Category: English

One year into my marriage, I was cornered, stripped of my clothes, and pinned against a wall. The woman turned on her phone to start a livestream, then slapped me hard across the face. “You filthy homewrecker! How dare you seduce my husband!” She had the strength of an ox. I couldn’t fight back. All I could do was cover my chest and scream in denial: “You have the wrong person! I’m married! I don’t even know your husband!” The woman sneered and threw a marriage certificate at my face. It was a certified copy of a marriage license, complete with a photo of her and my husband, Liam! “Liam and I got married three years ago. Maya, you are the mistress here. Get it?” My mind went completely blank. Overnight, my life was ruined. I lost my promotion at the TV network, and I was blacklisted from the entire industry. Depressed and broken, I walked out onto the balcony of our penthouse. Just as I was about to jump, I heard voices outside the door. A woman laughed. “Liam, you are truly ruthless.” “We’ve only known each other for three months, yet you let me use a fake marriage license to destroy her just to make me happy.” Liam’s voice was filled with adoration. “As long as you’re happy, babe. You can play with her however you want.” I stared at the closed door, my heart shattering into pieces. The living hell I had been through was nothing more than a game he played to make his new girl laugh.

The wind on the balcony was howling, but their voices cut through it, hitting my ears with brutal clarity. I closed my eyes tightly, remembering the nightmare of the past month. After being labeled a “homewrecker,” I had posted screenshots of my chat history to prove I had been deceived. But every explanation only brought viler abuse. My colleagues avoided me like the plague. Strangers spat on the street when I walked by. “Look at her dressing like that. She’s definitely a homewrecker.” “I bet she slept her way to getting all those designer bags.” I tried my best to block out the rumors and focus on my work. But during a live broadcast, even the guest on my show asked me on air why I chose to destroy someone’s family. I finally broke down, crying and screaming, “I’m not! I didn’t even know he was married!” Nobody believed me. The clip of my breakdown was edited, went viral on TikTok, and triggered a new wave of cyberbullying. I lost my job completely and was blacklisted. Fear and nightmares haunted me every night. I swallowed more and more sleeping pills, and my hair fell out in clumps. It wasn’t until Liam returned from overseas with Vivian that I finally confronted him. He just looked at me with annoyance. “You only asked me if I had a girlfriend when I was studying abroad. You never asked if I had a wife. How did I lie to you?” The last string in my brain snapped. Death seemed like the only way out. But now, finding out the truth, I stood frozen. Since all of this was fake… What was the point of all the agony I had suffered over the past month? Anger, mixed with overwhelming grief, rushed to my head. I threw the door open. Liam’s laugh froze on his face. My words cut through the room like a blade: “Why would you do this to me?!” Frowning, he signaled Vivian to leave. Then he sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette. I was severely allergic to cigarette smoke and started coughing immediately. In the past, he would never smoke in front of me. But this time, he was completely indifferent to my discomfort. Liam said coldly, “Since you heard everything, I’ll be straight with you.” “Maya, I know you love me, but I’m bored.” “I’m bored of your unchanging hairstyle, bored of always having to baby you, and most of all… bored of your single position in bed.” “I need excitement. Vivian can give me what you can’t.” I took a few deep breaths to suppress my nausea and said, “Liam, how can you do this to me? Have you forgotten my mother, Helen?” At the mention of my mother, his expression stiffened. “It’s been so many years. You always use Helen’s death to guilt-trip me.” “I know she saved my life. Wasn’t marrying you enough to pay that debt?” Liam and I were neighbors growing up. Years ago, when the Sterling estate caught fire, his parents weren’t home, and even their nanny abandoned him. Only my mother rushed into the flames to save him. But in the end, she died from severe smoke inhalation. My mother’s death had always been a taboo topic between us. Bringing it up now, combined with the humiliation of the past weeks, broke me. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. “My mother died for nothing! She saved an ungrateful monster!” The slap left both of us stunned. Then, Liam actually let out a low chuckle. “This is the first time I’ve seen you this angry.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This expression on your face is actually quite hot.” “It’s literally turning me on.” “Since Vivian isn’t here, why don’t we try the bathroom?” His words made my mind go completely blank. I looked at him in utter disbelief. He felt like a complete stranger. Was this really the man I had loved since childhood? I grabbed the nearest vase and threw it at him, screaming at him to get the hell out. After he left, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. I wanted to go to the bedroom to sleep off the exhaustion. But the moment I opened the door, I froze. Our wedding photo had been ripped off the wall and thrown onto the floor. My face was defaced with black marker, with “Homewrecker” written next to it in bold letters. Worse, there were two distinct, dusty boot prints right on the photo. I took a step back, and my foot stepped on something slick. I looked down. It was a used condom. I gagged, but nothing came out. The pain consumed me. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t shed a single tear. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Liam had posted a new Snapchat story: *Finally returning to my real family. Excited to spend the rest of my life with my beautiful wife.* The attached photo showed him and Vivian standing side by side, watching the sunset. In an instant, my brain exploded. The tears finally broke through. Humiliation and fury rolled down my cheeks. A fierce desire for revenge ignited deep within my heart.

Over the next few days, I spent every waking hour gathering evidence of his infidelity, determined to ruin him. But the more I uncovered, the colder my heart became. Three months ago, on my birthday, I sat alone in the dark waiting for him until dawn. He spent the entire night setting off fireworks with Vivian. Two months ago, I went to the hospital and found out I was pregnant. I tried to call him to share the joy, but he was unreachable. He was busy taking care of Vivian because she had menstrual cramps. One month ago, when my reputation was ruined and I miscarried in the hospital due to stress, he was in Iceland with Vivian, watching the Northern Lights. I let out a bitter laugh. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up again. I threw up until there was nothing left but bile, and only then did the numb pain in my chest ease a little. The next day, I sent all the evidence to a prominent media contact, waiting for them to break the story. When I got home, I forced myself to sit down and draft the divorce papers. As I wrote, my eyes welled with tears. We were childhood sweethearts. We had crushes on each other for years. When we graduated high school, we promised that once he finished his degree abroad and came back, we would be together. In the beginning, no matter how late I worked, he would always pick me up. When I was sick, he would cancel multi-million-dollar meetings just to cook soup and take care of me in the hospital for six hours. On the day I got promoted, he spent over a million dollars at an auction to buy a diamond ring and propose to me. I didn’t want people to say I was using him to climb the social ladder, so we kept our marriage a secret. But I never expected that this secrecy would become the perfect cover for his affair. Tears blurred my vision. Before I could understand when exactly he had changed, I fell asleep from pure exhaustion. When I woke up, the trending topics on Twitter were exploding. But the moment I opened my phone, I almost fainted. The evidence of his affair had been twisted. It was released as my “confession” of being a homewrecker! They had used AI to clone my voice for a fake audio apology and even generated my handwriting! The internet went into a frenzy again. My photos were maliciously photoshopped with “Homewrecker” labels and circulated everywhere. Not only that, but all my social media accounts were banned, and my phone number was leaked. Harassment calls and disgusting text messages flooded in. Some called me a whore and told me to die. Others asked how much I charged for a night to be their side chick. I laughed out loud, a sound full of misery. In that instant, I realized this was Liam’s retaliation. Whenever I faced negative comments at work in the past, he was always the first to shut them down, protecting me from any hurt. But now, for the sake of Vivian, he had personally dragged me into this hell. The door opened, and Liam walked in. My rage burned away all remaining sanity. I grabbed a glass cup and hurled it at him. “Liam! I am not the mistress! She is! I want a divorce!” He dodged the glass, stepped forward, and grabbed my throat, pinning me against the wall. Even as my eyes bloodshot and physiological tears spilled over from the pain, his grip didn’t loosen. Only when I was on the verge of suffocating did he finally let go. “Are you calm now? Do that again, and I’ll make sure it hurts more.” “Maya, a little jealousy is fine, but if you keep making scenes, I’ll get annoyed. Stop using these cheap tricks to get my attention.” “You love me to death, and I need a wife who knows her place. We both get what we want, don’t we?” He glanced at the divorce papers on the laptop and sneered. “You want a divorce? Do you even have the guts? Now that you have no job, who else can you rely on besides me?” “Be good. Once I’m done having fun, I’ll clear your name.” I coughed violently, but he ignored me. “Vivian cried until her eyes were red. She wants me to throw a massive wedding to make it up to her. And she wants you to personally apologize to her at the wedding before she forgives me.” Before leaving, he turned back. “Whether you show up is up to you. But if Vivian is unhappy, I don’t mind giving you another little punishment.” After he left, my vision was still swimming in darkness. I started laughing hysterically. And then, I cried. That night, Liam paid to push a new topic to the top of the trending list: *The Reformed Playboy! The Sterling Group Heir Spends $100 Million on a Century Wedding to Make His Wife Happy!* The comments section was flooded, and people even started shipping them. [Real couples are the best! It must have been that other woman who seduced him! A famous TV host acting as a homewrecker, how disgusting!] [Does Maya have a shortage of men? She’s so desperate! I hate homewreckers! Go die already!] [Her mother died early, so she was raised without any manners. No wonder she has no morals.] After reading these, I leaned over the trash can, feeling like I was going to throw up my entire stomach. In my fading consciousness… I remembered him kneeling on one knee, his ears bright red, carefully sliding the ring onto my finger and swearing to love me forever. When I raised my head again… Except for the nausea and the burning sensation in my stomach, the sadness suddenly vanished. Everything about Liam seemed completely meaningless to me now. My phone vibrated, and a text message lit up the screen: *I saw what you sent me. When can we meet and talk?*

The trending topics stayed active for several days. The number one topic was Liam and Vivian’s wedding of the century. The second was my fake confession. A small group of netizens attacked Liam, accusing him of cheating. He responded directly with a video on Instagram. “Yes, I admit I made a mistake, but please do not attack Vivian.” “She is innocent, kind, and fragile. She can’t handle this. I will take all the responsibility.” “I only hope that when we get married, everyone can give her their most sincere blessings.” As soon as the video was released, the doubts vanished, and people started praising him for being “responsible.” Then, they turned around and launched an even more vicious attack on me, calling me a shameless husband-stealer. I locked my phone, finding the whole thing incredibly ironic. That night, Liam came back. He sat across from me and cleared his throat. “The date for my wedding with Vivian is set. It’s the day after tomorrow. Remember to show up.” The day after tomorrow… Was the anniversary of my mother’s death. I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. “I don’t have time. I’m going to visit my mother’s grave.” “And when are you going to sign the divorce papers?” He completely ignored the divorce and sneered, “Your mother has been dead for years. What is there to visit? Vivian’s parents are coming too. You can just pay respects to her mother.” I thought I was completely numb, but my heart still took a sharp hit. Seeing my reluctance, he pulled out my mother’s necklace. “This is Helen’s necklace, right? If you don’t go and you make Vivian unhappy, this necklace might…” I clenched my teeth so hard they ached. Just as my anger was about to boil over, a vibration from my phone pulled me back. I pinched myself hard, forcing myself to calm down. After glancing at the message, I said flatly: “Liam, do you really want me to congratulate Vivian in front of all those reporters?” He laughed. “Of course.” Before leaving, he looked back at me. “It seems dead people’s things are still useful.” “And about the day after tomorrow, you know what to say and what not to say.” On the day of the wedding, Liam indeed invited a crowd of reporters. In the dressing room, Vivian was standing in front of me in a custom haute couture wedding gown. Her corsage read “Bride.” Liam’s read “Groom.” And mine, which Liam tried to pin on my chest, read “The Homewrecker.” Vivian shed a few tears, and Liam immediately tried to force the corsage onto me. I blocked his hand, but he didn’t care. The sharp pin scratched my hand, drawing blood, but he successfully pinned it to my dress anyway. I clenched my fists. “Are you sure you want to do this to me?” He frowned. “Vivian just asked you to wear a flower. What’s the big deal?” Seeing me wearing it, Vivian said triumphantly: “Later, you will read every single word of the apology slides I prepared.” “Then, you will get down on your knees, beg for my forgiveness, and say ‘I am a homewrecker, I shouldn’t have ruined your family, please forgive me.’” “You have to stay on your knees until I tell you to get up. Do you understand?” I didn’t say a word, just stared at her. Seeing Vivian get annoyed, Liam grabbed my jaw tightly. “Don’t be ungrateful.” I slapped his hand away and glared at him. Before I could speak, the door opened. Reporters with cameras and guests flooded in. They surrounded Vivian and Liam, praising her dress and saying they were a match made in heaven. But when they saw the “Homewrecker” corsage on my chest, their expressions turned into pure disgust. “I really don’t understand how some women can be so cheap, always trying to steal other women’s husbands.” “Exactly. Showing up on such a happy day… Vivian is too kind. If it were me, I would have slapped her already.” Their stares felt like knives cutting into my skin. I ripped the corsage off. “I am not the mistress! Vivian is!” Nobody believed me. Their looks grew even more contemptuous. “I’ve never seen someone so shameless. Acting like she’s innocent when she’s a home wrecker. Where does she get the nerve?” Liam stood aside, not saying a single word to defend me. He only asked Vivian if she was tired or hungry. Seeing this, the onlookers grew even more envious of Vivian and aggressive toward me. Just as I was about to defend myself, Liam grabbed my arm tightly where no one could see, pinching me hard to shut me up. Cold sweat poured down my forehead from the pain, but he ignored it. Vivian played the victim perfectly. “Please don’t talk about Maya like that. She just loved Liam too much. He is so amazing, I can understand her.” “Maya is here to apologize today. I hope everyone can forgive her later.” Shortly after, the ceremony began. They went up to the stage under the cheers of the crowd, exchanging emotional vows. Finally, after they exchanged rings, I was called up to the stage. But the moment the giant screen behind us lit up, Liam’s face turned deathly pale

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My parents always taught me that a girl had to be independent. They were getting old, and it was time for me to shoulder the family’s burdens. I remember pointing at my brother, Austin, and saying naively, “But we have Austin. He should learn to be independent too.” Not long after that, Austin had a terrible fall. He became completely bedridden. I worked part-time jobs while taking care of my paralyzed brother, yet our family still survived on discarded vegetables and wore second-hand clothes rescued from the trash. To make more money, I signed up for sketchy, under-the-table medical drug trials. But because of that, I developed severe skin cancer. My body began to rot. Without hesitation, I left every single dollar of that blood money to Austin. I didn’t even keep enough cash to buy a bottle of sleeping pills for myself. In the end, I pulled a plastic trash bag over my head and ended my own life. Yet, after my death, I saw Austin playing in a high-stakes championship basketball game. When it ended, my parents rushed to hug him and gifted him the most expensive mansion in the city. It turned out they had staged this entire tragedy of poverty. I was the only actor who took the script seriously. But now that I’m actually dead, why do they look so full of regret?

I was preparing for my second drug trial. The nurse, about to insert the needle, froze when she saw the massive rotting sores on my arm. She gasped, her hand shaking so hard that the syringe dropped to the floor. They rushed me in for a full medical examination. Before I could even ask about the rotting skin, they dragged me out and threw me onto the street. The nurse threw my cash and the medical report right at my face. “You have skin cancer and you still dared to come for drug trials? How desperate for money are you? You signed the waiver, so even if you died on our table, it’s on you. Take the money and get the hell out. Don’t you dare try to sue us!” Those words hit me like a lightning bolt. I froze on the pavement. Ever since the trials started, my skin had been incredibly itchy and flaky. Every time Sarah struggled to sweep up the dry skin from my bedsheets, I felt so incredibly guilty. I never imagined it was the prelude to my death. Dejected, I picked up the report and stared at the bold letters, desperately wishing my eyes were playing tricks on me. Just then, my phone buzzed. Sarah’s gentle voice echoed in my ear. “Chloe, we’re working extra hours for some cash today and won’t make it back for lunch. Remember to cook for Austin.” I swallowed my tears and choked out a quiet, “Okay.” My feet felt like lead as I walked back home. Seeing Austin lying on the bed, I immediately shoved the medical report under my wooden cot. But looking at him, my eyes welled up with tears. Austin looked at me and whispered, “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m holding you back. Honestly, it’s fine if I skip lunch.” I walked over and sat by his bed for a long time before I could find my voice. “Austin, what will you do if I’m not here one day?” Austin gently patted my head, his eyes full of affection. “What are you talking about? I’d die for you before I let anything happen to you. You’re going to be fine. We just have to stay strong. Things will get better soon.” But I wasn’t going to get better. I stood up, wiped my tears, and did something I never did—I bought some fresh eggs to boil for Austin. As soon as the food was on the table, David and Sarah dragged their exhausted bodies through the door. They pulled a bunch of bruised, discarded lettuce leaves from their tattered canvas bags. David took a big gulp of cold tap water, looking excited. “Sarah was so fast today. She grabbed these from the supermarket dumpster before anyone else. They’re fresher than usual!” I looked at them, but my mind was completely blank. Sarah pulled a gourmet cupcake from her bag and placed it in my hand. “It’s your birthday today. We can’t afford a cake, but you should still have something sweet.” I held the heavy, beautifully frosted cupcake, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. The words from the medical report kept spinning in my head. The sweet aroma of the frosting snapped me back to reality. I placed the cupcake in front of Austin. “Give it to Austin. I don’t really like sweets.” Austin pushed my hand back. “It’s your birthday, Chloe. You eat it. I’ll just take a tiny taste of the frosting to celebrate.” Saying that, he dipped his finger in the frosting and licked it. A gourmet cupcake like this cost as much as our grocery budget for a week. No matter what, I couldn’t swallow it. David and Sarah sat down at the table, gnawing on stale, yellowed bread. They refused to touch the boiled eggs I made. Looking at their mismatched, oversized clothes rescued from thrift store dumpsters, my heart ached with agonizing pain. The terror of knowing I was going to die was slowly washed away by sheer pity for my family. I wanted to beg my parents for comfort, but I chose to keep my mouth shut about the cancer. If my death meant one less mouth to feed, and if it could make their lives easier, then I was willing to die.

I just didn’t understand. We all worked so hard, so why were we always so poor? To save money when we were kids, David and Sarah moved us to a run-down trailer park on the edge of town. Almost every kid here came from extreme poverty. Their families put all their hopes on them. So, the kids here were incredibly tough and studied hard. Sarah never complained about the harsh life. Instead, she grabbed my hand excitedly. “In an environment like this, Chloe, you will definitely grow up to be strong and successful.” I turned to look at Austin, my innocent eyes wide. “I hope Austin will be as independent and strong as me.” But not long after, Austin fell and became paralyzed. I was consumed by guilt. I used to sit by Austin’s bed and slap myself hard across the face. I believed my stupid mouth had cursed him to be bedridden forever. To make up for it, I started working part-time while going to high school. But a student could only get the most brutal, lowest-paying gigs. In the scorching ninety-degree summer heat, I stood on the asphalt handing out flyers. When I was dying of thirst, I couldn’t even bear to spend a dollar on a bottle of water. I would pick up half-empty bottles discarded by strangers, saving the plastic bottles to sell later. To fight the homeless people for those plastic bottles, I was cornered in an alley. They stuffed trash into my mouth, kicking and punching me to warn me off. With a mouth full of blood and bruises all over my body, there were times I wanted to buy cheap painkillers. But I forced myself to save every single cent for Austin’s treatment. To numb the pain, I resorted to rubbing soot from trash fires into my cuts. When David and Sarah found out, they gave me a huge thumbs-up. “Our daughter has incredible resilience. You already have the mindset of a successful leader.” But they had no idea how excruciating it was to rub trash ash into open wounds. I didn’t dare make a sound. Even asking Sarah for a simple hug felt like a selfish luxury. Because every minute I wasted meant less money earned. I looked at the sweet cupcake on the table, a dark resolution forming in my mind. Just then, Sarah walked in, sat on the edge of my cot, and gently stroked my hair. She looked apologetic. “Someone recommended a great specialist. We’ve saved up a bit of money recently, and we want to take Austin out of town to see him. Maybe… just maybe, he can stand up again.” It was such a normal farewell, but it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. They had traveled to see doctors with Austin before, but this time, it would be my final goodbye. I pushed my grief aside, scrambled up, and pulled all the cash from my bag, forcing it into Sarah’s hands. Seeing Sarah’s shocked expression, I lied with red eyes. “It was just Valentine’s Day. A lot of rich couples got into fights and threw away expensive gifts. I got lucky, found some, and sold them.” Sarah hugged me, her face full of pride. “Take care of yourself at home. We’ll be back soon.” I leaned against the window frame, watching their figures slowly disappear down the dusty road. Only then did I realize that in my desperation to save Austin, I hadn’t left a single dollar for myself. Tears streamed down my face. Through the blur, I saw the plastic bag that had wrapped the cupcake on the table. I took a tiny bite of the remaining cupcake. The sweetness exploded in my mouth. To have Sarah’s final gesture of love was enough for me. I pulled the plastic bag over my head and slowly pulled it tight around my neck. The sweet smell of vanilla made me feel like I was drifting into a dream. My hands hesitated. But I quickly forced myself to focus. This family couldn’t afford another sick person. Without me as a burden, they could focus entirely on curing Austin. I clenched my teeth and pulled the plastic tight. Soon, the dim light in the room was swallowed by an endless, silent darkness.

