Category: English

The day my parents’ marriage finally dissolved, my brother—born with a hair-trigger temper and a soul made of spite—already knew the score. He knew our father had clawed his way into the inner circle of a Chicago real estate heiress. Bennett didn’t want a family; he wanted a dynasty. He wanted to be a blue-blood. He shoved me aside, practically stepping over our mother to grab my father’s hand. “I’m going with Dad,” he declared, his voice high and sharp. I didn’t say a word. I simply reached down, took my mother’s trembling hand, and helped her up. I stood by her side, a quiet shadow in the wreckage of our living room. In my first life, Bennett had been the one to stay. He’d snuck into Mom’s private journals and discovered that Grandma wasn’t just some estranged relative—she was the matriarch of one of the most powerful old-money families in Manhattan. He stayed because he thought he could use her to rule New York. He hadn’t expected the reality: Mom never went back to the manor. She worked as a janitor by day and sold hot dogs from a cart by night just to keep him fed. She’d spent every cent of her meager savings to rent a cramped, one-bedroom apartment near a decent school, leaving them with barely enough for groceries. He grew to hate her for it. Meanwhile, I was the one who went with Dad. As the son of the most notorious social climber in the Midwest, I lived a life of obscene luxury. I had every resource at my fingertips. I wasn’t just a straight-A student; I was a world-ranked chess prodigy and a semi-pro racer. Bennett’s jealousy turned into a sickness. When I returned home for a tournament, exhausted and vulnerable, he met me in the parking lot. He stabbed me seven times in front of a cheering crowd. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day of the divorce. Looking at the feral, triumphant glint in my six-year-old brother’s eyes, I knew he had come back, too. He thought he’d made the winning move this time. He thought he’d traded a life of poverty for a throne. He had no idea he’d just signed up for a nightmare. 1 I kept my head down, masking the cold fire of my hatred. “Matt,” my father, Adam, said, his voice hesitant. “Are you sure about this? You don’t want to come with me?” Adam actually preferred me. Just like with my brother, Adam had only pursued my mother because he’d smelled the “Manhattan Elite” on her. He wanted to be the trophy husband of a billionaire heiress. But my grandmother had seen right through his cheap suit and cheaper soul. She’d forbidden the marriage. When Mom was torn between her family and the man she thought she loved, Adam made sure she got pregnant. He spirited her away, thinking the old woman would eventually cave and write a check. He was wrong. Once it was clear Grandma had cut Mom off for good, Adam started looking for a new mark. He played the part of the tortured, bohemian artist, using his charms to infiltrate the circles of powerful women. He was leaving now because he’d finally landed May Stanford. May was Chicago royalty—stunning, ruthless, and trapped by the one thing money couldn’t fix: a biological inability to have an heir. After her family marginalized her for it, she’d spent her twenties systematically dismantling and then rebuilding their corporate empire from the inside. Now, in her thirties, her kingdom was secure, but she needed a successor. A son she could mold. Adam had offered us up like prize cattle. May’s “vetting team” had already decided I was the better candidate. In my last life, I’d gone willingly, unaware of the trap. The moment we arrived at the Stanford estate, May had me thrown into a decorative pond stocked with alligators. “Matt,” she’d said, her voice like silk over gravel, “if you want to be my son, you have to learn how to survive. The gates will open in three hours. Get ready.” “No!” I’d screamed, thrashing in the water. “Dad! Help me! Please!” But the elegant woman only smiled. “Matt, you have to save yourself.” 2 I’d looked to Adam, who was standing right behind her, hovering like a loyal dog. “Dad! Do something! Please!” Adam ignored my terror. He leaned over the edge, his eyes cold. “Matt, your mother is right. Listen to her. Do this for me. You have to survive.” “She’s not my mother!” I yelled. May knelt down, gripping my chin with fingers that felt like steel talons. “Matt, if you want a mother’s love, you have to forget Claire ever existed. Pass this test, and you can take the Stanford name.” I didn’t answer. I leaned forward and bit her wrist, hard enough to draw blood. Adam panicked, trying to pry my jaws open. “Matt! You little animal! Let go!” May didn’t flinch. She looked at her bleeding wrist, then back at me. “Matt, even if you tear my hand off, the gators are still coming in one hundred and sixty minutes.” That was the moment I realized I was powerless. I let go. I swam to the center, forced my heart to slow down, and began to watch the shadows in the water. I had to live. I fought those beasts for three days. When May finally killed them, she didn’t give me a bed; she put me in a kennel and fed me raw protein. The “domestication” never stopped. I grew up “perfect.” In public, she was the devoted, sophisticated mother, and I was the genius son she adored. But every time I fell short of her impossible standards, the punishments became more inventive, more psychological. By the time I was twenty, I was a “prodigy” to the world, but inside, I was a hollowed-out shell. If Bennett hadn’t killed me, I would have eventually killed May and then myself. But now? Now I was going to let Bennett be her dog. I was going to stay with Mom and find a way to heal. 3 Terrified of losing his “golden ticket,” Bennett grabbed Adam’s leg and nodded feverishly. “Dad! I want to go with you! You’re the only one who cares about me! I’ll be the best son, I promise!” Adam hesitated, his eyes flickering toward me. At that moment, Mom knelt down so we were eye-to-eye. Her voice was a soft balm. “Matt? What about you? Do you want to go with your father?” “I’m staying with you, Mom,” I said instantly. She had just been rejected by her youngest, and my words brought a sudden, fragile light to her eyes. She pulled me into a hug. “I promise you, Matt. I will make sure you grow up happy. I’ll give you everything I can.” “I’ll stay with you forever,” I whispered, meaning it. In my last life, she had given Bennett all of her love, and he’d spat on it. This time, I would be the one to cherish it. “Claire!” Adam shouted. “I didn’t agree to this! You can’t just take Matt!” Mom didn’t even look at him. She told me to take Bennett upstairs to pack our things. I nodded and took Bennett’s hand. I forced my voice into the pitch of a frightened seven-year-old. “Come on, Ben. Let’s go upstairs.” My brother’s small face contorted with a sneer that no six-year-old should possess. He followed me, but I could feel the malice radiating off him. As we climbed the stairs, I was already calculating. I needed a way out—a way to ensure May wouldn’t come for me. A few steps from the top, I felt his hand on my back. He shoved. In that split second, I saw my opening. Instead of catching myself, I leaned into the fall. I tumbled backward, aiming my forehead for the sharp corner of the mahogany banister. The pain was white-hot and immediate. My seven-year-old body wasn’t as resilient as my adult mind, and the agony forced a jagged scream from my throat. Bennett scrambled down next to me, forcing out fake tears. “Matt! Oh my god, you fell! Mom! Dad! I’m so scared!” Mom was there in a heartbeat, screaming for an ambulance. Adam, however, just stared at the gash on my head. “Matt! You idiot! Look what you did! What if that leaves a scar?” May Stanford was a perfectionist. She viewed her children as curated works of art. A scarred heir was a flawed product. Seeing Adam’s panicked face, I knew I’d won. 4 “Get out, Adam!” Mom screamed. “Stop yelling at him and just get out! Matt is staying with me. You don’t get to touch him ever again!” Adam couldn’t explain his real motives without admitting he was selling his children to a socialite. He could only stall. “Fine! But we’re not deciding anything until he’s out of the hospital.” Mom was too worried about the blood to argue. “Fine.” Adam stepped outside to “smoke,” but I knew he was calling May. In the hospital, Bennett hovered by Mom’s side, playing the innocent. “Mom, he was just jumping around on the stairs. He tripped over his own feet. You should tell him to be more careful…” Mom cut him off. “Go sit down, Bennett.” An hour later, Adam returned, his face a mask of feigned indifference. May had clearly given him new orders. “Claire, I’ve made my decision. I’m taking Bennett. You keep Matt. And after today, I don’t want to hear from either of you unless it’s an absolute emergency.” “Good,” Mom snapped. Just like in the previous life, they sold the house. Mom walked away with eighty thousand dollars in cash—a pittance to Adam, but a fortune to her. May must have been footing the bill to make the “problem” go away quickly. While I was still in the hospital, Adam whisked Bennett away to Chicago for “inspection.” I could only imagine the look on May’s face when she saw what she’d bought. Once I was discharged, Mom moved us to Boston. She wanted a fresh start. She fell back into the same routine: cleaning offices by day, selling rotisserie chicken and sides from a small stand at night. I didn’t care about the grease or the long hours. I did everything I could to help her. The only “gift” May had given me in my past life was a high-functioning brain. I stopped hiding it. I let my intelligence show, little by little. By the time I finished middle school, I was the top-ranked student in the district. When I won a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship, Mom cried. She looked at me, her eyes red and hesitant. “Matt… are you ashamed of what I do? If you keep being this successful, people are going to ask. The reporters will want to know who your mother is. Do you really want to tell them I’m a janitor?” I took her hands. “I’ll tell them the truth. I’ll tell the whole world that my mother is the strongest woman I know. That without you, I’d be nothing.” She sobbed and pulled me into her arms. “You’re my pride and joy, Matt.” 5 With the scholarship money and our savings, I convinced Mom to open a small, brick-and-mortar rotisserie bistro. During the grand opening, it was a madhouse. We offered ninety-percent-off deals for the first three days. By the fourth day, things had settled into a steady, profitable rhythm. I was in the back prepping vegetables when the bell rang. Two figures walked in, both dressed in tailored Italian wool. Adam and Bennett. I stepped out from the kitchen, blocking their path. “What are you doing here?” Bennett adjusted his silk tie, looking around the small shop with a sneer. “Matt, please. You think this little ‘business’ is impressive? My tie costs more than your mom makes in a month.” He looked comfortable in his wealth, but there was a frantic, hollow look in his eyes. He clearly wasn’t handling May’s “training” well. If he’d actually been reborn, why hadn’t he improved? Adam cleared his throat, looking uncomfortably at me. “Be nice, Ben. Remember why we’re here.” He turned to me with a plastic smile. “Matt, son. It’s been years. We just wanted to stop by and support your mother’s little hobby.” “We’re doing fine,” I said coldly. “We don’t need your support. Please leave.” “Don’t be an arrogant prick, Matt!” Bennett snapped. “Get out,” I barked. Adam stepped between us. “Matt, listen. May… your Aunt May… she wants to see you. She’s been following your academic progress. She’s very impressed.” So, May was willing to overlook my scar now because Bennett was a disappointment. She was trying to trade up. “I have one mother,” I said. “Her name is Claire. I don’t have a father, and I don’t have a brother.” Adam’s face darkened. “You think because you’re a big fish in a small pond that you’re special? The Stanford family has more money than God. This is your one chance to actually matter.” “I’ll pass.” Bennett exploded. “Dad, forget it! He’s just a scholarship kid! There are thousands of them! May can just find some other charity case to adopt! Look at him—he’s a peasant. In three years, my SAT scores will bury his!” Adam spat on the floor. “Ungrateful brat.” He turned to Bennett. “Let’s go. We’ll tell May he’s not worth the trouble.” As they left, I turned around and saw Mom sitting at a table, her face pale, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Matt… I’m so sorry. I should have told you…” 6 She was going to tell me about Grandma. But I knew there was a reason she hadn’t reached out in eight years. Even when we were starving, even when she was working four jobs, she never called Manhattan. There was a wound there I didn’t want to poke. “Mom, don’t,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. You raised me. I’m staying with you until the day I can take care of you.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she just whispered, “Thank you, Matt.” We went back to work. I tried to shake the feeling of dread, but it sat in my stomach like lead. That night, as we were closing up, the door didn’t just open—it was kicked in. Bennett walked in, followed by a phalanx of twenty-two private security guards in black suits. I ran to the front. “What the hell is this? Get out!” Before I could move, two guards grabbed my arms and pinned me against the wall. Bennett kicked over a table, the crash of breaking ceramic echoing through the empty restaurant. He looked at the few remaining customers. “If you want to live, get the hell out! Now!” The customers scrambled for the exits, terrified. I knew Bennett was unstable, but this was a new level of mania. “Bennett, there are cameras here,” I said, trying to stay calm. “The footage is being uploaded to a cloud server on my phone at home. If you do anything, you’re going to prison.” Bennett laughed, a shrill, jagged sound. “I don’t care about your cameras. I have the Stanford lawyers.” He leaned in close. “You’re coming to Chicago with me. If you don’t, things are going to get very bloody, very fast.” I struggled against the guards. “I’m not going anywhere.” I’d already hit the silent alarm under the counter, and I had my phone in my pocket, dialing 911. I just needed to buy a few minutes. Suddenly, a guard dragged Mom out from the back. Her hands were zip-tied, her mouth duct-taped. He threw her onto the floor like a sack of grain. She let out a muffled cry of pain, but when she looked at me, she tried to smile, shaking her head as if to tell me not to worry. “Mom!” I screamed. I fought with everything I had, breaking free for a second before four guards swarmed me, kicking me back down. “Bennett! Stop! She’s your mother too!” Bennett pulled a switchblade. He knelt down, grabbing Mom by the hair and pulling her head back, the blade resting against her throat. “My mother is May Stanford. Now listen to me, Matt. If you refuse me one more time, I’ll start with her face. Do you want to see what this does to her skin?” “Don’t you touch her!” Bennett smirked, the blade nicking her cheek. A thin line of red appeared. “Try me.” “Stop! Okay! Stop!” I yelled, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Good,” Bennett said, his eyes wild with triumph. “Then you’re coming home. You’re going to be the perfect little ward for May.” Mom was shaking her head violently, ignoring the blade at her throat, begging me with her eyes not to give in. I was about to say the words—anything to save her—when the sound of sharp, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the doorway. A woman walked in. Her hair was silver, her suit was Chanel, and her aura was pure, unadulterated power.

