much. I bet she’ll still write that guy a check and send him packing.” “Conrad got someone pregnant this time. She’s probably just putting on a show to make him jealous.” I clenched my fists and walked forward with Adrian. They were right. Before this, every time Conrad brought another man to me, I handed him a check with a cold face and drove him away. I thought that was loyalty to my marriage. I thought that at least I was cleaner than Conrad. In the end, Sherry’s belly began to swell. What my so-called purity earned me was a divorce agreement, a bed I slept in alone, and the mocking eyes of everyone in the living room. I pushed open the bedroom door. When I turned around, I bumped straight into Adrian’s chest.

The tips of Adrian’s ears flushed faintly red. I gave a light cough and sat on the bed, pretending to be calm. “You sell yourself for money?” I asked. He nodded. The old me probably would have sneered, tossed him a check, told him to “take the money and get out,” and thought he was filthy. But really, among these people, who was filthier than Conrad? “Go take a shower.” I glanced at the divorce agreement on the bedside table and spoke quietly. For the past three years, I had turned a blind eye to Conrad’s absurd behavior. Because I loved him, I retreated step by step, while he pushed further and further. Now that we were both tired of this marriage… It was time for it to end. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Adrian came out of the shower just then, his hair still damp. The moment he saw me, the tips of his ears reddened visibly. “I’m done showering…” At the same time, my phone lit up. A message from Conrad: 【Go to bed early.】 I almost laughed. He had never sent me messages like that before. He had never cared about my daily life. But today, he did. Was it because I had kept Adrian? Was it because he had finally realized that Cecilia, the woman who had always been loyal to him, might truly be changing? I did not reply. I untied the belt of Adrian’s robe, slipped my hand inside, and pressed my palm against his abs. The lights went out, and we fell onto the bed kissing.

Early the next morning, I pressed a hand against my aching waist. We had done it several times last night. Adrian’s stamina in bed was almost terrifying. When I went downstairs, Adrian was in the kitchen helping the housekeeper. The moment he saw me, his ears turned red again. I smiled. I had just sat down at the dining table when Conrad came downstairs. He sat across from me, wearing an unreadable smile. “How was last night?” Before I could answer, the front door was pushed open. Conrad’s friend Mike rushed in cheerfully. “I bet she kicks him out by noon!” Jack followed right behind him. “Conrad, I bet she kicked that guy out last night—” His voice stopped abruptly. When he saw me, his expression shifted from excitement to embarrassment. “Cecilia… morning!” Conrad lifted the coffee beside him and took a sip, looking perfectly relaxed. As if his friends treating his marriage like entertainment was something to be proud of. I stood and walked toward the kitchen. “You should go. About what we discussed last night, we’ll talk later.” Adrian froze for a moment. Joy flashed in his eyes. He took off the apron, turned, and left. The front door closed. The living room fell silent for two seconds. Jack lowered his voice deliberately. “See? She still kicked him out.” Mike laughed. “Conrad really knows how to train a wife. That’s the kind of woman you marry. From now on, Conrad can have as many lovers as he wants. I’m jealous.” Conrad sat at the table, listening to them with the corners of his mouth curved. I exhaled and walked out of the dining room. Conrad and I spoke almost at the same time. “Come back to the old house with me for dinner tonight…” “Go to city hall at two this afternoon and finalize the divorce…”

Everyone froze. I placed the signed divorce agreement on the table. “Let’s get the divorce done first.” Conrad’s gaze fell on my signature. He did not move. Only after a long while did he look up at me. “What’s the rush? Didn’t I say we’d wait until Sherry’s pregnancy was more stable?” I sneered. “You don’t want to wait until I change my mind and tear up the agreement again, do you?” The atmosphere stiffened for several seconds. Then Sherry came downstairs. “Cecilia, please don’t be anxious. I just don’t want my child to be called illegitimate after he’s born. You don’t have to pressure Conrad like this.” As she spoke, her eyes reddened. Conrad looked at her pitiful face and suddenly laughed. “Cecilia, you think I don’t dare sign?” He picked up the pen from the table and signed his name quickly. Afterward, he threw the pen down hard. “Don’t worry. Once Sherry gives birth, we’ll remarry.” He stood and leaned close to my ear. “You’re the woman I stole back from hell. Out of all those things outside, which one could ever compare to you?” “This child will be raised by you later. Only you are qualified to raise him. Understand?” I said nothing. I dragged out the suitcase I had already packed and left. Behind me, Sherry’s soft voice drifted over. “Conrad, she… won’t really refuse to come back, will she?” Conrad glanced at Sherry. “Now that Cecilia’s gone, you must be secretly delighted.” “Of course not!” Sherry pouted. “My upbringing would never allow me to destroy someone else’s marriage…” As she spoke, she lowered her head and touched her belly. “Everything is for the child.” That wronged little expression instantly dissolved Conrad’s temper. “All right, don’t cry. I was only teasing you.” I took a deep breath and quickly left with my suitcase.

At one fifty that afternoon, I sat on a bench at city hall. I called Conrad for the tenth time. Still no answer. I found my lawyer’s number and sent a message. 【Help me file for divorce through litigation. I’ll send you the materials this afternoon.】 That night, after Conrad’s father, Old Blackwell, urged me several times, I still went back to the old house. Not long after I arrived, the door opened. Conrad walked in with his arm around Sherry. When he saw me, he froze. Old Blackwell’s face darkened. “You bastard. You bring just anyone into this house now?” Conrad sat down with Sherry in his arms, his tone easy. “Dad, it’s just dinner. Do you need to be this angry?” Then he glanced at me. “I thought you weren’t coming, so I brought her. Today is her occasion. Don’t make trouble.” I gave a small laugh. We were not even divorced yet, and he had already brought his mistress to meet his parents. Back then, on the day Conrad proposed to me, I was unexpectedly diagnosed with an illness. To avoid holding him back, I cruelly rejected him. But Conrad ran to the church and knelt his way up the stone steps one by one. Ninety-nine steps. His knees were scraped raw, all to pray that I would recover. When I found out, I cried bitterly and finally agreed to marry him. At the time, I thought true love could overcome anything. “So this is the pregnant mistress? Shameless.” Conrad’s mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Almost instinctively, he frowned and pulled Sherry closer. “Mom, you don’t get to criticize my woman.” Sherry leaned against him with red eyes. She always looked as if the entire world had wronged her. I found it boring and stood indifferently. “I’ll leave first.” The moment I walked out of the Blackwell family gates, I suddenly remembered something. Back then, his prayer had been: “Even if Cecilia never stays with me, as long as she is healthy, that’s enough.” Well then. He got his wish.

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Julian shot down two roses that day — hers and mine, and I become his legal wife. Selene, the illegitimate daughter of the Archer family, was the woman he actually wanted — but my family’s name forced him to put a ring on my finger. So he gave her one as well. Called it “equal.” It was never equal. Because after the wedding, Julian gave Selene everything. His time. His attention. His love. “You got the title,” he told me once, not even looking up from his phone. “Selene’s the one who suffered. You have the name, Vivienne. Stop fighting her for the rest.” So I wore the family ring. I managed the house. I handled the books, the staff, the events. And I slept alone. Every single night. I wasted away in that house. By the time my body finally gave out, I barely had the strength to ask him one question. “If you never loved me — why did you marry me?” Julian looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “I was aiming for the red rose that day. Yours wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near it. But you put your flower right next to hers so I’d hit both.” His jaw tightened. “Your family forced my hand. I had to marry you because of the Ashworth name. Selene paid the price for years. And you still weren’t satisfied?” He exhaled. Slow. Relieved. “Now that you’re gone — it’ll just be the two of us. Finally.” I died with those words ringing in my ears. And then I opened my eyes. The sun was blinding. The air smelled like gardenias. I was standing on the Crane estate lawn, surrounded by a hundred guests in summer whites, and Julian Crane was raising a pistol toward a row of roses strung across a wire. The Rose Ceremony. The Crane family tradition. The heir shoots. The rose that falls decides his bride. I’d lived this day before. Last time, my white rose hung right next to Selene’s red one. His bullet tore through both. Two roses fell. Two women married him. One was loved. One was buried. Not this time. I reached up, unclipped my white rose from the wire, and slipped it into my pocket. The gunshot cracked through the air. The red rose exploded off the wire and tumbled to the ground. One rose. One bride. The crowd erupted. “Beautiful shot.” “Whose rose was that?” “It has to be the Ashworth girl’s, right? She and Julian grew up together — their families have been planning this match for years. Who else would he choose?” “Jealous? Maybe you could ask the Cranes to take you on as a mistress.” “Oh, stop. Julian and the Ashworth girl are solid. He’d never do that to her.” A girl nudged my arm, grinning. “Vivienne, congratulations! You’re about to be Mrs. Crane.” Across the lawn, I could see Selene Archer’s face draining white. Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes glistened. I said nothing. Up on the terrace, Victoria — Julian’s mother — smiled and waved me over. “Vivienne, sweetheart. Come here.” The women around her laughed. “Don’t be shy, dear. He shot your rose — it’s fate.” I smiled. Took one step forward. But I didn’t go to them. Instead, I curtsied — just enough to be polite — and said, “Victoria, I’m flattered. But that red rose isn’t mine. I didn’t put one up. I wonder which lucky girl caught your son’s eye.” The lawn went dead silent. Then the whispers broke out everywhere. “It’s not hers? Then whose is it?” “Mrs. Crane —” A soft voice cut through the noise. “The red rose is mine.” Selene Archer stepped forward. White dress. Teary eyes. Fragile as glass — but stealing a glance at Julian like she’d already won. Victoria’s smile froze solid on her face.

Victoria stared at Selene for a long moment. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, her voice cool. “Whose daughter are you?” Mrs. Archer scrambled out of her seat. “Mrs. Crane, my husband just took a position at the city clerk’s office — we only recently moved to New York. Selene is our daughter. She doesn’t get out much, which is why you haven’t seen her before.” She didn’t say illegitimate. But she didn’t need to. Everyone in that garden already knew. A minor city clerk’s daughter — and not even his legitimate one. Victoria’s expression went dark. She said nothing. She turned to look at Julian. Julian had already put the gun down. He walked straight across the lawn, past every guest, past every daughter of every family that mattered in this city — and stopped in front of Selene. He took her hand. Led her to his mother. “Mom. Selene is kind, graceful, and everything I want. I choose her.” Victoria glanced at me. I could read her face like a headline: this is a disaster. “Julian,” she said carefully, “the ceremony can be unpredictable. One shot shouldn’t decide everything. Why don’t we have the girls do something else — a second round? Something to make sure.” A few girls nodded. They all knew what a “second round” meant. Victoria was handing me the win on a silver platter. Everyone turned to look at me. Before Julian or Selene could respond, I stepped forward. “Victoria, the rules of the Rose Ceremony are clear — the shot decides the bride. Julian chose Selene’s rose. If we change the rules now, it wouldn’t be fair to her.” Julian jumped in immediately. “Vivienne’s right. Mom, this is fate. Selene is the one I want. There’s no need for another round.” Victoria looked at me with open disappointment. “Vivienne, you know I’ve always adored you. You’re exactly the kind of woman this family needs.” Julian cut her off. “Mom, I’ve always seen Vivienne as a little sister. I never once thought of marrying her.” Selene squeezed Julian’s hand. She shot me a look — quick, satisfied — then put on her apologetic face. “Julian can be a little blunt. Please don’t take it to heart, Vivienne.” She paused, then smiled sweetly. “But if you really do have feelings for him… after the wedding, maybe I could talk him into finding a place for you. We could be like sisters under the same roof.” My mother shot to her feet. The entire garden held its breath. Asking an Ashworth to play second to a nobody’s bastard daughter? Mrs. Archer grabbed Selene’s arm. “Shut your mouth,” she hissed. Julian knew Selene had gone too far. He stepped in fast. “Vivienne, she didn’t mean it like that. Selene’s just — she’s new here, she doesn’t understand how things work. She’s young. She didn’t know what she was saying.” I smiled. “Julian, we grew up together, so I’ll give you this one for free — Selene is actually two years older than me.” “If she still ‘doesn’t understand how things work’ and ‘doesn’t know what she’s saying’ at her age, I’d be worried about bringing her into the Crane family.” I tilted my head. “The wives in the Five Families will eat her alive. And when they do, it won’t be the Ashworth name they laugh at — it’ll be yours.” Selene’s face flushed red. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She turned to Julian with trembling lips. “I just got to New York — I don’t know the rules yet. But Vivienne is supposed to be from a powerful family. Is this how powerful women talk? By being cruel?” I kept my smile. “You just got here, so I’ll give you a pass. But in this circle? What I just said is considered polite.” “Trust me — the other wives won’t be this gentle.” Before Selene could fire back, Victoria’s voice cut through like a blade. “Enough.” She looked at Julian, cold. “You’ve made your choice. Fine. But hear me clearly — the woman who walks into this family as your wife must know how to carry herself. If she can’t, I don’t care if she has a ring on her finger. I will never accept her.” The garden was silent. Selene’s tears kept falling. Julian held her close, jaw tight. And I felt nothing.