When I woke up again, I felt weightless. When I saw a stiff, pale version of myself lying on the cot, I finally realized I was dead. I floated closer. My face was a sickly blue. Already malnourished, I looked even uglier in death. But my only thought was: *How is Austin doing?* As that thought consumed me, I suddenly vanished and reappeared at a basketball court. Before I could process why my ghost was teleporting, I saw David and Sarah sitting in the VIP stands, beaming with joy. They were wearing expensive, designer clothes. Even if our family had saved for a lifetime, we couldn’t have afforded a single sleeve of those outfits. I floated in front of them, but they looked like total strangers. Sarah’s bright red lipstick was striking, and her perfectly styled blonde waves made her look exactly like a wealthy socialite. Confused, I followed their gaze down to the court. There, I saw my paralyzed brother, Austin, running and dribbling the ball with incredible agility. I recognized the jersey he was wearing. It was a limited-edition designer brand that money could barely buy. My mind spun. Suddenly, the buzzer sounded. David and Sarah rushed onto the court, throwing their arms around Austin with pure adoration. “Austin! We didn’t spend all those years taking you around the world for nothing!” But Austin was paralyzed… how did he travel the world? Even in my confusion, seeing him healthy made me ecstatic. “Austin! You’re okay? How did you get better?” But no matter how loud I screamed, they didn’t react. Austin hugged Sarah. “Mom, I was going crazy pretending to be paralyzed for so long. Thank God I could use those ‘doctor visits’ as an excuse to travel and actually stretch my legs.” David and Sarah cupped his face, overflowing with affection. “You’ve worked so hard, son. Today, we have a gift for you.” David pulled out a deed. It was for a luxury mansion in the city’s most exclusive gated community. I remembered that place. I had stood outside its gates once, staring in awe. Back then, Sarah had told me, “We won’t be poor forever, Chloe. If you work hard, you’ll live in a house like this one day.” But it turned out they didn’t need to work hard. They already owned it. Austin seemed to remember something and looked at them. “By the way, Chloe was crying when she got home yesterday. Did something happen to her?” Sarah instantly looked tense and grabbed his arm. “You didn’t blow your cover, did you? Our plan is almost complete. We can’t let it ruin now.” Austin shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ve played the part this long, I won’t disappoint you. But I still feel like Chloe is hiding something.” Sarah nodded, telling him not to overthink it. She said they would check on me when they got back. Full of questions, I followed them back to the mansion. The villa was blindingly bright, filled with maids rushing around. Someone even held out slippers for them, and the dining table was piled high with expensive delicacies. It turned out today was Austin’s engagement party. They had invited high society’s finest. Sarah stood next to David, whispering, “Chloe has been acting strange lately. She used to be so full of positive energy. And she handed me so much cash before we left… You don’t think she got it illegally, do you?” David wrapped an arm around her, speaking patiently. “No way. We raised her to be independent, and her morals are solid.” “Besides, Austin’s career is stable now, and Chloe is graduating in a few days. On Austin’s wedding day, we’ll tell her the truth. She’s inheriting a multi-million dollar company right out of college. She’ll probably think she’s dreaming.” Standing beside them, my tears fell silently onto the marble floor. *David, Sarah… I won’t be smiling. And I’m never waking up.*

The engagement party was a massive success, and they set the wedding date for a week later. After waving goodbye to the guests, David and Sarah pulled out their phones, looking slightly anxious. “We’ll be busy planning the wedding this week, so we can’t go back to the old place. We should call Chloe and let her know.” Sarah dialed my number eagerly, but it just kept ringing. I floated next to her, wanting to tell her I was right there. But my hand passed right through her shoulder. I could never hug her again. I recalled smelling expensive perfume on them back in the trailer park. They had always lied, saying they just ran into some rich ladies. I recalled the photos Sarah sent me—they were far too high-quality to have been taken on her cheap, cracked phone. And Austin… his legs had remained muscular and toned despite supposedly being paralyzed for years. It was all just a sick game of “poverty,” and I was the only actor who didn’t know it was a script. My grief suffocated me. But looking at their happy faces, a part of me felt relieved. If they were living well, I didn’t have to worry anymore. After a long time, I floated upstairs. At the end of the hallway was a bedroom. I walked in. The layout was incredibly familiar. It was decorated exactly like the dream room I had sketched in my notebook years ago. On the nightstand was a framed photo of the four of us. My school trophies and certificates from childhood were neatly arranged on the desk. Just then, a cat wandered into the room. Even the cat was the exact breed I had drawn. They remembered every single dream I had. They had built it all for me. This room was a beautiful fairytale, but I could only watch. I could never touch it. Loud footsteps echoed in the hallway. I turned around. Several personal stylists in sharp suits walked in, holding a row of gorgeous designer gowns. David, Sarah, and Austin stood before the outfits. “Our suits are ready. Now, let’s choose Chloe’s dress. This will be our big surprise for her.” Looking at the price tags, each dress cost more than I used to earn in a year of grueling labor. Now, a whole rack of them was mine. Austin picked up a stunning blue gown with a long train. “This blue one is perfect for Chloe. She’s so fair, she’ll look like royalty in this.” David shook his head. He pulled out a white tulle gown. “No, Chloe should wear this one. When she was little, she would stare at the dolls in the boutique window for hours. She’ll love the tulle.” Austin stared at the rack for a moment, then grabbed a pastel pink gown. “You guys still don’t get Chloe. Pink is her absolute favorite. She’s wanted pink things since she was a toddler.” “But light colors get dirty too easily. To save money, she always forced herself to choose dark, ugly clothes. Her classmates used to call her a cheap, dirty peasant because of it.” David and Sarah looked pained, exchanging a sad look before agreeing with Austin. In the blink of an eye, it was Austin’s wedding day. They had been too busy to check on me all week. On the morning of the wedding, Sarah happily sent the family chauffeur to fetch me. She whispered to the driver, “When you get there, don’t tell her who sent you. We want to give her the surprise of her life.” The driver nodded and sped off to the trailer park to pick up the “secret heiress.” But after hours of waiting, I never arrived. Instead, the chauffeur burst through the mansion doors, his face pale with horror. “Ma’am… Sir… something terrible has happened. The trailer is surrounded by police. Chloe… Chloe is dead.”

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All because Ethan Cross was obsessed with absolute fairness. For the five years of our marriage, every single decision in our household had to be decided by the roll of a die. Until my best friend, Chloe, texted me. She said Ethan was out on the streets, mobilizing a massive search party to find his first love’s lost dog. “That’s impossible!” I replied instinctively. “I just won the roll against him.” “He promised he would personally escort our son’s donor heart from the docks to the hospital. He should be arriving any minute.” But a phone call from our contact at the harbor slapped me right in the face. “Dr. Miller, I still haven’t seen Mr. Cross! We can’t delay young Leo’s surgery!” “There are too many dangerous eyes on this donor heart. It’s only safe if Mr. Cross escorts it himself.” Ethan’s phone went straight to voicemail. Left with no choice, I tracked his GPS location and drove out to find him. When I arrived, I saw him holding a sobbing Scarlett Vance tightly in his arms, while directing a fleet of luxury SUVs to fan out across the streets. “If you don’t find Buster—mine and Scarlett’s baby—you all know the consequences!” Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. This man, whose very life I had saved with my own medical skills, wasn’t worth it anymore. I was done.

As the search fleet sped away, Ethan turned to get into the driver’s seat. I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Ethan!” He spun around, startled. “Vivian? Why aren’t you at the hospital?” “I should be asking you that!” I grit my teeth, fighting back tears. “You promised me you would go to the docks to get Leo’s heart!” Leo was our four-year-old son. He inherited a congenital heart defect and had been on the transplant waiting list for a year. If his condition hadn’t suddenly taken a turn for the worse last month, we wouldn’t have had to spend millions coordinating a private international organ transfer. Ethan avoided my gaze, looking slightly guilty. “Vivian…” “You know how many competitors are waiting for this heart to fail! Why are you wasting crucial time helping this woman find a dog?” Hearing my words, the girl clutching his coat stopped crying. She shrank back into Ethan’s chest, trembling like a victim. “Watch your mouth, Vivian! Scarlett is a dear friend of mine!” Ethan’s voice turned cold. “Buster isn’t just a dog. He is our baby!” “If anything happens to him, Scarlett will break down!” Our baby? I carried Leo for ten months, nurtured him through four agonizing years of sickness, and he didn’t even rank above a dog in Ethan’s eyes? “No! I don’t care what you say today, you are going to the docks and bringing that heart to the hospital!” I blocked his car door with my body. “Once I’m in the operating room saving Leo, you can go find whatever dog you want—” “Stop being hysterical!” Ethan grabbed my collar and shoved me aside. I stumbled, nearly crashing onto the hard pavement. “Ethan!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “What happened to your absolute fairness? I won the roll this morning!” The winner calls the shots. That was Ethan’s golden rule. When we got married, he wanted me to resign from the hospital to be his private on-call doctor. I lost the roll, so I resigned. The day I went into labor, he got a call saying Scarlett was injured. He wanted to leave. We rolled, and I lost again. When my mother was rushed to the ER with a severe concussion, Scarlett’s car happened to break down on the highway. I rolled, and I still lost. But today, for the first time in three years, I finally won. He had agreed to cancel his plans of fixing Scarlett’s clogged toilet and promised to fetch Leo’s life-saving heart. Yet, he was breaking his word. “Play fair!” I blocked him again. “Are you going to break your own sacred rule?” Ethan paused. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his signature golden die, and handed it to me. “You win, you call the shots. Same as always.” He was so calm, so detached. My hands shook as I took the heavy gold metal. *I have to win,* I prayed in my heart. *Please.* The die rolled across his palms. The seconds felt like hours, sweat slicking my hands. But when it stopped, the single red dot facing upward made my vision go black. Before I could process it, Ethan snatched the die back. “No, that doesn’t count!” I fell to my knees on the gravel, grabbing his coat. “The asphalt is uneven! Let’s roll again, please…” “Vivian, you play, you accept the loss.” He took a step forward. I clung to his leg desperately. “I’m begging you, Ethan. Please!” “In the eight years I’ve known you, I have never begged you for anything. If Leo doesn’t get this surgery today, he will die!” Ethan paused. He didn’t look back, but he pulled out his phone. “Carter, take a car and fetch the boy’s transplant box from the docks.” Then he looked down at me. “Are you satisfied now?” “No!” My eyes were bloodshot. “The docks are dangerous. Only you, Ethan Cross, have the authority to get that heart out safely!” “Even if Carter drives your car, everyone knows you’re here looking for a damn dog! Do you think our enemies are stupid?” “Ethan, is that dog really more important than your own son’s life?” “Yes!” Ethan snapped. “Buster only responds to my scent and Scarlett’s!” He pointed a finger at my forehead. “Vivian, the more time you waste throwing this tantrum, the less of a chance your son has to survive!” With that, he brushed me off and slammed the car door shut. The words “your son” froze me to the core. I chose this man. I gave birth to this child. And I rolled the die myself. Who else could I blame for my rotten luck? The SUV roared to life, leaving me in a cloud of dust. As the dust settled, something caught the streetlights. I leaned down and picked up the golden die he had dropped in his haste. I shook it instinctively, and my heart sank into an abyss.

Carter drove like a maniac, clutching the steering wheel as the cooler box sat secured in the passenger seat. I checked my watch. We could still make it! At sixty miles an hour, we were only thirty minutes away from the hospital. The freezing wind whipped through the cracked window. I shoved my hands into my pockets and felt the cold weight of the golden die. Ethan had carried it for twenty years. Its edges were worn smooth. He always spoke of fairness, and I had almost convinced myself that his obsession was just a harmless quirk of his dangerous lifestyle. But just now, when I shook it in the quiet car, I felt a tiny, faint click from inside. “Carter,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “You’ve been with Ethan for ten years, right?” “Yes, Mrs. Cross.” “Do you know how to rig a die?” Carter answered honestly, suspecting nothing. “It’s simple, ma’am. You just drill a tiny hole and insert a sliding lead pin inside.” “Whichever number you want to roll, you just tap the pin to the opposite side. Gravity does the rest.” I froze. My fingers trembled as I lightly tapped the die against my palm. I felt the subtle shift of weight. I rolled it onto the dashboard. It stopped perfectly on the number 3—the exact number I wanted. The blood in my veins turned to ice. There was never any fairness. The outcome had always been in Ethan’s hands. What he rolled simply depended on what he valued. He didn’t value my career. He didn’t care about my safety during childbirth. He didn’t care if my mother lived or died. To him, I never had any privilege. “Mrs. Cross, the road ahead is blocked.” The sudden screech of brakes pulled me back to reality. I leaned out the window. There was a barricade ahead. Along with the traffic cops, I immediately recognized Ethan’s men. One of them was handing a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills to a driver, who smiled and turned his car around. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Ma’am,” the guard said, recognizing me. “Mr. Cross had the police department shut down this street. No vehicles are allowed through.” Ethan had connections with the local precinct. Shutting down a minor street in this district was easy for him. But this was the fastest route to the hospital. “Move!” My voice shook violently. “My son’s heart is in this car! If anything goes wrong, your life won’t be enough to pay for it!” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cross. Mr. Cross’s orders are absolute. The road stays closed until Buster is found.” Buster. That damn dog again. With shaking hands, I dialed Ethan’s number. He picked up, his tone utterly dismissive. “Just take a detour, Vivian,” he sighed impatiently. “I need to find Buster before it gets dark.” “A detour will add an hour and a half! The donor heart will decay!” But on the other end, he was already distracted, murmuring sweet words to soothe a crying Scarlett. “You have a heart condition too! You know how painful a heart attack is!” I screamed into the receiver. “Ethan, do you not care if Leo dies?” “If he can’t even handle a little pain, he doesn’t deserve to be a Cross!” The man’s harsh roar left me stunned. Right. I had forgotten. He had always been like this—a ruthless, arrogant tyrant. Yet, his very life was something I had dragged back from the gates of hell. I was the one who found him collapsed and suffocating in a casino bathroom years ago. I was the one who risked my medical license, performing an emergency bypass in a locked-down clinic at three in the morning. I was the one who bore the insults of my own family, running through dangerous neighborhoods to source his black-market cardiac meds, even offending local syndicates for him. On the night he proposed, he had pulled out his golden die for the first time. He gave me a playful wink. “If you roll a higher number, I’ll give you a week to think about it. If you lose, you put on this ring and become Mrs. Cross right now.” Until today, I actually believed that night was a beautiful twist of fate. It turned out that for five years, I was just a clown being played in the palm of his hand. “Let’s roll a virtual die on Snapchat,” I said, closing my eyes. “If I win, you open the road. If you win, I’ll turn around.” “No way,” he said coldly. “I only trust real dice.” Suddenly, a sharp scream came through the receiver. “Scarlett!” Ethan’s voice panicked—a tone I rarely heard. “Why did you climb up that dirt slope? Did you hurt your ankle?” I hadn’t heard him speak with such tenderness in years. The call went dead. The dial tone beeped in my ear, cold and mocking. “Take the detour, Carter,” I whispered. *** I didn’t get home until midnight. I walked into the quiet house, turned on the lights, changed my shoes, and began picking up Leo’s scattered toys from the living room floor. The front door clicked open. The moment Ethan saw me, the exhaustion on his face morphed into pure rage. “Why the hell weren’t you answering my calls or texts?” I blinked, pulling out my phone. I had over a hundred missed calls from him. “You found Buster, I assume. That’s good,” I said, my voice completely hoarse. “Make sure to buy him some expensive treats. I’m going to take a shower.” My legs were shaking so badly I had to lean against the wall to stand. “Vivian, I’m talking to you!” Ethan marched over and grabbed my shoulder. “How is Leo? Was the surgery a success?” My throat tightened, a metallic taste of blood rising in my mouth. It physically hurt to breathe as I forced the words out. “He’s dead.” Ethan’s pupils contracted. His grip on my shoulder tightened. “What… what did you say?” “Our Leo is dead,” I said slowly, looking him dead in the eyes. “The donor heart decayed because it took too long. He went into cardiac arrest, and he didn’t make it.” Ethan’s mouth opened, but no sound came out except a strained, choked gasp. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength and pushed his hand off me. “I want a divorce.”

Ethan stumbled back a step, nearly losing his footing under the double blow. “Our son just died, and you want a divorce?” Looking at the devastation in his eyes, I found it hilarious. “You were the one who had to find a dog. You were the one who ordered the roadblock. And now you’re blaming me?” “I didn’t know it would be this serious!” his eyes welled with tears. “Right. You didn’t know,” I said, my voice dead and flat. “After all, every time Leo had an episode, you managed to win the roll and leave to be with Scarlett.” Ethan choked on his words. “Vivian, you’re grieving. You can blame me all you want,” he said, reaching out to pull me into his arms. “But there’s no need to talk about divorce. We’ve been together for five years.” “We’ve been married for five years, and we dated for seven before that,” I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “In all those years, did you ever once break your ‘rules’ for me?” “I wanted to go back to the hospital, but you forced me to be your private doctor.” “I was in labor, and you left to bandage Scarlett’s sprained ankle.” “My mother got a concussion, and you were busy changing Scarlett’s flat tire.” “Ethan, as your wife, I never received an ounce of your care.” My voice felt incredibly heavy. “Living under your version of ‘fairness’ has exhausted me.” Ethan stared at me for a long time. The guilt in his eyes slowly hardened into cold arrogance. “Are you sure about this?” I nodded. I didn’t even have the energy to say “yes” anymore. “Then we do this the old-fashioned way.” His voice was freezing. “If you win the roll, I’ll sign.” He held out the golden die. The same die I had quietly slipped back into his coat pocket earlier. “To keep it fair, you roll first.” Under his confident gaze, I rolled. For the first time in our marriage, it landed on a perfect 6. “How is that possible?” His eyes went wide. “How did you roll a six?” “Why not? What did you expect me to roll, Mr. Cross? A one?” I casually manipulated the hidden pin inside the metal, rolling it again. It stopped precisely on the single red dot. Ethan stared at me, dumbfounded. “Just tell me what number you want. I can make it land on whatever you desire.” I slammed the die onto the marble coffee table, picked up a heavy metal trophy, and smashed it to pieces. A tiny metal pin rolled out and stopped near his shoe. I picked it up and held it in front of his face. “Five years, Ethan. You used this cheap trick to toy with my life for five years.” He opened his mouth to defend himself, but I raised a hand to cut him off. “Save your breath. You play, you accept the loss. I’ll have the divorce papers sent to your office once I sign them.” “Fine. Great.” Ethan laughed bitterly, his pride wounded. “Then pack your bags and get the hell out of my house. You want a divorce? You leave with absolutely nothing.” I never planned on taking a single dime of his dirty money anyway. But as I dragged my suitcase toward the door, he called out to me. “I just called the hospital,” he said coldly. “Leo’s body belongs to me. You have no right to touch him.” “What did you say?” “He carries the Cross name. And you’re just an unemployed housewife,” Ethan sneered. “You don’t even have the money to buy him a proper casket. What makes you think you’re qualified to handle his funeral?” I marched back and slapped him across the face. “Are you even human? You’re using our son’s body to force me back?” “So what if I am?” Ethan wiped a smear of blood from his lip. “If you take back the divorce, I’ll let you attend his funeral.” “Go to hell!” My chest heaved. “You are the monster who killed Leo. You don’t deserve to touch him!” “Fine,” Ethan shrugged. “Let’s make a bet. Winner calls the shots.” “Three days from now, on the VIP cruise ship in the harbor. I’ll be waiting.” He stepped closer, whispering in my ear, “But the buy-in is five hundred thousand dollars. Can an unemployed doctor like you even afford the seat?” That night, I dialed the international line for St. Mary’s Hospital in Germany. “Five hundred thousand dollars for a three-year contract, plus my exclusive patent for the cardiac formula. You get me and the formula. It’s a win-win.”