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I was the one who played the villain. Five years ago, in a high-stakes survival horror game known as The Gloom, I targeted a background character—a literal “nobody” NPC. I used my status as a seasoned player to seduce him, toyed with his heart and his body, and then I vanished, deleting my account without a second thought. Returning to the game now, five years later, the streetscape is the same—a perpetual, rain-slicked neon noir. But standing under a flickering streetlight is a child who shouldn’t exist. A translucent floating screen—the global spectator feed—scrolled frantically in my peripheral vision. [Wait, is that the Arch-Fiend’s kid? The one who eats players for breakfast?] [Poor little monster. He comes here every night looking for his ‘mommy.’ When is the Heroine finally going to enter this S-Rank zone?] The boy’s face was smeared with grime. He was scavenging, picking up a piece of raw, unidentifiable meat from the gutter. My heart twinged. I knelt beside him, reaching out to wipe his cheek with my sleeve. “Hey, kid. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to eat things off the ground?” Suddenly, the comment feed exploded. [Who is this suicide-wish NPC? She’s touching the Heroine’s kid!] [RIP. I remember this scene in the original script. This random fodder gets her hands bitten off by the Big Boss. It’s brutal.] [The Heroine saved the Boss’s life when he was weak and won the favor of the entire Nightmare Realm. She’s top three on the leaderboards. This girl is toast.] The smile on my face froze. I slowly began to retract my hand. The boy’s round, innocent eyes suddenly shifted. His pupils didn’t just dilate; they narrowed into jagged, vertical slits. My pulse hammered against my ribs. “You know what? I’ll just… let your dad come find you. My mistake.” 1. My hand hung suspended in the damp air. The boy was waiting for me to finish cleaning his face. He had closed his eyes, his long lashes fanning out like delicate shadows against his chubby, dirt-streaked cheeks. When I first spotted him, I was internally cursing the game’s developers for dragging a toddler into this hellscape. Everyone knew the monsters in The Gloom didn’t have a biological drive to procreate; the world was filled with nothing but solitary, vengeful entities. The other Newbie players in my spawn group had hissed at me to keep moving. “Don’t be a martyr, Jade. You want to die on day one?” They didn’t realize this wasn’t my first rodeo. Based on my clearance experience from five years ago, I knew I could protect one child. But the moment I knelt, the “Spectator Chat”—the voice of the system’s audience—revealed the truth. This wasn’t just a survival game anymore. It had been overwritten. It was now a dark, twisted romance novel. The “Heroine,” a player named Madison, was the savior of the Realm’s most terrifying Boss. They supposedly had a child together, and after five years of separation, they were destined for a grand, bloody reunion. Madison had used the “Love Interest’s Favor” to breeze through dozens of S-Rank trials without breaking a sweat. She was a “Mary Sue” with a cheat code, destined to escape to the real world with infinite wealth and her monster family. And I? I was the nameless casualty in the chapter where the lovers reunite. A piece of “cannonball fodder” who lacked the situational awareness to stay away from the Heroine’s son. In the original script, the Boss would find me “threatening” his cub and tear my hands off before letting the lesser ghouls feast on the rest of me. I looked at my hands—calloused, scarred from the trials I’d survived five years ago. If I lost them, my return to this world was for nothing. “Sorry, little guy,” I said, my voice tight and cautious. “I’m sure your dad will be here any second.” After all, he was the offspring of “The Widow”—the Great Spider of the Urban Legends sector. I’d fought every nightmare in the book, but giant arachnids were my one psychological breaking point. Just thinking about the Boss’s true form made my skin crawl with phantom legs. I backed away. I had to stay alive. I had to find someone. I wondered how he was doing. That beautiful, stuttering NPC who used to cry whenever he got a scratch. He was gorgeous, but he could barely string a sentence together. I hoped the Great Spider hadn’t eaten him yet. 2. The rain turned into a rhythmic drizzle. In this dark cityscape, the only thing more unreliable than the law was the lighting. The boy’s hair was matted with water, drooping like a drowned puppy’s ears. When he saw my polite, distant smile, his expression shattered into something heartbreaking. He forced his mouth open, revealing rows of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. “M… Ma…” His voice was a tiny rasp, as if he hadn’t quite mastered human speech. I couldn’t make out the word. Before I could ask him to repeat it, a pair of hands reached out from the shadows behind him. A woman stepped forward, her face radiant with a staged, cinematic sweetness. “I finally found you, my little angel,” she cooed. The spectator feed went wild. [FINALLY! The reunion! I’ve been waiting ten chapters for this!] [Madison is here! Bring on the fluff and the gore! Where’s the Boss?] The players in my group perked up, their eyes gleaming with hope. “You’re that new player, right? The ‘Good Luck Charm’ of the Realm? Madison?” one of them asked, practically bowing. “We’re so lucky to be in your squad. Can we kick that other woman out? She’s a liability.” Madison smiled modestly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, it’s just luck, really. Don’t worry, everyone. I have… connections in this zone. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t care. The kid’s “mom” was here, which meant I could go look for my own ghosts. I turned to leave. A sharp tug caught the hem of my coat. The boy, who barely reached my waist, was scowling, his face twisted with panic. “Don’t… go…” he managed, each syllable a struggle. The chat was stunned. [What is wrong with this kid? His mom is right there, and he’s grabbing the random girl?] [Did the fodder use a hypnotic item on him? Madison looks devastated. They say if you don’t raise them yourself, they have no loyalty.] Madison’s smile flickered. She knelt, reaching for the boy with a wet wipe. “You’re so messy, sweetie. Let Mommy clean you up. I know I’m a stranger now, but we’ll be best friends soon.” She must have put points into her Strength stat. She physically pried the boy’s fingers off my coat, the fabric tearing with a sharp rip. I felt a surge of cold fury, but I kept my face neutral. The boy froze. He slowly turned his head toward Madison. His eyes went dark—no whites, no color, just void. Was this woman suicidal? The boy’s pupils contracted into needles. His jaw unhinged slightly, the shark-like teeth extending. He was going to swallow this “Heroine” whole for interrupting him. “Kid. Did you hurt your hand?” My voice, calm and steady, cut through his murderous trance. I stepped between him and Madison. Instantly, the boy’s monstrous features receded. He looked up at me, then reached out and grabbed my rough, scarred hand with his small, soft one. He went quiet. Submissive. Almost forgot, he thought. Dad told me I have to act pathetic. That’s how he tricked Mom into staying the first time. The boy buried his face in my hip, hiding his expressionless eyes. I can do pathetic. 3. Against my better judgment, I stayed with the group. The kid wouldn’t let Madison within three feet of him, but he clung to me like a burr. I figured I’d just deliver him to the Great Spider and be done with it. We descended into the sewers, where the air was thick with the stench of stagnant rot. It was midnight. Two meters above us, on the surface streets, the monsters were starting their nightly harvest. I crushed a crawling, severed hand under my boot. Those things were “Ankle-Biters”—if they grabbed you, you were cursed to stay in the zone until sunrise. The boy was silent, following me with an eerie, focused obedience. It reminded me of the first time I met the “Nobody.” It had been in a tunnel just like this. I was running for my life, bleeding out, when I rounded a corner and saw him. His name-tag simply read [Background Character A]. He was slumped against the brickwork, his midsection a mess of torn flesh. He was gorgeous—porcelain skin, soulful eyes that looked like they were made of liquid amber. When he saw me, he didn’t growl. He just started to cry, fat tears rolling down his face. I should have kept running. But my heart did a frantic little dance in my chest. It wasn’t just pity; it was a primal, physical attraction. Even knowing he wasn’t human—just a little monster who hid in the dark to weep—I stayed. For a week, I used “first aid” as an excuse to touch him. I mapped out every inch of his chest and shoulders under the guise of cleaning his wounds. He was soft. He didn’t know how to resist. He didn’t even know how to kiss. When I finally pressed my lips to his, he just blinked his golden eyes and whispered, “Sweet.” I lingered as long as I could. But on the final day, I held his elegant, pale fingers and looked into his innocent eyes. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I have to go.” I’d won the game. I was allowed one wish. I chose a cure for cancer. It was a promise to my mother—the woman who had worked herself to the bone to raise me, only to be diagnosed just as I finally had the means to take care of her. I had to save her life. I was a ghost. I’d taken what I wanted from that stuttering boy and vanished. Now, five years later, the “Urban Legend” zone had jumped from B-Rank to S-Rank. “The Boss is losing his mind,” one of the veteran players whispered. “He used to ignore us. Now, he’s hunting players for sport. It’s like his wife ran away and he’s taking it out on the world.” “Quiet,” I signaled. “It’s 3:00 AM.” The Witching Hour. The veil between the sewer and the nightmare realm was at its thinnest. Drip. Drip. Drip. I thought it was just the pipes. Then the scent hit me—saltwater and old scales. I looked up. A pair of lidless, milky-white eyes were staring directly down at me.

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My boyfriend dragged me to a magic show, and as luck would have it, he was chosen as the volunteer for the grand finale—the Vanishing Act. The crowd roared with applause when he disappeared right before their eyes. I slipped out to the restroom for a quick minute, but when I returned, he still hadn’t reappeared. When I asked the staff where the volunteers go after the show, they looked at me like I was speaking a dead language. They claimed there was no “Vanishing Act” on the program tonight. Worse, a complete stranger was sitting in my boyfriend’s seat. The people around me insisted, with eerie synchronicity, that I had come to the show alone. But I knew the truth. We came together. He couldn’t just evaporate. I caused a scene, screaming for the organizers to give me an answer, until the police were finally called. They searched every inch of the theater and checked every ID, but there wasn’t a trace of him. I tried to show them the photos on my phone—the selfies of us in the lobby, the candid shots of him laughing—but they were gone. Every single one. Deleted, as if he had never existed at all. My parents called me a psychotic. They washed their hands of me. In a daze of grief and confusion, I wandered into traffic and felt the bone-shattering impact of a car. Then, I blinked. I was back. Back at the theater. Back on the day he took me to the show. 01. “Cass, come on! What are you staring at? The show’s about to start and we can’t be late.” Ben grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the entrance of the grand theater. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow: I was back. I had been given a second chance. Ben Montgomery had been my world for five years. He was the kind of guy who spent his weekends perfecting card tricks just to see me smile. This tour by the legendary illusionist, Victor Blackwood, was something he’d been obsessed with for months. In my past life, I’d gone just to make him happy. I never could have imagined the nightmare that would follow. Ben vanishing into thin air. The world collective-forgetting he ever lived. The digital erasure of our entire history. It was as if a giant, invisible hand had reached down after that magic show and scrubbed his existence from the fabric of reality. And I, the only one who remembered, was branded a lunatic. Ben stopped abruptly, turning to look at me with those warm, worried eyes. “Cass? You okay? You’ve been quiet since we parked. That’s not like you.” I bit my lip, my throat tight. “Ben… what if we don’t go? What if we just go grab dinner instead?” The pain of losing him was still a raw, screaming thing in my mind. If we didn’t enter that theater, he wouldn’t disappear. I couldn’t survive that kind of heartbreak twice. Ben looked stunned, his face falling. “But I’ve been waiting for this forever. Victor Blackwood is the reason I even picked up a deck of cards, Cass. He’s my hero.” He sighed, seeing my distress. “Look, if you’re really not feeling it, I can go alone. I’m the one who should be making it up to you anyway, dragging you to this.” I took a shaky breath. I couldn’t tell him the truth—he’d think I was the crazy person everyone said I was. But I knew Ben. His obsession with magic was deep-seated; he wouldn’t stay away. And I couldn’t let him go alone. I had to play dirty. “Ben, my stomach… it really hurts.” I hunched over, clutching my midsection, forcing a grimace of agony. I made sure my knees buckled slightly. “What? Cass! What’s wrong?” He was at my side in an instant, his hands steadying me. “I think my gastritis is flaring up,” I groaned. “It feels like I swallowed a hot coal.” I’d had stomach issues in the past, so the performance was easy to sell. Ben’s face twisted with genuine panic. I waved a hand weakly, a pale imitation of a brave smile. “It’s okay. Go ahead. You’ve wanted this for so long. Just go. I’ll take an Uber to the ER. Don’t worry about me.” Even as the words left my mouth, I felt like a master manipulator. A “green tea bitch,” as some might say. Ben’s gaze flickered between the theater doors and me. Then, he didn’t even hesitate. He turned his back on the theater. “The show can wait. There’s only one Cassidy Miller in the world.” A wave of warmth flooded my chest. Ben was a good man. He always put me first. It was why I had gone mad searching for him in that other life. We were two halves of the same soul. But just as I thought I’d escaped the trap, a man stepped out from the crowd. “Excuse me? I couldn’t help but overhear. Is everything alright?” He looked like he’d stepped out of a J.Crew catalog—clean-cut, professional. “I’m Dr. Whitlock. I’m actually a gastroenterologist, here for the show. Would you mind if I took a quick look?” Ben looked like he’d found a saint. “Oh, thank God. Please, Doctor.” I froze. I could only watch as this stranger approached. He pressed a hand to my abdomen, his touch cold, and after a few moments of “examination,” he looked up at Ben with a knowing smile. “She’s fine. Just a bit of nerves, likely. The tension should pass in a few minutes. If it persists tomorrow, see your primary, but you shouldn’t miss your evening over this.” Ben beamed at me. “That’s amazing news! See, Cass? We can still make it.” I opened my mouth to protest, to say the pain was still there, but the doctor leaned in. He whispered into my ear, his voice a sharp, icy blade. “I’d suggest you go to the show, Cassidy. Unless you want me to tell your boyfriend that you’re faking it.” My eyes widened. I looked at him, but his expression was perfectly placid, the image of a helpful stranger. There was no warmth in his smile. It made my blood run cold. 02. Before I could demand to know who he was, the doctor gave a polite nod and vanished into the throng of people entering the theater. Ben was already pulling me toward the doors. “Can you make it, honey? If it’s too much, I’ll take you home. Seriously.” “I… I’m okay,” I lied, forcing my feet to move. “The doctor was right. I’m feeling better already.” We were minutes away from the curtain call. I was out of excuses. I had to go in, but I promised myself this: I would not let him out of my sight. I would keep him off that stage. I would make sure everyone in that building knew we were together. We found our seats. Ben was buzzing with excitement, his eyes fixed on the velvet curtains. I sat beside him, my fingers tracing the small velvet box in my pocket. Inside was a ring. In my previous life, I’d planned to propose to him after the show. It was supposed to be a surprise, a grand gesture to celebrate our five years. I never got to give it to him. But now, I realized I needed a witness. I needed a spectacle. If I proposed now, in front of a thousand people, they couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist. I turned to the girl sitting on my other side—a young woman in a white dress. “Hi there, sorry to bother you,” I whispered. “But my boyfriend is a huge fan of Victor Blackwood, and this is a big night for us. Would you mind taking a photo of us?” She looked at Ben, then at me, and nodded with a smile. “Of course.” I pulled Ben close, ignoring his confusion as the flash went off. The moment was captured. Digital proof. But I wasn’t done. I stood up, feeling the eyes of the rows behind us shift. I dropped to one knee in the narrow aisle. Ben stared at me, his mouth hanging open. “Cass? What are you doing?” I spoke loudly, my voice carrying over the pre-show chatter. “Ben Montgomery, I love you. I don’t ever want to be without you. Will you marry me?” I wanted people to look. I wanted them to stare. And they did. The surrounding rows went silent, then erupted into whispers. Ben’s face turned a deep, embarrassed crimson. “Cass… yes. Yes, of course.” He pulled me up and slid the ring onto my finger. Cameras flashed around us. Strangers cheered. I leaned into him, my eyes scanning the crowd. Remember us, I thought fiercely. Remember his face. The girl in the white dress handed my phone back. The photo was perfect—us, glowing, the ring visible on my hand. When the show finally started, Victor Blackwood himself acknowledged us. “I hear we have a newly engaged couple in the house tonight! Let’s hear it for them!” The spotlight hit us. Our faces appeared on the giant screens flanking the stage. I seized the moment and kissed Ben, long and hard, making sure everyone saw. I felt a surge of triumph. There was no way they could deny him now. Thousands of people were witnesses to our love. Nothing could go wrong. “Cass?” I turned back to Ben. The joyful, embarrassed man from a moment ago was gone. He was staring at me with a cold, expressionless gaze. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?” 03. My heart leaped into my throat. “What do you mean?” “Why the big show?” he asked, his voice low and strange. “The public proposal? The kissing for the cameras? You’ve never been one for ‘spectacle’ before.” He tilted his head, his eyes searching mine. “Do I have a terminal illness? Am I dying, Cass?” Then, just as quickly, the coldness vanished. He looked worried, the Ben I knew returning. I let out a shaky laugh and gripped his hand. “Don’t be silly. I just… I wanted the whole world to know how much I love you. I wanted them to see you.” Ben looked away, his cheeks flushing again. “The show’s starting. Pay attention.” I watched the magic with him, my eyes never leaving his profile for more than a second. Finally, the moment arrived. Victor Blackwood announced the Vanishing Act. He called for a volunteer. I felt every muscle in my body lock. I held my breath. It was Ben. Of course, it was Ben. As the ushers moved toward our row, I stepped out into the aisle, blocking them. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m actually feeling quite ill, and my fiancé needs to stay here with me. He can’t go up.” Ben blinked, startled, but then he nodded. “She’s right. I should stay with her.” The ushers moved on. I watched, breathless, as Victor Blackwood chose someone else—a middle-aged man from the front row. The fear that had been suffocating me finally began to lift. I looked down at the Tiffany ring on my finger, already imagining our wedding, our life, our safety. But then, the act ended. The lights in the theater plunged into total, absolute darkness for the transition. Panic flared in my chest. I reached out for Ben’s hand, but my fingers met only cold, empty air. My heart dropped into my stomach. The house lights surged back on. The audience stood, cheering for the volunteer who had just “reappeared” at the back of the hall. But I was looking at the seat next to me. It wasn’t Ben. It was a stranger—a man in a grey suit. Ben was gone. Again. I stared at the man in the suit. I recognized him. He was the same man from my first life—the one who claimed the seat was his. The roar of the crowd felt like it was miles away. I let out a scream that sliced through the applause. “Who the hell are you? Where is my fiancé?” The theater went quiet. People turned, their expressions shifting from joy to annoyance. The man in the suit looked at me with genuine confusion. “Ma’am, what are you talking about? I’ve been sitting here the whole time. This is my seat.” “Liar!” I screamed. “You weren’t here! Ben was here! We just got engaged!” He shook his head slowly. “Ma’am, you came in alone. I noticed you because you were talking to yourself earlier. You don’t have a boyfriend.” It was a carbon copy of the previous nightmare. The same words. The same gaslighting. But this time, I had proof. I turned to the girl in the white dress. “You! You took our picture! You saw me propose! Tell them!” The girl looked at me with a blank, pitying expression. “I never took a photo for you. Are you feeling okay? Like the gentleman said… you’ve been alone all night.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I looked around. A sea of faces, all looking at me like I was a broken thing. A lunatic. “No,” I whispered. “No, that’s impossible. We were on the screen! Victor Blackwood congratulated us!” People began to mutter. “What engagement?” “Is she high?” “She’s ruining the show.” The theater security hurried over. “Ma’am, please. You’re disturbing the performance. We’re going to have to ask you to leave.” “I’m not going anywhere! Check the security cameras! I came in with him!” I demanded to see the footage. I refused to budge until they dragged me into the security office. When they played the tape, I felt the world tilt on its axis. The footage showed me walking through the lobby. Alone. It showed me sitting in my seat, turning to my left and talking to an empty chair. Ben Montgomery wasn’t there. He had never been there. Even my phone… I opened the gallery, and the photo was there, but it was just a selfie of me, smiling at nothing, my arm draped over a vacuum of space. My memories of him—every touch, every conversation—felt like they were being forcibly rewritten. But then, as I looked down at my hands in despair, I saw it. The one thing they hadn’t accounted for. 04. I thrust my hand toward the security guard and the manager. “Look! Look at the ring!” The Tiffany setting caught the fluorescent light of the office. “Ben put this on my finger tonight. Right there in Row F. This ring exists! That means he exists!” The manager sighed and pointed back at the screen, rewinding the footage of me entering the theater. “Ma’am, look at your hand as you hand the usher your ticket. You were wearing the ring when you walked in.” I stared at the grainy footage. My hand. The ring. It was already there. My heart hammered against my ribs. That wasn’t right. I knew I had it in my pocket. I knew he had placed it there. The despair was a physical weight, crushing the breath out of me. But then I remembered the way Ben smiled. The way he smelled of old paper and peppermint. My love for him was a tether to reality. “The footage is fake,” I said, my voice deathly quiet. “I don’t know how you did it, but it’s fake. My fiancé went missing in this building, and I’m not leaving until the police get here.” The police arrived shortly after. Captain Jack Dalton, a man with a face like granite, took my statement. “Miss Miller, you’re telling me a man vanished in a room full of witnesses, and not one of them—including the cameras—saw him?” “I know how it sounds,” I said, my voice trembling. “But he was there. His name is Ben Montgomery. Please, just find him.” Dalton looked at me with a mix of pity and professional exhaustion. “We’ve swept the building. We’ve checked every exit. We’ve verified the IDs of every attendee. There is no Ben Montgomery on the guest list. There is no Ben Montgomery in our database matching your description.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping an octave. “Miss Miller, making a false police report is a crime. If this is a stunt, or a breakdown, you need to tell me now.” I was sweating, my mind racing. “It’s not a stunt! He exists!” And then, I saw a familiar face through the glass of the office door. It was the doctor. Dr. Whitlock. I jumped up, pointing at him. “Him! He saw us! He checked my stomach outside the theater! He spoke to Ben!” Dalton signaled for his officers to bring the man in. “Sir, did you encounter this woman earlier this evening?” Whitlock nodded calmly. “Yes. I saw her outside. She seemed to be having a panic attack, complaining of abdominal pain. I checked her over as a courtesy.” I almost cried with relief. “Tell him! Tell him Ben was with me!” Whitlock’s brow furrowed. He looked at me with a soft, clinical sadness. “I remember you clearly, Cassidy. I remember because of that distinctive Tiffany ring you were wearing.” My heart soared—then plummeted. “But you were alone,” Whitlock said. “You were clutching your stomach and talking to the air as if someone were standing there. I assumed you were having a private episode. I certainly never saw a ‘Ben’.” The light in the room seemed to dim. I collapsed back into the chair, the world spinning. Am I really crazy? Is he just a ghost of my imagination? But then, a detail from Whitlock’s sentence snagged in my mind. A tiny, jagged edge of a lie. I stood up slowly, my eyes locking onto the doctor’s. “You’re sure I was alone? And you’re sure you remember me because of the ring?” Whitlock nodded, looking puzzled. “Yes. It’s a very beautiful piece.” I felt a cold, sharp smile spread across my face. I had him. “Captain,” I said, turning to Dalton. “I know exactly where my fiancé is.”