The party ended. I was heading for the car when Julian caught up to me. “Vivienne.” He stepped in front of me, blocking the door. “Are you upset about today?” He had the nerve to look guilty. Like he was a good man who’d done a hard thing. “You and I grew up together. Our families wanted us to end up together. I always thought I’d marry you too.” He paused. “But then I met Selene.” “The moment I saw her, I knew. Everything I felt before — for you, for anyone — that wasn’t love. She’s the one, Vivienne. She’s the one I’m supposed to be with.” He said it like a confession. Like I should be moved. All I felt was cold. Because I’d heard this speech before. In another life. Right before years of empty rooms and slow death. I buried the chill crawling up my spine and stepped back. “Julian, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My parents never discussed a match with the Cranes. And actually — my family’s already working out a deal for me. The engagement will be announced soon.” I kept my voice light. “If I ever gave you the wrong impression, I apologize.” Julian didn’t even blink. Like he hadn’t heard a word. “Vivienne, don’t be stupid. You’re an Ashworth — you know what that’s worth. I’ll marry Selene. She’ll have the title. But I’ll set you up too.” He took a step closer. “Your own place. Your own account. A ring on your finger. You’ll run the household — Selene wouldn’t know where to start. Everyone will still call you Mrs. Crane. No one will disrespect you.” “The three of us — we can make this work.” He reached for my hand. I pulled back. Hard. “Watch yourself, Julian.” My voice came out sharp enough to make him flinch. “I have an engagement coming. You and I are done. Keep your distance.” Julian sighed like I was being difficult. “I know you’re embarrassed about what happened today. I’ll stop by your house and apologize in person. I’ll make it right.” He tilted his head, almost amused. “Vivienne — you know how this world works. Every man in the Five Families has a wife and a mistress. That’s just how it is.” “Even an Ashworth woman can’t expect her husband to have no one else.” “I know today wasn’t ideal. But the deal I’m offering you? It’s more than fair. The wedding, the terms — I’ll match everything Selene gets. Dollar for dollar.” I didn’t answer. I turned and got in the car. He followed. He was still talking when my mother came out of the house. She saw Julian standing by our car and her face turned to stone. “Julian. You have a fiancee now. It’s not appropriate for you to be seen with my daughter. Your reputation is your business — but Vivienne’s? I won’t let anyone put a scratch on it.” Julian straightened up. He always behaved around my mother. “Mrs. Ashworth, I just wanted to talk to Vivienne. Today was my fault.” He lowered his voice. “When I work out the terms, I’ll make sure Vivienne is taken care of. A proper wedding. The full thing — cathedral, reception, the whole nine yards.” My mother stared at him. “An Ashworth woman does not share a husband. Not as a wife. Not as a mistress. Not as anything.” Julian opened his mouth. “Drive,” my mother told the chauffeur. The car pulled away. Julian shrank in the rearview mirror. I didn’t understand what he was doing. In our past life, he’d been so obsessed with Selene that I was invisible to him. This time, he was just as obsessed — so why was he clinging to me? It didn’t matter. His engagement to Selene was all over New York within days. The Archers couldn’t contain themselves. Mrs. Archer threw party after party, telling anyone who’d listen that her daughter was marrying into the Crane family. Victoria was disgusted. Her son had lost his mind over an illegitimate girl from a nobody family, and now the whole city knew. Every time she saw another Five Families wedding announcement, she wanted to scream. When it came time to discuss the terms of the marriage, Victoria barely put anything on the table. Her assistant asked if it wasn’t enough. Victoria smiled coldly. “If we offer too much, it’ll look like we’re buying the girl. And what would the Archers put up in return? A walk-up in Queens and a used Honda?” She waved her hand. “The terms should match what her family can bring to the table. Anything more would just embarrass them.”

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After my grad school application failed, my hands started shaking. My stomach burned with a constant, dull ache, and I couldn’t sleep for weeks. My boyfriend, Julian, told me I just needed to stay busy. He pushed me to apply for jobs. I lost twenty pounds before I finally landed an offer. But the night before my first day, Julian gave my job opportunity to his first love, Emily. “If Emily’s parents hadn’t given me the seed money for my startup, I’d still be broke,” Julian reasoned. “I would’ve never been able to help pay for your college tuition.” “We both owe her. Just let her have this one, Georgina.” From that day on, my emotions spiraled completely out of control. Sometimes I would laugh hysterically for no reason; other times I would sob until I couldn’t breathe. Later, I picked up my paintbrushes again. Only when I buried myself in colors did I feel like I was actually alive. Today, Julian walked up to me again, his face cold. “I called you for dinner three times. You ignored me every single time.” The noise in my ears began to screech. My chest tightened. I habitually reached out to grab my brush and paintbox, but my hands met empty air. He looked at me with an annoyed sigh. “Looking for that trash again? I threw it out. I burned your paintings too.” “Emily is the employee of the month now. She just won first place in sales, and she needs space for her trophy. She’ll throw a fit if there’s no room.” “Don’t be so dramatic. Once I’m done with this busy season, I’ll take you on a trip.” With trembling hands, I pulled open the cabinet. There were only faint stains of acrylic paint left. It was completely empty. Three years. Over a thousand paintings. All gone. At that moment, I felt something deep inside my soul die.

“Why do you look so awful?” Everything around me felt like it had been blurred a thousand times. I hesitated for a long time, only snapping out of it when Julian called my name for the third time. I forced a smile that felt more like a cry. “Oh. What’s wrong?” Julian frowned and reached out to touch my forehead. “Well, at least you don’t have a fever.” “The doctor told you to get out more. You just lock yourself in the house all day painting, and your depression isn’t getting any better.” I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton. So you burned my only lifeline in the name of ‘helping me’? “Look at Emily. She never overthinks things. That’s why she’s always happy.” “Cheerful girls always have good luck. You’re just too timid and weak.” A bitter wave washed over my heart. Someone like Julian, who had always sailed smoothly through life, would never understand. Without a loving family or a healthy body, how hard it was for someone like me to just survive. Seeing my eyes turn red, he threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine. My bad. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” “Anyway, some friends and Emily are coming over for dinner tonight. A crowded house will be good for you.” After all these years together, Julian never remembered that I loved quiet. He never cared that I hated when he brought strangers into our home. Or maybe he did remember. He just didn’t care about me enough to bother. I opened my closet and picked out a faded dress. It was the most decent piece of clothing I owned. The doorbell rang, and plates of food were brought to the table. Emily, wearing the latest designer dress, sat right next to Julian at the head of the table. She laughed as she stabbed a wing with her fork. “These spicy Buffalo wings are amazing!” I sat in the farthest corner, quietly chewing on a small piece of dry bread. I was severely allergic to spicy food. Julian knew this from the day we met. Yet, for Emily, he still made a whole table of spicy dishes. After a few drinks, the conversation turned casual. “Emily is such an overachiever. She had straight A’s in college, and now she’s killing it at work.” “She’s already so successful, yet she still works so hard. How are ordinary people like us supposed to compete?” Emily smiled, raising her glass in mock modesty. “You guys are exaggerating. I just got lucky.” My heart was ripped to shreds. That job was supposed to be mine. Emily and Julian had literally stolen my life. “By the way, how is Georgina doing lately?” Emily suddenly looked at me, the mockery in her eyes barely concealed. “I remember back in school, your grades were always at the top of the class too.” Dozens of eyes focused on me like burning magnifying glasses. My mind went completely blank. “I… I…” Julian took over the conversation with a sigh. “Georgina is just resting at home. She’s sick.” He went into the kitchen and brought out a small plate, pushing it toward me. “I made baked potatoes just for you. No spice. Eat up.” Before I could even take a bite, I heard him sigh. “She worked so hard to get into a good college, but now she just lies around all day. I even have to bring her food to her face.” “She used to be so full of life. Now… I feel sorry for her.” Emily let out a dramatic, pitying sigh, her eyes lingering on my faded collar. “I remember Georgina used to love dressing up. Why are you dressed so… simple now?” Julian looked over, his voice laced with annoyance. “Seriously. Don’t I give you enough allowance every month? Why don’t you take care of yourself?” Before my condition got this bad, I had wanted to buy a new dress with the money I saved from my freelance work. But Julian had only given me a cold look. “You don’t even go out. There’s no point in buying pretty clothes. Save the money. We’ll need it later.” And now, he was embarrassed by me. My stomach churned violently. I grabbed my stomach and stood up abruptly. “I don’t feel well. Excuse me.”