Three days later, I walked into the VIP lounge of the luxury cruise ship, carrying a briefcase. Ethan was lounging on the center leather sofa, surrounded by a thick cloud of cigar smoke. When I dumped the five hundred thousand dollars in cash onto the green felt table, the surrounding crowd erupted into laughter. “Mr. Cross, your ex-wife is hilarious. Does she not know we don’t play for petty cash here?” *Smack!* A loud slap echoed through the room. The man who had spoken was sent stumbling, a bright red handprint burning on his cheek. Ethan sat back down, casually rubbing his palm. “Remind me, what did you just call her?” “She’s… she’s your wife, sir…” the man stammered, clutching his face in terror. Scarlett Vance walked in, wearing a low-cut red silk dress and towering stiletto heels. “Just take the cash,” she purred, brushing her hand against Ethan’s jaw. She blew a puff of cigarette smoke into his face. “Consider it a little gift from Vivian to buy Buster some treats. Right, Ethan?” Ethan smiled, silently giving his consent. I turned away from them, checking the leather cup and the dice. “Everything looks fine. Let’s begin.” First round. Liar’s Dice. Ethan called three 3s. I raised it to four. He leaned forward, staring at me intensity. “When Leo passed away… did it hurt?” The cup in my hand wobbled slightly. “You should know,” I said, looking up. “You have the same condition.” “Did it hurt as bad as my attacks?” he pressed on, his voice dropping. “Like someone reaching into your chest and crushing your heart into pieces?” I closed my eyes, my palms slick with sweat. “Five 3s,” I called. “Show them,” Ethan said instantly, revealing his dice. I lost the first round. “You’re distracted,” Ethan leaned back on the sofa. “Focus on the next round.” The second round began. I played defensively. But Ethan kept raising the stakes, pushing from three 4s all the way to six 4s. “The morgue called me, asking when to cremate him,” he said casually. “I told them to wait until I finish this game.” “Seven 4s,” I said, keeping my voice dead steady. He revealed his dice. He didn’t expect me to actually have them. I won the second round. “One to one,” the dealer announced. By the final round, Ethan’s hand was shaking slightly as he shook the cup. “I actually went to see him after he died,” Ethan murmured softly. “He looked so much like you. Especially with his eyes closed.” The cold sea breeze swept through the open deck doors, making my spine shudder. “Three 6s,” I called. “Four,” he followed. “If I hadn’t closed that street that day, what would we be doing right now?” Ethan choked slightly. “Would you still be my wife? Would the three of us still be a happy family?” “Five 6s,” I raised my voice. “Six.” Suddenly, the sound of rolling wheels echoed from the corridor outside. Through the glass partition, I saw a small, brown wooden coffin being rolled by. It was only four feet long, covered in a white sheet. My hand slipped. The cup tipped over. Reveal. I had two 6s. He had three. But I had called six. “I win,” Ethan said, lifting his cup with a complicated look. “Vivian, you still can’t beat me.” “Make your choice,” he stared at me. “Tear up the divorce papers, and we’ll bury Leo together.” “Or get off my ship. You won’t be allowed near his funeral.” Right then, the heavy double doors of the VIP room were kicked open by heavily armed SWAT officers. “Nobody move! Hands in the air! We have a warrant for illegal high-stakes gambling!” “What a joke!” Ethan slammed his hand on the table. “My ship is in international waters. And this is a private game with no money exchanged. You have no jurisdiction here!” “International waters?” the captain took off his mask, smirking. “Mr. Cross, I suggest you take a look outside.” Ethan rushed to the deck. The glowing neon skyline of the harbor was right in front of him. “Actually, I had five hundred and twenty thousand dollars,” I whispered, walking up behind him. “The extra twenty thousand was more than enough to convince your captain to turn the ship back.” “And one more thing.” I patted his shoulder. “The five hundred thousand dollars Scarlett took from me? That counts as a monetary transaction. It’s officially a crime.”

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A gorgeous transfer student joined our class today, and she had the exact same name as me. Our dance teacher sighed. “We have two Chloes now. How should we tell you apart?” Zach, my childhood friend, was the first to raise his hand. He smirked, his voice dripping with malice. “Easy, Ms. Gable. The new one is ‘Skinny Chloe.’ The old one can be ‘Fat Chloe.’” “By the way, Ms. Gable, I can’t even lift ‘Fat Chloe’ anymore. Can I get a new partner?” The whole room burst into laughter. My face burned as I clutched the fabric of my leotard. But back then, I was stupid. I thought Zach was just being his usual teasing self. After all, dance partners need years to build chemistry, and Zach and I had been dancing together for six years. Until the selection for the upcoming Annual Showcase group dance. Without a second thought, Zach grabbed Chloe Brown’s hand. “This showcase is a big deal,” he said dismissively. “Representatives from Juilliard are coming. It’s not like our usual high school recitals.” “Letting a pig like you on stage would just embarrass our school.” And just like that, I was kicked off the performance list. But I refused to give up. I started starving myself like crazy, until I fainted in the dance studio. A guy I didn’t know opened the door to the nurse’s office. He looked at me and said, “If a dancer can’t appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart.” “Let me teach you how to show off your body.” The next second, he spun and leaped in front of me. His form was more professional than any dance teacher I had ever seen.

During dance class, Ms. Gable suddenly announced some exciting news. “For this year’s Annual Showcase, the admissions directors from the Juilliard School will be here. They’re going to select one outstanding student for a full-scholarship, one-month summer intensive in New York.” The studio erupted. “Oh my god, Juilliard!” “Are you serious? That’s basically a golden ticket to getting admitted early!” My heart hammered against my ribs. Juilliard had been my dream for as long as I could remember. And now, the opportunity was right in front of me. “Our group piece, ‘Chasing Light,’ will be the highlight of the showcase,” Ms. Gable continued. “The Juilliard directors will watch the entire thing. Whoever performs the best will have the highest chance of being chosen.” The new girl, Chloe Brown, suddenly raised her hand, looking at Ms. Gable with big, puppy-dog eyes. “Ms. Gable, since I just transferred here, I don’t have a partner yet. Does that mean I can’t participate in the showcase?” Ms. Gable looked troubled. “Well, Chloe, your situation is a bit tricky.” Since we shared the exact same first name, the teacher had started calling us by our last names. She was Brown. I was Miller. “The other students have been paired up for a long time. It wouldn’t be fair to break up established duos. Plus, you’ve just arrived, and you aren’t familiar with the choreography for ‘Chasing Light’ yet.” “How about you watch and learn this time? I promise to prioritize you for the next showcase.” Chloe Brown’s eyes immediately welled with tears. A few guys in the back looked completely heartbroken and rushed to comfort her. Right then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Ms. Gable, I’ll partner with her.” My head snapped up. It was Zach. Without even looking at me, he repeated, “I’ll partner with Brown for the showcase.” The studio went dead silent. Every single eye turned to me. I stood up abruptly, staring at Zach in utter disbelief. “What about me?” Ms. Gable frowned, looking back and forth between Zach and me with clear hesitation. “Zach, you’ve been partners with Miller for six years. Your chemistry is unmatched. The showcase is too important to swap partners at the last minute. Are you sure about this?” “Perfectly sure,” Zach replied coldly. “I want to dance with Chloe Brown. She’s disciplined. I’m sure her technique is way better than Chloe Miller’s.” “Besides—” He finally turned his gaze to me, wearing that familiar, nasty smirk. “With Chloe Miller’s current shape, putting her on stage would be an embarrassment. What if the Juilliard directors think our school only produces eyesores?” Harsh jeers and snickers echoed through the room. I froze, my fingers gripping the hem of my skirt so hard they turned white.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Chloe Brown said softly. “Ms. Gable, how about this? Chloe Miller and I can have a fair competition. Whoever meets the target weight gets to perform.” Ms. Gable brought out a scale and lined everyone up. One by one, the dancers stepped on. “118 lbs… 115 lbs… 123 lbs…” The numbers stayed consistently around the low 110s and 120s. Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the metal scale. The digital screen flickered before locking onto a number: 152 lbs. “Whoa!” Zach’s dramatic gasp echoed loudly across the studio. He covered his mouth in mock horror. “No wonder I couldn’t lift you! Over a hundred and fifty pounds? Seriously, Miller, are you trying to crush me to death?” The classroom erupted in laughter again. Ms. Gable’s expression soured. She frowned at me. “Chloe Miller, your weight is indeed over the limit for a dancer. You know what the professional standard is. Go home and get a grip on it. Stop being lazy.” I stood there, completely numb, and nodded. “Next,” Ms. Gable called. Chloe Brown stepped onto the scale with grace. A collective gasp filled the room. “Oh my god, only 110 lbs!” “That’s so light! Chloe, how do you keep such a perfect figure?” Chloe Brown blushed. “There’s no secret, really. Just eating less and practicing more. Dance is the art of expressing beauty, after all—” She paused, casting a subtle, mocking glance in my direction. “If you can’t even control your own weight, how can you claim to love dancing?” The studio fell quiet for a second before a wave of agreement washed over the room. “Exactly!” “Chloe Brown is amazing. So beautiful and disciplined.” Even Ms. Gable smiled, looking at Chloe Brown with pure admiration. Then, she turned her cold, disapproving gaze back to me. “Did you hear that? You both study dance, but she not only has a perfect body, she has the right attitude.” “Chloe Miller, your technique is solid, but what good is technique if your lines look like that on stage? The audience judges with their eyes first.” “Chloe Brown will take your spot for the showcase.” I lowered my head, my fingernails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. During the rest of the class, everyone paired up to practice “Chasing Light.” I was left standing alone in the corner, looking like a pathetic outsider. Zach’s enthusiastic voice drifted over to me. “Don’t worry, Chloe. With me as your partner, we’re going to own that stage.” After school, I snuck into the old, abandoned dance studio. And I danced. Over and over again. I refused to accept this. I had practiced “Chasing Light” for six years. Every step, every beat, was carved into my bones. I couldn’t just let it go. Deep down, a pathetic sliver of hope lingered. Maybe if Zach and Chloe Brown didn’t click, I’d still have a chance to dance with him. With no partner to lift me, I imagined his hands on my waist, leaping into the air on my own. My practice clothes were soaked in sweat. My calves cramped, and my knees throbbed with pain. But I didn’t stop. Only utter exhaustion could numb the humiliation eating me alive. “Practicing like this will only ruin your body.” A cool, calm voice echoed from the doorway. Startled, I spun around. A tall, handsome guy was leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

He looked strangely familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen him before. “This is a duet. You won’t get the right flow practicing alone,” he said, his expression neutral. I froze. Muttering a quick “sorry,” I grabbed my bag and bolted out of the room. When I got home, I threw my bag down and locked myself in my bedroom. My mom knocked and came in with a bowl of hot soup. When she saw the “Extreme Weight Loss Guide” on my desk, her face fell. “You’re 5’10” and 152 pounds, Chloe. Why on earth are you trying to lose weight?” “I’m too heavy,” I mumbled. “My partner can’t lift me.” My mom opened her mouth to argue, but seeing my stubborn face, she just sighed helplessly. From that day on, my extreme diet began. For days, I survived on nothing but a tiny breakfast. By the fifth afternoon, while practicing in the studio, the room suddenly spun, and everything went black. I reached out blindly and grabbed Zach to steady myself. “I… I don’t feel well,” I gasped. Zach shoved me off instantly. “Stop acting. You’re built like a tank. How could you be sick?” I crashed against the wall, my limbs feeling like jelly. A sneering laugh sounded from above. “Oh, I get it. Are you trying to act fragile and weak like Chloe Brown? She’s naturally delicate, Miller. You just look ridiculous trying to copy her.” The surrounding classmates snickered behind their hands. Before I could even explain, my vision failed completely, and I collapsed. When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in the nurse’s office. Zach was sitting in a chair nearby, scrolling through his phone. Did he carry me here? A rush of complicated emotions flooded my chest. Zach had a nasty mouth, but when things got bad, he was always the one who showed up. Just like when we were kids, and he’d call me stupid while scraping me up off the pavement. “Thank—” I started, but as soon as Zach heard me move, he looked up with a look of pure disgust. “You seriously need to lose weight, Miller. You’re as heavy as a pig. Carrying you over here almost broke my back.” The words died in my throat. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. Every ounce of warmth vanished. I looked down, the shame and hurt clogging my chest. “This is a recovery room. Keep it down.” A cold voice sounded from the doorway. I looked up to see the guy from the abandoned dance studio. “If you’re done talking, please leave. The patient needs rest.” Zach scowled, stood up, and stormed out. The room fell quiet. The guy walked over, his expression softening slightly. “Your blood sugar crashed. Have you been starving yourself?” I hung my head. “I’m trying to lose weight.” I braced myself for him to mock my size too. Instead, he looked at me with intense sincerity. “If a dancer can’t appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart.” I stared at him, stunned. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed something. “This is a healthy meal plan. You need to eat three times a day. Protein and carbs for breakfast, a normal lunch, and fewer carbs for dinner—but do not starve yourself.” “You don’t get fit by starving. Dancing requires strength.” My eyes stung with unshed tears. “Thank you.” “Also, I saw you practicing alone the other day.” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. “If you want, I can be your partner.”

My eyes widened. “You dance?” “I can handle a simple duet,” he said casually. I hesitated for a second before nodding. At this point, I had nothing left to lose. His name was Julian Brooks. The moment he stood beside me and placed his hand on my waist, I went rigid. His posture was flawless. Even more shocking was his incredible sense of rhythm. Without any prior practice, he fell perfectly in step with my movements. When we reached the lift, I instinctively tensed up. Whenever I danced with Zach, he would groan, roll his eyes, and complain about how heavy I was. Over time, I had developed a terrible habit of shrinking myself during lifts, terrified of being a burden. But Julian’s hands were steady and firm against my waist. “Open your body. Let yourself fly,” he commanded. “I… I’m worried I’m too heavy,” I admitted, embarrassed. He let out a soft chuckle. “If a male dancer can’t lift a 152-pound partner, he has no business being on stage.” I froze, looking up into his eyes. There was no judgment, no annoyance—only a calm, reassuring certainty. I took a deep breath, fully arched my back, and leaped. He caught me effortlessly. In that single moment, our coordination felt so natural, it was as if we had been dancing together our whole lives. For the next month, I followed Julian’s healthy nutrition guide while secretly practicing the duet with him in the abandoned studio after hours. Soon, the day of the Annual Showcase arrived. The auditorium was packed. The Juilliard representatives sat front and center in the VIP section. When I walked into the backstage dressing room, everyone was frantically doing their makeup. Seeing me, Zach scoffed. “What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, the Head of the Dance Department, Dean Vance, walked in. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Chloe Miller! Make us proud out there tonight.” Ms. Gable quickly stepped in. “Dean Vance, actually… Chloe isn’t performing tonight.” The Dean’s smile vanished. “Not performing?” she asked, incredulous. “She’s the top dancer in her year. Why isn’t she on stage?” Ms. Gable explained awkwardly, “Her partner requested a change. Since it’s a duet and she doesn’t have a partner, she had to be pulled.” Dean Vance’s face darkened instantly. She glared at Zach, who was standing nearby. “You’re Miller’s partner, right? You two have worked together for six years. How could you pull a stunt like this right before the showcase?” Zach crossed his arms, looking completely arrogant. “Dean Vance, partnership is a choice. There’s no rule saying I have to be tied to her forever.” “I found a better partner, and I have the right to choose who I perform with. No one can force me.” Dean Vance was red with anger. Just then, the announcer’s voice echoed from the stage: “Next up, our final performance of the night—’Chasing Light’.” Zach smirked at me. “Since the program is set, you’re extra weight, Miller. If you want to perform so badly, go find your own guy.” He leaned in, whispering maliciously, “But since you can’t, get out of the way. Don’t ruin our show.” The other dancers backstage whispered and stared. My throat tightened, and I bit my lip to keep from crying under the weight of their judgment. “Thank you, Dean Vance. The show is starting, I should go,” I whispered, my legs trembling as I turned to leave. “Wait.” A calm, commanding voice sliced through the chatter. Julian stepped out from the crowd, walking straight toward me. He looked at me, a soft smile playing on his lips, and extended his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be your partner.”

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When I received yet another luxury gift from Ethan, I handed him the divorce papers. His expression didn’t even flicker. He calmly told me to think it over. I didn’t waste my breath. I turned around, hired a lawyer to draft the final agreement, and posted a divorce countdown on Instagram. When our mutual friends and family saw it, they called me dramatic and accused me of picking a fight over nothing. My parents even went to his place to apologize to him on my behalf. Only my best friend, Chloe, stood firmly by my side. She ignored the breach-of-contract fees, canceled all her upcoming modeling gigs, and spent her own money to take me on a road trip to clear my head. That was until the very last day before our divorce was officially finalized. On our drive back, Chloe was fast asleep in the passenger seat. Her phone kept buzzing on the dashboard. Fearing the noise would wake her, I reached over to grab it. In my haste, my finger accidentally swiped the screen and answered the call. In the quiet car, Ethan’s deep, impatient voice echoed through the speakers: “The Birkin you wanted is finally here. This time, you don’t have to settle for the cheap filler items I had to buy to qualify for it. I picked out a designer necklace to go with it instead. I’ll give the leftover junk to Claire.”