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Hudson had a “Core Four.” Three guys, one girl—an inseparable, airtight clique. My roommates begged me to stay away from them. They warned me that groups like that were toxic, a black hole of codependency and drama. I didn’t listen. I spent a year meticulously working my way into Hudson’s orbit, playing the long game until I finally secured the title of his girlfriend. Before he took me to meet them, Hudson gave me a final, stern warning. “Tinsley is the heart of our group. She’s like a sister to us. If you so much as breathe a mean word to her, we’re done. Instantly.” I nodded, looking as innocent and compliant as a Sunday school teacher. Inside, my heart was racing with pure, caffeinated adrenaline. Replacing the “clique queen”? That was exactly the kind of psychological warfare I lived for. 1 “Even though you’re my girlfriend, Tinsley comes first. She’s the priority.” Hudson was laying it on thick, delivering a speech so delusional it made my roommates want to scream. I reached over, physically covering one of my friend’s mouths before she could go off on him, and gave Hudson a bright, shimmering smile. “Of course, Hudson. Your friends are my friends. I’m sure Tinsley and I are going to be best sisters.” My roommate, Ruby, looked like she was going to have an aneurysm. She waited until Hudson stepped out to grab his car before she cornered me. “You’re the campus sweetheart, Jade. You have guys falling over themselves for you. Why are you debasing yourself for a guy in a cult-clique? You’re going to regret this.” I didn’t answer. I just adjusted my lip gloss, grabbed my designer clutch, and slipped into the passenger seat of Hudson’s Audi. “Let’s go,” I chirped. “I don’t want to keep them waiting.” When we walked into the private booth at the lounge, Tinsley was front and center. She was wearing a silk white slip dress, looking every bit the “pure, fragile angel” that men find irresistible. Two handsome guys were flanking her, their body language protective, almost territorial. I expected a spoiled brat. Instead, the second Tinsley saw me, she leaped up and grabbed my hands with terrifying warmth. “You must be Jade! Hudson’s new girl. Oh my god, you’re stunning.” She turned to the other two. “This is Bennett and Jax. Guys, stop being brooding statues and welcome the newest member of the family!” Bennett, the one with the wire-rimmed glasses and a sharp, intellectual vibe, gave me a polite but chillingly brief handshake. Jax, a guy with a buzzcut and a gym-rat build, didn’t even bother to uncross his arms. He stared at me with blatant, unwashed hostility. I licked my lips, my smile widening a fraction. I loved a challenge. Tinsley didn’t stop talking. “Seriously, you’re like a supermodel. How did a dork like Hudson land you?” Hudson laughed, an affectionate, practiced sound, and rubbed the top of Tinsley’s head. He took off his jacket and draped it over her chair before she even sat back down. “You’re on your period,” he whispered loudly enough for me to hear. “Keep your back warm.” Tinsley immediately looked at me, her eyes wide with faux-worry. “Oh no, Hudson, stop! Jade’s going to get the wrong idea. Are you trying to start a fight between us?” The room went silent. Hudson’s brow furrowed, his protective instinct already flaring. I just tilted my head, my expression a picture of pure grace. “Why would I be mad? Hudson already told me you’re the heart of the group. Seeing you in person, I totally get it. You’re so sweet and petite—of course they treat you like a little sister.” The tension in the air evaporated. The guys relaxed. Tinsley’s smile faltered for a microsecond—just long enough for me to register it—before she recovered. “You’re so different from the other girls,” she said, her voice dropping into a confiding tone. “Usually, Hudson’s flings get so… competitive with me. I try so hard to be friends, but they always end up hating me.” She let out a tiny, girlish sigh. “The guys actually stopped dating for a while just so I wouldn’t have to deal with the drama.” 2 She paused, casting a lingering, slightly mournful look at Hudson. “I can’t believe Hudson actually let you lock him down. You must have some really impressive… techniques.” I just smiled, letting the backhanded compliment slide off me like water. I could see exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t just “one of the boys”—she was the gatekeeper of their hearts. When the appetizers arrived, I felt the shift in the room. Tinsley was getting ready to make her move. I stayed still, waiting for the opening. Suddenly, Tinsley let out a sharp gasp. A bowl of soup—not boiling, but warm enough to cause a scene—sloshed over and drenched her white dress. She looked down at the stain, her face contorting into a mask of theatrical pain. I moved to help her, but before I could reach her, Hudson shoved me aside. Hard. I hit the floor with a thud. “I knew it!” Jax barked, his face turning an angry shade of red. “They’re all the same. Act nice for ten minutes and then show their claws. You did that on purpose!” Bennett pushed his glasses up his nose, his voice cold. “We told you, Hudson. No one touches Tinsley. Not even your girlfriend.” “Jade,” Hudson’s voice was low and dangerous. “Apologize. Now.” Tinsley was curled into the guys’ arms, looking up at me with a tiny, triumphant glint in her eyes that only I could see. If I were any other girl, I would have screamed, thrown my drink, and walked out. But I wasn’t any other girl. I let the tears well up instantly. My lower lip trembled, and I made sure my voice came out broken and breathless. “I’m so sorry, Tinsley… I thought you were handing me the bowl… I was just trying to help…” I turned my head slightly, showing the most vulnerable angle of my neck, letting a single tear track down my cheek. “I love Hudson so much, and I wanted so badly for us to be friends. You’re so kind, Tinsley… please tell me you don’t think I did this on purpose.” Tinsley froze. The guys froze. She had spent years perfecting the “victim” role, but I was currently out-victim-ing her in front of her own audience. “Of course,” Tinsley stammered, forced into a corner. “Guys, stop. It was an accident. Don’t be mean to Jade.” I sobbed quietly and threw myself into Hudson’s arms. I looked up at him through my lashes, my eyes full of hurt and longing. For the first time, Hudson looked genuinely guilty. He held me tight, but before he could speak, Tinsley jumped in. “Let’s just finish and go to the pool! Hudson, you promised to teach me that new stroke today. I even brought my new bikini.” Nobody cared if I’d actually eaten. They dropped their forks and stood up. The three of them swarmed Tinsley, treating her like a porcelain doll, leaving me to trail behind like a forgotten shadow. Hudson glanced back once, but Tinsley immediately leaned into him, whispering a question about swimming techniques. Jax snorted. “I’m a better swimmer than Hudson, Tinsley. Let me teach you.” Tinsley giggled. “One at a time, Jax. You’re next.” We arrived at the campus athletic center. Tinsley emerged from the locker room in a dainty, floral one-piece, her arm linked through Hudson’s. The moment her toe touched the water, she let out a tiny shriek and jumped into Hudson’s arms. I stepped out in my own suit—a sleek, midnight-blue bikini that left very little to the imagination. “Hudson?” I called out, my voice soft. “I’m actually not a very strong swimmer. Do you think you could help me too?” The three of them turned. The air seemed to leave the room. If you want to play the game of a “pick-me” girl, you need the hardware to back it up. I had it. Every guy in the pool area was staring. Hudson’s expression darkened with a sudden, sharp possessiveness. 3 He instinctively started to let go of Tinsley to come toward me. But Tinsley gripped his arm tighter, laughing. “Sorry, Jade! Hudson’s mine for the afternoon. I called dibs.” Hudson hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did promise her, Jade. Just hang out for a bit, okay?” They splashed into the water, Tinsley clinging to his chest like a barnacle. I sat on the edge, watching calmly, until a guy from the varsity swim team approached me. “Hey,” he said, flashing a confident grin. “You look like you need a coach. Want some pointers?” In the water, Hudson’s head snapped toward us. “She’s my girlfriend,” he called out, his voice echoing off the tile. “She doesn’t need your help.” The swimmer looked at Hudson, then at Tinsley, who was currently wrapped around Hudson’s waist. He gave a look of pure disgust. “Dude, you’ve got a girl in your arms and another on the hook? Learn some respect.” “She’s like my sister!” Hudson yelled, clearly stung. “Yeah, ‘sister.’ Right.” The swimmer rolled his eyes and looked back at me. “Beautiful, here’s my number. Give me a call when you realize you’re dating a clown.” He walked away, but not before Hudson’s ego was thoroughly bruised. Hudson swam to the edge, looking agitated. “Those guys are just trying to take advantage of you, Jade. Use your head.” I looked at him with big, watery eyes. “But I’m bored just sitting here. If you’re busy with Tinsley, maybe Jax or Bennett could help me? They’re your best friends, right? I’m sure I’d be safe with them.” Jax, who was sitting nearby, looked up. “I’m not going to ‘take advantage’ of you. I’m not that thirsty.” I gave him a sweet, challenging smile. “Then it’s settled. Teach me.” I practically forced them into the water. As they stood on either side of me, guiding me in, Tinsley’s voice turned sharp. “Hudson! Focus on me!” I glanced over and caught Hudson’s eye. He wasn’t looking at Tinsley anymore. He was watching Bennett’s hand on my waist as I lowered myself into the pool. I blinked, then suddenly let out a small cry. I “cramped” up, my body going limp as I tumbled directly into Jax’s chest. Jax froze like he’d been struck by lightning. “My leg… it hurts so much,” I whispered into Jax’s ear, my breath brushing his skin. I looked over his shoulder at Bennett with a look of pure, helpless distress. “I should have stretched. Can you help me?” Bennett hesitated, then reached underwater to massage my calf. “JAX!” Tinsley’s voice was almost a scream. Jax flinched and reflexively shoved me away to turn toward her. Without his support, I slipped under the surface, purposefully inhaling a bit of water to make it real. The panic of drowning is hard to fake. I clawed at the nearest body—Bennett—and as I broke the surface, coughing and gasping, I pressed my lips against his, desperately “searching for air.” Bennett’s pupils blown wide. He was paralyzed. I scrambled out of the pool, looking like a drowned, beautiful wreck. Bennett stared at the water, his face unreadable, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Tinsley stormed over to me, her face flushed with rage. “Jade! You’re Hudson’s girlfriend! How could you be so… disgusting? Kissing Bennett in front of everyone? Have you no shame?” 4 I looked like I was about to collapse. Before I could say a word, Bennett and Jax spoke up simultaneously. “Her leg gave out, Tinsley. She was drowning. It wasn’t on purpose.” “And honestly,” Jax added, his voice oddly defensive, “it’s not like there isn’t touching involved in swimming. You’ve been all over Hudson all day, and Jade didn’t say a word.” The silence that followed was deafening. Tinsley’s eyes welled with real tears of shock. “Are you… are you yelling at me? For her?” The guys looked stunned by their own words. They seemed confused as to why they were defending me. Jax immediately tried to backtrack, grabbing Tinsley’s hand. “No, no, Tinsley, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Hit me if you want, just don’t be mad.” Bennett reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Tinsley, don’t cry.” Hudson, meanwhile, looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “You guys are acting like she’s your girlfriend. I’m the one who’s supposed to be pissed here.” Bennett went quiet, looking guilty. Jax just blustered, “I don’t want a girlfriend. I only care about Tinsley.” It took ten minutes of them groveling before Tinsley finally “forgave” them. But then she turned her gaze on me. My internal “pick-me” radar went off like a siren. “Jade,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sadness. “I really thought we could be friends. But you’re just like the others. You came into this group just to drive a wedge between us.” She sighed, looking at the boys. “I guess she’s just better at it than the other girls. This is the first time you’ve ever been mean to me because of a stranger.” She looked at me, her head tilted. “Why? We’re both girls. Why can’t we just get along? Why do you have to be so… competitive?” I watched as Bennett’s expression turned cold and distant again. Jax’s hostility returned. Hudson’s face darkened. “Jade,” Hudson said. “Did you do that on purpose?” I had to hand it to her. She was good. She was the one constantly competing, yet she was framing me as the aggressor. No wonder these guys were single. Their “sister” was a psycho-gatekeeper. I blinked, letting tears overflow. “I’m so sorry, Tinsley. It’s just… Hudson was so busy with you, and I was lonely. I thought we were all friends. I didn’t realize I wasn’t actually part of the group. I was so stupid to think I belonged.” I looked at Hudson, my lips trembling. “We should break up.” Hudson’s eyes widened. “What? No. It’s not that big a deal, Jade. I didn’t say we were breaking up.” “You don’t get it,” I whispered, my voice thick with suppressed sobs. “Tinsley is right. She’s the priority. And she clearly doesn’t want me here. Neither do Jax or Bennett. I love you, Hudson, and I don’t want to make your life difficult. I’d rather lose you than make you choose.” I looked at Jax and Bennett. They looked away, shifting uncomfortably. “When Tinsley and the guys are actually ready to accept me… maybe then. But for now, goodbye.” I turned and walked away, perfectly poised even in my exit. The moment I got back to the dorm, I blocked Hudson on everything. 5 I didn’t see the “Core Four” again for two weeks. Not until the Greek Life Mixer.