The dining room immediately filled with whispers. “Is that the scholarship girl, Georgina? I heard she used to be the star student.” “Life is cruel. Such a bright girl, ending up like this.” Someone looked at Julian, trying to be kind. “Georgina must be really anxious. Julian, you should comfort her more. Make her happy.” “Yeah, the job market is brutal right now. Just let her rest for a while…” Julian frowned, slamming his fork onto his plate. “What? You guys think I’m treating her badly?” “No, that’s not what we meant—” He took a gulp of wine, his face darkening. “Since Georgina lost her job, she’s been home. I’m the one taking care of her, paying her medical bills, and taking her on trips to clear her head.” “I know how to love my wife. I don’t need you guys to tell me what to do.” “Today is Emily’s celebration dinner. Let’s not talk about other things.” Even strangers could see my worth and understand my pain, but Julian couldn’t. I let out a bitter laugh and closed my bedroom door. The laughter and noise from outside slowly swallowed me whole. When I opened my eyes again, Julian was shaking me awake. He snatched the pill bottle from my nightstand, shaking it. When he felt how light it was, his face turned pale with rage. “How many times do I have to tell you? Do not take this many sleeping pills at once!” “Do you really not care about your life at all?!” The angrier he got, the harder he kicked the nightstand. “You want to die that badly? Do you really think my heart won’t break?!” In all our years together, I had rarely seen him lose control like this. It felt like my childhood all over again—being screamed at, being helpless. My vision blurred, my body shook uncontrollably, and I couldn’t squeeze out a single word. Seeing me like this, Julian seemed to realize his mistake. “I’m sorry, Georgina. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He went to the kitchen. Half an hour later, he came back with a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup. “This is your favorite. Eat slowly.” He blew on a spoonful of soup to cool it down, then fed it to me. “I was just so worried about you. Your health has been so bad, and taking that many pills… I was scared…” Looking at the guilt on his face, my heart ached with a dull pain. Julian’s love was like a wet wool coat. Wearing it made me freeze, but taking it off made me cold. I swallowed the soup, but I couldn’t taste a thing. “I’m fine. There were just too many people yesterday. I wanted a good night’s sleep.” He pulled me into a tight hug. “Emily was spoiled growing up, she doesn’t think before she speaks. I apologize for her.” “Tomorrow, once I wrap up my work, I’ll take you on a trip. Just the two of us. We’ll relax.” The next day, after we got off the plane, Julian covered my eyes. He said he was taking me to a beautiful place. My memories drifted back to the past. In college, he used to do this too. He was always bringing me good food and little gifts, giving me surprises. But when he took off the blindfold and I saw what was in front of me, my excitement shattered. “Georgina, don’t you love roses?” “We made it just in time for the rose valley bloom. This will make you happy, right?” I let out a hollow laugh. “Julian, we’ve been together for so many years. Have you ever once bought me a rose?” He froze. I was allergic to roses. The one who loved roses was Emily. “I’m sorry. I forgot.” He scrambled to explain, but I didn’t have the energy to listen. That suffocating, familiar wave of panic rushed over me again. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by a giant fist. Julian reached out to hold me, but his phone rang. “Julian? I saw your Instagram post. Are you in town too?” He instantly pulled his hand back, his voice turning professional and polite. “Yes, Mr. Wilson. If you’re free, can I buy you lunch?” “Sure. I have a new project coming up, and I was thinking of giving it to you.” “Let’s meet at the downtown cafe at three this afternoon.” Then, the voice on the other end changed its tone. “By the way, how is that sick wife of yours?” “You used to take so much time off work just to nurse her.” “Take it from me, Julian. Emotional men don’t make it far in business. A burden like that… you should drop her when you need to.” Julian shot me a frustrated look. “Yeah, she is a drag. But what can I do? I love her, so I spoil her.” My brain was buzzing. In everyone’s eyes, because I was sick, I was a burden, a piece of societal trash. But no one saw how hard I tried to exercise every day, how much I read, how hard I tried to keep up. My entire struggle against my fate meant nothing to them. To Julian, it was a joke. All my bottled-up emotions exploded. I spoke up, my voice shaking. “Mr. Wilson, you might be a successful businessman, but that doesn’t give you the right to erase my hard work or show off your superiority over someone who is sick.”

Julian grabbed my shoulder hard. “What the hell is wrong with you? This is my client! Apologize to Mr. Wilson right now!” “Mr. Wilson, I’m so sorry. She has mental issues, please don’t mind her…” I wiped my tears and looked straight at Julian. “Julian, I have a mental illness, but that doesn’t mean I am useless.” “You work hard every day, but I’ve been running my online shop and doing freelance work too.” “I am contributing to our home!” “Why do you have to call me a burden?” The man on the other end of the line lost his patience. “Forget it, Julian. You can’t even manage your own wife. Don’t bother showing up for this project.” “You two can sort out your own mess. Don’t come this afternoon.” Julian tried to speak, but the call went dead. His eyes were terrifyingly red. He suddenly pushed me away with immense force. When I fell to the ground, he panicked and reached out to help me, but I flinched away. My knees were scraped, and blood was oozing out. But the pain in my chest was ten thousand times worse than my knees. Julian’s chest heaved. He finally pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any idea how many all-nighters I pulled for this project? How much overtime I worked? And you ruined it with one sentence.” He pointed at me, his voice piercing my ears. “Who hasn’t struggled? Emily drank three cups of coffee a day during exams. I lived on instant ramen when I started my business.” “Why didn’t we get depressed? You’re just drama!” “Don’t try to scare me with suicide anymore. Next time you want to die, do it somewhere else. Don’t dirty my house!” After that, Julian and I entered a cold war. He came home very late every day. He went straight to the study without even looking at me. On the coffee table in the living room lay a credit card. That was my monthly allowance. Other than that, we lived in two different worlds. No connection. Two weeks later, he stopped coming home altogether. During those days, my headaches grew worse. When people spoke, it sounded like they were shouting through thick glass. I even started forgetting what I had just read. A few times, I wandered to abandoned buildings, half-conscious, wanting to just jump and end it all. The day I stood outside the safety railing, a black-and-white stray cat ran over. It wrapped its tail around my leg. I thought, Maybe it doesn’t want me to die. So, I brought it home. I named him Phoenix. With Phoenix around, the days didn’t seem so unbearable. One day, Emily showed up at our house again. “Julian has been in a horrible mood lately.” “He won’t even reply to my texts. Did your pathetic, depressing self do this to him?” I ignored her insults and kept stroking Phoenix’s fur. She suddenly leaned in closer. “Have you ever wondered why you’ve tried everything for years but could never get pregnant?” “The supplements Julian gives you every month? They’re birth control pills. He’s terrified you’ll pass your crazy genes down to a kid.” My head went numb. I instinctively snapped back, “That’s impossible. Julian loves kids. Stop trying to mess with my head.” “Impossible? If you don’t believe me, go to the hospital and get tested. See if you can ever have kids in this lifetime.” The last bit of my self-delusion shattered. Seeing my pale face, Emily smiled triumphantly. “What was the point of getting good grades in school, Georgina?” “You’re still a nobody. Living like a piece of trash.” Before she could say another word, Phoenix suddenly pounced on her. “Get off me, you filthy beast!” Emily screamed, clutching her bleeding arm. Just as I picked Phoenix up, Julian walked through the door.

He had a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. Emily immediately threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “I was worried Georgina was depressed. I came to check on her, but she let her stray cat attack me!” “What if I get rabies?!” Julian already hated pets. Hearing this, his face darkened instantly. He snatched Phoenix out of my arms. “Georgina, I came back hoping to make things up to you.” “I didn’t realize you were this malicious. I am completely done with you.” “No wonder you failed your grad school application. People like you deserve to fail!” He raised Phoenix high above his head and threw him hard against the floor. A sickening splash of red and a sharp, choked cry exploded in front of my eyes. I watched Phoenix twitch, his little body slowly going completely still. It felt like my last thread of connection to this world had snapped. I stood frozen for a few seconds. Then, a huge rush of warm blood poured from my mouth. Before I lost consciousness, I saw Julian rushing toward me in a panic. “Georgina! Georgina, what’s wrong?!” “Call 911! Now!” When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. The whispered conversations around me made me feel like I was buried in ice. “She actually woke up. How does someone like that still have the nerve to live?” “Exactly. Real mental illness isn’t like this. She’s just faking it for sympathy. It’s disgusting.” With shaking hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket. It took three tries to type my passcode. I opened Instagram. #Abuser Georgina# #Faking Depression As A Fashion Trend# #Bipolar Or Just Evil# Several tags were trending. I clicked on the top post. Emily had posted my photo with a long caption. “This is my high school classmate, Georgina. She has always been paranoid and hostile.” “Lately, her behavior has been extreme. She abused her pet cat and drove her husband out of the house.” “She claims she has bipolar disorder because she failed her exams, but we all know she’s just a toxic person.” The attached photo was Phoenix lying in a pool of blood. The comment section had thousands of replies. “She’s giving actual depressed people a bad name. Can she just die?” “How could she do that to a cute little cat? Monster!” I wanted to defend myself, but my hands shook so badly I couldn’t even type. The screen blurred. Everything around me felt stretched out. What finally snapped me back to reality was a medical chart being slammed onto my bed. “Dr. Lucas, please calm down. Don’t waste your energy on someone like her.” “Calm down? I was the one who diagnosed her!” Dr. Lucas hissed, glaring at me with pure disgust. “I can’t believe I actually helped such a monster. I feel sick.” My phone kept buzzing. Emily had posted photos of my pill bottles, videos of my manic episodes, and all my personal information in the comment section. Soon, I was completely doxxed. People made memes out of my photos, and someone found my old school. My email was flooded with hate, and my DMs were a swamp of slurs. A text from an unknown number came through: “Julian knows about all of this.” “He told me to teach you a lesson. Don’t think just because you’re ‘sick,’ everyone has to bow down to you.” “Since you loved that beast so much, why don’t you go join it?” Looking at the words on the screen, a smile slowly spread across my face. She’s right. At 3:00 AM, I dragged myself to the hospital’s utility closet, a blind spot for the security cameras. I slowly pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills from my pocket. I opened it and poured all of them into my mouth. The pills, which used to taste bitter, now tasted sweet. As I closed my eyes, I thought I heard a faint meow. Phoenix, I’m coming to find you.

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A sudden fire broke out in the underground archives. My boyfriend of three years, Alfred, kicked away the fire extinguisher I was using to prop up a heavy steel bookshelf—all just to protect Vivian, an intern who had only sprained her ankle. “It’s just a stupid metal can. Don’t let it trip Vivian.” He carried Vivian in his arms, rushing out of the raging fire without once looking back. He left me pinned under a shelf weighing hundreds of pounds, suffocating in the thick, black smoke. I dragged myself out of the fire and spent three days and nights fighting for my life in the ICU. Meanwhile, he posted a photo on Instagram of Vivian eating imported organic cherries in a luxury private hospital room. The caption read: “A false alarm. Thank God I protected my girl.” He even stole the core architectural blueprints I had stayed up for three months to draw, using them to kiss up to the global architectural giant, “Asterion Group.” My coworkers mocked me, calling me a pathetic charity case with no family backing who deserved to be abandoned. Looking at the painkillers scattered all over the floor, I smiled coldly. They had no idea. The Asterion Group—the ultimate powerhouse they were all desperately trying to claw their way into—was actually owned by me.