Chloe got carsick easily. She had rolled down the window for some fresh air before falling asleep with her head resting on my lap. Right now, the cold wind cut through the gap in the window, chilling me straight to the bone. My body shook uncontrollably. I could barely hold the phone. Whatever Ethan was saying after that, I couldn’t hear. My mind had gone completely blank. After what felt like an eternity, Ethan finally realized something was wrong on the other end. He asked cautiously, “…Claire?” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s me. She’s asleep.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, Ethan lowered his voice. “I can explain.” I asked, “Is there any point?” Ethan instantly panicked. “Don’t you dare take this out on her!” After a pause, he quickly added, “Tell me what you want. As long as it’s within my power, I’ll give it to you!” I dazed out for a second. The Ethan in my memory was always calm, detached, and utterly stoic. Even when I got hit by a car a few years ago, he calmly negotiated the compensation with the driver on the spot. He didn’t back down an inch, leaving me sitting on the curb, dizzy and bleeding. It was only when I fainted from blood loss that his face showed a hint of worry. I had always thought he was just wired that way—emotionally stunted, but not unloving. Yet here he was, losing his absolute mind over Chloe. The difference between love and indifference was so glaringly obvious. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I looked down at Chloe, who was sleeping peacefully on my lap, completely oblivious. “I want the Whispering Pines Estate,” I said. Ethan’s voice hardened. “Are you intentionally trying to make things difficult for me?” “I already gave that house to Chloe. Choose something else. Or I can wire you the equivalent in cash.” I fell silent. No wonder when I FaceTimed Chloe last time, her new place looked so familiar. The Whispering Pines Estate was supposed to be our marital home. I personally supervised the design of that house, but I never got to live in it after the renovation. The location was too secluded, and the mansion was too massive and empty. Ethan was always flying across the country, staying at his various properties, never tying himself down to one place. As for me, I had bought a cozy apartment near my office before our marriage. I didn’t see the point of living in a giant, empty house alone. I never imagined my compromise would end up accommodating him and Chloe. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. The sharp pain brought me back to reality. “I’ll give you three days,” I said coldly. “Take back everything you gave her, and we will redraw the asset division.” Ethan’s breathing turned heavy. “Is this really necessary, Claire?” “When she accepted those gifts, she was constantly worried I was treating you poorly. She literally begged me to buy things for you too. Why can’t you be as big-hearted and generous as she is?” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Recently, Ethan had given me ten luxury gifts. It started with a pair of designer socks, then a notebook, a desk globe, and finally, a keychain. They were all cheap, hard-to-sell filler items that high-end boutiques force customers to buy so they can get their hands on the popular bags. He gave the stunning, highly-coveted bags to Chloe, and tossed the leftover junk to me. And yet, he praised Chloe for being “generous.” “If you don’t want to do it,” I said, “I can wake her up right now and have her return everything to me directly.” Ethan backed down. “Give me a little time,” he muttered. He hung up, and the car fell silent again. I leaned down and slipped the phone back into Chloe’s pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her eyelashes trembling. She had been awake the whole time. She just didn’t dare to open her eyes.

I patted Chloe’s shoulder and said casually, “Since you’re awake, let’s talk about you and Ethan.” Chloe flinched. She sat up slowly, her face pale. “Claire, I am so sorry. I swear I never wanted to hurt you. I just…” Before she could finish, the car suddenly pulled over, and someone began banging violently on the door. I turned my head and saw Ethan standing outside, his face pale with anxiety as he shouted my name. It was pouring rain. His usually immaculate hair was soaked and plastered to his forehead. His light-colored designer suit was ruined, clinging to his skin. He looked incredibly disheveled, completely ignoring his public image. And he did all of this just because he was terrified I would hurt Chloe. The driver unlocked the door. Ethan immediately pulled Chloe out of the car, frantically checking her over to make sure she wasn’t hurt. He gently patted her head. “Go home first. I’ll handle this and come find you.” Chloe tugged at his sleeve and shot me a guilty look. “Talk to her nicely. Don’t make her feel bad.” We moved our conversation to a quiet, private cafe nearby. Ethan sat across from me with his lawyer. The lawyer was droning on about legal jargon that sounded like white noise to my ears. Ethan was chain-smoking, one cigarette after another. Through the thick haze of smoke, he looked exhausted and incredibly annoyed. Ethan and I grew up together. When he skipped grades in school, I was playing house with kids my age. When he was winning national academic awards, I was sneaking into clubs with upperclassmen. When his parents died in a car crash on their way to file for divorce, leaving him orphaned, it was my family who took him in. From that day on, we became family. Later, when he was diagnosed with an emotional detachment disorder, I dedicated my entire life to him. Even after we got married, I constantly tolerated his coldness. Knowing him for so many years, I could tell he was incredibly irritated that this divorce was wasting his precious time. I suddenly asked, “Why Chloe?” The lawyer stopped talking. Ethan raised his head. He frowned, stubbing out his cigarette. “Does that even matter?” I nodded. He stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a cold laugh. “You always hyper-focus on the wrong things, Claire. The divorce is happening anyway. Who cares who it is? It doesn’t change how much money you’ll get.” “I’m only offering you a fifty-fifty split because of our history. If it were anyone else, I would make sure they walked away with absolutely nothing.” I stayed silent, staring at him stubbornly. “If I hadn’t hyper-focused on things, would you and Chloe even know each other?” Chloe transferred to our high school in her sophomore year. Her father was a notorious con artist whose multi-million-dollar fraud case made national headlines. After he was arrested, Chloe and her mother fled to our small town to escape the shame. Her mother couldn’t take the trauma and lost her mind. Her family literally kept her chained inside the house. Chloe was severely bullied and isolated at school. In sheer despair, she stood on the edge of the school rooftop one afternoon. I was the one who pulled her back. I was the one who chose to be her friend. Once a pampered princess, Chloe became incredibly fragile and insecure after her fall from grace. She clung to me like a lifeline. When Ethan came back from an academic competition and found out what I did, he pulled me aside. “Can’t you see she’s just using you?” he had said coldly. “She knows being near her makes people bully you too, yet she won’t keep her distance. She doesn’t view you as a friend. Wake up, Claire!” Back then, I thought he was heartless. He thought I was stupid, and he never gave Chloe a kind look. Chloe was terrified of him too. She even told me Ethan had privately threatened her to stay away from me. For years, from high school to our careers, they were like oil and water. Even when Ethan and I got married, Chloe refused to attend. She said she couldn’t stand seeing Ethan’s face. Ethan had grabbed my phone and texted her back: The feeling is entirely mutual! But now, they were a team, and I was the outsider. Ethan suddenly slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Every time we argue, you bring up what your family did for me!” “Let me ask you, who paid for your parents’ medical bills when they got sick? When you made that massive mistake at work, who pulled strings to save you?” “If we’re keeping score, Claire, you owe me things you can never repay in this lifetime!” He turned to his lawyer. “Forget the asset split. I want her to walk away empty-handed!”

I dragged my exhausted body back to my apartment, only to receive a phone call from my parents. “Your father and I have lost all our dignity because of you!” my mom sobbed through the screen. “If you go through with this ridiculous divorce, don’t even think about calling us your parents again!” My mom was crying hysterically on FaceTime, while my dad sat beside her, silently smoking. “You were the one who begged us to let you marry him! It hasn’t even been that long, and now you’re throwing a tantrum and demanding a divorce!” They were right. When Ethan proposed to me, they finally found out we had been dating secretly for eight years. They were furious and strongly opposed the marriage. My parents had asked Ethan to leave so they could have a heart-to-heart with me. They said that after eight years of dating, Ethan had never once introduced me to his professional circle or public life. He was hiding me. “He doesn’t value this relationship,” my mom had warned. “If you marry him, it will not end well.” But I didn’t listen. I insisted on marrying Ethan. Without my parents’ blessing, we had a rushed, quiet wedding. It was only when my parents fell ill and Ethan paid for top specialists to treat them that they finally accepted him. The final grudge disappeared when I was framed for a massive financial error at my firm. Ethan spent a fortune and used all his connections to clear my name and keep me out of prison. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Mom. Dad.” My mother’s voice softened, her tone thick with tears. “We only say these things because we’re worried about you, sweetie.” “We’re just terrified that you’re acting on pure emotion. You say you want a divorce now, but what if you regret it later?” I shook my head. “I won’t.” Right after the call ended, I received a text from Chloe. [Claire, I’ve already talked to Ethan. He’ll sign the agreement and give you every penny you deserve.] [But please, don’t fight me for the Whispering Pines Estate. It’s filled with so many precious gifts Ethan bought for me. I can’t let it go.] [If you agree, we can still be friends. When Ethan and I have our baby, we can even make you the godmother, okay?] Every single word was a slap in the face. The room was pitch black. I stared at my phone, the screen illuminating the tears running down my face. I instinctively tried to call Ethan, but the call was blocked instantly. I had been blocked long ago. Before he started giving me those filler gifts, I had taken a vacation to visit him at his clinic. Several times, I smelled expensive women’s perfume in his private lounge. I asked his assistant, but she ignored me. I tried to check his phone when he was in surgery, but it was locked. I ended up screaming and throwing a tantrum in his office like a crazy person. He didn’t explain. He simply called security and had me escorted out. We spent the next few months in a cold war. Then, he suddenly came back to my apartment and started showering me with luxury gifts. I thought it was his way of apologizing. After all, in our years together, he rarely bought me anything. He didn’t care about holidays or anniversaries. If a problem could be solved with a wire transfer, he wouldn’t waste his energy on it. Until one day, I wore those designer socks and used that designer keychain to work. A colleague of mine, who was a luxury enthusiast, asked me what major purchase I had made to get so many filler items. I only knew luxury brands by their logos. It was only after she explained that I learned what “quota spending” meant. To buy the highly coveted, rare bags, customers had to spend thousands on useless companion items first. I had never received a single popular bag. But when Chloe FaceTimed me, she often showed off her walk-in closet. The entire wall was lined with limited-edition bags and stunning dresses. I felt all the strength drain from my body. With trembling fingers, I texted her back: “When did you two start sleeping together behind my back?”

[Honestly, we have you to thank for it. Remember when I was rejected at that movie audition and wanted to get plastic surgery? You took me to Ethan’s clinic for a consultation.] [You two were on the verge of breaking up back then. I felt so bad for him. He was this brilliant, handsome man being taken for granted by someone as ordinary as you. I comforted him, and after a while, he agreed to see me privately.] I stared at the screen, my mind racing back to that time. Ethan was always so busy. So busy he forgot my birthday, forgot our anniversary, and blew off the vacation we had planned for months. I had cried and screamed at him, “I understand you’re busy! But couldn’t you have told me earlier that you couldn’t make it?” “Why did you let me get so excited, only to cancel on me at the very last second?” “Am I not even worth a two-minute phone call to explain?” Ethan’s response was always silence. That time was no different. In a fit of rage, I threw the flowers he brought in his face and demanded a break up. I blocked his number. Then, Chloe came to me crying, saying she was deeply insecure about her face and wanted to get some work done. She asked if I knew any reliable plastic surgeons. The only person I could think of was Ethan, who was already making a name for himself in the industry. Stupidly, I brought Chloe to his clinic. Ethan was completely professional during the consultation, outlining a few procedures for her. But I distinctly remembered Chloe complaining about his “terrible, rigid aesthetic” the entire ride home. That night, Ethan came to my apartment to beg for my forgiveness. He also warned me to stay away from Chloe. He didn’t give me a reason. Furious, I threw his flowers at him again, accusing him of trying to ruin my only friendship. Because of my defense, he began interacting with Chloe out of spite. In the end, I was the only clown in their game. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I packed every single thing belonging to Ethan into boxes and stacked them outside my door. When I heard a loud knock on the door the next morning, I thought it was the junk removal service. But when I opened it, I was met with Ethan’s furious, pale face. “When did you find out about the baby?” He grabbed my collar tightly, his cold voice trembling with a hint of panic. I was stunned. “What baby?” “Where did you hide Chloe and my child? Claire, how can you be so vicious? If you want something, just say it to my face! Why do you have to play these disgusting, underhanded games?!” A loud ringing echoed in my ears, and my vision went blurry. The man who had promised me we would live a child-free life had a baby with someone else.

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On the night of our engagement banquet, in front of the entire high society of New York, Julian Vance handed over “The Siren’s Lament”—a priceless, legendary violin—to his childhood sweetheart, Bianca Frost. “Bianca is starting her world tour tomorrow. She needs this violin more than you do,” he said. “You’ve always been the sensible one, Valerie. Just bear with it this once.” I looked at the man I had loved for five years and nodded calmly. “Okay.” Half an hour later, in the empty backstage dressing room. Bianca didn’t just smash that legendary violin to pieces. She also had her thugs stomp on my right hand, crushing the bones. Julian’s cousin, Tyler, held my head down, forcing me to kneel and beg Bianca for forgiveness. Julian’s mother slapped me so hard my eardrum ruptured, calling me a greedy, low-class gold digger. They ruthlessly trampled on my dignity and destroyed my dreams. Because in their eyes, I was just a penniless orphan with no background. But what they didn’t know… I wasn’t just a prodigy violinist. I was also the sole heiress of the Sterling family—the most powerful old-money empire in New York—who had been searching for me for twenty years. My hand is ruined. And the Vance family’s century-old empire has officially reached its end.

The brilliant crystal chandeliers lit up the hotel grand ballroom as bright as day. Today was the anniversary celebration of the Vance Group. It was also the day Julian had promised to formally propose to me. I stood quietly at the edge of the stage, wearing a haute couture white gown. My fingers tightly gripped the sheet music I had spent six months preparing. Originally, I was supposed to play a song for him tonight on “The Siren’s Lament,” the legendary antique violin he had bought at an auction. But now. That $45 million masterpiece was resting quietly in Bianca Frost’s arms. Under the spotlight. Julian stood in his sharp black tuxedo. His features were cold and handsome, looking like a god. He was leaning down, gently adjusting the violin strings for Bianca. Standing together, they looked like the perfect couple. The guests below whispered among themselves. “I thought Mr. Vance was proposing to that orphan girlfriend of his, Valerie Sterling, tonight?” “What do you know? Miss Frost is Julian’s childhood sweetheart. She just got back from her studies in Vienna last month.” “Exactly. A penniless orphan doesn’t belong in a prestigious family like the Vances anyway.” “And ‘The Siren’s Lament’ is a masterpiece. Only a high-born lady like Bianca deserves it.” Every single word. Like a blunt, rusty knife. Slowly and cruelly carving into my heart. I took a deep breath. I forced down the bitterness in my throat. I turned around and walked silently into the dimly lit backstage. There were no spotlights here. No mocking glances. Only endless, suffocating coldness. I sat in front of the vanity mirror, looking at my pale reflection. Five years. I had been by Julian’s side for five long years. From when he had absolutely nothing, to his massive success today. I thought my warmth could finally melt this glacier of a man. But the moment Bianca returned. All my sacrifices became a pathetic joke. Outside the door, a light patter of footsteps approached. Accompanied by the sharp click of high heels. The dressing room door was pushed open.

Bianca walked in, wearing the red gown that was originally tailored for me. The diamonds on the skirt were still blindingly bright even in the dim light. She carried “The Siren’s Lament” in her hand. Like she was holding a cheap toy. She walked up to me. Looking down at me with pure disdain. “See this, Valerie?” “Julian’s heart has always belonged to me.” “So what if you stayed by his side for five years?” “All it takes is one look from me, and he willingly hands this violin over.” I raised my eyes. I looked at her calmly. There was no anger, no hysteria. “Since he gave it to you, keep it.” “It’s what he owes you, and it’s what I’m done paying him.” “From now on, Julian and I are completely even.” Bianca froze. She clearly didn’t expect me to be this calm. Her heavily made-up face instantly contorted with rage. “Even?” “What makes you think you’re worthy of talking about being ‘even’ with Julian?” “You were just a temporary plaything to cure his loneliness. A cheap substitute who could never be shown in public!” The more she spoke, the more agitated she became. She suddenly raised the violin high in the air. “Don’t you call yourself a prodigy violinist?” “Didn’t you want to use this violin to show off tonight?” “I will never let you have your way!” Before she finished her sentence. With all her might. She slammed the $45 million antique violin hard onto the solid marble floor.

“SMASH!” A sickening, heavy crash echoed through the empty dressing room. Wood splinters flew everywhere. The strings snapped with a sharp hiss. “The Siren’s Lament”—a masterpiece that had survived centuries of history and was treasured by legendary musicians. In an instant, it was shattered into pieces. Reduced to a pile of worthless scrap wood. I stood up abruptly. My pupils dilated. My heart felt like it was being squeezed to death by an invisible hand. That wasn’t just a violin. It was a treasure of the musical world. The soulmate I had dreamed of playing for countless days and nights. “Bianca, are you insane?!” I grit my teeth, my voice trembling violently. Looking at the mess on the floor. Bianca’s eyes suddenly turned red. Heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. She threw herself onto the floor. Covering her face, she began to wail hysterically. “Valerie, I know you hate me for taking this violin.” “But how could you smash it?!” “Julian spent a fortune at the auction for this!” “How could you be so cruel?!” I watched her pathetic acting with cold detachment. I felt utterly disgusted. Right then. The dressing room door was kicked open with a loud bang. Julian’s cousin, Tyler Vance, rushed in with several burly bodyguards. He immediately saw Bianca crying on the floor. And the shattered pieces of wood. Tyler’s face darkened instantly. He stormed over. Pointing a finger right at my face, he roared. “Valerie, are you out of your mind?!” “Julian was nice enough to let you work in his company, and you dare to bully Bianca?!” “You even smashed such an expensive violin!” “Can you even afford to pay for this, you worthless gold digger?!”

I looked at Tyler with cold eyes. This was the man who used to call me “sister-in-law” with a fake smile. Now, he was barking like a rabid dog. “She smashed it herself,” I said. My voice was flat. Without a single shred of emotion. “Cut the crap!” Tyler roared. “Bianca is too sweet to ever destroy something Julian gave her!” “You’re just consumed by jealousy! If you can’t have it, you destroy it!” Bianca sobbed right on cue. She leaned weakly against Tyler’s leg. “Tyler, don’t blame Valerie.” “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the violin.” “If I hadn’t taken it, Valerie wouldn’t have gotten angry, and the violin wouldn’t be broken.” Her manipulative words. Instantly set Tyler’s anger ablaze. “Bianca, you’re too kind. That’s why trash like her dares to step all over you!” Tyler turned back. His eyes gleamed with malice as he glared at me. “Valerie, get on your knees!” “Bow down and beg Bianca for forgiveness!” “And then, you will pay back every single cent this violin is worth!” I felt like I was hearing the most ridiculous joke in the world. I couldn’t help but chuckle coldly. “Make me kneel?” “Who do you think you are, Tyler?” “Even if Julian stood right here, he wouldn’t have the right to make me kneel!” “SLAP!” Before I could finish my sentence. A heavy slap landed brutally on my face. The sheer force of it. Knocked me straight to the ground. My ears rang violently. The taste of metallic blood filled my mouth. Holding my bruised cheek, I looked up. And saw Victoria Vance, Julian’s mother, walking in.

Victoria was wearing a dark red designer dress. A priceless emerald necklace hung around her neck. She looked down at me. Her eyes were filled with absolute disgust and contempt. “You ungrateful rat!” “You’re at death’s door and you still dare to talk back!” “Our family has supported you for five years, and this is how you repay us?” “Smashing my son’s violin and bullying Bianca!” “Today, I’ll teach you some manners since your dead parents clearly failed to do so!” Saying that, she raised her high-heeled foot. And kicked me squarely in the shoulder without hesitation. I groaned in pain. My body flew backward. My spine crashed heavily against the sharp corner of the vanity table. Agonizing pain shot through my entire body. “Victoria, please don’t get angry. It’s not worth ruining your health over her,” Bianca fake-whispered, stepping forward to support Victoria. But a smug, nasty smirk flashed across her face. “Bianca, sweetheart, you’re always so thoughtful.” Victoria patted Bianca’s hand. When she looked back at me, her eyes turned vicious again. “Tyler, pin her down!” “If she doesn’t get on her knees and beg Bianca for mercy today, she isn’t walking out of this room!” Hearing this. Tyler immediately signaled the bodyguards behind him. Two massive bodyguards rushed forward. They grabbed my shoulders from both sides, pinning me down. They dragged me brutally across the floor and forced me in front of Bianca. “Let go of me!” I struggled with everything I had. But against their sheer physical strength. I couldn’t break free. “Kneel!” Tyler stepped up behind me. And kicked me violently in the back of my knees.

“THUD.” I was forced onto the freezing marble floor. My knees crashed directly onto the shattered wooden shards of the violin. Sharp wooden splinters stabbed deep into my flesh. Blood instantly stained my white dress bright red. I clenched my teeth. I forced my spine straight. Refusing to bow my head. “Quite a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Tyler sneered. He reached out, grabbed my hair, and yanked it backward with brutal force. A tearing pain shot through my scalp. I was forced to look up, meeting Bianca’s malice-filled eyes. “Valerie, aren’t you supposed to be so proud?” “Didn’t you think you were so special just because you can play the violin?” Bianca walked up to me. She slowly squatted down. Lowering her voice so only the two of us could hear. “To be honest, yes, I smashed the violin.” “I just wanted you to know that as long as I want it, everything that belongs to Julian is mine.” “Including your dignity, and your pride.” “I can step on them and crush them into dust whenever I want!” She stood up, instantly switching back to her fragile, pitiful act. “Valerie, just apologize.” “If you apologize, I’ll pay for the violin for you.” “You’re just an orphan. How could you ever afford $45 million?” Victoria sneered. “Bianca, you’re just too soft-hearted.” “An ungrateful stray like her deserves to rot in prison!” “Tyler, since she refuses to bow.” “Give her a real lesson!” “Make sure she never forgets this!”