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Cassidy and I had been “just friends” for twenty-six years. There was always a line, of course, but she was the kind of girl who never quite learned how to be alone—a spoiled princess who needed someone to tuck her in, figuratively and literally. Every time she started dating someone new, I did the only thing I could to keep my sanity: I cut ties. I disappeared until the honeymoon phase crashed and burned. Then came my twenty-seventh birthday. Maybe the pressure from her parents had finally reached a breaking point, but Cassidy showed up at my front door at dawn, looking breathless and beautiful in that effortless way that always wrecked me. “Mitch,” she said, her voice small. “Maybe we should just… settle for each other.” The sarcasm was already on the tip of my tongue, ready to bite. But she cut me off. “I’m serious.” It was the first time she had ever truly crossed the line. She reached out, her hand hovering between us, an invitation I’d been secretly dying for since we were teenagers. I looked at her, the silence stretching for heartbeats as I weighed the risk. “Cassidy,” I said, my voice low. “If we do this—if we become a ‘we’—there’s no going back. If we break up, I’m not going to be your best friend anymore. I’m gone for good.” She gave me that mischievous, dimpled smile. “We’re never going to break up. I couldn’t bear to lose you.” So, I took her hand. That “settling” lasted for three years. Or so I thought. We were at our engagement party, a lavish affair at a private estate in the Hamptons. I was looking for Cassidy when I heard voices drifting from the balcony. She was hidden away with her best friend, Barbara, sharing a quiet moment away from the champagne-sipping crowd. “Cassidy,” Barbara whispered, her tone hushed but urgent. “You were so scared your dad was going to cut off Parker’s funding that you begged Mitch to step in as a shield. But looking at him today… he looks like he actually believes this is real.” A pause. Then Barbara’s voice again, sharper: “Wait. You did tell him this was a performance, right?” 1. The mist from the ocean air seemed to blur the edges of the balcony, but Cassidy’s voice was crystal clear—cold and terrifyingly calm. “Things were moving too fast that day. I forgot.” I froze at the corner of the stone pillar. In my hand, I held a glass of water and the sinus medication I’d grabbed for her because she’d complained of a headache earlier. Barbara let out a sharp, jagged breath. “You bitch,” she hissed, though there was a note of dark admiration in it. She leaned closer. “So what’s the deal now? Are you actually marrying him, or is this all a long con?” “I saw Parker’s Instagram story yesterday,” Barbara continued. “You were at his place at midnight the night before your own engagement party, wearing nothing but a silk robe and making him late-night snacks.” Cassidy let out a light, airy laugh. “Parker is my boyfriend. Obviously.” “As for Mitch? He’s the ‘fiancé.’ Honestly, what’s the difference? Real marriage, fake marriage… it’s all just paperwork and optics. I’ve known for years that he’s hopelessly in love with me. Giving him a ‘perfect’ marriage and a title in my family’s world isn’t exactly a bad deal for him.” The glass in my hand felt scorching hot. I looked down, my vision tunneling. The white pill had begun to dissolve in the sweat of my palm, leaving a chalky, bitter smear. But the real burn was on my face—the humiliation of having my deepest, most private secret stripped bare and treated like a cheap bargaining chip. “You have no idea how easy he is to read,” Cassidy continued, her voice dripping with casual cruelty. “I’ve been in the game way too long. No one holds their ‘business partner’s’ hand with a racing pulse and eyes they’re too afraid to lock with mine unless they’re obsessed.” “He plays it so cool, acting like he doesn’t care, but he’s so incredibly patient. He indulges every whim I have.” She coughed twice, a small, delicate sound. “Two days before the party, I lied and told him I had an emergency business trip. He didn’t even blink. He just helped me pack my bags.” “Last night, Parker and I got a little… wild by the window. When I finally got home at 3 AM, my head was splitting and my old meds were expired. Mitch got out of bed, threw on a coat over his pajamas, and drove to a 24-hour pharmacy. He made me tea and tucked me in before he even thought about sleeping. He probably checked my forehead for a fever every thirty minutes after that.” She laughed again, a sound that made my stomach turn. “He doesn’t even realize how pathetic he is for me.” Barbara made a sound of pure disbelief. “Cass, the guy has worshipped the ground you walk on for decades. Are you telling me you don’t feel anything? Not even a spark?” I stood there in the shadows, feeling like the punchline of a joke I wasn’t in on. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t move. I had to hear her answer. Cassidy didn’t hesitate. Her tone was mocking. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Of course not.” “Mitch and I have known each other since we were in diapers. If something was going to happen, it would have happened twenty years ago. I like my men like Parker—wild, young, and a little bit dangerous. Mitch is a ‘cool guy,’ sure, but he’s stiff. He’s predictable. He’s the opposite of my type.” “Love is a lightning strike,” she added, her voice full of a sickening self-assurance. “I don’t believe in ‘growing’ to love someone. Even in thirty more years, the spark won’t be there.” She took a deep breath. “But Mitch is my ‘forever’ person. He’s family. Even if I don’t love him, I’ll take care of him. I want him and I want Parker. And I’m going to have both.” A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my chest, followed by a hollow, hysterical urge to laugh. What did she think I was? An object? A piece of furniture she could rearrange whenever she felt like it? How low must she think of me, to believe that marrying me was an act of charity? On the balcony, Barbara sighed and patted Cassidy’s shoulder. “Come on, the party’s starting. Tonight, Parker is supposed to be pretending to be my ‘cousin,’ right?” I turned and walked away before they could see me. I ducked into a downstairs bathroom and leaned over the sink, dry-heaving. The years of devotion felt like a stagnant swamp suddenly flooding my lungs, suffocating and foul. My phone buzzed in my pocket. The group chat was exploding. [Engagement party of the century! Where are the stars of the show?] [Barbara: Coming down now! Bringing my cousin with me tonight.] [Where’s Mitch? He’s gone radio silent.] I found an empty guest room, locked the door, and splashed cold water on my face. I straightened my tie and checked my reflection. Every time Cassidy had a boyfriend, I walked away. I wanted to see this “Parker.” I wanted to see what kind of man was worth this level of deception. As for Cassidy and me? She probably thought my warning three years ago—that if we broke up, I was gone—was a romantic flourish. A joke. But she was wrong. I don’t lack for friends. And I was done being the patron saint of a woman who looked at my heart and saw a safety net. 2. “Babe, what took you so long?” The moment I sat down at our VIP table, Cassidy was there, her voice dripping with honey. She leaned into me, her head resting on my shoulder, looking for all the world like a woman in love. “I haven’t taken my meds yet,” she pouted, blinking up at me. “My cough is getting worse.” She looked nothing like the cold-blooded strategist I’d heard on the balcony ten minutes ago. The friends at the table started hooting and cheering. “Get a room! We don’t need all this PDA!” “These two are nauseating,” Dex, one of our oldest friends, joked. “If they weren’t so perfect for each other, I’d have kicked them out of the group years ago. This is what ‘happily ever after’ looks like, guys. Childhood sweethearts, meant to be. Cassidy finally settled down for our boy Mitch. It almost makes me believe in love.” The sticky residue of the dissolved pill was still on my palm. I suppressed a wave of nausea and forced a thin, practiced smile. I leaned forward, reaching for a glass of sparkling wine, pointedly shifting my body so she had to sit up. “Where’s Barbara?” I asked. Cassidy froze for a split second, surprised by the subtle rejection, before recovering. “She went to grab her brother—I mean, cousin. Oh, there they are.” Barbara walked in, followed by a lean, pale boy in a crisp white shirt. They sat down across from us. “Barbara, you lucky girl,” someone teased. “Since when is your family this good-looking? You’ve gotta introduce him to the single ladies here.” Barbara looked uncomfortable, stealing a quick, nervous glance at Cassidy. “This is Parker. He’s… he’s a bit shy. Don’t overwhelm him.” In the middle of the raucous laughter, I looked at Parker. His eyes were wide, watery, and fixed entirely on Cassidy. Cassidy, who had been trying to drape herself over me just moments ago, quietly pulled back, creating a sliver of space between us on the sofa. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed in my temples. No matter how much I tried to numb myself, the sight of it—the raw, bleeding reality of her betrayal—ignited a cocktail of grief and fury in my gut. Parker didn’t know how to hide it. Or maybe, because he was the one she actually loved, he felt he had the right to be arrogant. His gaze lingered on Cassidy with a proprietary intensity. Dex noticed my expression. He didn’t know the truth, but he knew me. He turned to Parker with a sharp grin. “Hey, kid. Careful where you look. That one’s taken. They’re getting married.” Parker’s face turned bright red. He looked down, his voice trembling slightly. “Sorry. I… I have a girlfriend.” Cassidy’s face remained composed, but her voice had a sharp, defensive edge when she spoke. “Dex, just because you’re a player doesn’t mean every guy is looking for trouble.” Dex, never one to back down, bristled. I placed a hand on his arm, silencing him. I looked directly at Cassidy and smiled. “You’re acting like you’re some saint, Cass. Dex has never cheated on anyone in his life. Can you say the same?” The table went silent. Cassidy stared at me, her eyes darting as she tried to gauge if I knew something. She forced a laugh. “Of course I can, babe. Why are you being so moody?” She picked up a shot of tequila and slammed it back. “My bad. I shouldn’t have snapped at Dex. Let’s just move on.” Through the chatter, I saw Parker looking at Cassidy with eyes full of pained devotion. As if I were the villain in their tragic romance. As if I were the one standing in the way of true love. “Alright, let’s play a game!” Barbara shouted, trying to break the tension. “Photo Roulette. Pick a date, everyone pulls up their camera roll.” “I’ll pick,” she said, her fingers flying over her phone. “May 17th, last year!” Everyone grabbed their phones. The rule was simple: whatever you were doing that day, you had to share it on the big screen in the suite. The bottle spun and landed on me first. My phone mirrored to the screen. Waves. A private beach. A candlelit dinner for two. And a screenshot of a delivery confirmation from a pharmacy. “Oh man, I remember that! That was Cassidy’s birthday trip to the Cape!” Dex laughed, nudging me. “I asked you back then if twenty-eight years of waiting made the ‘festivities’ more explosive.” I gave Dex a tight smile. Looking at those “beautiful” memories now felt like swallowing broken glass. “Wait,” someone said, pointing at the screen. “You guys ordered delivery at 2 AM? What was it? Late-night snacks or… protection?” The table erupted in laughter. Cassidy, usually the life of the party, didn’t join in. She was staring at Parker, whose face had gone ghostly pale. “No,” Cassidy said quickly. “Just some cold medicine. Don’t be gross.” A surge of pure, unadulterated malice rose in my chest. “You know exactly what I bought that night, Cassidy,” I said, my voice smooth and terrifyingly gentle. I was tearing open my own wounds just to watch them bleed. “You were all over me. I couldn’t figure out why you were so frantic, so… desperate.” I leaned in, my voice carrying across the silent room. “You acted like you’d never been in a bed with a man before. Your technique was so clumsy. Was it because the guys you actually ‘liked’ never let you get that close?” Amidst the shocked gasps and awkward chuckles of our friends, I watched Parker bow his head, wiping a stray tear from his eye. I saw the flash of fury in Cassidy’s eyes, masked by a strained, suffocating silence. I was smiling, but my heart was breaking. “Next!” Barbara shouted, her voice shaking. She spun the bottle again. It landed on Parker. He gave a fragile, broken little smile. “My photos aren’t very interesting.” Dex narrowed his eyes, looking between me, Cassidy, and the kid. “Hey, kid. If you can’t play the game, don’t sit at the table.” Cassidy opened her mouth to defend him, but I beat her to it. I grabbed her hand, pulling her close, leaning in until our lips were inches apart. From the outside, it looked like a passionate whisper. “Babe, I’m starving. Go order some sliders for the table?” Cassidy hesitated, her eyes flickering to Parker, then back to me. She stood up and walked over to the server with the iPad. “I can play,” Parker snapped. I knew he’d seen us. I could hear the grit in his voice. He looked at me with a sudden, reckless hatred. His phone synced to the screen. The first image was a screenshot of a text thread. A friend started reading it out loud: “Did you sleep with him? You promised me this was just a merger. You promised you wouldn’t touch him!” The reply: “But I was thinking of you the whole time, Parker.” 3. “Mitch, do you want fries with that?” The voice of a friend asking about the food order overlapped perfectly with the last name in the text on the screen. The room went deathly quiet. I finished the order and handed the iPad back to the server. I tucked my trembling hands under the table and smiled. “How coincidentally,” I said. “But from the tone of those texts, it sounds like Mr. Parker here is a home-wrecker.” “Mitch!” Cassidy barked. She caught my calm, empty eyes and forced a hideous smile. “Mitch, honey, don’t be so hard on the kid.” Before I could respond, Parker’s voice rose, cracking with emotion. “I’m not a home-wrecker!” He glared at Cassidy, his face full of stubborn defiance. “She and I were each other’s firsts. First kiss, first everything. Her family is just too controlling. They wouldn’t let us be together. That’s the only reason we were ever apart!” “She told me her ‘fiancé’ was just a business arrangement. She said he was obsessed with her and her parents forced the match.” The boy was unraveling now, swiping through his photos like a man with nothing left to lose. “The day before May 17th? We spent her entire birthday together. Her flight was at 11 PM, but she stayed with me until 9. She almost missed her plane.” “She bought me flowers. We had cake. We spent hours in bed together.” “And look at this. This was my birthday gift. I mentioned I liked it once, and she bought it for me immediately.” It was a photograph of a massive, brilliant sapphire ring. “She told me I’m the only man she’ll ever buy a ring for.” I went numb. I remembered that auction. I had wanted that exact ring, but a mystery bidder had blown the price out of the water. Cassidy had squeezed my hand that night, telling me she’d find me something even better. We were engaged. I looked down at my bare fingers. Cassidy had never bought me a ring. Parker swiped back to the 17th. I saw the timestamps. While she was sitting next to me on that private beach, she was texting him from dawn until dusk. Every sunset I showed her, she sent a photo to him. Every piece of jewelry I bought her on that trip, she logged in her notes to tell him “the package was in the mail.” Then, a photo of a cake. In the background, in the shadows, I saw the edge of my own shirt and the line of my jaw. I saw myself, eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer, wishing that the woman I loved would stay with me forever. And there, on the screen, was the text she sent him while I was making that wish: “This cake is amazing. I’ll buy you one just like it when I get home.” 4. It was sickening. I felt Dex’s leg tense next to mine. The second he saw that photo, he reached for a heavy glass bottle. “Mitch… that’s… that’s you in the background!” “Relax, Dex,” I whispered. I gave him a small smile, even though I could see the tears of rage in his eyes. He muttered a string of curses under his breath. The atmosphere in the suite was suffocating. “Are you finished, Parker?” I asked calmly. I reached out and spun the bottle again. “My turn to pick a date. Let’s go with… April 2nd, 2025.” “Want to play, Cassidy?” For the first time tonight, Cassidy lost her cool. She grabbed my shoulder. “Mitch, I have a headache. I just remembered I took some meds earlier, I shouldn’t be drinking. Let’s go to the hospital. Now.” I peeled her hand off my shoulder, one finger at a time. “No.” I opened my phone and synced it. The screen filled with the sterile white walls of a hospital room. Photos of post-operative care instructions. Medical notes. A screenshot of a text I’d sent my mother: [The doctor says I might never be able to run again.] [Mom, they still haven’t found the driver who hit us.] [Let’s push back the wedding paperwork for now.] April 2nd, 2025. Five days after the accident. We were on our way to the courthouse to sign the marriage license. A man had lunged in front of the car. There was plenty of distance; a simple brake would have worked. Cassidy was a trained driver; she’d done amateur racing. But she had panicked. Or so she said. She’d jerked the wheel so hard the passenger side—my side—smashed into the guardrail. I was in the ICU for three days. When I woke up, they told me I’d come within inches of losing my leg. I remember Cassidy kneeling by my bed, sobbing, looking like she’d lost ten pounds in a week. She told me she was so sorry, that she’d spend the rest of her life making it up to me. “Stop it, Mitch,” Cassidy whispered, her face ashen. “I’m not feeling well. Please, let’s just go.” Parker reached for his phone, trying to hide it, but Dex was faster. He snatched it and swiped to the same date. A photo of Parker in his underwear, taking a mirror selfie. And then, a video. The camera was shaky, pointing at a messy floor. Through the heavy, frantic breathing of the recording, I heard Parker’s voice: “I thought you hated me. I thought you never wanted to see me again. Why are you here?” The sound of a woman pulling him into a hard, desperate kiss. “Shut up,” Cassidy’s voice hissed, breathless and raw. “Parker, he was in a car crash. We don’t even know if he’s going to wake up.” “And if he does?” Parker sounded small, hurt. “If you want to ‘make it up to him,’ then stay away from me.” I heard Cassidy sigh on the recording. “I love you too much to lose you. He’ll never know.” … I watched the end of the farce. I finished my wine, set the glass down, and felt the weight of thirty years finally slide off my back. “Cassidy,” I said. “We’re done.