The air in the underground archives was as thick and hot as boiling asphalt. An electrical fire had sparked an explosion. Within minutes, the narrow aisles between the bookshelves became a sea of flames. Choking black smoke clawed at my throat, making it impossible to breathe. I was pinned to the concrete floor by a row of collapsed heavy steel bookshelves. Hundreds of pounds of metal crushed my chest. Every single breath sent a sharp, agonizing pain through my broken ribs. The intense heat blistered my skin, and I could smell the sickening scent of my own hair burning. Less than ten feet away, through the shimmering waves of heat, I saw Alfred. For him, I had worked three jobs at once just to pay for his master’s degree. I had stayed up countless nights drawing blueprints to pave his career path, single-handedly turning him into a rising star in the architecture world. But right now, he didn’t even look at me. His entire attention was focused on the woman clinging tightly to his neck. Vivian, the new intern at our firm. She was the type who always wore innocent white dresses and spoke in a sweet, helpless voice. “Alfred… I’m so scared. The fire is too big. My ankle hurts so bad…” Vivian buried her face in Alfred’s chest, crying like a helpless victim. I could see her ankle. The one she claimed was “sprained” didn’t even have a scratch on it. But her tears completely wiped out any logic Alfred had left. “Don’t worry, Vivian. I’m here. I’ll get you out of here right now.” Alfred’s voice carried a tone of panic and tenderness I had never heard before. He swept Vivian up in his arms, cradling her like she was some priceless treasure. “Alfred…” I squeezed a broken, raspy plea out of my throat with the last of my strength. I reached out with a hand covered in black ash and blood, blindly searching the hot floor. I needed leverage. If I could just prop the shelf up by a few inches, I could crawl out. My fingers brushed against a cold, cylindrical object—a dry chemical fire extinguisher that had fallen off the wall. This was my only lifeline. I grit my teeth, ignoring the blinding pain, and slowly dragged the heavy red canister toward the edge of the shelf. “Alfred… help me…” I coughed up a mouthful of bloody phlegm, looking desperately at his back. Alfred heard me. He turned his head. For a split second, I thought he finally saw me. I thought he would put Vivian down and rush over to lift this damn shelf off my chest. But he only frowned. His eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated annoyance. Vivian followed his gaze, saw me, and suddenly let out an exaggerated, dramatic shriek. “Oh my God! Alfred! That red thing is blocking the way! I’m scared it’ll trip us!” Alfred looked down at the fire extinguisher I was desperately clutching—the tool that was supposed to save my life. He didn’t see a dying partner who had sacrificed everything for him. He only saw an obstacle that might trip the delicate little bird in his arms. Without a single second of hesitation, he raised his foot. He was wearing the custom leather shoes I had spent three months of my salary to buy him. Thud! Alfred kicked the fire extinguisher with full force. The red canister slipped from my fingers, rolling heavily across the concrete floor before disappearing into the deep flames. “It’s just a stupid metal can. Don’t let it trip Vivian. Useless trash.” Alfred threw those cold words over his shoulder, tightened his grip on Vivian, and stormed toward the emergency exit. He didn’t look back. Not even once. The fire extinguisher was gone. My leverage was gone. My only lifeline was cut off by the man I had loved for three years. The flames greedily licked the paper files around me, making a terrifying crackling sound. My vision began to blur. The oxygen in my lungs was completely gone. Right before I lost consciousness, I didn’t cry. I just stared blankly at the direction where Alfred had disappeared, carving his cold, heartless face deep into my soul. Alfred, if I, Valerie Padilla, survive today… I will make sure you taste what real hell feels like.

When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing that hit my ears was the sharp, rhythmic beeping of an EKG monitor. I squinted against the blinding, cold white light of the room. My throat felt like it was lined with razor blades. Every breath was excruciating. I was hooked up to multiple IV drips, and my chest was wrapped in thick, heavy bandages. I was alive. The hospital room was completely empty, smelling strongly of bleach and antiseptic. Alfred wasn’t there. A nurse pushed the door open. Seeing me awake, she let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, Miss Padilla! You’re finally awake! You suffered severe carbon monoxide poisoning and multiple fractured ribs.” “You were in the ICU for three whole days. We even had to use the defibrillator on you. It’s a miracle you’re alive.” Three days and nights. I pulled the oxygen mask off my face, my voice sounding like sandpaper. “Who… brought me here?” The nurse looked at me with deep pity. “The firefighters. They found you pulled under the debris after they put out the fire.” “You weren’t breathing when they got to you.” It wasn’t Alfred. He hadn’t even called 911 to tell them someone was still inside. He hadn’t sent anyone to look for me. He had truly left me in that fire to die. “My phone…” The nurse took my cracked phone out of a plastic bag on the nightstand. I plugged it in and turned it on. Countless notifications flooded the screen, but not a single missed call or text was from Alfred. I opened our work group chat on WhatsApp. Rachel, a senior designer at the firm, had sent a voice note. Her tone was dripping with venom. “Honestly, we are so unlucky. Valerie is always so careless. How do you manage to start a fire just by looking for files in the basement?” “She almost got Alfred and Vivian killed!” Another coworker, Chris, immediately chimed in. “I know, right? I heard Vivian was traumatized. Her ankle is still swollen.” “Thank God Alfred risked his life to carry her out.” “As for Valerie, she made her bed, now she has to lie in it. She’s probably hiding in some corner too embarrassed to show her face.” I stared at the screen, my dry, cracked lips curling into a mocking laugh. I started the fire? I’m hiding because I’m embarrassed? I closed WhatsApp and opened Alfred’s Instagram. His latest post was from yesterday afternoon. The photo showed a luxurious VIP room in a private hospital. On the nightstand were expensive imported organic cherries and a massive bouquet of pink roses. Vivian’s hand, featuring a fresh, expensive manicure, was in the frame, holding a cherry. The caption read: “A false alarm. Thank God I was able to protect my girl when it mattered most.” “As for those who only cause trouble, I hope they learn to reflect on themselves.” My girl. Those who only cause trouble. A sharp, stabbing pain hit my chest—far worse than my broken ribs. But it lasted for only a second before it was entirely consumed by a cold, burning hatred. Three years. For three years, I worked three jobs, ate expired bread, and spent every penny to enroll him in the most expensive architecture seminars. I ruined my eyesight rewriting his blueprints so he could be the star of the firm. And in the end, my life wasn’t worth Vivian’s fake ankle pain. Suddenly, the door to my room was pushed open. Rachel and Chris walked in, carrying a cheap, sad-looking plastic fruit basket. Seeing me awake, surprise flashed across their faces, quickly replaced by their usual arrogant disdain. “Oh, look who’s awake. Valerie, you really are like a cockroach, aren’t you? Still alive.” Rachel slammed the fruit basket onto the nightstand and crossed her arms. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?” “Do you know how many priceless paper archives the firm lost because of you?” I stared at her coldly, saying nothing. Chris rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at us like that.” “Alfred hasn’t slept in days because he’s been taking care of Vivian.” “Vivian has nightmares and cries every night because of you! And here you are, hiding in the hospital playing the victim.” “Playing the victim?” My voice was incredibly raspy. I slowly raised my arm, which was covered in IV lines and nasty red burn marks. “You call this… playing the victim?” Rachel sneered. “Cut the drama, Valerie. The doctor said you just inhaled a little smoke.” “Alfred said that once you’re discharged, you need to write a formal apology letter.” “You also have to publicly apologize to Vivian at the next all-hands meeting. Otherwise, consider your career in this industry over.” Apologize to Vivian? I stared at Rachel’s smug face. Suddenly, I snatched the cheap fruit basket from the nightstand and hurled it at the door with all my strength. Crash! The plastic basket shattered, and bruised apples and oranges rolled all over the floor. “Get out.” I stared at them, my eyes completely dead and cold. Rachel shrieked and jumped back, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Valerie! Have you lost your mind?!” “You’re just an orphan living off Alfred’s charity! How dare you tell us to get out?” “Alfred can get you kicked out of Los Angeles with a single phone call!” “I won’t say it again,” I said, my voice completely devoid of warmth. “Get. Out.” Maybe the sheer hatred in my eyes scared them. Rachel and Chris swallowed hard, shut their mouths, and slammed the door as they left. The room fell silent again. I leaned back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The naive, pathetic Valerie who begged for love had died in that thirty-nine-degree basement fire. The Valerie who survived was going to burn their lives to the ground.

It wasn’t until I was moved to a general ward the next day that Alfred finally showed up. He was wearing a perfectly tailored designer suit, his hair styled flawlessly. He still smelled faintly of the sweet, cloying perfume Vivian always wore. He stood by my bed, looking down at me. His brow was furrowed. There wasn’t an ounce of guilt in his eyes—only annoyance. “Stop acting so weak now that you’re awake,” he said. His first words were like poison. “The doctor said you’re out of danger. You made such a scene, Valerie. It’s embarrassing.” I looked at the face I used to adore, and a wave of intense nausea hit me. “A scene?” I asked quietly. “I was pinned under a steel shelf in a burning building. I spent three days in the ICU. And you call that a scene?” Alfred tugged at his tie impatiently. “Can you stop being so dramatic?” “The fire was huge, and Vivian sprained her ankle. Of course I had to save the weaker person first.” “Aren’t you always boasting about how tough you are? Why couldn’t you just climb out yourself?” “You had to stay inside and play dead. Are you trying to guilt-trip me into proposing to you?” He actually thought I stayed in the fire to force a proposal out of him. “Alfred,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. My voice was as quiet as a whisper. “When you kicked that fire extinguisher away, were you thinking the same thing?” Alfred’s face instantly froze. His pupils dilated, and he quickly raised his voice to cover his guilt. “What fire extinguisher? I didn’t see anything!” “The smoke was so thick! How could I see what was on the ground?” “Valerie, don’t you dare try to pin this on me!” “Really?” I picked up my phone and opened a video file. “The security cameras in the archives sync directly to the cloud in real-time.” “The camera eventually burned, but the high-definition footage from the first five minutes of the fire was saved perfectly.” Alfred’s face went dead white. He took a sharp step back. “You… you watched the footage?” His voice started to tremble. “I didn’t just watch it. I backed it up,” I said coldly. “I saw everything. I saw you look at me while I was pinned under the shelf. I saw you kick away the fire extinguisher I was trying to reach. And I saw you carry Vivian away without a single backward glance.” “The audio is very clear too, Alfred. Especially when you called me ‘useless trash’.” Alfred completely panicked. He rushed to the bedside, trying to grab my hand. “Valerie… it wasn’t like that… I was terrified.” “I didn’t realize you were trapped! I thought the canister was empty…” “Don’t touch me. You disgust me.” I slapped his hand away. I sat up, staring at the pathetic, hypocritical man before me. “Alfred, we’re done. We are over.” I thought saying those words would break my heart, but in this moment, I felt nothing but pure, intoxicating relief. Alfred stunned. A few seconds later, the panic on his face vanished, replaced by a arrogant, mocking sneer. “Over? Valerie, did the smoke damage your brain?” He shoved his hands into his pockets, returning to his usual condescending self. “You’re breaking up with me? You’re an orphan who had to take out massive student loans just to get through school. Without me, do you think you can even survive in LA?” “The only reason you have this job is because I fought the partners to get you onto the project team. You think you got here on merit?” He truly believed he was my savior. “And another thing,” Alfred leaned down, his eyes gleaming with greed and ambition. “Asterion Group’s ‘Sky City’ bidding process is about to wrap up. My design has already been selected as the number one finalist.” “Vivian’s father is a massive venture capitalist. He’s already agreed to invest ten million dollars in my startup.” “Once I land this multi-billion-dollar project, I’ll be made a senior partner immediately.” He pointed a finger at my face. “When that happens, even if you beg me on your knees, I won’t give you a second glance.” Sky City? I repeated the name in my mind, a dark smile playing at the corners of my lips. That design was mine. I had spent six months, pulled countless all-nighters, and rebuilt the model over a hundred times to perfect it. I had planned to give it to him on his birthday as a gift to help him get his foot in the door of the elite world. But while I was fighting for my life in the ICU, he had hacked my encrypted laptop, stolen my life’s work, and put his own name on it. “Great,” I said, looking at him like he was already dead. “I can’t wait to see you land ‘Sky City’.” Alfred sneered. “Crazy bitch.” He turned and strode out of the room, his posture radiating the confidence of a man who thought he was about to conquer the world. Once the door shut, I pulled out my phone. I dialed a number at the very bottom of my contact list—a number I had blocked for three years. It rang only once before a trembling, highly respectful voice answered. “Miss Padilla.” “Arthur,” I said, looking out at the glittering Los Angeles skyline. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Send a car to pick me up. Also, notify the board of Asterion Group. My leave of absence is over. I am taking full control of the company tomorrow.” “Yes, Miss Padilla! But… how is your health?” “I’m not dead yet,” I replied, closing my eyes. “Have the legal department prepare a lawsuit against Alfred Miller for intellectual property theft and corporate espionage.” “And one more thing. I will personally chair the final bidding meeting for ‘Sky City’.”