A cruel excitement flashed in Tyler’s eyes. He let go of my hair. His gaze fell directly on my right hand resting on the floor. That was a hand praised by countless music critics as “kissed by God.” Slender, pale, perfectly proportioned. A hand born solely for the violin. “Julian said your hands are the most important thing to you.” Tyler smiled wickedly. “Since you ruined Bianca’s violin.” “I guess you won’t be needing these hands anymore.” He raised his heavy leather shoe. Aimed right at my right hand. And stomped down with full force. “No!” My eyes widened in pure terror. Fear completely consumed me. I desperately tried to pull my hand back. But the two bodyguards pinned my arms down flat. I couldn’t move an inch. “CRACK!” The sickening sound of bones shattering. Echoed clearly in the dead silent dressing room.

“AHHHHHHH!!!” A piercing scream ripped from my throat. The pain of my fingers being crushed. Instantly shot through every nerve in my body. My mind went completely blank. My vision began to blur. Tyler kept twisting his boot on my hand. As if he were crushing a pathetic insect. “Does it hurt?” “Good!” “That’s what you get for crossing Bianca!” Blood. Bright, hot blood. Oozed from my crushed fingers. Dripping onto the cold marble floor. Like blooming red roses on snow. My body convulsed in agony. Cold sweat drenched my back. Even my breath tasted like thick, copper blood. My hand… The hand I valued more than my own life. Was completely ruined. “Stop… please… stop…” I gasped out, my voice trembling and weak. But nobody showed a shred of mercy. Victoria watched with cold indifference. As if she were watching a boring movie. Bianca stood behind Tyler. A savage, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “You brought this on yourself, Valerie.” “Aren’t you a genius?” “Let’s see you hold a cup after this, let alone a violin!”

Tyler finally lifted his boot. My right hand was a bloody, mangled mess. My finger bones were twisted at horrific angles. Swelling rapidly. I collapsed onto the floor like a ragdoll. Gasping heavily for air. Every single breath sent waves of unbearable agony through my body. Despair. Suffocating, absolute despair swallowed me whole. The dream I took pride in. The passion I lived for. At this very moment, was stomped into nothingness. “What is going on here?” Suddenly, a cold, deep male voice came from the doorway. It was Julian. He pushed the door open and walked in. Followed by several high-level executives from the company. When he saw the shattered violin and me lying in a pool of blood. He froze in his tracks. His pupils shrank. “Valerie…” He instinctively stepped toward me. But Bianca, like a frightened bird, threw herself into his arms. “Julian!” “You’re finally here!” “Valerie… she went crazy!” “She didn’t just smash the violin you gave me, she even tried to attack me!” “If Tyler and Victoria hadn’t arrived in time, I don’t know what she would have done to me…” She sobbed hysterically. Her body trembling in Julian’s embrace.

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My husband, Sean Sterling, pressed his face gently against Jessica Vance’s belly. She was wearing my maternity dress, sitting on the sofa I bought with my own money, living in the home that used to be mine. I floated right above the crystal chandelier, watching them, completely bored. Three years ago, I was pregnant with his child too. Seven months along. The baby had just started kicking me. But then, a thin steel wire was choked into my throat, and my baby bled out into nothingness before I even drew my last breath. It was Jessica—his current, precious wife—who did it. Sean had no idea. He thought I was just a cold-hearted Mafia princess who ran off with millions. He thought I betrayed his partner. He thought I was evil incarnate. I was kicked out of my own family for him. My brother Jayden went blind trying to save his life. But Sean never believed me. He only believed Jessica. So, after I died, my soul became trapped by his side. It had been three years. But today was a little different. In the police interrogation room, a cold case had just been cracked open. Someone pointed at Jessica’s name and called her the real traitor. When Sean heard this, he squeezed the glass in his hand so hard it shattered. Blood dripped from his palm, staining the interrogation table. I counted the drops. Seven drops. My baby was exactly seven months old when he died. I wondered if it was just a coincidence, or if God had finally remembered me.

“A woman like Vivian Hall has blood all over her hands. You think she’s worth framing Jessica for?” Sean’s voice was ice-cold. He pulled out a handkerchief and calmly wiped the glass shards from his bleeding knuckles. Ghost, chained to the interrogation chair, burst into a hysterical laugh. His handcuffs rattled loudly against the metal table. “You really think that little Mafia princess ran away with your money, Detective?” Ghost spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm. “Your lovely wife paid me two million dollars to drag Vivian to Warehouse 3. When I choked the life out of her with a wire, she was still carrying your kid in her belly!” Sean didn’t stop wiping his hands. He didn’t even blink. A mocking sneer played on his lips. “Vivian Hall? She’s a mob boss’s daughter. Criminality is in her blood.” “Three years ago, she stole thirty million, betrayed my partner Marcus, and fled. That’s exactly who she is.” “If you’re going to make up a story, at least make it believable.” “Meanwhile, Jessica is an honors graduate from the Police Academy. Clean record, bright future.” “One belongs in the gutter; the other lives in the light.” “You think the wild rants of a junkie like you can twist the truth? You think you can drag a cop’s wife into the mud?” He tossed the blood-stained handkerchief onto the table. “Keep interrogating him. Don’t stop until he tells the actual truth.” Sean pushed open the heavy iron door and walked out. I floated in the air right above the hallway, following him. He walked into the restroom, turned on the faucet, and washed his hands over and over again. The mirror reflected his sharp, handsome face. He looked completely unbothered. He said Jessica lived in the light and I belonged in the gutter. But he was once the man who held my hands and told me he loved my rebellious soul. He had said he would gladly step into the gutter just to be with me. When Marcus’s undercover identity was exposed, he was brutally murdered on the street. Sean held his cold body and sat in a pool of blood for an entire night. That was when Jessica appeared. Crying, she handed him a few blurry photos and heavily edited audio recordings. Every single piece of “evidence” pointed to me. Faced with his brother’s blood, Sean’s love for me shattered instantly. After that, his eyes held nothing but hatred for me. He didn’t arrest me, nor did he ask for a divorce. Instead, he systematically destroyed my life to prove his loyalty to the badge. He took down my father’s business piece by piece, tearing our family empire apart. My younger brother, Jayden, was blinded by rivals while trying to protect Sean. Yet, Sean dismissed Jayden’s sacrifice as a cheap, manipulative trick to win his sympathy. Later, Jayden was cornered by enemies again, hovering between life and death. I ran to the precinct to beg Sean. I knelt in the pouring rain for an entire night. When dawn broke, he finally walked out. He held a black umbrella, shielding Jessica from the storm. The rain beat down mercilessly on my face. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a disgust I had never seen before. “Vivian, this is what your family owes Marcus.” That was the last time I ever saw him alive. A few days later, I was dragged to Warehouse 3. Sean had walked into the breakroom now. Jessica was sitting on the bench, holding a warm cup of milk. Seeing him enter, she stood up immediately. “Sean, what happened to your hand?” She took his hand, her eyes turning red with worry. Sean held her hand back and gently guided her back to the seat. “It’s nothing. Just dropped a glass.” “Did Ghost confess?” Jessica asked tentatively. Sean let out a cold laugh. “He’s just a junkie trying to get a plea deal. He’s pointing fingers at everyone.” He reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “He actually claimed you hired him to kill Vivian.” Jessica’s body froze for a fraction of a second. But very quickly, tears began to stream down her face. “Sean… how could I ever do something like that? I know Vivian hurt Marcus, but I always thought she was just confused.” “When she took the money and left the country back then, I was honestly happy for her. I thought she was finally getting a fresh start.” Sean’s eyes darkened. “Don’t even say her name. It dirties your mouth.” He pulled Jessica into his arms, gently stroking her back. I hovered right above the vent, watching Sean protect Jessica’s stomach so carefully. I reached down and touched my own empty belly. Before that cold wire tightened around my neck, there was a tearing pain in my lower body. A tiny heartbeat, which had started before mine, disappeared from this world first. Ghost’s mocking laughter echoed in my memory. He had told me Sean thought my baby was dirty. I looked at Sean’s hand as he wiped away Jessica’s tears. I remembered a rainy night in Brooklyn years ago when I was cornered in an alley by a rival gang. It was this very hand—warm and firm—that pulled me into a dark alleyway behind some trash cans. He had shielded me with his body, his grip so tight it almost crushed my wrist. Mixed with the smell of blood and rain, he had whispered, “Don’t fear.” That hand used to be my only sanctuary in a dark world. Now, it was gently comforting my killer. I reached up and touched the invisible scar on my neck.

During the precinct briefing, the lead investigator from the federal task force slammed a stack of files onto the table. “Detective Sterling, the suspect, Ghost, keeps insisting that Jessica Vance hired him for the hit.” “According to protocol, Jessica must be placed under internal investigation.” Sean leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen in his hand. He didn’t even look at the files. “Agent Miller, I know the protocols.” “But if we start investigating a detective’s family just because some street thug opened his mouth, how are my guys supposed to do their jobs?” He stopped the pen with his fingertip. “I closed Vivian Hall’s missing person case three years ago myself.” “The travel records are crystal clear. She took thirty million dollars from the mob and took a boat to the Caribbean.” “Ghost claims she was killed in Warehouse 3. Where is the body?” Sean stood up, leaning his hands on the table, staring down the federal agent. “No body, no financial paper trail, just the word of a junkie.” “Agent Miller, if you want to investigate my wife, bring me real evidence.” I floated near the whiteboard, watching Sean defend my killer. I smiled silently. He would never know that his “innocent” wife was actually the daughter of the head of the Vance Syndicate—the city’s most ruthless crime family. She was the deepest mole ever planted in the NYPD. She had framed my father’s family—who never touched drugs or took innocent lives—for all the bloody crimes committed by the Vances. And that “travel record” Sean was so sure of? It was nothing but a cruel bargain Jessica forced upon me. The night Jayden was stabbed while shielding Sean, he was left clinging to life. But Sean had used his police connections to block every medical channel that could have saved my brother. Desperate, I knelt before Jessica. In the sterile white hallway of the hospital, she stood in her crisp uniform and tossed a plane ticket and a written confession at my feet. Her voice was as sweet as honey. “Sign it.” “Admit that you betrayed Marcus, and I’ll get the best surgeon in New York to save your brother.” I signed it. But the surgeon never came. Instead, someone unplugged Jayden’s ventilator. Though Jayden survived, the lack of oxygen caused permanent brain damage. He lost his sight completely, cast into eternal darkness. Jessica had stepped on my face with her polished boots, crushing my dignity into the cold tiles. She had leaned down and whispered in my ear: “Vivian, I forgot to tell you. Sean hates betrayal more than anything.” “Do you think he’ll believe a confession signed in your own hand, or will he believe me?” Back in his office, Sean locked the door. He loosened his tie and pulled open his bottom drawer. He took out the file at the very bottom—my missing person case from three years ago. He stared at my photo, his thumb unconsciously brushing against the corner of the paper. After a long time, he closed the file, his expression unreadable. He pressed his hand flat against the folder, his knuckles turning white as if trying to erase my name from the earth. But after a long struggle, all that came out of his tight jaw was a raspy whisper. “Vivian… you better stay gone.” I floated down in front of him, looking at the hatred and conflict in his eyes. “Because if you come back, I’ll put you behind bars myself… or will I go crazy for you all over again?” A wave of deep sadness washed over me. He didn’t know that I could never come back. I was already dead. The desk phone rang. He took a deep breath, and his voice instantly softened. “Hey, babe. Is the baby kicking again?” On the other end, Jessica’s voice sounded perfectly vulnerable. “Sean, I was cleaning out the storage unit and found an old gray sweater Vivian left behind.” “It makes me feel really uneasy. Can I just pack it away in a box?” Sean’s eyes went cold. “Her trash should have been thrown out long ago. Don’t touch it. I’ll come home and handle it.” He hung up, grabbed his keys, and rushed out. I followed him back to the apartment. Sean strode into the storage room and snatched the gray sweater out of Jessica’s hands. I had knitted that sweater for him, stitch by stitch, by his hospital bed when he was shot during an undercover operation. He held the sweater, his fingers lingering on the uneven stitching near the chest. Then, he threw it into the hallway trash can. The edge of the trash can caught a loose thread, pulling the fabric apart to reveal a faded paper amulet sewn inside. I had waited in line at a cathedral all night just to get that blessing for him. He had laughed at me back then, saying cops didn’t believe in superstitions. But then he had pulled me close and asked me to sew it into his favorite sweater so he wouldn’t lose it. He said he was afraid of losing his luck.

On the weekend, Sean took Jessica for her prenatal checkup. Driving past a local bakery, Jessica said she wanted a cheese bagel from the street vendor outside. Sean parked the car and went down to buy it himself. The bagel vendor was a limping old man who had once been helped by my father. As he packed the bagels, he looked up at Sean. “Detective Sterling, I haven’t seen you with Vivian in a long time.” Old Ben sighed. “She used to come here to learn how to bake these just for you. Her hands got blistered from the steam, but she kept going even while crying from the pain.” “That sweet girl loved you so much. Are you guys doing okay?” Sean’s hand froze mid-air as he reached for his wallet. His face darkened. “Ben, she’s gone. That’s in the past.” He slammed the cash on the counter, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t mention her to me again.” He grabbed the box and walked away without looking back. I sat on the roof of the car, watching the old man’s confused face. I looked down at my own ghostly right hand. There was indeed a deep scar from a burn on the back of it. Sean got back in the car and handed the bagels to Jessica. She took a bite and frowned. “Sean, this is so tough and dry.” Sean immediately took a napkin and wiped her mouth. “Spit it out if it’s bad. I’ll take you to the Rosewood for high tea.” He took the box of bagels and tossed them out of the window. Right then, his phone rang. It was the lead detective from the homicide squad. “Sean, we have a situation.” The voice on the line was frantic. “The harbor police were dredging the bay near Warehouse 3. They pulled up a metal drum sealed with concrete.” “There’s… there’s a skeleton inside.” Sean gripped the steering wheel, his voice flat. “It’s just a mob dumping. Let forensics handle it.” The detective paused. “Sean, the preliminary report says the victim is female. Her neck bones were crushed by a thin wire.” “It matches Ghost’s confession… perfectly.” The car fell into a suffocating silence. Jessica clenched her fists, her hand slowly covering Sean’s knuckles. “Sean, what’s wrong? I heard something about a warehouse on the phone?” Her voice trembled slightly. “Is it about Ghost? He’s just lying to cause trouble, right? He isn’t making things hard for you, is he?” Sean turned his head, his gaze landing heavily on her face. The fleeting suspicion in his eyes made Jessica’s heart skip a beat. But he quickly looked away and squeezed her hand. “It’s nothing. Just a minor case. It’s already handled.” He started the engine and drove toward the Rosewood Hotel. “Nothing is more important than you and the baby.” I sat in the back seat, watching his tight jaw and the darkness behind his eyes. He said it wasn’t important, but his foot pressed harder and harder on the gas pedal.

The recovery site was sealed off with yellow police tape. In the end, Sean still came. He had left Jessica at the hotel, making an excuse about urgent paperwork at the precinct. He stood outside the yellow tape, lighting a cigarette, watching the officers use a circular saw to cut open the metal drum. Dr. Evans, the medical examiner, walked over and took off his gloves. His face was pale. “Sean, we have the preliminary findings.” “Female, late twenties.” “Cause of death was ligature strangulation with a thin wire, causing cervical fracture and asphyxiation.” Sean flicked the ashes off his cigarette, his tone still seemingly detached. “A body dumped in the bay? Just check the recent gang wars.” He turned to leave. “Sean, there are some unique skeletal features,” Dr. Evans called out. “She had three broken ribs and a old penetrating wound on her right wrist that damaged the nerve.” The cigarette slipped from Sean’s fingers. It fell onto his hand, burning his skin, but he didn’t even flinch. A wrist wound. Three years ago, during an internal mob dispute, someone had lunged at him with a knife. I had blocked the blade with my bare right hand. Sean slowly turned around, his eyes blown wide, though his voice remained defensive. “A lot of women have injured wrists. That doesn’t prove anything.” Dr. Evans sighed and pulled two evidence bags from his kit. He handed the smaller one to Sean first. “We found this on her right ring finger.” Sean’s gaze drifted down. Inside the plastic bag was a tarnished, blackened silver ring. On the inside of the band, the name “Sean” was crudely engraved—something he had carved himself while drunk years ago. Sean stared at the ring, his breath catching in his throat. He reached out to take it, but his fingers shook so violently he couldn’t grasp it. Seeing his pale face, Dr. Evans pushed the second bag into his trembling hands. “Also, we found this in her pelvic cavity.” Inside the bag was a cluster of tiny, fragile bones. “Based on the bone development, it was a fetus. About seven months old.” Seven months. I remembered the seven drops of blood that had dripped from his hand when he broke the glass. “This is impossible…” Sean’s voice was barely a whisper. “Vivian was greedy… she ran… how could she…” He suddenly looked up at Dr. Evans, his eyes bloodshot. “This must be a setup by Ghost! He found a matching body!” “Run a DNA test! Right now! Use her family’s DNA from the database!” He screamed, turned, and stumbled over a rock. He scrambled up and fled like a terrified animal.

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After giving blood to Mason’s adoptive sister for the three-hundredth time, they still didn’t let me go. That day, they dragged me to the hound yard. Opposite me was the giant black mastiff I feared the most. “If you survive this, we’ll let you reunite with your parents.” The next second, the dog, hyped up on some drug, lunged at me. With nowhere to hide, I could only let the beast tear into my flesh. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, Mason showed up. He ordered his men to beat the dog back, looking down at me with pure disgust. “Have you learned your lesson yet? Apologize to Windsor, and I promise we’ll get married right away.” In his arms, Windsor’s eyes filled with tears at his words. “Angel, I don’t blame you.” I stayed completely silent. My silence pushed Mason over the edge. “If it weren’t for you, Windsor wouldn’t have been assaulted by those thugs! She wouldn’t have ended up infertile, and she wouldn’t need constant blood transfusions!” “And now, you won’t even give her a simple apology?” “I guess you really don’t want your parents to live much longer, do you?” If this were in the past, I would have dropped to my knees and begged him. But now, there was no need. Because an hour ago, my parents had already died.

“Look at her, acting all tough. Mason, looks like your scare tactics aren’t working anymore. Angel doesn’t even care.” The mocking laughter from Mason’s friends made him frown. “Angel, did you lose your tongue?” Everyone could feel his growing anger. To suck up to him, one of his friends threw a glass bottle straight at me. The heavy glass shattered against my forehead. Instantly, I smelled the copper tang of my own blood. In the next second, Mason jumped down into the yard, suddenly looking panicked. “What happened?” Meeting his worried eyes, I felt a brief moment of daze. Did he actually care about me? But then, a cold sneer appeared on Mason’s face. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m only worried you’ll bleed out. If you die, who’s going to give Windsor her transfusion today?” So that was it. I was just being pathetic again. Ever since Windsor’s assault three years ago, I had been labeled the villain. Everyone said, “It was Angel. She thought Mason was sleeping with Windsor, so she hired those men to ruin her.” Mason didn’t even ask. He just believed it. Since then, they had subjected me to endless torture. Whenever Windsor needed blood, I had to drain myself. If I hesitated even a little, they would target my parents. My parents’ health was already failing. After years of Mason’s harassment, they were at their breaking point. Before they dragged me here today, the hospital had called me. “Miss Angel, you should start preparing for your parents’ funerals.” That phone call felt like a lightning strike. All my years of silent suffering felt entirely pointless. And an hour ago, Mason’s men brought my parents to the hound yard. They said they wanted my parents to watch me fight the black mastiff. In that moment, I had begged them. “Please, no. My parents are too old. Their hearts can’t take this. Please, don’t do this.” When I knelt and begged, I saw a flash of panic in Mason’s eyes. But it didn’t stop them. My parents were still forced to watch. When they saw me being pushed toward the raging dog, they smiled at me. Their smiles were so pale, so final. It was their last goodbye to me. The next second, they took their own lives right in front of me.