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “414017”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At the gala celebrating my reunion with my biological parents, Bennett’s star student got “lost” again. He was ready to walk out on both our families before the first course was even served. I didn’t want to break my parents’ hearts on the night they finally went public with the daughter they’d spent a decade searching for, so I swallowed my pride and pleaded with him. “My parents have been waiting years for this moment, Bennett. If you leave now, what are they supposed to think?” Instead of staying, Bennett looked at me with a condescending pity that made my skin crawl. “Callie is alone in this city, June. She has no one. I’m her mentor—that’s a sacred bond. I can’t just abandon her when she’s panicking.” He adjusted his cuffs, his voice dropping to that smooth, professorial tone he used to win over lecture halls. “You grew up an orphan too. You of all people should empathize with her instead of being so petty.” A knot formed in my throat, the resentment I’d been stifling for months finally boiling over. “Are you really worried about a ‘student,’ Bennett? Or is it because that student is her?” He shot me a look so cold it felt like a physical slap. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit. I slammed my hand against the table, the silver rattling. “Bennett! If you walk out that door, we are done!” He froze. When he looked back at me over his shoulder, his eyes were like chips of ice. “You have a family now, June. But Callie only has me. Stay here and enjoy your parents.” He vanished into the night. Ten minutes later, Callie Brooks posted a new photo to her Instagram. [Doesn’t matter if you’re lost, as long as you’re with the person willing to find the romance in the sunset with you!] In the photo—taken by a passerby—the two of them were silhouetted against the orange sky, their hands joined to form a giant heart. The happiness radiating from the screen was a knife to my gut. … 1 The whispers of the guests felt like needles pricking my skin. My father’s face went from hurt to a terrifying, stony rage. He slammed his wine glass onto the tablecloth, the crystal shattering. “Enough! I spent ten years scouring the country for my little girl, only for her to be treated like an afterthought?” Bennett’s parents turned pale. They scrambled forward, their voices trembling as they tried to play peacemaker. “Charles, please, it’s all a misunderstanding! Bennett is just… he’s dedicated. He’s a professor; he feels a deep responsibility for his students. He’s just being a good man.” My mother’s face remained frozen. She took my hand in hers, her grip firm and protective, as she stared them down. “A good man? I don’t think so. That ‘student’ is a grown woman, isn’t she? If he has so little respect for his wife’s dignity that he’d run to another woman on a night like this, then we have nothing more to discuss.” A wave of warmth flooded my chest. For years, I had navigated the world alone, fighting for every scrap of affection. Now, someone was finally standing in the gap for me. I squeezed my mother’s hand, blinking back tears, and turned to the room with a voice like steel. “Mom, Dad… let’s continue the party. We have a lot to celebrate.” I paused, looking directly at Bennett’s parents. “And one more thing. I’m filing for divorce.” The room went deathly silent. Bennett’s parents looked like they’d been struck by lightning. The guests began to murmur, their eyes darting between my parents’ wealth and my sudden, cold resolve. I ignored them. My mind drifted back to our fifth anniversary, just a month ago. Bennett had invited all his colleagues and friends to witness our “perfect” life. But the moment the appetizers were served, his phone rang. He looked at me with that practiced expression of regret. “Honey, a few of my students got into some trouble at a bonfire. I have to go deal with the campus police. I’m so sorry.” I had urged him to go, thinking it was an emergency. I spent the rest of the night playing the perfect hostess, laughing off the pitying looks from his friends. The next day, I went to the campus infirmary with gift baskets for the “troubled students.” Instead of a group of kids, I found Bennett in a private room, his eyes dark with exhaustion, tenderly tucking a blanket around Callie Brooks. When I confronted him, he didn’t even flinch. “Callie went for a hike and got turned around,” he’d said. “You know she has no one else in this city, June.” The memory made my blood run cold. The rest of the gala was a blur of apologies from Bennett’s family. By the time I got back to our apartment, the adrenaline had faded, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. My phone buzzed. A text from Bennett. [Callie sprained her ankle. She’s terrified of hospitals, so I’m staying the night to watch over her. I’ll be back in the morning.] I stared at the text, then opened Instagram. Like clockwork, Callie had posted again. [A lonely night, but at least I have you.] The photo showed Bennett’s sharp profile, his head resting dangerously close to her lap as he sat by her bed. I knew she’d taken it while he was distracted, but the fact that he allowed her this level of intimacy—this constant, blurred line—was the real betrayal. My heart felt like it was being carved out by a dull blade. I had known Bennett and Callie for years. I couldn’t understand how it had come to this. I was the one who had encouraged him to mentor her. I was the one who had suggested we help fund her studies when she told us she was an orphan from a broken-down town in the Ozarks. And Bennett? He was the man who had once stayed by my side through a grueling health scare, promising he’d never let me be alone again. How did we get here? I picked up my phone and messaged my parents. [Dad, Mom… tell the University of Chicago I accept the visiting professorship. I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving back to the city to be with you.] 2 I finished packing my essentials just as the sun began to peek through the blinds. The front door opened. Bennett walked in, bringing with him the faint, cloying scent of Callie’s perfume. He climbed into bed, the mattress dipping as he tried to pull me toward him. “Still mad, babe? I know I sounded harsh yesterday. But we’ve watched Callie grow up. You know her background; you know how hard it is for her to trust people.” I kept my back to him, as rigid as a statue. He sighed, resting a warm palm on my hip. “Look, once things settle down at the department, I’ll take you to a nice dinner with your parents to apologize, okay?” “I understand,” I said, my voice flat. He paused, sounding relieved. “I knew you’d see reason. You’ve always been the bigger person, June. I bought you that necklace you wanted—it’s on the counter. I’m going to go jump in the shower.” After the bathroom door clicked shut, I went to the kitchen. The jewelry box was sitting there. I opened it to find a modest gold pendant. The receipt was tucked underneath: $450. My stomach turned. I grabbed Bennett’s phone from the counter—I still knew his passcode. I navigated to his banking app and looked at his “recently deleted” transactions. There they were. Series of transfers to Callie Brooks. $5,000. $8,000. $5,000. It all made sense now. I had been sending Callie a $500 monthly “stipend” out of my own pocket to help her with groceries. Meanwhile, she was sporting Chanel bags and Hermès scarves on her “student” budget. While I was taking the subway to save money for our future, she was driving a brand-new Lexus. Bennett was subsidizing her entire life while I balanced our household ledgers down to the cent. The pain was a physical weight in my chest. When Bennett came out of the shower, he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Goodnight, beautiful,” he whispered. “Or good morning, I guess.” “Goodnight,” I replied, already counting down the hours until I could leave. The next morning, I went to the Dean’s office and handed in my resignation. Then, I headed to the year-end Academic Excellence Awards. I planned to accept my research grant and leave quietly, but as I finished my speech, Callie Brooks practically stormed the stage. She snatched the microphone from the stand, her ponytail swinging defiantly. “I have to respectfully disagree with Dr. Whittaker’s findings!” she announced to the crowded auditorium. “My own recent research shows that her theory is based on outdated data. It’s a shortcut, frankly. It’s not rigorous.” I didn’t look at her. I looked at Bennett, who was sitting in the front row, legs crossed, watching her with a look of immense pride. Callie rambled on, throwing out complex-sounding jargon that meant nothing. She finished with a triumphant smirk. “In fact, these new conclusions were reached through private lab sessions with Dr. Mitch. Isn’t that right, Bennett?” Bennett nodded, giving her a look that a father might give a precocious child. The room erupted into whispers. The predatory nature of the academic world took over instantly. “Wow, Callie’s got guts. Challenging a titan like Whittaker to her face?” “I don’t know, June’s been winning awards for years. Maybe she’s been coasting.” “Bennett is so objective. He won’t even take his wife’s side if the science isn’t there. That’s integrity.” I felt my nails digging into my palms. “And what exactly are you proposing, Callie?” Bennett stood up. As the most senior faculty member in the room, his word was law. “The methodology Callie is describing is indeed groundbreaking,” he said smoothly. “Given the overlap, I think it’s only fair that the grant for this project be transferred to her name.” The betrayal was total. It wasn’t just my marriage; he was trying to strip away my career. I felt a cold laugh bubble up in my throat. I grabbed the microphone back. “Dr. Mitch, I’m afraid I have to disagree with your… assessment.” Both their faces shifted. I didn’t give them a chance to speak. I tore Callie’s “logic” apart piece by piece, citing the very data she claimed was missing. I exposed the flaws in her “groundbreaking” theory with the surgical precision of someone who had spent twenty years in the field. By the time I was done, the room was silent. Callie was beet-red, her eyes welling with tears of humiliation. She turned and ran out of the hall. Bennett’s face darkened. He shot me a look of pure vitriol before rushing after her. The room broke into thunderous applause, but I didn’t feel like a winner. The trophy in my hand felt like a lead weight. After the ceremony, Bennett cornered me in a secluded hallway. His eyes were bloodshot. “June, what the hell was that?” he hissed. “You already have everything. You have the reputation, the tenure, the parents. Why couldn’t you just let her have this one win?” “Because it wasn’t hers to take, Bennett,” I said, my voice remarkably calm. “She’s your student, not mine. And for the record? I’m cutting off her stipend. Effective immediately.” Bennett’s frustration boiled over. “If you’re still punishing her because you’re jealous of my time, that’s one thing. But don’t sabotage her future just because you’re having a tantrum about your parents’ party!” I didn’t have the energy to argue. He didn’t even realize that every sentence he spoke began and ended with Callie. I turned to walk away, but a blood-curdling scream echoed through the quad. “Help! Someone help me!” 3 We ran toward the sound. Near the parking lot, Callie was being dragged toward a rusted-out van by three burly men in flannel shirts. One had a fist in her hair; another was pinning her arms. Bennett didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward. “Hey! Let her go!” The men looked up, their faces weathered and mean. “Back off, pal. This is family business. Callie owes the family back home in the holler. She’s supposed to be married to my brother, and we’re taking her back to finish the job.” Callie was hysterical. “Bennett, help me! I don’t want to go back there! I want to stay with you!” Looking at her, I saw the girl she used to be—the one who begged me for a chance to escape her past. I’ve taken self-defense and kickboxing for years; I was ready to step in. But then Bennett spoke, and the world stopped turning. “Let her go!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He closed his eyes for a split second, then pointed directly at me. “You’ve got the wrong girl! That’s Callie Brooks. The woman you’re holding is my wife!” The air left my lungs. My heart hammered against my ribs in a frantic, sickening rhythm. I couldn’t believe the words had actually left his mouth. The three men didn’t wait to check IDs. They shoved Callie aside and lunged for me. I wasn’t fast enough. A hand clamped over my mouth, and another yanked my hair so hard I felt my scalp tear. The pain was blinding. Before I could land a solid blow, they threw me into the back of the van. The doors slammed shut. Inside the dark space, it was a blur of violence. I fought like a cornered animal, using every ounce of my training, but three-on-one in a confined space were impossible odds. Ten minutes later, the back doors were kicked open. I crawled out, my arm dangling at a wrong angle, my face a mask of blood and bruises, my clothes torn. Inside the van, the three men were groaning on the floor, nursing broken noses and cracked ribs. I had held my own, but I was shattered. Bennett was a few yards away, kneeling on the grass, whispering sweet nothings to a sobbing Callie. When he saw me emerge, he stood up. He didn’t rush to me. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He spoke in a commanding, clipped tone. “June, stay here and look after Callie. I’m going to find the campus security.” He looked at my injuries like they were an inconvenience—an eyesore he didn’t want to deal with. I let out a ragged, wet laugh. My eyes locked onto Callie. The “damsel” act vanished for a second. She looked at me with a chillingly blank expression. “Did you see that, June?” she whispered so only I could hear. “He chose me. Even when it meant throwing you to the wolves. He’ll always choose me.” She wiped a fake tear away. “I’m not a girl who gets lost, June. Bennett is smart, but he sees what he wants to see. And he wants to see a girl who needs him.” I stared at her, my vision blurring. “Callie… I gave you everything. I treated you like a sister.” She scoffed. “And you have everything. Money, power, a family that actually wants you. You don’t know what it’s like to have to fight for survival. Bennett is my survival. And he’s mine. In this life and the next.” I shook my head. I wasn’t angry anymore; I was just profoundly disappointed. She had the brains to make it on her own, but she’d chosen to be a parasite. Suddenly, Callie’s face crumpled. She dropped to her knees and started slapping herself across the face, over and over. “I’m sorry! Dr. Whittaker, please! I’ll do better! Don’t hurt me!” “June!” Bennett roared, charging toward us. He shoved me aside. Because of my shoulder and my shredded leggings, I lost my balance and fell into a bed of rosebushes. The thorns tore into my skin, but I didn’t make a sound. “Are you bullying her again?” Bennett yelled, his face twisted with rage. I didn’t answer. I forced myself up, ignoring the stabs of pain, and began to walk toward the gates. Near the exit, a group of my graduate students and colleagues ran toward me, their faces full of horror. “Dr. Whittaker! My god, what happened?” “June, we heard you’re leaving for Chicago—please tell us it isn’t true!” I didn’t want them to see me like this. I mumbled a lie about a car accident and kept moving. But Bennett wasn’t done. He caught up to me, grabbing my bruised wrist. “June, Chicago? You’re actually leaving? Why didn’t you tell me?” I winced as his grip tightened on my injury. A white-hot fury sparked in my chest. “It’s none of your business.” “The hell it isn’t! I’m your husband! Chicago is cutthroat, June. You won’t survive there without my support.” I laughed—a sharp, jagged sound. I swung my good arm and slapped him across the face with every bit of strength I had left. “After you literally handed me over to kidnappers to save your mistress? You don’t get to talk about support. You’re lucky I don’t kill you right here.” I walked away. Behind me, Bennett shouted, his voice desperate. “You’re just throwing a tantrum! You want me to beg for your forgiveness? Fine, I’m apologizing! Is that what you want?” I didn’t look back. I didn’t need his apologies. I needed a bridge, and I was going to burn it with him on it. 4 On the Uber ride home, my phone blew up with texts from Bennett. [June, come back. Stop being dramatic.] [I’m sorry about Callie’s family. It was a split-second decision. I knew you could handle yourself.] [June, answer me! Don’t do this!] I blocked him. When I got to the apartment, my mother was already there. She had a suitcase open on the bed. Her face, usually so composed, was soft with concern. “June, honey… let’s go home.” I finally broke. I collapsed into her arms, sobbing for the girl I used to be—the orphan who thought she’d finally found safety in a man who turned out to be a coward. As we were walking out the door with my bags, Bennett and Callie pulled up in his car. “June, wait!” Callie cried, rushing toward us. “Please don’t go! It’s all my fault… I’ll go back to the Ozarks. I won’t bother you anymore. Just don’t let Dr. Mitch lose his wife because of me.” Bennett hurried to her side, looking at me with a scowl. “Callie, stop. I’m not letting you go back to that hellhole.” My mother stepped in front of Bennett. Before he could react, she delivered a stinging slap to his face. “You coward!” she hissed. “You knew what kind of place she came from, and you tried to send my daughter there instead? Her life is worth more than yours will ever be.” Bennett rubbed his jaw. “June knows how to fight. Callie doesn’t. It was a logical choice.” My mother’s face went pale with fury. She turned and slapped Callie, too. “And my daughter earned those skills through years of struggle! You don’t get to profit off her strength.” As Callie wailed and Bennett tried to shield her, we moved toward the black Rolls Royce waiting at the curb. But then, a roar of an engine cut through the air. A van screeched to a halt behind us. My mother shrieked as she was shoved aside. I was pushed to the pavement, my knees scraping against the gravel. When I looked up, my heart stopped. It was the men from the campus. And they brought friends. One of them swung a heavy wooden club. My mother, trying to protect me, took the blow. She slumped to the ground, blood blooming from her head. “MOM!” The world went red. I scrambled toward her, my hands shaking as I tried to stem the flow of blood. The lead man sneered. “Thought you could hide, Callie? You knocked out my brothers, but we got reinforcements now. You’re coming home to the village.” I looked at Bennett. He was standing by his car, frozen. “I’m not Callie!” I screamed, my voice raw with hatred. “She is! The woman behind you!” The men looked toward Callie. Bennett stepped forward, but when he saw the sheer number of armed men, he faltered. “Let them go,” Bennett stammered. “Sure. Just tell us which one is the real Callie Brooks, or we take ’em both.” I looked at Bennett, my eyes burning. “Bennett, tell them the truth. Give them what they want.” Callie stepped out from behind him, looking like a martyr. “It’s okay, Bennett. Let me go. I’d rather die than see you two unhappy.” Bennett’s eyes went wide. The manipulation worked perfectly. He looked at me, then at Callie, and his face hardened. He pointed at me—at my bleeding, broken mother and me. “She’s Callie. Take her.” The next few seconds were a nightmare. Rough, greasy hands grabbed my hair. My blouse was torn as they dragged me away. My mother was screaming, clutching my ankles, until they kicked her aside. I saw Bennett cover Callie’s eyes, holding her close, protecting her from the “tragedy” he had just authored. As they threw me and my unconscious mother into the back of the van, I managed to reach into my pocket for the burner phone my father had given me. I sent a GPS pin. “Dad,” I whispered into the receiver, my voice a jagged edge of ice. “Send the medevac. Send the security teams. And bring Bennett Mitch and Callie Brooks to me. I want to watch them burn.”