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Five years ago, my wife spent an afternoon volunteering at a local children’s shelter. She came home and cried in my arms all night. She told me about a three-year-old boy whose eyes reminded her so much of her late brother. She wanted to adopt him. I loved her too much to say no. I signed every piece of paperwork they put in front of us. For five years, that boy called me Daddy. I paid for the best private academy, threw him birthday parties that were grander than anything I’d have planned for a child of my own blood. Until last month, when Teddy was diagnosed with acute leukemia. He needed a bone marrow transplant. On the day of the donor match results, the oncologist pulled me into a private office. His expression was troubled. “Mr. Michell, you and the boy… you aren’t biologically related, are you?” I nodded. “No, we adopted him.” “And your wife?” I frowned, confused. “She’s his adoptive mother. There’s no biological connection there either.” The doctor fell silent for a long moment before sliding a folder across the desk. “According to these lab results, Mr. Michell… your wife is his biological mother.” I drove home with the report burning a hole in my passenger seat. When I walked in, Hannah was sitting on the living room floor, peeling an apple for Teddy. She looked up, caught the look in my eyes, and the paring knife slipped from her hand, clattering against the hardwood. That very evening, the doorbell rang. Standing on the porch was her college boyfriend, Chase. He was holding a bunch of white roses. “Hannah,” he said, his voice thick with relief. “My marrow is a match. Our boy is going to make it.” … “Our boy.” Those two words felt like ice picks driving straight into my chest. I slowly turned my head to look at Hannah. She was deathly pale, her lips trembling. The sharp, metallic clang of the knife hitting the floor still seemed to vibrate in the silence as she collapsed onto the sofa, looking entirely hollowed out. “Sean… I can explain…” I didn’t say a word. I pulled the front door wide open. The man outside froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to open the door. This was Chase Woodward, Hannah’s college ex. I’d seen photos of him before. At Hannah’s college reunion five years ago, she had posted a group picture. When I asked about it, she smiled and said he was just an old classmate, nothing serious. “Nothing serious.” Right. “Sean,” Chase said, quickly recovering his composure and tucking the roses behind his back. “I’m sorry. I came to—” “To claim your son?” I cut him off. His face fell. I threw the lab results right in his face. “Biological mother, biological father. A happy little family. How convenient.” The sheets of paper drifted onto the welcome mat. Hannah threw herself off the sofa, dropping to her knees at my feet and clawing at my jeans. “Sean, please, listen to me. I didn’t mean to keep this from you. I didn’t even know myself until recently—” “Recently?” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Five years ago, when you sobbed in my arms all night, was that ‘recently’? When you told me his eyes looked just like your brother’s? Your brother? Hannah, you’re an only child. You never had a brother.” She had no answer. I crouched down, forcing her to look at me. “When is Teddy’s birthday?” “September twelfth,” she whispered. “And when did you and Chase break up?” Her eyes dilated with panic. “February.” I laughed, but my eyes burned. “Nine months from February is November, Hannah. But Teddy was born in September. You were already pregnant with another man’s child the day we signed our marriage license, weren’t you?” She broke down, sobbing hysterically. Chase, still standing on the porch, had the nerve to chime in. “Sean, look, what’s done is done. The boy’s life is what matters right now—” “Get the hell out,” I said, my voice dead. “Listen—” “I said, get out.” I had never looked at another human being with so much hatred. Chase pressed his lips together, bent down to pick up the fallen roses, and walked away. I slammed the door and leaned my back against it, slowly sliding down to the floor. Hannah crawled over, wrapping her arms around my leg. “Sean, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Teddy is still in the pediatric ICU. He needs the transplant. I beg you, just let him get through this, and then you can do whatever you want with me…” I looked down at her. This woman I had adored, protected, and loved with everything I had for eight years. “Hannah.” “Yes?” “We’re getting a divorce.” She froze, staring up at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What did you say?” “Divorce,” I repeated. “I’m calling my lawyer first thing in the morning.” She shook her head violently, tears streaking her face. “No! Sean, you can’t do this! Teddy is in the ICU. He needs his family. He needs us to be whole!” I laughed again, a sound raw and ugly. “Whole?” “Hannah, this family was a lie from day one. The piece we were missing was just standing on our porch holding white roses.” “No!” she screamed. “Chase and I ended things years ago! I haven’t contacted him once since I married you!” “Then how do you explain Teddy?” She choked on her words. I stood up, stepping out of her grasp, and walked into the study. I opened the safe and pulled out the adoption papers from five years ago. A thick stack of documents, my signature on every single page. I remembered the social worker smiling at me back then. “Mr. Michell, you’re a good man, being so supportive of your wife’s wishes.” A good man. The phrase made me want to throw up. I threw the papers onto the coffee table. “Hannah, tell me. Five years ago, did you actually volunteer at that shelter?” She stayed quiet. “The little boy who ‘looked like your brother’—was any of that real?” Silence. “The night you cried and begged me to adopt him—was any of it real?!” I roared, my hands shaking uncontrollably. Hannah curled into a ball on the rug, gasping for air between her sobs. “I… I had no choice… My parents wouldn’t let me bring a baby home. Chase had gone out of state, he had no money… I couldn’t support him on my own. I had to put him in foster care temporarily… until I got married… and found a way…” A cold chill washed over me. “So I was your ‘way’?” “I was the perfect, unsuspecting idiot you handpicked to clean up your mess?” “You dated a guy for four years, got pregnant, turned around and married me, and then orchestrated a heartbreaking adoption story to get your kid back. Hannah, that is a masterpiece. They should write a screenplay about you.” She couldn’t speak through her tears. I took out my phone and dialed my attorney. “Patrick? I need you to draft a divorce agreement. As fast as possible. We split the assets fifty-fifty. The boy… isn’t mine. He goes with her.” I hung up and looked at her. “I’m sleeping in the study tonight. Tomorrow morning, we file.” Hannah lunged forward, grabbing my ankles. “Sean! If not for me, think about Teddy! He’s called you ‘Daddy’ for five years! How can you just watch him die?!” I looked down at her. “His real father was just here. He’s a match. He’s more useful than I am.” I pulled my leg free, walked into the study, and locked the door. Behind me, Hannah’s weeping was loud and desperate. I sank against the door, burying my face in my knees. Eight years. Eight years of my life, gone. The next morning, I woke up at five. I packed my basic toiletries into a duffel bag. As I passed Teddy’s bedroom, I paused. The door was slightly open. The small bed was covered in dinosaur sheets—he had picked them out himself three months ago. He had dragged me through the department store all afternoon, tugging my hand and piping up, “Daddy, I want the T-rex ones!” I had smiled and swiped my card. Back then, I was thinking about whether we should try for a second child once he got a bit older. How pathetic. I averted my eyes and went downstairs. Hannah hadn’t slept. She sat on the sofa, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. When she saw me, she stood up. “Sean…” “Let’s go,” I said. For a second, her face softened, thinking I’d changed my mind. But then I added, “We’re going to the courthouse.” The color drained from her face again. The drive was dead silent. At the county clerk’s office, there was a line. Some couples were laughing; others, like us, looked like walking corpses. When it came time to sign the initial paperwork, Hannah’s hand shook so violently she could barely hold the pen. “Sean, is there really no hope for us?” I didn’t look at her. “None.” “What about Teddy?” “Chase will take care of him.” She snapped her head up. “How do you know that?” I let out a cold laugh. “Hannah, how do you think he knew to show up last night? If he didn’t know Teddy was his, why would he get tested? Why would he show up at our house with flowers?” “How long have you two been talking behind my back?” Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t summon a single word. When the papers were finalized and filed, a strange sense of relief washed over me. Stepping out of the courthouse, the morning sun was blinding. My phone buzzed. It was the hospital. “Mr. Michell? Teddy’s… he’s having a rough morning. Can you come in?” I stood frozen on the sidewalk. Hannah, standing beside me, heard the tension. “Is that the hospital? What’s wrong with Teddy?!” I glanced at her. “If you want to know about your son, ask his father.” I turned and walked away. But after a few steps, I stopped. Five years. For five years, he called me Daddy. Just last week, he was clutching my sleeve from his hospital bed, whispering, “Daddy, I’m scared.” I took a deep, agonizing breath, turned around, and got into my car to drive to the hospital. When I got to the room, Chase was already there. He was wearing a patient gown, looking pale after the preliminary marrow collection procedures. Hannah had arrived before me and was holding Teddy’s hand, crying softly. Teddy was wearing an oxygen mask. When he saw me walk in, his eyes brightened, and he reached out a tiny, frail hand. “Da… Daddy…” My throat tightened. Chase stood up. “Sean, thank you for looking after Teddy these past five years. I’ll take it from here.” I ignored him. I walked to the bedside, crouched down, and took Teddy’s hand. “Hey, buddy. Chase is a match. You’re going to get better real soon.” He blinked, confused behind the plastic mask. “Chase?” My chest felt like it was in a vice. “He’s… he’s going to be your dad now.” Teddy shook his head, tears spilling over the edges of his mask. “No… I want my Daddy. I want you.” I looked away, not wanting him to see my tears. Just then, the door swung open. Someone I absolutely did not expect walked into the room. My mother. Leaning heavily on her cane, breathless, she stood in the doorway. She scanned the room, her gaze sweeping past Chase and stopping dead on Hannah. “Well, Hannah,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it silenced the room instantly. “My son treated you like a queen for eight years. And this is how you repay him?” Hannah’s face turned white. “Mrs. Michell…” “Don’t you dare call me that,” my mother said, slamming her cane onto the tile. “You are no daughter-in-law of mine.” I rushed over to support her. “Mom, what are you doing here? The doctor said your blood pressure is too high for you to travel.” “How could I stay home?” she snapped, looking at me. “You called me last night saying you were filing for divorce. I couldn’t sleep a wink. I took the first train down here.” “Sean, I told you from the start something was off about this woman. When she insisted on adopting that baby, I knew it didn’t make sense. What newlyweds choose to adopt before even trying to have their own? Turns out she just wanted her own kid back on your dime!” Hannah kept her head down, her shoulders shaking. Chase opened his mouth to speak, but my mother cut him off with a blistering glare. “And who the hell are you?” Chase shut his mouth, looking thoroughly chastened. My mother reached into her bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope, tossing it onto the bedside table. “Sean, I know you. You have too soft of a heart, and I didn’t want you second-guessing yourself. I had your uncle do some digging. See for yourself.” I opened the envelope. Inside were several photographs and a private investigator’s report. The first photo showed Hannah and Chase sitting in a quiet café. The timestamp was from three months ago. The next photo showed them walking out of the private clinic where Teddy was first diagnosed with leukemia. In the next, they were inside a car, Chase holding Hannah’s hand. According to the report, Chase had moved back to the area three years ago. During that time, he and Hannah had communicated at least forty-seven times, with eleven documented face-to-face meetings. My hands began to shake. “Three years,” I whispered, looking up at Hannah. “You’ve been seeing him behind my back for three years?” She trembled, her voice barely a squeak. “It’s not what you think… I only contacted him after Teddy got sick, to get him tested—” “Bullshit!” my mother barked. “Teddy wasn’t sick three years ago!” Hannah fell completely silent. I stared at the three-year-old photo in the café, my mind buzzing. Three years ago. That was the year I got promoted to VP, the year I bought her that beautiful colonial house with the big backyard. Three years ago, on her birthday, she had held me tight and whispered, “Sean, marrying you is the best thing that ever happened to me.” I let out a laugh. It started small, then grew, until tears were streaming down my face. Chase lost his patience. “Mr. Michell, you’ve signed the papers. There’s no need to drag this out—” “Drag this out?” I snapped my head toward him. “Chase, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” “You let me play the fool for eight years, let me raise your kid for five, and now you’re telling me not to drag this out?” Everyone in the room went rigid. Right then, the phone in my pocket vibrated. It was a text from Patrick. Sean, I just got the results back on that background check you asked for. Teddy’s adoption paperwork is highly irregular. There’s no record of him ever being admitted to that shelter’s foster system. The entire placement was fabricated. More importantly, I found the private facilitator who handled the transfer. He’s willing to testify. We can sue for full restitution of every dollar you spent on Teddy over the last five years, plus substantial emotional damages. There’s one more thing… you might want to sit down for this. I took a slow breath and scrolled down to the next message. In an instant, my entire body went numb. The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the floor.