“Angel, can’t you just behave for once? Think about your parents…” Mason’s voice pulled me back to reality. I stared at him, my voice completely flat and hollow. “There’s no need, Mason. If you want me dead so badly, I’ll just die.” I turned and walked straight toward the black dog. Everyone in the yard gasped in shock. But I didn’t die. Mason grabbed my arm and yanked me back. “You’d go this far just to avoid saving Windsor? You think this threat works on me?” “Let me tell you, if you dare to die, I’ll make sure your parents die first!” Faced with his threat, I said softly, “My parents are already dead.” “Angel, how can you be so evil? Just to get out of giving me blood, you’re actually cursing your own parents?” Windsor looked at me with a heartbroken expression. Her words instantly turned Mason’s brief panic into absolute rage. “Angel, I really underestimated how vile you are.” “Fine. You want to see your parents die? I’ll make it happen.” Mason gritted his teeth and dialed his assistant’s number on speakerphone. “Cut off all medical treatments for Angel’s parents right now. Inform the hospital that no one is allowed to sell them VIP life-support medication.” On the other end of the line, the assistant hesitated. “But, Mr. Bryant, about that…” “What? Did Angel buy you off too?” Mason snapped, cutting him off. I knew why the assistant was hesitating. He wanted to tell Mason that my parents were already dead. But with Mason’s paranoid temper, the assistant didn’t dare to say another word. So, after Mason hung up, the assistant immediately sent me a message on Snapchat. [Miss Angel, does Mr. Bryant really not know that your parents passed away?] How hilarious. He was Mason’s top assistant, yet he was asking me—the family’s “human blood bag”—for details. If I actually mattered to Mason, would I have been tortured like this? Hanging up the phone, Mason smirked at me. “Still want to play tough?” “Mason, let’s get a divorce.” “Angel, you’re getting bold. Now you’re trying to threaten me with divorce?” “You think a divorce absolves you of your sins?” “I’m telling you, you owe Windsor. You can’t pay that debt back even if you spend the rest of your life trying.” Mason grabbed my collar tightly, his eyes looking like he wanted to tear me apart. But I only repeated quietly, “I told you, it wasn’t me.” I had said those words a thousand times over the years. From screaming it hysterically in the beginning, to now speaking it with absolute indifference. “Angel, if it wasn’t you, are you saying I staged my own assault?” Windsor stood there, looking as fragile as a leaf in the wind. Her single sentence fueled Mason’s hatred for me even more. Even though Windsor didn’t actually need a transfusion today, Mason still ordered his men to drain 800cc of my blood. Already physically exhausted, my vision went dark, and I collapsed. Before I blacked out, I was still pleading with him. “Help… my parents…” I wanted to tell him that my parents’ bodies were still lying outside the hound yard. I didn’t want them to be left out there like trash. But Mason thought I was begging him to resume their medical care. He just sneered. “When you sincerely apologize to Windsor, that’s when I’ll let your parents back into the hospital.”

When I opened my eyes, I was back at the Bryant mansion. A maid saw me waking up and spared me a cold glance. “You’re awake?” I shook my pounding head and struggled out of bed. I had to go back to the hound yard to find my parents. But the maid blocked my way. “Mr. Bryant said we’re celebrating Windsor’s big win at the National Design Awards tonight. You are to prepare the dinner.” “I have to go.” I tried to push past her, but she grabbed my arm tightly. “Can you stop making trouble for everyone?” “If you run off, Mr. Bryant will skin me alive!” Looking at the maid’s frustrated and resentful face, I lost my voice. She wasn’t lying. Once, when I refused to give blood to Windsor, everyone in the mansion’s staff got punished because of me. Even though they treated me poorly, I didn’t want to drag innocent people down anymore. So, I forced myself to stay calm. “I’ll talk to Mason myself.” With that, I walked downstairs. As soon as I reached the living room, I saw Mason’s sister, Natasha. She was presenting a gift to Windsor. “Windsor, I still think you’re the perfect match for Mason. Once you marry him, we’ll finally be a real family.” “Oh, don’t say that, Natasha. If Angel hears you, she’ll think I’m trying to steal her husband!” “Her? She’s not even worthy of wiping Mason’s shoes.” Natasha rolled her eyes dramatically. Then, she spotted me. Her sneer grew wider. “Oh, look who’s still breathing. Fainting after just 800cc? How pathetic.” “Why didn’t you just play dead? Maybe Mason would have felt a tiny bit of pity for you.” I ignored Natasha and looked around, but Mason wasn’t there. “Are you looking for Mason?” Windsor asked gently. When I didn’t deny it, she continued: “He went out to pick up a special gift for me. If you need something, you can tell me. I’ll pass it along.” Since Mason wasn’t here, nobody could stop me from leaving. I turned to walk out of the villa. But Natasha wasn’t done with me. She followed me out to the driveway. “Angel, if I were you, I would have signed the divorce papers ages ago. Isn’t it exhausting clinging to a man who hates you?” Hearing this, I couldn’t help but laugh. Since the day Mason forced me to become Windsor’s blood donor, I had brought up divorce countless times. But every single time, Mason would explode in rage, shouting, “In your dreams!” At first, I foolishly thought he couldn’t let me go because he still loved me. Later, I realized he just didn’t want to lose his leverage over me. “What are you laughing at?” Natasha snapped. “If you’re so eager, go convince Mason to sign the papers. Otherwise, stay out of my way.” I gave Natasha a freezing glare and walked away. Before, I tolerated their abuse because of my parents. But now, I had nothing left to lose. As I walked down the street, I could still hear Natasha screaming curses behind me. “Fine! Go ahead and act tough! Let’s see if you come crawling back to beg the Bryant family when your parents are dying!” I took one last look at the Bryant estate and whispered, “Never again.” I rushed back to the hound yard. But no matter where I searched, my parents’ bodies were gone. I found the manager of the yard. The moment I mentioned the bodies, his face went completely pale. “Don’t talk nonsense! We don’t have any dead bodies here!” They blocked me from searching further. Left with no choice, I called the police. Once the flashing police lights arrived, the owner of the yard finally panicked and let us view the security footage. When I saw my parents’ bodies being thrown into the industrial meat grinder used for dog food, my entire world shattered. “Why?! Why would you do that to them?!” I screamed, completely losing my mind. With the police standing right there, the owner was terrified. He dragged the employee in charge of the grinder over to face us. The young kid had never seen police officers before. He was so scared he was shaking.

“I… a woman gave me a stack of cash! She told me to get rid of those two heavy bags!” “I didn’t know! I swear to God, I didn’t know there were people inside!” The boy was crying so hard he practically wet his pants. With trembling hands, I pulled out a photo of Windsor from my phone. “Was it her?” “Yes! Yes, that’s her!” “I want to file charges!” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “They killed my parents, and they destroyed their remains!” This was a heinous criminal offense. The police immediately took action. They took the boy to the station for questioning, while I led a group of officers back to Mason’s villa. When we arrived, Mason was holding a beautiful velvet box. He was carefully lifting a stunning necklace out of the box and fastening it around Windsor’s neck. The moment I saw that necklace, I lost all control. I lunged onto the stage like a madwoman. “Give that back to me!” My parents weren’t wealthy, but my mother’s best friend was Blair, the world-renowned fashion designer. This necklace was a one-of-a-kind piece Blair had custom-made and gifted to my mother. It symbolized peace and protection. Before my mother passed, when she knew she couldn’t protect me anymore, she gave it to me. She said, “I hope you have a peaceful life, my sweet girl.” No one else knew its value, but Mason knew exactly how much it meant to me. My wild appearance startled Mason. But before he could say anything, Windsor shrieked and collapsed to the floor. “Oh, Angel… why do you hate seeing me happy so much?” Seeing Windsor crying on the floor, Mason’s protective instincts kicked in. He grabbed my throat and slammed me down. “Angel, do you want to die?” Then, he threw me ruthlessly down the stairs of the stage. The police officers quickly ran over to help me up. “Are you okay, ma’am?” They glared at Mason with deep disapproval. Windsor pointed at the officers, acting shocked and disappointed. “Angel, what is this?” “Just to ruin my celebration dinner, you actually hired actors to pretend to be cops?” Windsor’s words made Mason finally notice the uniforms. Even though the officers immediately showed their badges, Mason chose to believe Windsor without hesitation. “Angel, you’ve gone too far this time.” Mason gave me a disgust-filled look before turning to the officers. “How much did she pay you to pull this sick stunt? Do you know that impersonating police officers is a federal crime?” Mason turned to his assistant. “Call the actual police.” The assistant pulled out his phone to make the call. Seeing how absurd this was getting, the lead officer spoke up in a booming voice, “We *are* the actual police.” Then, under Mason’s stunned gaze, the officer looked directly at Windsor. “Are you Windsor Bryant?” “I… Yes. What do you want?” “You are under arrest for the illegal disposal of human remains. Please come with us to the precinct.” “What?!” Mason gasped. It was the first time I had ever seen such a look of pure shock and confusion on his face. Windsor began shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, that’s not true! I didn’t do anything!” “Mason, it’s Angel! She’s framing me! She set this up!” “Angel…” “Mason,” I interrupted, my voice dead and cold. “My parents died because of you. Wasn’t that enough?” “Did you have to order her to feed them to the dogs too?” “What did you say?” Mason stumbled back, nearly losing his footing. His assistant had to catch him. Mason turned his head slowly to his assistant, his voice trembling. “What did she just say?” The assistant swallowed hard. “Sir… Her parents are dead.” The room went dead silent. Mason’s face drained of all color. He began to mumble incoherently. “That’s impossible… how? I only cut off their VIP treatment…” “It’s only been a few hours. How could they be dead?” “Angel, are you still trying to play mind games with me?” Windsor shrieked, panic taking over. “You say your parents are dead, and you have these fake cops accuse me of destroying their bodies? Where is your proof?!” I didn’t bother answering her. The police officer simply pulled out an arrest warrant and a tablet showing the evidence. “Miss Windsor, we wouldn’t be here executing an arrest warrant if we didn’t have solid proof.” Hearing the officer’s firm words, Mason turned to Windsor, his eyes filled with disbelief. “Is this true, Windsor?” “No! No, Mason, you have to believe me!” Windsor sobbed hysterically. Then, as if a lightbulb went off, she pointed at me. “I know…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441576”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

That night at the gala, just as I raised the abortion pills to my lips, a baby’s cry rang out in my head. “Mom! Don’t swallow! If you get rid of me now, Julian will never have kids! He has severe fertility issues!” My hand froze instantly. His first love had just returned to the country. Julian was helping Chloe to her seat. He looked up at me, his eyes cold and warning, telling me not to cause a scene. Over the past three years, I had learned to read that look perfectly. Every time he looked at me like that, I was supposed to obediently step back and hold back my tears. But this time, right in front of everyone, I slipped the two pills back into my clutch. I looked at Chloe, a faint smile on my lips. “Since you’re back, I’m done serving him.” “I’m leaving. Bye.” The whole room was stunned as I stood up and left. Julian ordered me to stop. I didn’t look back. Since God had let me hear my baby’s voice, I wasn’t going to give this game up to the Pierce family. I would make everyone who wanted to see me as a joke regret this for the rest of their lives.

Vivian’s POV On the night of the Pierce Family Charity Gala, I sat in my seat, clutching two abortion pills tightly in my hand. In the center of the ballroom, Julian was shielding Chloe from a glass of wine, drinking it for her. The chandelier light fell on his broad shoulders, and also on the tear-stained corners of Chloe’s eyes. The guests cheered, whispering about how their childhood romance was meant to be, after all. Someone glanced at me maliciously and raised their voice. “Then what about Miss Vance? She can’t keep occupying the position of Mrs. Pierce forever, right?” I looked down at the warm water in my glass, about to put the pills in my mouth. Suddenly, a childish, sharp wail echoed in my belly. “Mom! Don’t swallow! If you get rid of me now, that scumbag Julian will be childless for the rest of his life!” My hand froze. The voice was still screaming in my belly. “He has low sperm motility. The baby in your belly is his only chance of having a child in this lifetime. He is playing the hero for his first love now, but in the future, even if he kneels at your door begging for a glance, he won’t even get a number.” My pupils dilated in shock. My nails dug deep into my palm. Julian helped Chloe back to the VIP table and looked up at me. His gaze was extremely cold, carrying his usual warning, as if reminding me not to make a scene. For the past three years, I was a master at reading this look. I had always thought I was just a placeholder. When Chloe left the country, I came; now that Chloe was back, I had to leave. Tonight, I wanted to end it cleanly. Abort the baby, cut ties, and leave myself a shred of dignity. But the little thing in my belly refused. “Mom! Don’t look at his handsome face, he’s just a blind fool! As long as you keep this pregnancy, the entire Pierce family will have to revolve around you in the future! In my past life, you aborted me, and in the end, they drove you crazy and you died in a mental asylum!” My heart hammered violently. Past life memories? If what this child said was true… Chloe walked over with a glass of juice, pretending to smooth things over. “Vivian, everyone was just joking tonight. Don’t take it to heart. Julian is just taking care of me. We grew up together, he’s used to it.” Someone immediately chimed in nearby. “Chloe is so generous. Anyone else would have kicked the uninvited guest out long ago.” Everyone was waiting to see me swallow my pride. But I raised my head, and in front of everyone, I put the two abortion pills back into my purse. I looked at Chloe, my lips curving into a cold, sharp smile. “Miss Sterling is right. Being ‘used to’ something is indeed a habit that needs to be broken.” The smile on Chloe’s face froze instantly. Julian frowned, his voice displeased. “Vivian.” “I’m going to get some fresh air.” I stood up, not even granting him a glance. “You guys enjoy your habits.” The moment I walked out of the ballroom, the voice in my belly let out a long sigh of relief, then said urgently: “Mom, beautifully done! But whatever you do, don’t go back to the villa, and don’t tell Julian I exist! Chloe, that venomous snake, has her eyes on you. You have to stay alive so I can live!” I looked back at the half-closed heavy doors of the ballroom. Inside, glasses were still clinking, celebrating Julian’s reunion with his first love. I touched my flat belly, my eyes becoming more determined than ever. “Okay,” I said softly in my heart. “I’ll take you away. I’ll save you once, and you have to help me fight for my life.” “I will!” The little voice was full of energy. “Mom, let’s survive first, and then make them regret everything!” I did not go back to Julian’s villa.

Vivian’s POV I stopped my car at a street corner. Pretending to go into a pharmacy for stomach medicine, I slipped right out through the back door. I pulled out my phone’s SIM card, threw it into the storm drain without hesitation, and turned around to buy a cheap, prepaid burner phone with cash. My counter-surveillance moves were seamless. The little guy in my belly was stunned. “Mom… you’re so good at this… Next, go south, go find Mary!” Deep in the lower east side, the alteration shop was tucked away in a narrow alley. The owner, Mary, was someone my grandmother had once helped. After hearing my story, she didn’t say a word and hid me in the secret attic on the third floor. Just as I sat down, loud, urgent banging came from downstairs. “Is Miss Vance inside? Mr. Pierce is looking for her.” The man’s voice outside was polite, but it carried a suffocating pressure. My whole body tensed up. Just as I was about to jump out of the back window, the voice in my belly suddenly screamed: “Don’t move! That’s not Julian’s man, that’s Sienna’s! She saw you holding the pill box tonight. She suspects you’re pregnant and wants to drag you for a blood test to kill me directly!” A cold sweat broke out across my back. Sienna Sterling, Chloe’s half-sister. The older sister played the sweet, innocent first love, while the younger sister did all the dirty work in the shadows. They had long seen me as a thorn in their side. Even if it was just a suspicion, they wanted to wipe me out. “There’s no Miss Vance here! I only do clothing alterations!” Mary argued loudly downstairs. The man outside sneered. “Mrs. Higgins, this is Sterling family business. You’d better know what’s good for you.” I stood in the dark stairwell, my eyes icy. I didn’t hesitate anymore. I grabbed a ring of keys left by my grandmother, crossed from the third-floor window sill to the neighbor’s balcony, and slipped into an empty building. Half an hour later, I changed into an oversized, worn-out black puffer jacket, put on a face mask and a beanie, and blended completely into the bustling crowd of the local fish market like a drop of water. The quiet, pretty, submissive Vivian died tonight. Mary sent me an encrypted text on Snapchat: They left. They said not to dream of running. I sneered. Dreaming? Let’s see whose dream shatters first. The rain poured down. I took shelter in an abandoned workshop in north Brooklyn. The place was drafty, but hidden enough. I spread out the old ledger my grandmother had left on the wooden table, turned to the last page, and found a yellowed business card: Dr. Evelyn Carter. Before my grandmother passed away, she told me that if I was ever pushed into a corner, I should find this gynecologist. “Mom, call her quickly! In my past life, you went too late, and those two evil Sterling sisters dragged you onto the operating table!” The voice in my belly carried deep fear. I didn’t panic. First, I wrote down my current situation, the people I had contacted, and the possible risks of exposure on a blank piece of paper. I could no longer rely on Julian to solve things like I did in the past three years. From now on, I was the only protector for myself and my child. At 3:00 AM, I used my new burner phone to call Dr. Evelyn Carter.