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It was April Fool’s Day when my boyfriend’s female best friend shoved a piece of paper into my hands, daring me to read it aloud for the livestream. In my past life, to keep the peace, I swallowed my pride and read the vicious words: I, Harriet, will lose my hair, my skin will rot, and I will become a monster. My little sister will be dragged into an alley and violated. My parents’ bistro will serve poisoned food, killing a customer and ruining our family. That very night, every single one of Bernice’s sick, twisted curses came true. My sister was assaulted in a dark alley. She jumped off her high school roof. My parents’ viral farm-to-table bistro was shut down after a man died from eating their food. They were thrown in prison. My face broke out in weeping, rotting sores, making me the target of relentless internet bullying. Meanwhile, Bernice won a ten-million-dollar lottery. She took over my influencer account with its millions of followers. She married my boyfriend. I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills, choking on a grief too heavy for one lifetime. Then I opened my eyes. The blinding ring light. The camera. The exact same April Fool’s Day. Bernice was staring at me, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face. “Harriet! Come on, don’t be a buzzkill. Are you brave enough to play the prank stream or not?” I let out a low, breathy laugh. “Oh, I’ll play. I’m just worried you don’t have the stomach for it.” … 1 “Here! Read this!” Bernice’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she thrust the folded slip of paper toward me. I didn’t take it. I just sat back, letting the silence stretch, smiling right back at her. “If it’s a game, it’s no fun if I’m the only one playing,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Let me write a slip for you, too. We’ll read them to each other. You know, for the engagement metrics.” Bernice blinked, her hand faltering. She let out a dry, nervous laugh. “Oh, let’s just stick to you. Today is about pranking you, I’m just the host…” I mirrored her usual passive-aggressive, baby-voice cadence. “Bernice, don’t tell me you’re scared? Our fearless internet bad-girl, suddenly backing down?” A few of Corey’s frat brothers were lounging on the sofa behind us. One of them snorted, tossing a beer cap onto the table. “Damn, Harriet, chill out. Bernice’s practically one of the guys. There’s nothing she won’t do for a laugh.” My boyfriend, Corey, flushed a deep crimson. He kicked his friend’s shin under the table, hissing, “Watch your mouth on the livestream, man.” Yet, his body language told a different story. He shifted entirely, angling his broad shoulders to physically shield Bernice from me. “Just play the game, Harriet. What are you so afraid of?” he coaxed, though his eyes were hard. Then he glanced back at Bernice, his voice softening. “Don’t worry, B. I’ve got your back.” With Corey defending her, Bernice’s spine stiffened. She puffed out her chest, suddenly emboldened. “Who’s scared? You first, Harriet. Read it!” In those few minutes of tension, the viewer count on my livestream had skyrocketed to two hundred thousand. The chat was a blur of rapid-fire text, demanding action. I looked down, slowly unfolding the paper in my hands. The blood roared in my ears. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision. It was the exact same wording. When I didn’t speak, Bernice sneered. “Read it, Harriet. What, did you freeze? If you can’t take a joke, you have to get on your knees and call me ‘Mommy’ on camera.” The peanut gallery on the sofa erupted into hoots and applause. “Read it! Read it!” “Call her Mommy!” Corey nudged my arm, irritated. “Harriet, stop stalling. Just read the damn thing. You’re ruining the vibe.” The chat was a relentless wave of peer pressure: [Is the host a sore loser?] [If u can’t play, log off.] [Just read it omg so annoying.] I curled my hands into fists under the table, my manicured nails biting half-moons into my palms. I forced the blinding, suffocating hatred down into my chest, locking it away. I held the paper up to the camera and read it. Word by agonizing word. “I, Harriet, will lose my hair, my skin will rot, and I will become a monster. My little sister will be dragged into an alley and violated. My parents’ bistro will serve poisoned food, killing a customer and ruining our family.” The living room went dead silent for two agonizing seconds. Then, one of the guys slow-clapped. “Holy shit. That is brutal! Bernice, your brain is a dark place. Top-tier content right there.” Corey laughed. He actually laughed. He reached over and playfully snapped the bra strap visible beneath Bernice’s oversized flannel. “You’re toxic as hell for that one,” he joked. Bernice covered her mouth, giggling uncontrollably. “Wow, Harriet, I can’t believe you actually read it! Aren’t you worried putting that out into the universe will make it come true?” Anyone else would have flipped the table. I kept my breathing steady. I grabbed a sticky note, grabbed a Sharpie, and scrawled a single sentence. I slid it across the glass coffee table, stopping right in front of Bernice. “My turn is over. Yours now. Read it.” The smug smile slid right off Bernice’s face. She tucked her hands into her sleeves, refusing to touch the bright yellow square. Her eyes darted around the room, and suddenly, she swayed in her chair. “Ugh. God. I’m so dizzy. My blood sugar is crashing again.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Let’s just wrap the stream here. We’ll do part two another day.” Her visceral panic confirmed everything. In my past life, I had agonized over how a few mean words on a piece of paper could destroy my entire world. Later, I realized Bernice was obsessed with dark web occultism and twisted manifestation rituals. She believed that by making me speak the curses aloud, she was legally transferring my good karma to herself and cementing my doom. She reached for the mouse to end the broadcast. I clamped my hand over her wrist. “You’re the one who begged to play,” I said, my voice carrying cleanly over the microphone. “And now your blood sugar is low? Two hundred thousand people are watching.” I leaned in, amplifying my voice for maximum humiliation. “You’ve been trying to build your own channel for months. If you back out of a dare on a live feed, how are you ever going to make it in this industry? Nobody likes a flake.” 2 Bernice whipped her head around, glaring at me with pure, unadulterated venom. I had hit her deepest insecurity. I had the effortless aesthetic, the wealthy background, the million followers who loved my lifestyle vlogs. Bernice spent her days photobombing my posts, desperate for a crumb of clout, barely scraping together a fraction of my audience. Now, I was calling her out in front of half a million eyeballs. She was practically vibrating with rage. One of the frat boys jumped to her defense. “Harriet, you’re being a bitch. She said she feels sick. Why are you forcing it? It’s just a game, drop it.” Another chimed in, eager to earn points with Corey. “Seriously. Zero empathy. No wonder Corey says you’re exhausting to date.” Bolstered by her audience, Bernice let her legs give out. She collapsed neatly against Corey’s chest, letting out a frail sigh. “Corey, my head is spinning. I can’t breathe. Can you help me up?” Corey immediately wrapped a protective arm around her waist. He turned his head, his face a thundercloud of resentment, and barked at me. “So you have some internet followers, who cares? Stop acting like you’re better than everyone!” He stood up, hoisting Bernice with him. “I’m taking Bernice home. Sit here and think about how you’re acting.” He began half-carrying her toward the door. I stood up, taking one massive stride to block the entryway. I held the yellow sticky note right at Bernice’s eye level. My voice was ice. “It’s one sentence. Read it, and you can walk out that door.” I paused, letting my eyes bore into hers. “Otherwise, I have every reason to believe you’re using this ‘prank’ as a cover to actually wish death upon my family.” Everyone in the room stared at me like I belonged in a psych ward. The loudest of Corey’s friends pointed a finger in my face. “Are you psychotic? There’s a limit to being a jealous girlfriend! Cursing your family? What is this, a CW teen drama?” I stood in the doorway, an immovable object. Seeing I wasn’t going to budge, the guys started groaning. “Bernice, just read the damn thing so we can leave. Placate the crazy lady.” I had backed her into a corner. If she didn’t read it, she proved she was terrified of the words. She shot me a look of pure hatred, snatched the sticky note, and scanned it. The color drained from her face, leaving her a sickly, ashen gray. Her hand trembled violently, though she tried to mask it with an exaggerated scoff. “Jesus, Harriet, your handwriting is atrocious. I’m too dizzy to even focus on this. I’m not reading it.” She moved to crumple it up. I grabbed my phone from the tripod and shoved the camera lens inches from her face. “Can’t read it? Want me to have two hundred thousand people decipher it for you? Bernice, if you don’t read this right now, the second anything happens to my family, the police will be knocking on your door. And my entire comment section will be the witnesses.” The live chat was moving so fast it was a blur, thousands of voices calling her out for being fake, dramatic, and suspicious. Bernice ground her teeth. Her jaw locked. She took a shallow, shaky breath, and read the words with the enthusiasm of someone walking to the gallows. “Whatever misfortune befalls Harriet’s family, it will rebound onto me, ten times worse.” The room erupted. Corey’s friends exploded, yelling over each other. “Harriet, you are a toxic, vindictive bitch!” “Wishing karma on her? That is so dark. What the fuck is wrong with you?” A sharp, humorless laugh tore its way out of my throat. “Five minutes ago, she wished rape and death on my family, and you all sat there clapping like seals!” I swept my gaze over the room of hypocrites, letting it land squarely on Corey. “But when I simply hand the exact same energy back to her, suddenly I’m the dark, vindictive one?” I clicked my tongue. “The double standards in this room are suffocating.” Corey’s face went dark. He stepped forward and shoved me hard in the chest. “Enough, Harriet! I never realized how utterly ugly you are on the inside.” My back slammed against the entryway console table. Pain shot up my spine. I touched the wood to steady myself, a cold smile pulling at my lips. “You just realized? Perfect.” I stared him dead in the eye. Every ounce of love I had ever held for this man had evaporated in my previous life. “We’re done. We’re breaking up.” 3 The air was sucked out of the room. No one expected me—the girl who had compromised and accommodated Corey for two years—to end it over what they considered a minor spat. Bernice’s head snapped up. A flash of wild, uncontainable triumph sparked in her eyes, though she quickly arranged her face into a mask of distress. “Oh my god, stop! This is my fault. You guys are talking about getting engaged. Don’t break up over me!” I rolled my eyes. “Save the acting, Bernice. Your lips are about to tear from smiling so hard.” “Harriet! Watch your tone! What did Bernice ever do to you?” Corey reached out to grab my arm. I slapped his hand away with a resounding smack. I walked out and slammed the door behind me. I practically sprinted through the parking garage. I threw myself into the driver’s seat of my SUV, my heart hammering against my ribs. There was no room for heartbreak. I needed to move. My mind kept replaying Bernice’s terrified expression when she read the rebound clause. The dread in her eyes wasn’t an act. That meant that in this lifetime, if the tragedy struck, the catastrophic blowback would hit her. I let out a long, shaky exhale. But I wasn’t leaving my family’s survival up to mystical karma. I fumbled for my phone and dialed my younger sister, Sophie. She was a sophomore at a prestigious boarding school on the edge of the city. It rang forever. Finally, a hushed voice answered. “Harriet? I’m in study hall.” The moment I heard her voice, the dam broke. Hot tears pricked my eyes. I gripped the steering wheel, forcing the tremor out of my voice. “Soph. Listen to me very carefully. No matter what happens today, you are not to step foot off campus. Do you understand me? You don’t leave the gates.” She was startled by my intensity. “Why? It’s the weekend. I don’t have afternoon classes.” “Don’t ask questions!” I snapped, harsher than I meant to. “I don’t have time to explain, but I would never hurt you. Stay on campus. Do not go anywhere!” Sophie was a good kid. Sensing the sheer panic radiating through the phone, she promised me, swearing she wouldn’t leave her dorm. Half the weight lifted from my chest. I threw the car into drive and hit the gas. Fifteen minutes of aggressive city driving later, I pulled up to my parents’ trendy downtown bistro. It was the peak of the lunch rush. There was a line out the door. I stormed past the hostess stand, grabbed the microphone from the manager, and hit the PA system. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am so sorry! We have an emergency situation. We are closing immediately. Please evacuate the dining room.” The customers stared at me, forks suspended in mid-air. Then, the uproar began. “Are you kidding me? We waited an hour for a table!” “What kind of management is this?” My parents rushed out of the kitchen, their faces pale with shock. They grabbed my arms. “Harriet, have you lost your mind? It’s the lunch rush! Do you know how much money we’re losing?” my dad hissed. Looking at my parents—vibrant, healthy, alive—the back of my throat burned. The image of them in orange jumpsuits, hollowed out and weeping behind reinforced glass, crashed over me. My knees gave out. I dropped to the floor right there in the entryway. “Mom. Dad. I’m not crazy. I’m begging you. Close the doors right now.” Terrified, they dropped to their knees beside me, trying to pull me up. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Talk to us.” I pulled them close, dropping my voice to an urgent whisper. “Dad, I got a tip. The health department is doing unannounced sting operations today. They’re looking for any excuse to shut places down, arresting owners on the spot for code violations…” In the restaurant industry, the FDA and local health boards are the ultimate boogeymen. My dad’s face tightened. I gripped his wrists. “Close the restaurant. We need to scrub this place top to bottom. But more importantly—the walk-in freezer. Every single piece of inventory in the back alley needs to go into the dumpster. Do not save a single ounce.” Our sourcing was impeccable. We had never had a health violation. But in my past life, someone had eaten something toxic and died. I wasn’t taking a single gamble. My parents exchanged a long, stressed look. It was thousands of dollars in premium ingredients. But seeing me pale, shaking, and on the verge of a breakdown, they caved. “Okay. Okay, Harriet. We’ll lock up.” For the next two hours, I was a woman possessed. I stood by the loading dock, personally overseeing the kitchen staff as they hurled every side of beef, every crate of organic produce, every tub of prep into the industrial trash compactor. When the metal jaws crushed the last of it, the stone sitting on my chest finally dissolved. My mom untied her apron, wiping sweat from her brow. She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Take a breath, honey. Par for the course when you own a business.” She pulled her phone from her pocket, her tired face breaking into a radiant smile. “You know, your sister is really growing up. Mother’s Day was weeks ago, but she insisted on getting me a late present.” I froze. I stretched my neck to look at the screen. It was a photo of Sophie. She was holding a little pink bakery box, standing at the entrance of a dark, graffiti-lined alley. Smiling. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I grabbed my mom’s forearm, my fingers digging into her skin. My voice cracked. “When did she post this?!” My mom jumped, startled by my aggression. “Just… just now. Maybe ten minutes ago?” The world tilted on its axis. My body was seized by violent, uncontrollable tremors. This was the alley. The exact alley where, in my past life, a group of men had cornered her. I snatched the phone from my mom’s hand, my fingers shaking so badly I dropped it twice. Suddenly, my own phone began to ring. It was Sophie’s dorm mother. I hit speakerphone, my breath caught in my throat. “Harriet? It’s Sophie. You need to get to the school. Right now.” 4 I blew through every red light. Before the tires even stopped screeching against the asphalt of the school parking lot, I kicked the door open and bolted. My parents were right behind me, sprinting toward the main academic building. There was a crowd of students and faculty gathered on the lawn, pointing up in horror. On the rooftop, Sophie was standing on the ledge. She looked like a ghost—swaying in the wind, entirely hollowed out. I threw open the fire doors, taking the stairs three at a time until I burst onto the roof. “Soph! I’m here! Step down, baby, please!” Hearing my voice, Sophie turned her head in agonizing slow motion. When I saw her face, my heart physically stopped. One side of her cheek was swollen and purple. Her lip was split. Dark, violent bruises bloomed across her collarbones where her uniform shirt was torn open. She looked at me, and a devastating, guttural sob tore from her throat. “I’m sorry… Harriet, I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have left.” She was clutching the crushed pink bakery box to her chest, shivering violently despite the afternoon sun. “I just… I just wanted to get Mom her favorite strawberry cake.” Her voice broke. “The alley was so dark… They put a hand over my mouth. I couldn’t scream…” Behind me, my mother let out an inhuman wail. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto the concrete, unconscious. My dad dropped to his knees, his face buried in his hands, screaming until his vocal cords shredded. “My baby! Daddy’s begging you, step away from the edge!” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I took one agonizingly slow step forward. “Soph, look at me. This is not your fault. Come to me. Let me take you home.” My voice was fierce, vibrating with a desperate promise. “I swear to God, I will hunt them down. I will ruin them.” Sophie flinched, taking a half-step backward. Her heel hovered over nothing but empty air. “Don’t come closer!” she shrieked, shaking her head frantically. The light had completely died in her eyes. It was just a vast, empty wasteland. “I’m dirty now, Harriet… I can’t live like this.” She set the crushed pink box gently on the ledge. She looked down at our unconscious mother. “Happy Mother’s Day,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and leaned back. “NO!” I lunged across the concrete, my fingers grazing the edge of her pleated skirt before she slipped through my grasp. A sickening, heavy thud echoed from the courtyard below. Then, the deafening screams of the crowd. In that moment, the entire world went completely, terrifyingly silent. I knelt on the edge of the roof, staring down at the pavement, the tears falling silently onto my hands. I had done everything right. I had warned her. I had rushed against the clock. Why? Why did the tragedy still happen? The ambulance came. My parents were sedated and taken to the hospital. My phone was vibrating relentlessly in my jacket pocket. Numbly, I pulled it out and opened my messages. In our mutual friend group chat, Corey had just dropped a news link. Headline: Tragic Accident: Local Prep School Student Falls from Roof After Assault. His text below it was dripping with malicious glee. See? Harriet’s sister actually died. I told you Bernice had a gift for manifestation. She was just trying to warn Harriet on the livestream. But Harriet had to be a psycho about it. Karma’s a bitch. A chorus of sycophants immediately chimed in. Bernice’s literally a prophet. Hey B, manifest some lottery numbers for me! Then, Bernice tagged me. So, Harriet. Don’t you think you owe me a thank you? My thumb trembled as I held down the audio record button. I let out a feral, jagged scream into the mic. “Go to hell! You vultures are feeding on my sister’s corpse. I swear to god, I will make you pay!” I deleted the chat and threw the phone back in my pocket. I wandered aimlessly through the school courtyard. As I walked, students backing away from me, gasping, covering their mouths in horror. A cold realization washed over me. I reached into my bag and pulled out my compact mirror. I stopped dead in my tracks. Vast chunks of my hair had fallen out at the roots. My cheeks were covered in weeping, blistered red lesions, spreading like wildfire across my skin. A deep, bone-chilling dread crawled up my spine. Every single thing on Bernice’s list had come true. But why? I refused to accept that magic had killed my sister. In a daze of grief and rage, I pulled up the archive of the April Fool’s livestream. I watched it frame by frame. I stared at the screen, my eyes burning, scanning every pixel. Then, I hit pause. Right before the game started, Bernice had handed me an open bottle of water. I had taken a long drink before reading the note. My pupils dilated. The truth hit me like a freight train.