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Melody’s mother stole my father, and in doing so, she killed my mother. Years later, history decided to repeat itself. The boy I grew up with, the one who had been by my side for eighteen years, lied to my face. Behind my back, he spent his evenings helping Melody with her college applications, even gifting her the limited-edition vintage vinyl I had begged him to find for me. And when Melody hacked into my college portal and withdrew my Ivy League acceptance, replacing it with a local community college, he actually defended her. “Melody didn’t mean any harm, Caroline,” he pleaded. “She was just playing a practical joke on you.” But there was nothing funny about it. 01 Just days before the final college decision deadline, I experienced a violent, inexplicable tear in time. I was hurled ten years into the future. I saw myself. I saw a girl who had scored a 1550 on her SATs now limping on a shattered right leg, her hair unwashed and tied back with a fraying rubber band, busing tables at a greasy diner. Meanwhile, my stepsister Melody had graduated from an elite university, married my childhood sweetheart, Connor, and given birth to a picture-perfect pair of twins. I remember the blood draining from my face. “How did this happen?” My twenty-eight-year-old self offered a hollow, broken laugh. “Melody changed my college portal. By the time I found out, the deadline had passed. It was too late.” “Dad and Connor both took her side. They said she didn’t do it maliciously, that it was just a prank, that I needed to take a joke.” “But I couldn’t swallow the injustice. I confronted her. We fought at the top of the stairs, and she threw herself backward, framing me. Dad… Dad wanted to teach me a lesson. He hired the best prosecutors to press aggravated assault charges and let me rot in a juvenile detention center for six months.” “Connor promised he’d wait for me. But the day I got out, I found them tangled up in his bed.” “I snapped. I grabbed a kitchen knife. I hurt them both.” “That time, Connor hired the most ruthless defense attorney in the state to ensure I got the maximum sentence. Five years.” Her words were like lightning striking the base of my skull. My whole body went rigid. I heard my own voice trembling as I fought back: “No. That’s impossible. Connor and I grew up together. He loves me. He promised he’d protect me for the rest of my life.” “He knows how much I despise Melody and her mother. He would never help them destroy me.” The older version of me stared back, her eyes rimmed with red. She looked down at her ruined, asymmetrical leg. “Why wouldn’t he? People change, Caroline.” “Even this leg… Connor paid off one of the guards in lockup to look the other way while an inmate took a metal pipe to my knee.” She jerked her head up, her gaze fierce and desperate. “Caroline, listen to me. If you don’t want to lose your future, if you don’t want to become a convicted felon scrubbing grease off diner tables, wake the hell up! Stop letting Connor play you for a fool!” The sheer magnitude of the information hit my brain like a physical blow. The world tipped on its axis. The next second, I collapsed onto the hardwood floor. When I opened my eyes, the sterile, chemical scent of hospital bleach flooded my lungs. “Caroline, thank God, you’re awake!” Connor was sitting by the edge of my hospital bed. Both of his hands were wrapped tightly around my left hand, his dark eyes wide with unfeigned panic and concern. “You passed out in your room last night. You scared the life out of me!” 02 I lay there, perfectly still, just looking at him. Unbidden, a memory surfaced. Eighth-grade field trip to the state park. I had wandered off the trail and gotten hopelessly lost. It was Connor who spent three hours searching for me in the dying light. His shins were sliced up by thorny brambles, but he still insisted on carrying me on his back the whole way down the mountain because I was too paralyzed by fear to walk. I thought of my fourteenth birthday. My father had thrown a massive, catered backyard gala for Melody—who happened to share my exact birthdate—and completely forgot about me. I had hidden in the darkness of my closet, clutching a framed photograph of my mother to my chest, crying until I couldn’t breathe. It was Connor who opened the closet door. He was holding a lopsided, home-baked cupcake with a single lit candle, looking at me like a knight who had finally found his charge. “Happy birthday, Caro.” “Don’t be scared. You’re not alone. I’ll be here for every birthday, for the rest of your life.” I thought of all the times Melody had tried to insert herself into his orbit. In the dead of winter, she had spent weeks knitting him a gray scarf. Connor hadn’t even given it a second glance before tossing it into the cafeteria trash can. Melody’s eyes had welled up with those trademark tears, but Connor’s voice was like ice: “Don’t waste your time. I will always stand with Caroline.” “You and your mother destroyed her family. That makes you my enemy, too.” Then, another memory. Melody’s mother, Valerie, ‘accidentally’ knocking my mother’s vintage Cartier watch off my dresser, shattering the delicate glass face. Blinded by grief and rage, I had thrown a glass of ice water right in Valerie’s face. Valerie was a master of the victim act. She instantly collapsed into my father’s arms, weeping. “I was just trying to help Caroline tidy her room. I didn’t mean to bump the dresser. She misunderstood… she thinks I did it on purpose.” “Richard, please, don’t be mad at her.” Her calculated retreat only made my father more protective of her. He turned to me, his eyes devoid of any paternal warmth. “Caroline Ellis, who taught you to act like such a savage? Apologize to your mother, right now!” I tipped my chin up, my throat tight. “I only have one mother. Valerie is just a cheap homewrecker.” The slap echoed through the hallway. My father struck me so hard my ears rang. “I have spoiled you for too long. You have zero respect!” As punishment, he forced me to stand in the freezing mudroom for twelve hours. No dinner. No water. No sitting down. My legs shook. I was lightheaded from hunger. It was Connor who shimmied up the trellis and crawled through the mudroom window, pulling a bag of warm, sugar-dusted apple cider donuts from his jacket. I ate them through my tears, and he wiped my cheeks with his thumbs, his own face twisted in sympathetic agony. “Don’t cry. Once we graduate, we’re going to college in Boston. We’ll get as far away from them as possible.” “I’ll be your family from now on. I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you.” It never surprised me that my father chose Melody over me. But Connor? Connor, who looked at me like I hung the moon? How could he ever betray me for her? I didn’t want to believe it. Maybe the vision of my twenty-eight-year-old self was just a stress-induced nightmare. I tried to self-soothe. But reality was waiting to deliver its own slap to the face. 03 Before we checked out of the hospital, Connor ran down to the pharmacy on the first floor. I watched him walk back into the room, holding a small paper bag. “Are you getting a cold?” I asked, confused. He froze. A heavy silence stretched between us before he hesitated, shifting his weight. “It’s not for me. It’s for Melody.” “She texted a few minutes ago saying she was running a fever, so she asked me to pick up some meds.” My heart plummeted into my stomach. The terror of my nightmare flooded my veins, making my skin prickle. I couldn’t stop the barrage of questions. “Why are you buying medicine for Melody? Since when do you two text? Since when are you close?” “Do you have feelings for her? When did this start?” Seeing my escalating panic, Connor quickly set the bag down and reached for my shoulders. “Caro, stop overthinking. How could I ever like Melody?” “You’re the only one I care about. But Melody… Melody saved my life. I’m just repaying a debt.” I recoiled. “She saved your life? When? Why don’t I know about this?” Connor finally confessed the secret he had been keeping for months: “Two months ago, I was walking back from a party. I was crossing the street, and a drunk driver blew a red light. I didn’t see it coming.” “If Melody hadn’t shoved me out of the way, I would have been the one with a shattered femur.” I knew Melody had been injured. Of course I did. But I had no idea she had broken her leg saving Connor. Suddenly, everything clicked. It made sense why, despite missing the final two months of senior year and being confined to a hospital bed, Melody had seemed completely unfazed. She was constantly posting bubbly updates on her Instagram stories. Her favorite captions were always: “My favorite private tutor is here again! I’m so spoiled! <3" "Look at the limited-edition vinyl my tutor hunted down for me! Best day ever!" I had never visited her in the hospital, so I had never seen this "tutor." I assumed my dad had hired some grad student to keep her grades up. But looking back, during that exact same period, Connor had stopped walking me home from school. "Caro, my grandma isn't feeling well. I have to go to the estate and check on her. I can't walk you home today." I knew how much Connor loved his grandmother. I never questioned it. I even bought her expensive teas and sent them with him. Was it all a lie? Hot tears welled in my eyes. I looked at the boy I thought I knew better than anyone. "So... the 'tutor' was you. And the person who gave her that vinyl record was you. Wasn't it?" I had wanted that record for a year. It was nearly impossible to find. I had begged Connor to help me track it down. He had tapped his chest confidently and said, "Leave it to me. Have I ever let you down?" Two weeks later, he handed me a generic, newly pressed album. "I'm sorry, Caro. The vintage one is completely sold out. I called every collector I know." But he had found it. He just gave it to Melody instead. 