Julian’s POV By the time I found the alteration shop on the lower east side, it was already noon the next day. I was still wearing yesterday’s suit, my eyes bloodshot, radiating a dark, uncontrollable anger. “Has Vivian been here?” I glared at the woman behind the counter. The woman didn’t even look up. “Mr. Pierce, didn’t anyone teach you to say hello before barging into a shop?” My assistant behind me took a step forward, trying to intimidate her. The woman pointed directly at the security camera above her head. “Touch me and see what happens! Let the whole city see how the Pierce family bullies ordinary people!” I raised my hand to stop my assistant, forcing down my rage. “She was emotional last night. I just want to take her home.” “Why was she emotional? Don’t you have any idea?” Mary sneered. “You seemed to enjoy having girls on both arms last night, and now you’re here playing the devoted partner?” Her words felt like a hard slap across my face. I knew what she meant. At the gala last night, Chloe had leaned in and grabbed my arm, and I hadn’t pushed her away immediately. In Vivian’s eyes, that was probably a silent confirmation, a betrayal. Proof that I had chosen Chloe over her. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. It wasn’t because Mary was wrong, but because she was entirely right. The moment I failed to push Chloe away was the moment everything started to crumble. When Vivian left last night, I even thought she was being “mature.” But when I returned to the empty villa and found she had taken all her IDs, leaving behind every piece of jewelry I had ever bought her, a terrifying panic gripped my chest. Just then, Chloe called. “Julian, did you find Vivian? Sienna said she looked pale last night, she’s really worried about her…” “Sienna is worried about Vivian?” My voice turned freezing cold, cutting her off. “Chloe, keep your sister in check. If anything happens to Vivian, I will hold the Sterling family personally responsible.” I hung up, and my assistant handed me a blurry surveillance screenshot. In the picture, she was wearing a worn-out puffer jacket, walking into a crowded market with her head down. I stared at the photo, my heart squeezing painfully. She wasn’t throwing a tantrum. She was hiding from me. She was running as if escaping a mortal danger, using every trick she had to get away from me! Vivian’s POV Inside Dr. Evelyn Carter’s private clinic. “It’s early, but the baby is stable. Right now, you need nutrition and rest.” Dr. Carter pushed the ultrasound image toward me. I touched my flat stomach and asked in a low voice, “What if someone wants to steal the baby, or kill it?” Dr. Carter looked at me deeply, her voice sharp. “Then remember this: you are an independent mother, not someone’s breeding tool. If you want to protect him, you must first arm yourself to the teeth!” Those words ignited a fierce fire in my chest. At dusk, I was having toasts at a small bakery near the clinic. I had only taken two bites when Sienna Sterling, flanked by two bodyguards, arrogantly pulled back a chair and sat opposite me. “You really know how to hide, Vivian, coming to a trashy place like this.” Sienna’s venomous eyes swept over my stomach. “My sister is kind-hearted, but I’m not. If you’re carrying some bastard you shouldn’t be, you’d better get rid of it now. Otherwise, I’ll make your life a living hell.” The little guy in my belly shook with anger. “Mom! That’s exactly how she smiled when she drove you crazy in my past life! Tear her apart!” I raised my eyes. “Does your sister know you’re doing her dirty work?” Sienna’s expression changed slightly, but she quickly laughed it off. “Don’t try to drive a wedge between us. My sister is soft-hearted, but I’m not. Vivian, you’ve been with Julian for three years, you must have gotten a lot of money, right? Learn to be content.” “What I got was given by Julian, not the Sterling family.” I pushed the hot bowl of soup away. “If you want me to be content, keep your hands out of my bowl first.” Sienna didn’t expect me to talk back so directly. Her smile vanished completely. One of the men behind her took a step forward, trying to intimidate me. But I set my phone upright on the table, screen facing outward. It was in the middle of a call. Dr. Carter’s voice came through the speaker: “Vivian, I’ve already sent your location to Mary. Stay put. The shop has cameras, and I’m recording this call.” Sienna narrowed her eyes. “You think this will save you?” “At least it keeps you from doing anything stupid tonight.” I stood up. “Miss Sterling, if you’re really that capable, stop fighting other people’s battles. If you want something, say it directly.” Sienna stared at me, lowering her voice. “I want you to disappear from Julian’s life.” “What a coincidence.” I picked up my coat. “So do I.” I walked out of the bakery, only to see Mary rushing over on a scooter, a pair of heavy fabric shears sitting in her front basket. Mary threw a helmet into my arms. “Get on the back, don’t look back!” I climbed onto the passenger seat. The wind whipped past my ears, and the baby in my belly let out a tiny laugh. “Mom! You were so badass back there!” I held Mary’s waist tightly. The running was over. From today on, I would make everyone who belittled and plotted against me pay in full! When we got back to the workshop, I didn’t sleep right away. I wrote down everything Sienna had said, word for word, including the height, clothing, and accents of the two men behind her. Mary walked in with hot water. Seeing my hands trembling as I wrote, she cursed in pity, “Why are you still writing this down right now?” “So there won’t be any confusion later,” I said. I had suffered too much from not having proof in the past. A simple “misunderstanding” from Chloe, a “stop causing trouble” from Julian, or an “be more generous” from bystanders was all it took to erase my pain. I didn’t want to use tears to beg for belief anymore. I wanted to keep a record of everything, even if it seemed tedious right now. The baby in my belly nudged me gently, as if in response. I looked down, pressing my palm against my stomach, finally feeling a solid warmth toward this sudden twist of fate.

Vivian’s POV Mary handed me a bowl of hot soup. “People make stupid decisions when they’re hungry.” Mary bolted the door. “Eat first. If you want to cry, do it after you’re full.” I held the bowl, the steam making my eyes sting. I hadn’t taken much when I left Julian’s villa. I didn’t touch any of the expensive jewelry, but I held my grandmother’s old ledger close to my chest. Mary flipped open the ledger, pointing to a few faded lines. “Your grandmother used to tailor clothes for a lot of wealthy ladies back in the day. Some of them still remember her craft. If you’re willing, I can introduce you. You can start taking orders. You can’t just hide forever.” Hiding wasn’t a long-term solution. I understood that. I needed money, a stable place to live, and an identity that could explain my whereabouts. Compared to the unlimited credit card Julian had given me, the money earned from individual orders was meager, but it allowed me to sleep peacefully. Starting the next day, I began taking orders to repair vintage clothes. My first client was a retired school teacher who brought in a wrinkled silk shirt, saying it was a gift her late husband had bought her when they were young. As I bent my head to thread the needle, the baby in my belly suddenly went quiet. After a long while, he said: “Mom, when you’re working, you’re different from your past life.” “How so?” “In your past life, you were always waiting for someone else’s approval. Now, you reach for what you want yourself.” My fingers paused for a second before I continued sewing. I didn’t want to take those words as a compliment, because it meant the other version of me had lived a life that was far too exhausting. As I was wrapping up for the night, a black town car pulled up outside. Julian got out of the car, standing at the door of the workshop, his expression darker than the night sky. Mary blocked the doorway. “You’re not welcome here.” Julian’s gaze bypassed her, landing on me. “Come out. I need to talk to you.” I put down my needle and thread. I didn’t hide. I was wearing a loose sweater, my hands covered in fabric dust, looking completely different from the elegant woman people compared at the gala. Julian looked at me, his throat moving. “If you need money, you can tell me. You don’t have to live in a place like this.” “Even if this place is old, it’s my choice,” I said. “No matter how nice your place is, it’s not mine.” Julian’s face darkened at my words. “When did I ever say it wasn’t yours?” “You never said it was mine.” I raised my eyes. “Julian, you gave me a place to live, clothes, and a credit card, but you never gave me a choice. Now that I’ve made my own choice, you’re angry?” Julian was silent for a moment, his voice softening. “Come back with me. I’ll handle Chloe.” The voice in my belly instantly exploded: “Don’t believe him! ‘Handling it’ to him just means stalling! Stalling until your heart softens, stalling until the baby can’t be hidden anymore, and then the Pierce family will dictate your entire life!” I looked at Julian and suddenly asked, “What if I don’t go back?” Julian’s eyes went cold. “Do you have to make things so difficult?” “You see,” I smiled faintly. “You didn’t come to take me back. You came to reclaim something that went out of your control.” I stepped back into the warm light of the workshop. As the door closed from the inside, Julian was still standing there. Through the glass, I saw him reveal a lost, bewildered expression for the very first time, as if he had finally realized the other end of the rope he held was completely empty. Julian didn’t knock on the door again that night. I didn’t get up to see if he had left. Mary told me later that he stood at the door for a while, then sat in his car checking his phone messages, but didn’t let the driver start the engine. I didn’t know what he was looking at, but I remembered the messages I used to send him over the years. Almost every one of them was short and restrained: What time are you coming back? Should I save dinner? The stomach medicine is in the left drawer. I never asked who he was with, and I rarely complained. I used to think that silence was maturity, a form of understanding. Now, looking back, those messages were like receipts, recording how he slowly drained my affection. I wondered later if he would call. But I didn’t wait. Whether he dialed and hung up, I didn’t know. All I knew was that he had probably never gone through my old messages word-for-word the way he was doing tonight. What did he want to say? I didn’t know. Because even I suddenly realized that every “come here,” “stop acting up,” and “be good” he had ever said to me were commands, not conversations. I finished repairing the client’s shirt, pressed it, and packed it. Only after doing all this did the tightness in my chest slowly begin to dissipate. It turned out that not responding was also a choice.

Vivian’s POV Three days after Julian left, a red paper bag appeared at the door of the workshop. Inside was a white baby onesie, with a few words hastily scribbled on the front in red marker: “YOU DON’T DESERVE HER.” The fabric at the chest of the onesie had been slashed open, right over where the heart would be. Mary cursed when she saw it, reaching out to burn it. I stopped her, keeping both the bag and the security footage. At the very bottom of the bag was a card with a single sentence: Don’t bring this curse into the world. My fingers went cold. The baby in my belly didn’t yell this time. He was silent for so long that I had to speak first. “Are you keeping secrets from me?” The tiny voice sounded choked. After a long time, he said, “Mom, I didn’t just want to be the heir.” I sat by the sewing machine, the light casting a pale glow over my face. “In my past life, you kept me too. You believed Julian once and moved into the private estate he arranged for your pregnancy. It had the best doctors, the quietest rooms, and locks on the doors. After you gave birth to me, the Pierce family said your health was failing, and they took me to the main estate. Every time you wanted to see me, you had to ask for their permission.” My breathing slowly became heavy. “I didn’t find out you were my mom until I was five. Before that, they made me call you ‘Aunt Vivian.’ Then, one rainy night, you ran to the kindergarten gates just to catch a glimpse of me. The security guards stopped you, and you fell gravely ill after going back. After that, I never saw you again.” The little voice was very quiet, but it couldn’t hide the tears. “On my eighth birthday, I fell down the stairs at the main estate. Everyone said it was an accident. But I remember someone had scattered marbles at the top of the stairs. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the moment where you had to decide if you wanted me.” The only sound left in the workshop was the low hum of the sewing machine. I suddenly remembered the long hallway of the Pierce family estate, where the lights were bright but entirely devoid of warmth. I used to think I was just unaccepted. Now I realized that being unaccepted was the best-case scenario. What was truly terrifying was that they would sever my child from my life, and then tell me it was for his own good. Mary couldn’t hear the whole story, but seeing my pale face, she asked anxiously, “What’s wrong?” I packed the baby shoes I was making into a clear bag. “Mary, I need a lawyer. And a doctor who can ensure my medical records can’t be accessed by anyone else.” Mary was stunned for a second. “You’re finally ready to fight back?” “Yes.” I sealed the bag. “I used to think about running away. That’s not enough anymore. I need them to know that I am not someone who can be quietly swept under the rug.” I contacted Dr. Evelyn Carter, and through her, I found Audrey Lawson. Audrey was a lawyer who specialized in family law and women’s rights. She spoke quickly, her eyes sharp. After hearing my story, she only asked one question: “Do you want to protect the child, or do you want to protect yourself?” I said, “Both.” Audrey nodded. “Then stop negotiating with them using emotions. You need a registered address, an income, prenatal records, and evidence. You also need a visible social circle. A person hidden in the dark is the easiest to manipulate.” I looked out the window. Julian had offered me the most beautiful cage, and Sienna wanted to seal the outside of it. But I chose to walk right into the light of the crowd. Audrey didn’t ask about the baby’s voice, nor did she press about the past life. I only told her I had a very long nightmare, a nightmare where I lost my child and my name as a mother. After hearing this, Audrey didn’t laugh. She just capped her pen. “Then we prepare for the worst-case scenario. Many tragedies in real life don’t happen because people don’t love their children enough, but because they have no boundaries, no evidence, and no way out.” I engraved the word “boundaries” into my mind. I used to think that loving someone meant asking for less and making things easier for them. But my child’s past life was like a bucket of cold water, waking me from my delusions: love without boundaries is easily taken for granted, until there is nothing left of you. When I left the law firm, I bought a new notebook downstairs. On the first page, I wrote one sentence: No more disappearing. I wanted to make sure my name appeared on ledgers, contracts, medical records, and in the memories of my neighbors. The more clearly I existed, the harder it would be for anyone to erase me.

Vivian’s POV Audrey listed three things for me to do. First, transfer all prenatal records to a private clinic affiliated with Dr. Carter, where any information request required my personal authorization. Second, immediately register my residence and employment so my life would no longer look like a blank space that could be deleted at any moment. Third, keep all evidence of threats and harassment, but never meet anyone alone. I followed her instructions perfectly. I rented a small storefront on a busy street in the old neighborhood. It was tiny, previously a flower shop, with water stains still visible on the walls. Mary thought it was too run-down, but Audrey loved it. “It’s on a busy street, there are neighbors, cameras, and customers. The more ordinary, the safer.” I named the shop “Renascent.” My grandmother loved that word. I missed her. There were no grand floral arrangements on opening day, only an apple pie baked by Mary. The retired teacher came by with her repaired shirt and introduced two of her friends on the spot. By the afternoon, my back was aching, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid. At dusk, a young woman carrying a gift box walked into the shop, saying she wanted to repair a gown. She wore a mask, but her eyes kept darting to my stomach. The baby in my belly warned me immediately: “Mom, she’s not here to fix clothes. She has a recording pen in her bag. She wants to bait you into admitting you’re pregnant with Julian’s baby.” My heart went cold, but I kept my face blank. “Leave the gown here. Come back in three days,” I said. The woman smiled and asked, “Isn’t it hard running a shop alone, Miss Vance? I heard you used to be close with Mr. Pierce. Why did you suddenly stop talking? Are you pregnant and trying to extort him?” Two aunts waiting for their clothes looked up at the same time. I pushed the registration book forward. “Name and phone number for alterations. Personal matters are not registered here.” The woman, unwilling to back down, raised her voice. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m just worried about Chloe. She and Julian are childhood sweethearts, and they’re about to get married. It looks bad for you to be caught in the middle.” I smiled. “Whoever told you to say that, go talk to them about how it looks.” I picked up the landline phone on the counter and dialed Audrey’s number right in front of her. “Audrey, there’s someone in my shop asking about my personal information using Chloe and Julian’s names. The camera is on, and there are witnesses here. Should we call the police now, or send a cease-and-desist first?” The woman’s face paled. She grabbed her gift box and bolted. A car was parked outside, the window rolled halfway down, revealing Sienna Sterling’s icy side profile. She clearly hadn’t expected me to stop taking her insults quietly. I looked through the glass, not hiding, but not chasing either. That night, Julian called. I didn’t pick up. I sent him a text message: Keep the Sterling family in check. If this happens again, I will release all the names publicly. Julian replied almost instantly: Where on earth are you? I looked at the screen, and the baby in my belly said quietly, “Mom, don’t tell him.” “I know.” I deleted the chat and pulled down the metal shutter. The streetlights flickered on, casting the shadow of my little shop onto the ground. I suddenly felt that although my world was small, it finally had a door, and the key was in my own hands. Before going to bed, I counted the day’s earnings three times. It wasn’t a lot of money, not even a fraction of what Julian used to spend on a dress for me. But every bill carried the warmth of my customers’ hands and my own labor. When I put them into the tin box, they made a soft, reassuring sound, as if confirming one thing: I didn’t need Julian to survive. Mary called to ask if I was tired. I said yes, but it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that had no end. Mary laughed on the other end. “The kind of tired that lets you sleep is a good kind of tired.” The baby was sleepy too, his voice soft. “Mom, are we opening the shop tomorrow?” “Yes.” I turned off the light. “The more they want me to hide, the more I will open my doors.” After saying this, I laughed. In the past, I was afraid of being seen. Now, I began to understand that what truly protected me was not the dark, but the bright light where everyone could see how I lived my life.

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On the day we were supposed to sign our marriage license at City Hall, Austin didn’t show up. When he finally picked up the phone, his voice was low and rushed. “Vivian is doing her first brand runway today. I can’t leave her. We can do this another day.” I watched the couples hugging at the entrance of City Hall. My throat felt tight. “Austin, do you still want to marry me?” Silence. That silence on the other end of the line was more humiliating than any fight we had ever shared. Ever since Vivian appeared in his life, I meant nothing to him anymore. I let out a bitter laugh and tested the waters. “Then let’s break up.” I didn’t expect him to reply almost instantly. “Fine.” Seconds later, Vivian posted a photo on Snapchat. She was standing on the stage, wearing his designer suit jacket over her shoulders. Her eyes were red. Her caption read: So glad I have you. I stared at our wedding rings for a very long time. Then, I threw them into the trash. Some promises are incredibly real when they are made. But when they fall apart, that breakdown is just as real. Austin, loving you is too exhausting. I give up.

Chloe’s POV Today was supposed to be our sixth anniversary. Three months ago, Austin slipped the paperwork for our marriage license into my hand. He told me that from this day on, we would celebrate this date under a new status. I believed him. I took the day off work. I wore the white silk blouse he once told me looked beautiful on me. I even packed the velvet ring box in my purse. But the appointment time passed. Austin never showed. When I called him for the third time, the line connected. I could hear applause in the background. A girl’s voice, thick with tears, whimpered, “Mr. Vance, can I really do this? I’m so scared I’ll ruin the show.” Austin’s voice was hushed. “Vivian is doing her first big brand runway today, Chloe. I can’t leave her. We can sign the papers another day. It doesn’t have to be today just because of some anniversary.” I watched a young couple laughing and hugging near the steps. My fingers slowly let go of my purse. I had been with Austin for six years. I knew better than anyone how much he used to care about milestones. He used to remember the anniversary of my mother’s passing. He would buy me flowers every time I wrapped up a major project. He planned every anniversary to perfection. But this year, that devotion found a new owner. When Vivian said she was afraid of the dark, he drove across the city at midnight to help her adjust the lighting in her studio. When Vivian said she didn’t understand camera angles, he canceled our dinner plans to personally review her video scripts. It turned out the date itself was never important. What mattered was who he wanted to spend it with. I asked, “Austin, do you still want to marry me?” The phone went dead silent. That silence was a slap in the face. I folded the appointment sheet in half. My voice was barely a whisper. “Then let’s break up.” It was as if Austin had been waiting for those exact words. He answered almost instantly. “Fine.” Six years of love. A morning that was supposed to make us husband and wife. To him, it ended with a single, effortless word. Right after I hung up, Vivian sent me a snap. In the photo, she stood on the runway stage. Austin’s blazer was draped over her shoulders. Her eyes were shiny with tears. Austin stood beside her, leaning in to adjust her microphone. The caption was short: So glad I have you. I stared at it for a long time. Then, I typed back: Good luck with the show. I blocked Austin’s number immediately. As I stood up, a wave of nausea hit me. I grabbed the back of a bench, forcing the sick feeling down. The Uber driver asked where to. I looked at the city lights blurring outside the window. My voice was hoarse. “Home. I need to pack.” Halfway there, a text popped up on my laptop from Austin’s iCloud: Stop throwing a tantrum. Let’s talk when I get home tonight. I looked at the screen and wanted to laugh. To him, my forty minutes of waiting, the sound of another woman’s voice, and my breaking point were all just a “tantrum.” He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t ask how long I had waited. He just assumed I would be waiting at the apartment. He assumed I couldn’t let go of him. He assumed six years of habit would drag me right back to his feet. I shut my laptop. I didn’t reply. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror and handed me a tissue. I took it, but I didn’t cry. I pulled the ring box out of my bag and opened it. The ring was simple. I had picked it out myself. Austin had promised he would slide it onto my finger at City Hall. Now, he didn’t have to. I snapped the box shut and put it in my coat pocket. Not because I couldn’t let go, but because I wanted to remind myself: some promises are real when they are made, but they rot just as quickly. I couldn’t pretend something wasn’t dead just because it used to be alive. When I reached our building, I didn’t go up right away. The windows of our penthouse were dark. I knew what was inside. The sofa we bought together, the plush rug he insisted on buying because he hated the cold winter floors, the floor plan of the nursery we had passionately discussed. Those things were still there. But our future was gone. Standing in the cold wind, I opened our shared Google Calendar. One by one, I deleted the events: Sign marriage license, wedding ring fitting, dinner with parents. Finally, my phone prompted: Do you want to keep the shared photo album? I stared at the prompt. I tapped Keep. Not out of sentiment, but because I didn’t have the strength to process six years of memories today. You can’t rip out a deep wound on day one. I just needed to pack my things, get out of that apartment, and slowly crawl out of the wreckage of my past.