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Maxwell Prescott’s memory resets every ninety days. Every three months, he returns to the day he hated me most. Like clockwork, he’d break my spirit—and sometimes my bones—to avenge his ward’s honor. Then, after a hundred nights of penance, he would propose to me under a canopy of fireflies, only for the cycle to restart the next morning. I lived through the loop, over and over, waiting for the day his memory would finally hold. I believed my love was a tether that would eventually pull him back to reality. Until I heard him through the cracked door of a private lounge at the club. “Max, how long are you going to keep this up?” It was one of his inner circle laughing. “The ‘memory reset’ thing? Only a delusional girl like Daisy would buy it. Every time, she’s on her knees begging us to help her ‘remind’ you of your love, desperate to marry you.” “Three days until the next ‘reset,’ right? Which round is this?” “The ninth,” Maxwell’s voice replied. It was deep, cool, and devastatingly clear. “Daisy’s pathetic little catering mistake poisoned Maisie and ruined her debutante ball. This is just the interest on the debt she owes.” I heard the soft rustle of fabric—him ruffling Maisie’s hair. “Nobody messes with my girl,” he added, his voice dropping into a register of tenderness he had never once used with me without the shroud of ‘amnesia.’ The betrayal was a physical blade between my ribs. My “devotion” was nothing more than the punchline to a cruel, year-long prank. I wiped my face, the salt of my tears stinging my chapped skin, and summoned the Interface in my mind. Negotiations are over, I told the cold, mechanical voice. In three days, when the mission fails, wipe every trace of Maxwell Prescott from my mind. … [Host, are you certain?] Before I could answer, the voices in the lounge drifted out again. “I heard if Daisy’s hand gets broken one more time, she’ll never be able to hold a paintbrush again.” The speaker sounded hesitant. “Max, isn’t the punishment… enough?” The clink of a wine glass stopped. I pictured Maxwell’s lips thinning into that hard, aristocratic line. Maisie lowered her head, her fingers tracing the custom diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. “Uncle Max, I love this birthday gift. The debutante ball was just a formality… it doesn’t matter that it was ruined.” Her voice was soft, performatively sweet. Every word was designed to sound like a grace note while hitting like a hammer. Maxwell’s temper flared instantly. I heard the thud of a boot hitting a chair. “Since when do you tell me how to handle my business?” He took Maisie’s hand in his, treating her like a piece of priceless Ming porcelain. “Even if Daisy loses her hand, it wouldn’t compensate for what you lost. A street-food cook thinking she can be a fine artist? It’s pathetic. She’s a moth reaching for a star she doesn’t deserve.” A sharp, mocking huff escaped his nose. It felt like a thousand needles piercing my heart. I remembered when I lost that scholarship competition. I wanted to give up on my dreams, but he was the one who held me. He told me I was a “Sunflower”—that no matter how dark it got, I had to keep my head up and face the light. But the light was a lie. In his eyes, I wasn’t a sunflower. I was a nuisance. Laughter erupted in the room. “She’s got some talent, though,” someone joked. “If Max hadn’t called the judges beforehand, she actually would’ve taken first place.” The world went silent. My fingers began to shake uncontrollably. I had poured my soul into that competition. It was my one ticket out of poverty, my one chance to stand beside him as an equal. And he had crushed it with a single phone call. Are the dreams of the poor really that cheap? Just something for the elite to stomp on for sport? I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. [Host, I ask again: do you wish to proceed with the memory wipe?] the Interface chimed. [You previously traded ten years of your lifespan to extend this mission. Are you truly giving up?] A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. A month ago, I was terrified of losing him. I had begged the System for more time, desperate to save the man I thought was trapped in a cycle of trauma. What a joke. I closed my eyes, letting the hot tears spill over. I’m sure. Delete it all. Right then, my phone buzzed violently in my pocket. “Daisy, it’s your mom. There’s been an accident!” Kidney failure. The words on the medical report blurred. I looked at my mother, pale and fragile on the hospital bed. I had been so obsessed with “saving” Maxwell that I hadn’t noticed the shadow of death creeping over her face. Guilt crashed over me like a tidal wave. At the billing counter, my vision was swollen and red. I looked at the balance in my bank account—a number I could count on one hand. The nurse sighed, her gaze flickering with pity and impatience. “Ms. Mona, we need the deposit now.” “Can I just…” I started, my voice cracking. Then, the elevator dinned. Maxwell appeared, walking with that effortless, powerful stride. He was slightly out of breath. “Daisy, I heard about your mother…” Seeing my ruined face, he pulled my cold body into his chest. “It’s okay. I’m here.” The warmth. The scent of expensive cologne and cedarwood. He always did this. He always appeared at my lowest moments—car accidents, legal scares, every crisis. It was as if he had a sixth sense for my pain. I grew up without a father. I was starved for a protector. That was why, even after he broke my hand the first time, I forgave him. Because he knelt and apologized with such “sincerity.” Because he stayed by my side for weeks, enduring my anger without a word. I fell for a man twelve years my senior because his “warmth” was like top-shelf whiskey. One sip, and I was too drunk to find the exit. “Uncle Max!” Maisie’s voice cut through the air. Maxwell pushed me away instantly. The sudden coldness snapped me back to reality. I felt like a fool. I was still craving the comfort of a man who was actively destroying me. Maisie glanced at my phone screen, seeing the pathetic balance. She gasped, loud enough for the waiting room to turn their heads. “Daisy, is that all you have left? Doesn’t Uncle Max give you enough of an allowance?” The whispers started. To the strangers in the lobby, I was just a cheap mistress being scolded by the “real” family. Maxwell frowned, but he didn’t correct her. Instead, he leaned in and whispered, “Maisie didn’t mean it that way. I’ll talk to her at home. She’s sensitive, I can’t embarrass her in public.” So, for her pride, I had to wear the scarlet letter. Of course. How could a “sinner” like me compare to his precious ward? I looked at him, my eyes dead. “Give me five hundred thousand dollars.” Maxwell froze. I had never asked him for a dime in three years. But if I was going to be labeled a mistress, I might as well get the market rate. My mother needed that surgery. His expression darkened. “What did you say?” “The bags, the jewelry you bought to ‘apologize’ over the months… I never kept them. They’re worth more than half a million. Give me the cash.” Maxwell’s jaw tightened. “That’s different.” It was. Gifts to a pet are an act of mercy. A pet demanding payment is an act of rebellion. Maisie patted his arm, and he settled instantly, like a lion being tamed by a child. She smiled at me—a smile dripping with pure, unadulterated contempt. “Daisy, Uncle Max didn’t bring his cards in a hurry. I have five thousand in cash here. Take it for now.” She pulled a stack of bills from her designer bag and reached for my hand. But as she pressed the money into my palm, her sharp, manicured nails dug deep into my skin, drawing blood. I flinched, shoving her hand away. Maisie let out a theatrical shriek and collapsed onto the floor. The cash scattered like autumn leaves. “Daisy!” she sobbed, looking up with big, watery eyes. “Why did you push me? I just wanted to help. I didn’t mean to insult you!” Maxwell’s gaze turned to ice. “Is this how you ask for help, Daisy?” “She stabbed me—” I started, but he cut me off with a raised hand. “I know what you’re going to say. ‘She tripped herself.’ Spare me.” I closed my mouth. I was done explaining. I was done believing he’d ever choose the truth over her. I knelt on the dirty hospital floor, numbly picking up the bills one by one. This was my mother’s life. Suddenly, a heavy boot stepped on my hand, crushing it into the tile. Maxwell looked down at me from his height. “Apologize to Maisie.” The rubber sole of his shoe ground into my knuckles, crushing the last of my dignity. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Say it like you mean it.” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I let my knees hit the floor with a heavy thud. “I am sorry.” I looked up at him, my face a mask of indifference. “Are we done?” His chest heaved. He sighed, a sound of weary disappointment, and knelt to help me pick up the rest of the money. “I know you’re stressed about your mother, but that’s no excuse to take it out on Maisie. Don’t let it happen again.” “It won’t,” I said softly. Because there wouldn’t be a next time. Maxwell used some of the cash to pay the immediate hospital fees and shoved the rest into my hand. “Take me to see her.” My mother hated Maxwell. Even with his billions, she saw him for what he was—a broken, dangerous man. She never gave him a kind word. But today, she was different. She held his hand and talked for a long time. I knew why. She was trying to entrust me to him. She was afraid that after she was gone, I’d be alone in this world. A suffocating bitterness rose in my throat. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the man she was pleading with was the wolf at our door. I didn’t break character. I needed his money for the treatment, and I needed his connections to find a donor. That night, he found a match. A kidney was being flown in. If it arrived by tomorrow, my mother would live. The next day, I waited. From dawn until dusk, I sat by her bed. But Maxwell never showed. The orange glow of the sunset hit my sleeping mother, making her look like a ghost already fading away. With trembling hands, I dialed his number for the hundredth time. Finally, someone picked up. It wasn’t Maxwell; it was his friend. “Oh, Daisy? Yeah, Max is busy. Maisie had a sudden migraine, and she was crying for him. He’s at the villa taking care of her.” He was with Maisie. And he had the transport documents for the kidney. I flew to his villa like a madwoman. I didn’t even look at the two of them on the bed—intertwined, mid-kiss. I grabbed the medical cooler tossed in the corner and bolted for the door. I had thirty minutes. If I could get to the hospital in thirty minutes, the organ would still be viable. But as I hailed a cab, Maxwell’s security team swarmed me. They dragged me back to the rooftop of the villa. Maisie was standing on the ledge, weeping beautifully. Maxwell, his face dark with rage, grabbed me by the collar and shoved me toward her. “Because you burst in like that, Maisie is traumatized! She thinks you’ve misunderstood everything, and now she’s suicidal!” he roared. “Tell her! Tell her you didn’t see anything!” I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. “Misunderstood? Misunderstood that you’re two deviants masquerading as ‘family’ while you’re sleeping together?” Slap. The force of his hand sent my head spinning. “Shut your mouth!” Maxwell hissed, his voice shaking with fury. “If Maisie doesn’t step down from that ledge, you can forget about that kidney. And you can forget about any surgeon in this city touching your mother.” I stared at him, seeing the absolute coldness in his eyes. He meant it. He would let my mother die to soothe Maisie’s ego. My mother was waiting for me. “I didn’t see anything!” I screamed at the girl on the ledge. “You’re innocent! You’re a perfect, loving family! Just get down!” Maisie’s eyes glinted with triumph. She took her sweet time, lingering for several more minutes before finally stepping down. I sprinted back to the hospital, heart hammering against my ribs. But when I arrived, the surgeon looked at me with a heavy shake of his head. “It’s too late. The tissue is degraded. We missed the window by ten minutes.” I collapsed, the screams tearing out of my throat until I had no breath left. Later that night, a courier delivered a familiar, exquisite gift box. Then, Maxwell called. “Maisie is my best friend’s daughter. I couldn’t just let her jump, Daisy. We’ll find another donor…” I said nothing. He sighed, changing the subject. “You got the dress, right? Wear it tomorrow night. Meet me at our usual spot. I have something important to say.” I remembered then. Tomorrow was his ninth “proposal.” He still wanted to play the game. But Maxwell, I’m done playing. The next night, I didn’t go. The couture gown went into the trash. As I was signing the discharge papers to take my mother home for hospice, Maxwell’s friend appeared and forced me into a car. “Max has been waiting for hours! What’s wrong with you? This might be the time his memory actually stays—don’t throw it away now!” The field was filled with fireflies. I had seen this eight times before, and every time, I had cried with joy. I used to think I was his ultimate choice. Now I knew I was just his favorite victim. The lights weren’t magical anymore. They were blinding. I watched Maxwell, in the same suit, reciting the same vows. When he held out the diamond ring, I reached out and slapped it into the dirt. Maxwell froze. “Daisy? What… don’t you want to marry me?” “Maxwell,” I said, my voice like dry ice. “Stop acting—” Suddenly, his friend ran up, staring at his phone. He whispered something to Maxwell, and they both glanced at me. Maxwell tried to shove him away. “Not now! Can’t you see I’m busy? Get out!” A serpent of dread coiled in my gut. I snatched the phone from the friend’s hand. My heart stopped. It was a live stream. My mother was standing on the hospital rooftop. I ran. I flagged a taxi, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. I spammed the chat in the live stream. Mom, please get down. I’m coming! The streamer, a young kid looking for clout, saw my comments and laughed into the camera. “Oh, you’re the daughter? Your mom is jumping because of you! She found out her daughter is a high-end hooker for some billionaire. She’s too ashamed to live!” The blood in my veins turned to slush. Then, my mother’s voice came through the speaker. She was talking to a nurse. “My Daisy… she’s a good girl. She shouldn’t have to sell her soul to pay for my life. Tell her… tell her she’s free now.” I gripped the phone, a scream of pure agony trapped in my chest. I reached the hospital just in time to hear the crowd below shouting. “Just jump already! Having a daughter like that is a failure anyway!” Then… Thud. A sickening, heavy sound. My mother bloomed like a red flower on the pavement right before my eyes. “No!” I threw myself onto her broken body, cradling her. My tears mixed with the blood on her face. I looked at the crowd, my mouth open, but no sound came out. Please. Help her. Somebody help her. [Host, the mission window has closed. You have failed.] [Beginning the wipe of all memories related to Maxwell Prescott…] … Maxwell intended to follow Daisy to the hospital, but Maisie called. Another headache. He hesitated, then turned the car around. He stayed with her through the night, eventually falling into a deep sleep by her bedside. When he woke up at noon, his group chat was blowing up. “Max, are you starting the ‘Reset’ act today? Round nine?” Maxwell stared at the screen for a long time. Beside him, Maisie stirred. He typed one word: Yeah. After showering, he sent his usual instructions to his security team: Go find Daisy. Break her hand. But an uneasy feeling was gnawing at him. Two hours later, the lead guard called back. “Sir… Ms. Mona is gone.”

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It took me ten years to claw my way out of the subterranean black site where they’d been running their augment experiments. Ten years to finally break free. Only to find that while I was buried in the dark, the world above had ended. The outbreak had swallowed everything. And my best friend—the only anchor I had left in my fractured mind—was currently being backed into a corner by her husband’s survival crew, ordered to surrender her meager rations. “Everyone else chipped in, Rachel. Why are you being so selfish? You’re really hoarding a couple of candy bars?” Rachel’s voice was small, defensive. “I wanted to save them for Tommy.” A teenage girl standing nearby let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh, come on. Every time you want a sugar fix, you use the kid as an excuse. It’s pathetic.” Under the judgmental glare of the entire scavenging party, I unslung the heavy canvas backpack from my shoulder and hurled it. It caught the sneering teenager squarely in the back of the head. “Is that enough?” My voice came out flat, stripped of whatever inflection normal humans used. “Say one more word to her, and I’ll kill every single one of you.” 1 I hadn’t zipped the bag all the way. Dozens of foil-wrapped chocolate bars spilled out, scattering across the cracked asphalt like glittering debris. “What the hell?! Who do you think you’re talking to?” The teenage girl spun around, her voice shrill with shock and rage. Nobody answered her. Every pair of eyes in the vicinity was glued to the dirt. The collective sound of dry swallows echoed in the dead air. “Chocolate… that’s a whole fucking bag of chocolate…” “I’m sweeping it with my kinetics. It’s real. It’s not a mirage.” They surged forward. A desperate, scrambling frenzy broke out as hands clawed at the dirt. Nobody cared about the teenager’s bruised ego. She bit her lip, grabbing the arm of the tall, broad-shouldered man beside her, shaking it. “David, look at them!” The man furrowed his brow, his voice dropping into a low, authoritative rumble. “Stand down. Don’t touch it.” He looked over the group. “All scavenged supplies go to Kelsey’s tether. She inventories and rations. Did you all suddenly forget how this crew operates?” The scrambling stopped. The survivors froze, hands hovering over the candy. The girl, Kelsey, giggled. She strutted forward, confiscating the chocolate from their unresisting hands. A faint, pale blue light pulsed against her palms. A spatial tether. A pocket dimension. Through the entire chaotic display, Rachel—her face ashen, stripped of all color—hadn’t even glanced at the food. She was just staring at me. Her voice trembled, thick with a disbelief that seemed to crack her chest wide open. “Margo? Is that you? You’re alive?” 2 She slammed into me. I stood there, slightly paralyzed by the sudden impact. My arms felt heavy, but some deeply buried, vestigial instinct forced my hand up to awkwardly pat her back. “Is that… my name? Margo?” “You don’t remember?” She pulled back, her hands frantically roaming over my shoulders, my arms, checking for broken bones, crying and laughing all at once. “The director at the group home said you got adopted. I begged him to tell me by who, but he wouldn’t say a word. I spent years looking for you, Mags. I searched everywhere…” I let her rapid-fire words wash over me in absolute silence. Of course she couldn’t find me. For a decade, I had been locked inside a classified, subterranean labyrinth, subjected to extreme human-limit augmentation trials. I couldn’t even count how many times they had cracked open my skull, how many microchips were threaded into my cerebral cortex, how many synthetic serums had burned through my veins. My memories and emotions were a blurred, static-filled wasteland. I didn’t even remember my own name. I only had one fragile, lingering fragmented image from the “Before.” I had a friend. Her name was Rachel. And she… loved me. 3 “Who are you? And where the hell did you get high-tier rations?” Rachel was still running her hands over me, checking my pulse, my temperature. The tall man—David—stepped forward. His eyes were cold, sweeping over me with practiced, paranoid scrutiny. I accessed my limited social-response protocols. “I passed through the city. Picked it up on the way.” David’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You just picked it up? Do you have any idea what’s out there right now—” Before he could finish the sentence, Rachel stepped between us. She spread her arms, shielding me with her own body. “David, this is her. This is my best friend. The one I told you about. The most important person in the world to me.” She turned back to me, her eyes wet. “Mags, this is David. We got married five years ago.” She looked back at him, her voice desperate but firm. “She’s coming with us.” David didn’t say a word. Behind him, Kelsey, the spatial-tether girl, stepped up, crossing her arms. “Look, Rachel, no offense, but we’re an elite runner crew. We’re already dragging you around, and you’re a Baseline. No augments, no nothing. You’re dead weight.” “If we drag your stray friend along too, we might as well just give up on reaching the Portland Safe Zone.” Rachel’s face hardened. Her voice dropped an octave. “Kelsey, if you’re not taking her, then empty your pockets. Give her back her food.” “Excuse me?!” Kelsey’s face flushed an ugly, mottled red. She immediately turned to David, her tone shifting into a whining drawl. “David, are you hearing her? Why is she taking a stranger’s side over her own crew?” “Enough. Both of you.” David delivered the final verdict. “She surrendered a massive haul to the communal pool. That buys her our protection. Rachel, your friend walks with us. That’s the end of it. I don’t want to hear another word.” Rachel’s eyes curved into a brilliant, relieved smile. Beside her, Kelsey’s face went stone-cold. She shot me a venomous glare, rolling her eyes. I let my kinetic senses bleed out, sweeping over Kelsey’s body. Her internal energy signature was pathetic. Less than three cubic meters of spatial capacity. The most rudimentary, entry-level tether I had ever seen. I could snap her neck with a single thought. But I looked down at Rachel, who was still holding onto my sleeve like I might vanish. …I’d let her live. For now. 4 We walked for two days before making camp in a gutted suburban town. Just like when we were kids, Rachel couldn’t stand the silence. As we walked, she filled in the ten-year gap. After my “adoption,” she got into college, started dating David her sophomore year, and married him right after graduation. Two months ago, the contagion hit globally. David woke up with a rare Ferrokinesis augment—he could manipulate metal to tear through the infected. Kelsey, I learned, was David’s stepsister. No blood relation. “They’re incredibly close. Honestly, sometimes I was jealous of how much they had each other’s backs. Especially after you left. I was always just… alone.” Rachel let out a soft, tired sigh. “I have a son, Mags. Tommy. He just turned four. The day the outbreak hit, he was at a summer camp down in San Diego. I begged David to go get him, but it was pure chaos. He couldn’t find him. We finally got a radio signal from the camp counselors later—they evacuated early and flew the kids up to the Portland Safe Zone.” “That’s why we’re heading there. It’s a massive military quarantine zone. Once we get inside, you can meet him.” Rachel rested her chin in her hands, looking at me with that same warm, bright expression from our childhood. “He knows all about you, you know. I always told him his mom had the bravest, best friend in the world named Margo. I told him how much you loved paper cranes when we were in the foster home. He folded hundreds of them. He said he’s saving them to give to Auntie Margo.” I stared at her smile. Deep inside my skull, behind the titanium plating and the synthetic neural webbing, something shifted. Like a glacier that had been frozen in darkness for a decade, just barely beginning to weep water at its edges. “Okay.” I opened my palm. Sitting in the center were three untouched chocolate bars. Rachel’s eyes went wide. I tried to mimic her smile. “For Tommy.” 