04 Seeing my tears, panic flared in Connor’s eyes. He scrambled to explain himself. "Caro, please don't cry. I swear to you, I'm only nice to her because I owe her my life." "I know how much you hate her. I was terrified that if you found out, it would mess with your head right before finals. That's why I asked everyone to keep it a secret." I fought to keep my voice from shaking. "If you were going to lie to me, why couldn't you just keep lying?" He looked miserable, rubbing the back of his neck. "Melody... she wants to apply to the same colleges in Boston as us." "She’s timid. She’s terrified of being in a new city where she doesn't know anyone and getting bullied. She thinks if I’m there, she’ll have someone to look out for her." "She literally took a car for me, Caro. I couldn't say no..." "Just... do it for me, okay? Can you just try to co-exist peacefully with her from now on?" He couldn't say no to Melody, so his solution was to demand that I compromise. The audacity was suffocating. "Valerie drove my mother to an early grave. And you want me to play nice with the daughter of my mother's replacement? Do you hear how insane you sound?" I was thirteen when my mother was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Valerie couldn't even wait for the body to get cold. She showed up at our front door, dragging Melody behind her. The sickest part? Melody was born on the exact same day, in the exact same year, as me. That was how my dying mother found out my father had been living a double life since the day I was born. The betrayal broke what little spirit she had left. She coughed up blood and passed away less than a month later. Three months after the funeral, my father moved Valerie into the master bedroom. Connor knew all of this. He held my hand through the funeral. And yet, here he was, twisting himself into knots to defend Melody. "You can't choose how you're born, Caroline. The sins of the parents aren't Melody's fault." "She's not like her mother. She's sweet. She's kind." "She has never once tried to hurt you. She’s always bending over backward, trying to get you to like her." "You need to learn to let things go. You can't live in this toxic bubble of hatred forever." As I watched Connor advocate for Melody, the warmth in my chest died out, inch by agonizing inch. The image of my twenty-eight-year-old self—limping, wiping down a greasy table, dead-eyed and broken—flashed behind my eyelids with terrifying clarity. Suddenly, the boy standing in front of me felt like a stranger. A dangerous stranger. I instinctively took a step back. "I need to be alone. Do not follow me." I needed space to think. Of course, Connor didn't listen. He followed me out of the hospital, but perhaps sensing my absolute disgust, he maintained a strict fifteen-foot distance all the way back to my house. 05 I walked through the front door of my house and pushed open the door to my bedroom. There was Melody, sitting in my desk chair, typing away on my laptop. The words from my future self—Melody changed my college portal—screamed in my head. My pulse spiked. I lunged forward and shoved her away from the desk. "Who gave you permission to touch my computer?" Melody stumbled and fell gracefully to the carpet, immediately playing dumb. "Sister, you're misunderstanding. I would never mess with your applications!" "My laptop crashed, and I just needed to look up some research material." She lowered her eyelashes, a perfectly timed tear slipping down her cheek. "I'm sorry. I forgot how much you despise me. I promise I'll never touch your things again." I didn't have the energy for her Oscar-worthy performance. I slid into the chair, pulled up the Common App portal, and checked my submissions. Thankfully, I had walked in just in time. She hadn't managed to alter anything yet. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. But when I looked up, Connor was standing in the doorway, helping Melody up from the floor. He was glaring at me with open disapproval. "Her leg is barely healed, Caroline. How could you be so aggressive?" "You're out of line. You owe her an apology." I stared at him, incredulous. "She was sneaking onto my laptop without asking. If she falls, she deserves it." Connor’s brow furrowed deeply. "Why are you being so bitter? It's like I don't even know who you are anymore." His reflexive instinct to protect her over me was the final nail in the coffin. It confirmed everything. Last night wasn't a hallucination. It was a premonition. In the not-so-distant future, Connor would absolutely destroy me for Melody’s sake. But I wasn't going to stick around and play the naive victim. I swallowed the sharp, acidic ache rising in my throat and met his gaze. "I am bitter. If you don't like it, then let's break up." His face drained of color. He looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Are you seriously throwing a tantrum and threatening to break up just because I called you out?" Melody clung to his arm, pretending to be the peacemaker, though she was clearly pouring gasoline on the fire. "Sister, please. Connor loves you so much. He does everything for you." "Every time you two fight, he's always the one who swallows his pride to apologize." "If you shed a single tear, he beats himself up for days." "You might be throwing a tantrum, but you shouldn't use your relationship as a weapon. Aren't you afraid of breaking his heart?" Connor looked at me, a profound disappointment settling over his features. "You're acting like a spoiled brat, Caro." "Just because I usually let you get away with murder doesn't mean I don't have my limits." "Let's just take some space. Don't call me until you've calmed down and realized how ridiculous you're being." With that, he wrapped his arm around Melody’s waist and helped her out of my room. Watching his retreating back, a profound wave of sorrow washed over me. My future self was right. People change. No matter how much Connor used to cherish me, Melody was now the priority. From this day forward, we were on different paths. I blinked back the stinging in my eyes, turned to my computer, and made a calculated, cold decision. I logged in and changed my binding enrollment from Boston to UC Berkeley in California. If he wanted to play house with Melody in Boston, he could have her. I was officially opting out. To ensure she couldn't try anything again, I changed my portal password. I had always used Connor’s birthday—it was entirely possible Melody had guessed it. Finally, I pulled a suitcase from my closet and began packing. I booked a room at a boutique hotel downtown. I refused to spend another night under the same roof as Melody. Who knew what kind of sociopathic stunt she’d pull next? This time, I wasn't going to prison. I was escaping the Ellis family. I was starting over. 06 Carrying my suitcase downstairs, I had to walk past Melody’s bedroom. The door was left ajar. Inside, she was sitting on the edge of her mattress, her skirt hiked up to her knees. Connor was kneeling on the floor in front of her, gently massaging her calf muscles. "Is that feeling any better?" he asked softly. Melody’s ears flushed pink. She nodded shyly. "The pain is fading. Thank you." Connor smiled, a soft, indulgent expression I used to think belonged only to me. "You don't have to thank me. You took that hit for me. It's the least I can do." Melody looked down, her expression steeped in manufactured guilt. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault you and my sister fought." "Maybe I should just go to a state school here. I don't want to be the reason your relationship falls apart." "If I get bullied in college, well... that's just my fate. I'll endure it." Connor squeezed her knee comfortingly. "You're not changing your plans. I promised I'd look out for you, and I keep my promises." "None of this is your fault. Caroline is just being irrational." "I guess I spoiled her too much. She thinks the world revolves around her." "Maybe Wyatt was right. I need to leave her out in the cold for a while so she learns how to behave." Wyatt. Connor’s arrogant, old-money best friend. Wyatt had always hated me. If Connor helped me with a project, Wyatt called me lazy. If we went to a diner and I meticulously picked the green onions out of my soup because I loathed the taste, Wyatt called me high-maintenance. If Connor lost track of time playing video games and missed my call, and we argued about it, Wyatt called me a controlling bitch. He was constantly in Connor’s ear, telling him he could do better, urging him to dump me. But back then, Connor would always shove him and shoot back: "Shut the hell up. Caro isn't high-maintenance, she knows what she likes. It's cute." "If she's mad at me, it's because I messed up. It's not her fault." "You're just a miserable single guy who’s jealous of what we have. Stay out of it." That Connor—the fiercely loyal, deeply devoted boy who would fight anyone who spoke ill of me—was dead and gone. The Connor sitting on the floor was Melody’s knight in shining armor. It was impossible not to grieve. We had shared eighteen years of life. Eighteen years of inside jokes, shared trauma, and quiet promises. Detoxing from him was going to hurt like hell. My nose burned. I forced myself to look away, gripped the handle of my suitcase, and walked out the front door without looking back. 07 I lived in the downtown hotel for two weeks. I didn't hear a word from Connor. But I saw plenty of him on Melody’s Instagram. He took her to the summer carnival, riding the vintage carousel—my favorite ride. He went shopping with her to pick out a dress for graduation. He stood in line for two hours outside Rosenberg's to buy her a fresh, warm box of pastries. He even took her to our spot. The stargazing hill overlooking the valley. Whenever the grief over my mother became too much, Connor would drive me up there, roll out a blanket, and we’d watch old movies on his iPad under the stars. In the photo Melody posted, a romantic comedy was playing on a tablet. Connor was leaning back against the hood of his car, looking relaxed. Melody was leaning into his space, pressing a kiss to his cheek. So this was his version of "repaying a debt." I stared at the photos. I scrolled through them obsessively, almost masochistically, etching the reality of their intimacy into my brain. It was a form of exposure therapy. And it worked. The agonizing, breathless pain in my chest slowly dulled, hardening into a cold, flat indifference. ... Once I felt like I could breathe again, I texted a friend and agreed to meet up at a lounge downtown. I was walking down the dimly lit hallway toward the restrooms when someone bumped roughly into my shoulder. I stumbled, my heels catching on the carpet, and nearly went down. A hand shot out and caught my elbow, steadying me. "Thanks," I muttered, looking up. I froze. Connor was standing there, looking down at me with an amused, patronizing smirk. "See? You still need me to catch you." His tone was incredibly casual, as if the last two weeks of silence and betrayal had never happened. "Admit it, Caro. You can't survive without me." My face remained entirely impassive. I pulled my arm out of his grip. "Don't flatter yourself. I'd be perfectly fine without you." Connor raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously still holding a grudge? Two weeks later?" "Caro, why are you so stubborn? Would it physically kill you to just back down once?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily like a weary parent offering a truce. "Fine. You win. I surrender." "Let's just say I was wrong, okay? Let's make up. Stop giving me the silent treatment." "We've never gone more than a week without seeing each other since we were kids. I actually missed you." He reached out to pinch my cheek, a fond, easy smile spreading across his face. "I don't know why you're fighting this. You look like you've lost weight since I stopped coming around." "When you're done here, I'll drive you to that late-night diner. We'll get pancakes." It was painfully obvious. He hadn't taken my breakup seriously at all. He genuinely believed this was just an extended pout. I slapped his hand away. My voice was glacial. "Do not touch me. We are broken up." "I lost weight because it's ninety degrees outside and I haven't had much of an appetite. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. Stop being so narcissistic." Seeing that his charm offensive was failing, Connor’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold edge. "Caroline, enough is enough." "I'm handing you an olive branch. How much longer are you going to drag this out?"