Chloe’s POV The apartment was still filled with the ghosts of our upcoming wedding. Matching slippers sat by the door. A medical checklist for our pre-marital checkup was pinned to the fridge. On the dining table lay the shopping list I had written last night. I had planned for us to go ring shopping right after City Hall. Now, every bullet point looked like a joke. Austin came back at dusk. He rang the doorbell instead of using his keys. In his hand was a hot container of clam chowder from my favorite bistro. He looked tired, a familiar, practiced exhaustion on his face. “Eat something first. I’m sorry about noon, Chloe. But Vivian really couldn’t handle it alone. It was her first time in front of a crowd. She was shaking.” I didn’t reach for the soup. “I’ll have your things packed and sent to your office.” Austin frowned. “You’re the one who called for a breakup.” “Yes. That’s why I’m handling the logistics.” He looked taken aback by my calm tone. Whenever we argued in the past, I always left room for reconciliation. Austin would say a few sweet words, and I would let it go. I couldn’t bear to lose six years of history. I couldn’t let go of the boy who used to look at me like I was his entire world. But that boy was long gone. Austin set the soup down on the console table. “Take a couple of days to cool off, Chloe. Don’t burn your bridges over a temporary mood.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “You agreed so quickly on the phone. Isn’t this what you wanted all along?” A flash of guilt and panic crossed Austin’s face. The moment the door shut behind him, I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I thought it was just my stomach acting up from the stress. But the next morning, the smell of the cold soup made me gag all over again. By the time Maya rushed over, I was sitting on the floor, pulling photos out of our scrapbooks. I was sliding Austin’s pictures out one by one. My movements were slow, like I was conducting a quiet funeral for a dead relationship. Maya snatched the album away. “Stop doing this. Why do you look so pale?” I shook my head. “Just didn’t sleep well.” Maya stared at me for a few seconds. “Chloe… when was your last period?” My hand froze in mid-air. The last time Austin and I were intimate was two weeks ago. He had been a little drunk. He held me tight, whispering that he wanted a baby. He said he wanted a little girl who would be as smart as me. I believed him that night. I even thought that if I got pregnant after City Hall, it would be a beautiful new beginning. But now, Austin didn’t want me anymore. Maya pulled me up from the floor. “We’re going to the clinic. Now.” When the lab results came back, the doctor’s voice was gentle. “The pregnancy is very early. You need to keep your stress low and get plenty of rest. Does the father know?” I looked at the slip of paper. My throat felt like it was blocked by concrete. “He doesn’t need to know.” I already loved this tiny life inside me. But it had arrived too late, and at such a painful cost. It felt like a final anchor Austin had left in my body, trying to drag back a woman who had already decided to run. Outside the clinic, Maya asked, “What’s the plan, Chloe?” I folded the ultrasound and tucked it into my bag. “Just get through today.” I couldn’t make life-altering decisions while I was at my weakest. I had to pull myself out of the mess Austin and Vivian had created first. Maya stayed with me the whole way back. We didn’t talk about the baby, and we didn’t talk about Austin. We just stopped by the pharmacy to pick up the prenatal vitamins the doctor prescribed, and ordered some light chicken broth from the diner downstairs. I sat at the table, taking one slow sip at a time. My stomach was still in knots, but I forced myself to keep it down. Maya’s eyes grew red as she watched me. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, you know.” “If I don’t hold myself together, who will?” I murmured. The room went dead silent. Austin used to shield me from the storms. Or at least, I thought he did. When I was drowning in overtime, he would wait downstairs with coffee. When I was grieving my mother, he would cancel his meetings to hold me. But if a man’s reliability only lasts as long as his feelings, it isn’t reliability. It’s just charity on a good day. I touched my lower abdomen. For the first time, I seriously wondered: If I keep this baby, can I raise them alone in a world where we don’t have to beg for Austin’s attention? I didn’t have the answer yet. But I knew I needed an escape route. That night, I couldn’t sleep in our bed. His pillow still smelled faintly of his sandalwood cologne. I took a light blanket and slept on the living room couch. In the middle of the night, the nausea woke me up again. Maya sat on the floor next to me, fighting sleep, her eyes half-closed as she muttered curses at Austin. “He better not show his face here, or I’ll smash him with a frying pan.” I let out a weak laugh, and only then did the tears finally spill over. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But I finally understood that even if it hurt, I could never run back to Austin’s arms. That embrace was now reserved for Vivian’s tears and drama. It was no longer a safe place for me.

Chloe’s POV When I returned to the marketing agency after three days of leave, I found my desk had been moved. I was no longer by the window. That window seat was a spot I had earned inch by inch, working my way up from an intern to a senior creative director. Now, my plants were gone, my project drafts had been shuffled through, and even the framed photo of my mother and me at the old pier was missing from my desk. Inside the glass conference room, Vivian was standing there. She was wearing my custom-designed forest green blazer. That blazer was a prototype I had created for our pitch to renovate the SoHo Leather Factory. I had designed it using my mother’s vintage leatherwork techniques as inspiration. I wanted to pitch turning that abandoned factory into a community exhibition space for heritage crafts. It was a project I had poured my heart into for over eight months. Vivian spotted me and immediately jogged out of the room. “Chloe. You’re back. I thought you needed a few more days off. Mr. Davis said I should take over as the lead presenter for the SoHo project for now. Please don’t be mad. I’m just stepping in to help.” I stared at the blazer on her. “Take it off.” Vivian blinked, taken aback. “What?” “That’s my custom prototype,” I said, my voice cold. “It’s not company property.” The chatter in the office died down instantly. Vivian’s eyes welled with tears on cue. “Chloe, I just thought this blazer matched the theme of today’s pitch so well. Austin… I mean, Mr. Vance also said that you haven’t been in the right headspace lately, and that it’s better if you don’t present.” I finally looked into the conference room. Austin was sitting in the client’s chair, Vivian’s presentation slides open in front of him. Seeing me, his brows knit together. He looked at me with warning eyes, as if blaming me for making a scene. Mr. Davis stepped out of the room, whispering, “Chloe, don’t do this now. The Vance Group is the primary investor for this exhibition. Austin wants Vivian to lead this. You’ll still get credit behind the scenes.” Behind the scenes. I was the one who had made dozens of trips to the dusty factory ruins. I was the one who interviewed the retired craftsmen, archived the old leather samples, and scanned my mother’s hand-drawn blueprints page by page. Now, Vivian was wearing my design, speaking my words, and stealing my spotlight. And I was supposed to be satisfied with “behind-the-scenes credit.” Without another word, I reached out and yanked the blazer off Vivian’s shoulders. Vivian gasped, stumbling back as tears streamed down her face. “Chloe! I know you’re hurting because of you and Austin, but you can’t bring your personal drama into the workplace!” Austin stood up, his chair scraping loudly. “Chloe.” I draped the blazer over my arm, keeping my voice steady and clear. “If you’re going to steal my pitch, at least don’t wear my clothes to do it.” Nobody dared to breathe in the open office. Austin’s face darkened. “Vivian is a junior. She needs this opportunity.” “Opportunities are built, Austin. Not stripped off my back.” Vivian sobbed louder. I didn’t give them another glance. I walked over to my new cramped desk, opened my laptop, and got to work. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t quit on the spot. Instead, I backed up every single file of the SoHo project. The original concept drafts, the interview recordings, the licensing agreements for my mother’s designs, and the prototype manufacturing records. I had already lost my relationship. I was not going to let them steal my life’s work. Once the backup was complete, I didn’t leave immediately. I walked into the archive room and began packing my personal belongings and my mother’s vintage design books. Seeing how quiet and methodical I was, my coworkers kept their distance. Vivian watched me through the glass, her smugness slowly giving way to anxiety. Mr. Davis came over to placate me. “Chloe, we’re all colleagues here. No need to burn bridges. Vivian is young, she doesn’t know the industry rules yet.” I looked up. “If she doesn’t know the rules, why is she leading a multi-million dollar project?” Mr. Davis choked on his words. I packed my mother’s sketches into a waterproof bag, filled out a property release form, and made the receptionist sign it. In the past, I ran on loyalty. I never kept strict receipts because I thought of this agency as my second home. Now I realized: a home doesn’t move your desk the second you take three days off, nor does it hand your mother’s legacy to another woman. I saw Austin standing by the door of the conference room. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he ultimately remained silent. I carried my storage box right past him, not even letting my sleeve brush against his. A colleague next to my old desk whispered, “Do you need help, Chloe?” I shook my head. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mud with Austin and Vivian. But she quietly pushed an empty cardboard box toward me and whispered, “Make sure you didn’t leave any original sketches behind.” That simple gesture almost made me break down. I realized that not everyone in this office was blind. Many saw the injustice. They were just too afraid to speak up. I finished copying the last interview tape and placed my mother’s photo at the top of the box. Vivian could steal the spotlight on stage, but she could never fake the soul of the work.

Chloe’s POV The first dry run of the SoHo exhibition was scheduled at the old factory’s central warehouse. This place was where my mother had worked when she was a young designer. After she passed, I rarely came back. But for this project, I had loaned my company her vintage tailor rulers, leather swatches, and handwritten journals. I wanted people to see the beauty of the old craftsmanship. During the dry run, Vivian stood on the stage, reciting my opening remarks. “Every vintage piece is not waste. They are simply pushed into the shadows by time…” Standing in the crowd, a sharp pain flared in my stomach. Vivian delivered the lines with practiced emotion, but she mispronounced the basic leather terms my mother had coined. Several retired craftsmen sitting in the front row frowned, their faces turning grim. Mr. Davis frantically approached me, begging, “Chloe, please. Go up there and save the pitch.” I didn’t budge. Austin walked over, whispering in my ear, “You know this part best. Go up and help her.” I looked at him. “Isn’t she the lead?” “Chloe, stop being childish. Not now.” “I’m not being childish.” I looked at the stage. “I’m just letting the lead present her own work.” On stage, Vivian completely froze. She looked at Austin, tears pooling in her eyes. Austin instinctively took a step toward the stage, but the museum curator stood up first. “Miss Vivian, you mentioned this vintage tailor ruler belonged to your grandmother?” My head snapped up. Vivian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “Yes… she used it to support our family back in the day.” That ruler was my mother’s most precious possession. Blood rushed to my ears. I walked straight up to the stage, took the ruler out of the display case, and looked Vivian dead in the eye. “Vivian. Say it again. Whose is this?” Vivian’s face drained of color. Austin was stunned. “Vivian?” Vivian immediately burst into tears. “I didn’t mean to! The script wasn’t clear, I thought it was just a generic story we were using for the brand! Chloe, don’t be so mean… I really didn’t know it was your mother’s!” I turned to Austin. “Hear that? She can’t even memorize the story she stole.” Austin’s face was incredibly tense, but his first instinct was still to step in front of Vivian. “We’ll discuss this back at the office.” “No.” I put the ruler back into my box. “We discuss it here. I am officially pulling out of the SoHo project. My mother’s legacy, my drafts, and my personal items are leaving this building right now.” Mr. Davis panicked. “Chloe, don’t do this! The exhibition has already been approved by the city board!” “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” I hugged the wooden box of my mother’s things and turned to walk out. Vivian ran after me, grabbing my sleeve. “Chloe, please! I really didn’t mean to! You’re going to ruin the entire project!” I jerked my arm back to get away from her. But Vivian lost her footing, slipping and crashing straight into the temporary lighting rig beside the stage. The rig wobbled violently, and a heavy, rusted metal sign came crashing down. Instinctively, I curled my body to protect my mother’s box. But my lower abdomen slammed hard against the sharp edge of the display counter. A sharp, blinding pain exploded deep inside my belly. My face went completely white. Warm blood began to run down my legs. By the time Austin rushed over, I was too weak to stand. He reached out to cradle me, but I used every ounce of my remaining strength to push him away. “Don’t touch me.” Austin froze, his hands trembling in the air. Clutching my mother’s wooden box, I slid down to the cold floor. I saw Vivian standing a few feet away, her face filled with horror, but she didn’t step forward. When the wail of the siren echoed outside, my vision finally went black. I realized then that love doesn’t always die slowly. Sometimes, it is stomped into the dirt, over and over, until there is nothing left to save. Before the ambulance doors slammed shut, Austin finally caught up, panting. I had never seen him look so terrified. He kept reaching out, trying to grasp my hand. But the paramedics blocked him. Maya stood in his way, her eyes wild with anger. “Get the hell away from her!” Maya screamed at him. “Now you care? Where was this urgency when you were busy protecting Vivian?” Austin’s lips parted, but not a single sound came out. Inside the ambulance, the pain kept dragging me into unconsciousness, but I refused to let go of the wooden box. The paramedic tried to take it, but I shook my head fiercely. That box held my mother’s tools, her designs, and the last piece of myself I had left. Outside, Vivian was being comforted by a coworker, weeping softly. She kept saying she didn’t mean to, but her very first question wasn’t about me. It was asking Austin if he was mad at her. Everyone heard it. The lights of the old factory faded in the distance. The banner outside still read: New Life for Old Things. But what I lost in that warehouse would never have a new life. In the ambulance, the doctor asked if I had any family members present. Maya immediately grabbed my hand. “I’m her family.” I couldn’t speak, but a tear slipped from the corner of my eye. For six years, I thought Austin was my home. But when my world fell apart, the one standing in front of the storm wasn’t my fiancé. It was my best friend. Maya squeezed my hand tightly. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, Chloe. Stay with me. You have to get through this, so we can watch those two rot in hell.” I tried to nod, but only a faint gasp escaped my lips. The nurse finally took the wooden box and handed it to Maya for safekeeping. As my eyes closed, the doctor’s warning flashed through my mind: Keep your stress low. I had tried so hard to stay steady. But they had pulled the rug right out from under my feet.

Chloe’s POV The baby was gone. The doctor said the pregnancy was too early, and my body was already severely exhausted from stress. The impact was just the final trigger. When Maya heard the news, she sobbed in the hallway until she couldn’t breathe. But I was dead silent. I was so quiet, it felt like I had left my voice back at that warehouse. The next morning, Maya brought a fresh container of clam chowder. Seeing Austin standing outside my hospital room, she slammed the food down on the counter. “Oh, look who decided to show up. Where were you when she was waiting at City Hall? Where were you when they were stealing her work? When she was bleeding, your first instinct was still to check if Vivian had a scratch!” Austin’s voice cracked. “I just want to see her.” “She doesn’t want to see you. Ever.” Inside the room, I heard every word, but I didn’t say anything. I stared out the window, my palm resting flat against my empty stomach. I had spent nights agonizing over whether I should bring this child into the world. But losing them left an ache that stripped away any remaining dignity I had. It felt as though a tiny hand had briefly touched mine, only to be violently ripped away by this nightmare. In the afternoon, I asked Maya to bring me my laptop. Maya’s eyes were puffy. “You just had surgery. Can’t this wait?” “If I wait, they’ll write the narrative for me,” I said softly. “I’m not letting them call me ’emotionally unstable’ again.” I sent a formal email to the agency, the museum curator, and my lawyer. The email was simple: I was revoking all licenses. My mother’s estate, the interviews, the scans, and the blazer design. All use was to stop immediately. As for the warehouse accident, I demanded a full investigation into the safety of the lighting rig and the contractor responsible. After sending the email, I asked Maya to help me move my things out of our apartment. I wanted my car and a few boxes of files moved to a secure location. I left all further communication to my lawyer. Maya blinked. “Where are you going to go, Chloe?” “The warehouse.” It was an old, dusty storage unit my mother had left me in Queens. Austin had always looked down on it, calling it a useless piece of junk. But it was mine. I didn’t have the energy to sort through six years of life right now. But I could hide there to heal, far away from any place Austin could find me. Two days later, I checked out of the hospital. I didn’t go back to the penthouse. I went straight to Queens. Maya came with me. I handed my old phone over to my lawyer and set up an auto-forward for Austin’s emails. While Austin was still guarding the empty hospital lobby, my car was already heading out of the city. I didn’t say much on the drive. Maya, worried I was freezing, draped her coat over my lap. To keep my mind off things, she blasted a loud, trashy pop song on the radio. I listened to the beat and actually fell asleep for fifteen minutes. When I woke up, the sun had set. The highway lights flashed past, cutting my past into distant, fading frames. Maya asked, “Any regrets?” I shook my head. Of course, I was scared. The warehouse was cold, my body was weak, and I had no idea how I was going to make a living or deal with the grief. But I knew one thing for sure: staying where Austin could reach me would only drag me back into the mud of his guilt and Vivian’s malice. Leaving wasn’t about being brave. It was about survival. The Queens warehouse was in worse shape than I remembered. The iron door was rusted, the roof leaked, and moss grew in the corners. Maya frowned the moment we stepped inside. “Are you sure you want to stay here? The wind at night is going to sound like a horror movie.” I stood in the center of the dusty room. For the first time in days, I felt grounded. There were no matching slippers here. No trace of Vivian’s perfume. No one asking me why I couldn’t just “be the bigger person.” It was run-down, but every square inch of it belonged to me. I decided to turn the warehouse into my new independent studio. For the first few days, my body was still recovering, so Maya forbid me from doing any heavy lifting. We hired a contractor to fix the roof, change the locks, and paint the walls. I sat on a folding chair, sipping my warm herbal tea, organizing my mother’s old leather patterns. I placed her wooden box on the highest shelf. Inside, I slipped a small post-it note: I’m sorry. I will live a good life. I didn’t write a name. The baby was too small. Too small to have ever been called by a name in this world.

Chloe’s POV My first client came through Maya. An old, prestigious boutique in Soho was planning their 20th-anniversary exhibition. The budget was tight, but the standards were incredibly high. The owner, Valerie, came to see my warehouse in person. She noticed my pale face and asked bluntly, “Is your health going to be an issue?” I looked her in the eye. “If there’s something I can’t handle, I’ll tell you upfront. What I promise to do, I will deliver perfectly.” Valerie smiled. “I like that. Realistic over idealistic.” She gave me a shot: I had three days to pitch a concept for their heritage collection. I took it. For those three days, I didn’t pull any all-nighters. The doctor said I needed rest, so I broke the work into small chunks. When I was tired, I stopped. Maya took care of my meals. When I finally emailed the deck to Valerie, her response was short: You’re hired. Staring at the screen, my eyes filled with tears. I didn’t become useless just because I left Austin. I had simply returned to my own battlefield. Once the contract was signed, I installed the first proper light fixture in my warehouse. When the bulb flickered on, the dust motes in the air became visible. Maya pinched her nose, but I stood in the light for a long time. I remembered how my mother used to repair leather bags under a similar light when I was a kid. We weren’t rich, but she always said that whether an old item can be saved doesn’t depend on how damaged it is, but on whether someone has the patience to stitch it back together. I used to apply that logic to my relationship, and it ended up destroying me. N ow, I finally knew the difference: things can be repaired, but a rotten heart is better left in the trash. As we prepared for the first mini-exhibition, my body still had moments of sudden weakness. Valerie didn’t rush me; she simply pushed the launch date back by two days. Around that time, the name Julian first appeared in my inbox. He was a non-profit director Valerie had introduced, and he sent over a very detailed, professional partnership proposal. My first instinct was to put up my guard. I realized Austin had conditioned me to be afraid. I was so used to being controlled that when someone offered a genuine, equal partnership, I immediately looked for the catch. After Valerie left one afternoon, I sat by the warehouse door, letting the cool breeze hit my face. The salty air from the East River made my stomach ache slightly. Maya handed me a hot water bottle, lecturing me, “If you overwork yourself again, I will literally tie you to the bed.” “Deal,” I smiled. My quick agreement caught Maya off guard. In the past, I hated bothering people. Even with a high fever, I would tell everyone I was fine. Now, I was finally learning to accept care. Not because I was weak, but because I realized that if you want to stand back up, you can’t do it while pretending your wounds aren’t bleeding. That night, I wrote down the first rule for my new studio: No sacrificing health for a deadline. I stared at the sentence. It felt like a final farewell to the girl who used to destroy herself just to please everyone else. Once the deposit cleared, I felt a sense of relief I hadn’t felt in years. This money was mine. It wasn’t a payout from Austin, and it wasn’t a corporate bonus. It was earned by my own hands. I used some of it to patch the rest of the roof and saved the rest in a business account. Maya asked why I was being so strict with the finances. “No matter what happens,” I told her, “this studio needs to have at least three months of runway to survive on its own.” It sounded like business talk, but it was actually my safety net. That night, as I sat alone in the warehouse filing invoices, I found myself smiling. Austin had gifted me expensive jewelry in the past, but none of it ever made me feel this secure. Real peace of mind doesn’t come from the price tag. It comes from knowing exactly how it was earned, and where it’s going.

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