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When Donna first suggested we keep our finances strictly split—going fifty-fifty on everything, including the care of our aging parents—I agreed. I spent the next five years working myself to the bone, quietly building a million-dollar nest egg specifically for my dad’s retirement and medical care. But when the household ledger arrived this month, the charges were a sea of red, all linked to one name: her childhood best friend’s father, Frank. When I confronted her, she didn’t even look up from her laptop. “Tommy’s family is going through a tough time, Lester. I’m just helping where I can. It’s pocket change.” Pocket change. There were thirteen transactions, each hovering around a hundred dollars, all within a single month. Yet when my dad was hospitalized last month and his co-pay came out to three hundred dollars, Donna printed out the itemized statement and left it on the kitchen island, demanding I reimburse her half of the shared debit account immediately. I didn’t want to fight. I threw the papers onto the counter and locked myself in the guest room. Until yesterday, when my dad’s condition suddenly worsened. Panicked, driving like a madman, I rushed to the bank to withdraw the funds for his emergency surgery. But the teller behind the glass gave me a look of cold confusion. “Mr. Crawford, the beneficiary listed on this high-yield trust isn’t your father. Is it possible there’s been a mistake?” My brain went completely numb. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. How could there be a mistake? Every single dollar in that account was paid for in my sweat, my blood, the missed dinners, the eighty-hour workweeks. The teller, growing impatient, turned the monitor toward me. The name of the trust fund stared back at me in bold, unforgiving letters: “The Frank Palmer Care Trust.” Frank Palmer. Tommy’s father. … It felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water directly down my spine. My phone buzzed in my hand, jarring me back to the sterile warmth of the bank lobby. It was a text from my dad. “Don’t worry about me, Lester. The doctor says a couple of painkiller shots will do the trick. Save your money.” I pressed my hand over my mouth, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. Looking at the massive withdrawals over the past few months, I had actually allowed myself to believe my dad was finally spending money on himself, that he was finally enjoying his golden years instead of scrimping to save me a dollar. It had all been a lie. Someone else had been living off my sacrifice. I took a cab straight back to our suburban home, slamming the bank statement onto the marble coffee table. “Why is Frank Palmer’s name on my dad’s trust fund, Donna?” Donna startled, looking up from her tablet. But within seconds, her expression shifted back to that familiar, defensive coldness. “All my liquid capital is tied up in the firm’s new real estate development. You know I can’t touch it right now.” “I just put Frank’s name on it as a temporary measure. He’s sick, Lester. He could need emergency surgery at any moment. I needed a contingency plan. Once the firm’s payout clears next month, I’ll transfer three times that amount back into your account.” It was the same raw, unapologetic favoritism. She had assigned a custom ringtone to Tommy’s father years ago. Even if he called at three in the morning, she would leap out of bed to answer. Meanwhile, my dad’s chronic illness had flared up three times this past year, and she hadn’t so much as sent a text asking how he was doing. My phone buzzed again. It was a frantic alert from the hospital. My dad’s vitals were dropping. They needed to move him to the ICU immediately. “I need the money. Now.” My voice shook, my teeth clicking together. Donna looked at me as if I were a hysterical child, her eyes swimming with deep-seated irritation. Before she could speak, Tommy stepped out from the kitchen, holding a glass of iced tea, looking entirely too comfortable. “I’m afraid that’s not going to work, Lester,” Tommy said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “My dad just booked a luxury European cruise for the three of us. It covers all our expenses, and we had to use the cash on hand. There’s barely anything left in that account.” He smirked, turning his phone screen toward me to show the balance of the linked debit card: $54.82. A million dollars. Five years of working myself to the bone, of turning myself into a ghost at corporate dinners, reduced to fifty-four dollars and eighty-two cents. My throat closed up. I stared at Donna, my vision blurring. “My dad is on an operating table right now. He is dying. And you—” “Oh, stop it,” she interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. “Is it really necessary to make up a lie like that just for money? Fine. I’ll write you a promissory note. I’ll pay you back three million next month.” She grabbed a pen, scribbling a sloppy note on a piece of scrap paper and sliding it across the table, as if a few scratched lines could erase the absolute betrayal of my trust. Just then, the front door opened, and Frank walked in, carrying several high-end shopping bags, loudly boasting about the designer watch he’d just bought. That money was supposed to buy my dad a peaceful retirement. Last month, I had bought my dad a three-hundred-dollar cashmere sweater. He had tucked it away in his closet, refusing to wear it because it was “too nice.” He kept wearing his faded, threadbare flannel shirt. My hands shook as I unlocked my phone, frantically going through my contacts to see who I could borrow money from. Then, a banner notification popped up from the hospital. “Time of death: 4:14 PM.” The world went completely silent. It felt as though a lightning bolt had struck me, splitting me open from the inside out. I stood frozen in the entryway. I slowly crumpled the cold, worthless promissory note in my fist. Looking at the three of them laughing in the living room, a strange, hollow clarity washed over me. I decided right then: I was done. I was never coming back. During the three days of my dad’s wake, I cried until my eyes burned dry. Almost everyone we knew came to pay their respects, to offer a quiet word of comfort. Everyone except Donna. She didn’t even know. She was too busy driving Tommy and his father to their premium executive wellness physicals at the private clinic—a package I had originally suggested she buy for “my” father. Instead, she had forced my dad to go through the receipts, charging him for the co-pay right in front of her. That night, my dad had quietly packed his small bag and walked out into a torrential downpour, catching a bus back to his old house in the country. He developed a severe fever that night, which ultimately triggered his final organ failure. And now, he would never need another doctor. When I finally took an Uber back to the house to pack, I found my dad’s clothes and blankets strewn across the hallway floor. Tommy was standing in the living room, bossily directing two moving men as they unscrewed the framed photographs from the wall. “What the hell are you doing?” I gasped. Tommy crossed his arms, looking down his nose at me. “Oh, Lester. My dad’s heart has been acting up, and Donna said he should move in here so we can keep an eye on him. Obviously, we had to clear out this junk to make room.” When we first bought this house, we agreed on a split layout for our parents. The two guest rooms were meant for her mother and my dad. Later, when her mother moved to France, Donna unilaterally gave that room to Tommy. I hadn’t protested. But now, she was giving my dad’s room to Tommy’s father. Seeing my dad’s meager belongings being stepped on by the movers, a surge of raw fury rushed to my head. “These are my father’s things! What right do you have to throw them around?” “I gave them permission.” The front door opened, and Donna walked in, carrying a bottle of heavy-duty disinfectant. She began spraying the walls of my dad’s old room, her movements casual and unbothered. “Your dad hasn’t been back in three days. He obviously went back to the countryside. I told you he didn’t belong in the suburbs anyway, but you insisted on dragging him here.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “The place smells like old dust. It’s disgusting.” My fists clenched so hard my fingernails bit into my palms. My heart felt as though it were being crushed under the tires of a semi-truck. Suddenly, a loud “crack” echoed through the hall. The movers had dropped the only professional portrait my dad had ever taken. The glass shattered into a thousand jagged pieces—mirroring the cold, lonely way he had died. In its place, Tommy hung a framed photo of Donna, Tommy, and Frank laughing together at a beach resort. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. “You told me you hated photos. We don’t even have a wedding album.” Donna froze, her hand hovering over the spray bottle. She looked away, a brief flash of discomfort crossing her face. “Frank said he was feeling depressed about his heart condition. He wanted to take some family photos to cheer himself up. It’s just a picture, Lester. Don’t be so petty.” Just an hour ago, I had seen Frank down the street, lively and dancing with the neighborhood block club. He didn’t look sick at all. I looked down. A small mason jar filled with loose change rolled out of the pile of my dad’s things, shattering against my boot. My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, the tears finally spilling over. The jar still smelled faintly of the cheap peppermint and sawdust that always clung to my dad. I gathered the broken pieces and his scattered belongings into my arms. Donna sighed, adopting her usual tone of superficial sweetness. “Fine, Lester. Once Frank’s health stabilizes, I’ll take you and your dad to Europe. We can do a whole family trip. Will that make you happy?” In the past, I would have clung to that promise, begging for whatever scrap of affection she was willing to throw to my father. But now, he was gone. And I was simply too tired to care. I pushed past her, hard enough to make her stumble, and walked straight into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Donna stood frozen in the hallway, staring blankly at the closed door. She had no idea that just an hour ago, I had accepted the corporate transfer to our international branch in Tokyo. Before, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind, so I had turned down the offer three separate times. Now, there was nothing left to keep me here. The flight to Tokyo was scheduled for two days later. My director, thrilled by my sudden acceptance, had authorized a three-month advance on my relocation salary. I used every penny of it to buy a beautiful, polished granite headstone for my dad. He had spent his entire life working in the cold, sacrificing everything for me. In death, he deserved a beautiful place to rest. When I got back to the house, I began packing my suitcase. There was very little of my own stuff left in the house anyway; most of it had been slowly crowded out by Tommy and Frank’s belongings over the years. Once I packed away my dad’s things, there was no trace of us left. A few minutes later, Donna walked in, the chill of the autumn air still clinging to her coat. I didn’t stop folding my shirts. She leaned against the doorframe, her brows furrowed in deep irritation. “What is this? Are you moving back to the countryside with your dad?” “Ever since Frank moved in, you’ve been throwing a tantrum. Now you’re running away? How do you think this makes me look to our friends?” I didn’t look up, refusing to absorb her misplaced anger. Sensing my absolute silence, she opened her mouth to snap at me, but a blood-curdling shriek from the guest room cut her off. “Oh my god! Help!” Tommy came rushing out, holding a large snake with a pair of BBQ tongs. “There’s a snake in my dad’s room! He has a heart condition! If anything happens to him, I’ll die!” Frank was cowering in the corner of the hallway, casting a highly calculated, terrified glance in my direction. With just one look from Tommy, Donna’s eyes snapped to me, instantly cold with accusation. “Did you put that snake in his room, Lester?” I met her gaze dead-on, my voice devoid of emotion. “You know I have a phobia of reptiles. Do you really think I would touch that?” My quiet counter-question made her hesitate for a fraction of a second. But Tommy took that moment to squeeze out a few tears, his voice trembling with victimhood. “I know Lester hates me, and I can leave if I’m not wanted. But my dad is old, and his heart can’t take this kind of shock… Lester knew that.” His sobbing voice wiped away whatever lingering doubt Donna had. Ignoring my well-known, paralyzing fear of snakes, she snatched the tongs from Tommy and stepped toward me, bringing the writhing reptile closer to my face. “So you do know how to feel afraid?” she hissed. “Then why did you do this to Frank? Are you trying to embarrass me until there’s nothing left of my reputation?” My pulse skyrocketed. Terror gripped my chest, and my hands began to shake uncontrollably. “Donna, I said it wasn’t me!” Frank whimpered from the corner. “Donna, sweetheart, maybe I should just go. I don’t want to get between you two.” Donna immediately grabbed his arm, her eyes flashing with ice as she glared at me. “I bought this house. If anyone is leaving, it’s him.” I stared at her, completely stunned. When we first bought this fixer-upper, we spent months choosing every tile, every coat of paint together. She had held my hand in the empty living room and promised me this would be our sanctuary. And now, she was throwing me out of it. I didn’t argue. I grabbed my suitcase, walked out, and slammed the door behind me. I spent the night in a cheap motel down the road. The next morning, my phone chimed with an automated alert from my bank: A foreclosure and lien notice on my dad’s old farmhouse in the country. My mind went entirely blank. Before I could process it, the bank representative called. “Mr. Crawford, we’re calling to inform you that Mrs. Crawford has leveraged your father’s property as collateral for a fifty-thousand-dollar personal loan. Since the primary account is flagged, we need to verify the repayment schedule.” A suffocating wave of dizziness hit me. When I finally stumbled my way to my dad’s old house, I found Donna and two loan inspectors standing in the yard, surveying the property. “Donna, what are you doing?” My voice was barely a whisper. She looked at me, completely unbothered. “Because of your little stunt last night, Frank had a severe panic attack. He’s in the hospital right now waiting for a heart stent.” “You made a mistake, Lester. Now you have to pay for it.” I tried to keep my voice from cracking, but the grief and rage were spilling over. “This house is the only thing my dad left me. It’s all I have left of him. You knew that.” Donna blinked, then looked around the empty yard. “Where is your dad anyway? I’d love to ask him face-to-face how he raised a son to be so vindictive.” A wild, breathless laugh escaped my throat, my eyes burning. “He… he’s dead, Donna.” Donna froze, her eyes widening. Beside her, Tommy stumbled slightly, as if trying to play up his own fragility. “Lester, please… don’t make up horrible lies just to escape responsibility. Your dad is a good man, and it’s cruel to curse him like that. I know how painful it is to worry about a father…” Seeing Tommy’s frail, pathetic act, Donna’s expression hardened once more. “Tommy stayed up all night at the hospital, terrified to close his eyes. You should understand that kind of pain, Lester. Do unto others—or did you forget that?” Years ago, when I sat outside my dad’s operating room crying my eyes out, she had told me I was overreacting. She told me it wasn’t a big deal. But now, because Tommy was crying, she suddenly understood what grief was. I walked over and stood in front of the front door, spreading my arms to block them. “Get. Out.” Donna’s face twisted with impatience. “It’s just a temporary mortgage, Lester. We aren’t tearing the place down. Don’t make a scene.” “Frank needs this surgery. Can’t you show a single shred of humanity?” I looked at her self-righteous face, and for a second, I thought I might actually lose my mind. Losing her remaining patience, Donna snatched the clipboard from the inspector and signed her name on the dotted line. She walked up to me, looking down at me with cold pity. “Don’t forget who put down the down payment for this farmhouse in the first place, Lester. I have every legal right to use it.” She pulled a stack of hundred-dollar bills from her purse and tossed them at my feet, like a master throwing a scrap to a dog. “Take this. Rent a nice apartment for you and your dad for a month. I promise I’ll clear the mortgage and give you the deed back in thirty days.” She turned, wrapping her arm around Tommy to support him as they walked back to her car. My fingers tightened around the dirt-stained bills. I collapsed onto the gravel driveway. In that quiet, dusty yard, the last remaining thread of my marriage finally snapped. For the rest of the day, Tommy’s social media was flooded with updates. Donna was at the hospital, feeding Frank soup, fluffing his pillows, playing the role of the perfect, devoted daughter-in-law. My phone buzzed repeatedly with texts from her: “I know you’re hurt about the money. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you next month, double.” “I found a lovely two-bedroom cottage near the city for you and your dad. I paid the security deposit. Move in there for now, and I’ll explain everything to your dad later.” But Donna… your money, your apologies, and you—I don’t want any of it anymore. That evening, Donna walked into the hospital room carrying takeout. Tommy smiled, leaping up to greet her. “Donna! You should have told me Lester’s dad actually passed away. We wouldn’t have had to go through all that trouble with the mortgage.” The takeout container slipped from her fingers. The plastic cracked against the linoleum, and hot soup splattered across the floor.

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