5 That night, we camped in the rusted shell of an old auto factory. Rachel sneaked over to me, clutching two stale dinner rolls against her chest. “Here. You need to eat.” After countless surgical modifications, my biological shell barely required caloric intake to function. But looking at the fierce, protective gleam in her eyes, I took the bread. Rachel bumped her shoulder against mine, taking a bite of her own roll. “Where were you, Mags? These last ten years… where did you go? How did you suddenly find me?” I sat in silence, staring at the slightly warm, squishy bread in my hands. The sterile, blinding white of the underground lab flashed behind my eyes. The hum of surgical machinery. The endless parade of white coats blurring past the reinforced glass. “Inject Subject 09 with the latest serum compound!” “Increase the neural-chip current!” “Code Red! She’s breaching! Subject 09 is breaching!” The deafening roar of shattering glass. My kinetic output had been so massive it atomized the containment tank. When the red haze of my rage finally cleared, the sector was dead quiet. The pristine white floors were painted crimson, littered with severed limbs and broken bodies. I had grabbed a discarded lab coat, stepping barefoot over the corpses, staring blankly at the metal blast doors. “Rachel… I need to find Rachel…” … “I was in a… specialized facility. I wasn’t allowed to contact the outside world.” It was the most sanitized version of the truth I could offer. “When I finally got out, I just wanted to see you. So I tracked you down.” “Oh, Mags.” Rachel threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. “I knew it. I knew you still loved me. David kept saying you probably got adopted by some rich family and forgot all about the trashy group home kids. But I never believed him. I told him he just didn’t understand us.” She was right. Who could possibly understand? For ten years, not even the world’s most brilliant neuroscientists understood. The sheer volume of neuro-stimulants they pumped into my spine should have killed a human being purely from the pain. But I survived hundreds of injections. Out of the one hundred children brought to that black site, I was the only one left breathing. Through the one-way glass, I used to hear them whisper: “Subject 09 is a gift from God.” There was no God down there. There was only a faded memory of a little girl holding my hand, saying: “Mags, we’re gonna be best friends until we’re a hundred years old.” I had to live to be a hundred. I couldn’t break my promise. 6 Sometime after midnight, Rachel fell asleep, her head resting heavy on my shoulder. I carefully shifted my weight, easing her into a more comfortable position against a duffel bag, and stood up. Across the dark factory floor, David was awake. His eyes were locked on me, heavy with suspicion. He started walking toward me. In the palm of his hand, I could sense the sharp, deadly hum of kinetic energy molding a spike of solid iron. A second later, a shrieking siren shattered the dead silence of the night. “INCOMING! WE GOT A HORDE!” The rusted iron doors of the factory, barricaded by two abandoned sedans, groaned and gave way. A tidal wave of infected bodies poured through the breach, rotting limbs scrambling over one another. The crew snapped awake, instantly deploying their augments. There were six “gifted” in the crew, but aside from David’s mid-tier ferrokinesis, the rest were pathetic, entry-level parlor tricks. Within minutes, their stamina gauges hit zero. The defensive line collapsed. Three infected broke through, their jaws snapping wildly as they lunged toward where Rachel and Kelsey were huddled. “DAVID!!” “David, help!” Over the chaotic screaming, David didn’t even hesitate. The iron spike in his hand flew across the room, impaling the zombie leaping at Kelsey, pinning it to the concrete. Only then did his head snap toward Rachel, realizing he had left his wife exposed. He turned just in time to see it. Squelch. The heavy steel rebar in my hands pierced flawlessly through the eye sockets of both infected attacking Rachel. I pulled it back in a smooth, sickening arc, and they dropped like heavy sacks of meat. Rachel was gripping the hem of my jacket, her face ghostly white. “Mags, are you hurt? Did they scratch you?!” “I’m fine.” I reached up, wiping a smear of black blood from my cheek with my thumb, my eyes scanning the perimeter. More thermal signatures were swarming the breach. “Get in the vehicles. I’ll hold the rear.” David gritted his teeth, his voice straining. “Move out! Get the engines running, now!” 7 For hours the next day, Rachel didn’t say a word. We had managed to outrun the horde at dawn, barricading ourselves inside an abandoned suburban house to catch our breath. Rachel sat on the floor, obsessively picking at the fraying thread on her sleeve. I reached out, gently covering her trembling hands with mine. I looked her dead in the eye. “I will protect you.” She looked up at me. The image from the factory was burned into both our retinas. In the split second where both his wife and his stepsister were about to be ripped apart, David had made his choice. “All our food and meds are in Kelsey’s tether. Tactically, she’s the VIP. I know that. I understand the logic, I do. But…” Rachel choked back a sob, tears finally spilling over. “Does that make me a horrible, selfish person, Mags?” I shook my head. “You’re the best person I know.” And she was. To me, Rachel was the only good thing left in the world. My biological parents dumped me at the steps of the group home when I was four because I didn’t speak. The state doctors stamped “Severe Autism” on my file. In the system, I was easy prey. The older kids used me as a punching bag. Until Rachel, three years older and half their size, charged at them with a literal cinderblock, chasing them across the yard. “Don’t you touch her! You leave her alone!” When I was nine, the home’s director called me into his office late at night. He said a special doctor was there to give me a checkup. I went. There were two strange men in the room. They told me to take off my dress. The director stood in the corner, laughing softly. “She doesn’t talk. It’s perfectly safe.” That was the exact moment the heavy oak door to the office was kicked off its hinges. Rachel came screaming into the room, wielding a rusted iron spade from the gardening shed, swinging it like a battleaxe at the director and the two men. “Get away from her! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!” Over their screams, the spade connected, splitting open scalps. The fallout was massive. The cops came. The director and the men were taken away in handcuffs. That night, shivering in the dark, Rachel held my hand, her fingers constantly smoothing down my messy hair. She whispered, “Don’t be scared, Mags. If the bad things come back… you just scream my name.” … Sitting in the dusty living room of the safe house, I clumsily tried to mimic her cadence from all those years ago. “Don’t be scared, Rachel. If the bad things come… you just call my name.” She stared at me, stunned. Her lower lip began to tremble violently. “Mags…” Before she could say another word, the light from the hallway was blocked out. I looked up. David, flanked by the rest of the crew, had us boxed into the corner. Rachel immediately stood up, stepping in front of me. “What is this?” Kelsey stepped out from behind her brother. “Rachel, I get that you want to blindly trust your childhood bestie, but are you really that dense? Have you not noticed anything wrong with this picture?” Rachel frowned, her muscles tensing. “What the hell are you talking about?” Kelsey gave David a loaded look. David remained silent, but his hand flexed. A vicious, serrated blade of solid iron materialized in his grip. Beside him, a wiry man with a rat-like face spoke up. “Think about it, Rachel. The world’s gone to shit. Finding a rusted can of beans is a miracle. And your ‘friend’ here wanders out of the wasteland, untouched, carrying a twenty-pound bag of pristine chocolate? Surviving solo for two months in the red zones? Claiming she’s just a normal Baseline girl? It’s bullshit.” Rachel gripped my hand tighter. “Make your point.” David took a slow step forward, his voice a low, dangerous gravel. “Rachel, I know what she means to you. But we can’t afford blind spots. We’ve been moving for a month. Sticking to the backroads. We barely saw a single roamer.” “Yesterday, she joins us. And twelve hours later, a massive horde magically zeroes in on our exact location.” “The military broadcasts have been warning us. The virus is mutating. There are Variants out there that look perfectly human. Alphas. Things that can mind-control the swarms.” He raised the iron blade, pointing the jagged tip directly at the space between my eyes. “I think your friend is an Alpha.”

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On my wedding day, the company was hit with a massive tax evasion scandal. To save our future—to save him—I stepped forward. I confessed to crimes I didn’t commit and took the fall for Bennett Sterling. I went to prison so he could stay free. Ten years later, I walked out of those gates a free woman, only to find that Bennett had built a life without me. He had a home, a wife, and a brood of children. When I confronted him, trembling with a decade’s worth of suppressed rage, asking him how he could betray me so completely, he didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. “I needed an heir,” he said, as if he were discussing a business merger. “I needed to carry on the family name.” The world blurred. My eyes burned with hot, stinging tears as the shouting match began. But I wasn’t just fighting him; I was fighting a wall of indifference. My in-laws tried to “soothe” me with poison. “Even if Bennett had children with someone else, you’re still the mistress of the Sterling estate. Just be graceful about it. A comfortable life is better than pride, isn’t it?” Even my own parents, the people who were supposed to be my sanctuary, turned their backs. “Nora, Bennett took care of us while you were behind bars. The Sterling line is old and prestigious; he couldn’t just let the bloodline end while waiting for you.” “Besides,” my mother added, her voice dropping to a cold, clinical whisper, “you’re a felon now. You have a record. You should be grateful Bennett isn’t divorcing you outright.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. “And how exactly do you see this working, Bennett? What is our ‘relationship’ supposed to be?” Bennett took a slow, nonchalant sip of his tea. “As long as you stay in your lane and don’t cause a scene, I won’t divorce you. But the Sterling empire? That goes to Hunter and his five siblings. They’ll take care of you when you’re old. Consider them your own.” The last flicker of hope in my chest died then. A single tear escaped, tracing a cold path down my cheek. I was done. “I don’t need them,” I said, my voice finally finding a terrifying, quiet clarity. “Bennett, I want a divorce.” I turned on my heel and left. The first call I made was to the woman I’d met in the yard—the woman who ran the cell block and, as it turned out, half the city’s underground. … 1 “Divorce?! Absolutely not!” My father was the one who erupted first. Before I could react, his hand lashed out, catching me across the face. The sting was sharp, but the shock was deeper. “How did I raise such a petty, selfish brat?” “Bennett is a man of status,” he sneered. “In another era, he’d have a dozen wives and no one would blink. He’s offering to keep you, despite your shame, and you’re throwing a tantrum over a few kids?” My brother, Tyler, jumped up from the sofa, his face flushed with greed. “Nora, what the hell is wrong with you? My house, my car, the down payment for my wedding—it all came from Bennett. So what if there are kids? It’s not a big deal!” “If it bothers you so much, just have one of your own with him. It’s not like he can’t afford another mouth to feed.” Blood is thicker than water, they say. But in the face of a direct deposit, my family was more than happy to let mine spill. Bennett, who hadn’t looked me in the eye since I’d been processed out, finally looked up. A flicker of something—maybe panic, maybe just annoyance—crossed his face. “Nora, don’t be dramatic. You’re my wife. That hasn’t changed.” A chill settled into my bones. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Do you even remember what you said to me? Right before I walked into that courtroom to lie for you?” Bennett froze. He looked at me for a long beat, his expression shifting from confusion to a defensive, ugly scowl. “Are you really going to hold that over me now?” he snapped. “I spent ten years taking care of your family, playing the dutiful son-in-law. I don’t expect a ‘thank you,’ but my parents are getting old. They wanted grandkids. I wanted to give them that. So… Hunter and the others happened. Can’t you show a little compassion? A little understanding?” He spoke of his “sacrifices” as if he were the one who had spent a decade staring at a grey concrete ceiling. He listed my faults as if I were the one who had broken a vow. I tilted my head back, forcing the tears back into their ducts. I grew up in a house where I was always second-best to my brother. Bennett had been my escape. He’d pursued me with a frantic, desperate passion, telling me I was the only thing that mattered. I’d fallen for it. I’d walked away from a high-paying career to build his dream from the dirt up. He told me he hated the “fake” corporate world, so I became the face of the company. I did the dirty work, the late-night networking, the high-stakes negotiations. I drank until my stomach bled to land contracts. I miscarried twice because I couldn’t afford to stop moving. Three years of blood and sweat, and the company finally hit the big leagues. We got married. And then, on the day we were supposed to start our lives, the IRS came knocking. His parents had knelt at my feet. “Nora, Bennett can’t go to prison. He’s the only son. A felony would destroy the family legacy. You helped build the company—just say the decisions were yours. You’re a woman; people will be more lenient. We won’t judge you. Just save him. Please.” Bennett had grabbed my hands, his eyes wet with tears as he shouted at his parents. “Don’t pressure her! She’s my everything! I’ll respect whatever she chooses!” Then he looked at me, his voice a broken whisper. “Honey, if you do this for me, I swear on my life, I will never betray you. If I ever break this vow, may I lose everything I hold dear.” I believed the performance. I took the fall. For ten years, the thought of our “happily ever after” was the only thing that kept me from breaking. And now, the promise was just a ghost, and bringing it up was treated like a crime. I had walked through fire for love, only to realize I was the only one burning. “Pay them off,” I said, my voice cold. “Get them out of our lives, or I’m filing for divorce.” The room went dead silent. My in-laws’ faces twisted with sudden, sharp malice. “Absolutely not!” my mother-in-law shrieked. “We finally have our grandsons! Why should a barren woman like you get to kick them out?” I kept my eyes on Bennett. This was ten years of obsession speaking. I wanted to give him one last chance to be the man he promised he was—and give myself one last reason to stay. He looked miserable, his brow furrowed in a tight knot of frustration. “Nora, does it have to be like this? On the day we’re finally back together, you’re really going to tear this marriage apart with your own hands?” 2 When I didn’t flinch, his tone shifted to something patronizing. “You just got out. You’re overwhelmed. You aren’t thinking straight.” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that nonsense. I’ll give you time to adjust, but Nora, my patience isn’t infinite.” A laugh bubbled up in my throat, sharp and hysterical. He was the one who cheated. He was the one asking me to pay for his sins. And yet, he was the one “granting” me a chance? I didn’t bother arguing. I turned and walked out the door. If this wasn’t a home anymore, I wasn’t going to haunt it like a ghost. As I reached the curb, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up. The window rolled down to reveal Roxy. We’d met in the yard; she was a powerhouse who’d ended up inside after “protecting her interests” a little too aggressively. She’d been released the day before me. “Hey, girl! I went to the gate to pick you up, but you’d already vanished!” Roxy hopped out, her eyes scanning my face and seeing the wreckage underneath. “I figured you’d be here at the Sterling place. Listen, I did some digging. That husband of yours? He’s not the pining widower you thought he was. While you were doing time, he was busy playing house with some gold-digger. Six kids, Nora. They’ve been busier than a farm in spring.” Roxy, who had been stabbed in the back by her own ex-husband, was vibrating with indignant fury. She pulled a thick manila folder from the backseat. “This prick? If we were back in the day, he’d be at the bottom of a lake.” I took the file. My heart hammered against my ribs. Inside were records of Bennett accompanying a woman named Melanie to prenatal checkups. Six kids in ten years. The oldest was eleven. I did the math, and the world tilted. He’d been with her before we even got married. There were insurance policies worth millions for each of them. Seven villas. Transfer records that could fund a small country. And at the back, a photo of a wedding—Bennett and Melanie, looking radiant. A family of eight, with my parents and his parents in the background, all of them smiling. I had traded my freedom for a lie. I had carried his shame so they could play house. I closed the folder. The fire in my heart went out, replaced by a cold, hard stone. “Roxy,” I said, my voice steady. “Help me get my case reopened. I’m going to clear my name.” “And after that… I’m coming with you. Let’s see what we can build in the private sector.” Roxy was a shark who’d been trying to recruit me since my third year inside. She grinned, a predatory, beautiful thing. “About damn time. Men—especially the trashy ones—are just overhead we don’t need.” The day of my brother’s wedding arrived. To no one’s surprise, Melanie and her six children were the guests of honor. She was wearing a sleek, crimson designer gown that hugged a figure that showed no signs of six pregnancies. The kids were dressed in miniature tuxedos and matching silk dresses. The boys were clones of Bennett; the girls had Melanie’s sharp, hungry eyes. Bennett was in a deep navy suit that perfectly complemented Melanie’s dress. I felt a bitter pang of irony. Bennett used to tell me he hated matching outfits—said they were tacky. It turns out he just didn’t want to match with me. My in-laws were hovering over the children, doting and frantic. They were sweating through their clothes, chasing toddlers, but they looked happier than I’d ever seen them. Melanie handed my brother an envelope. “A little something for the honeymoon. A hundred thousand to get you started.” My mother’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs as she snatched it. “So generous! It’s no wonder the Sterlings are so blessed with children!” She threw a sideways glance at me. “Unlike some people. Family, my foot. A ‘felon’s discount’ gift of eight hundred bucks? Talk about a cheapskate.” Tyler took my red envelope, pulled out the cash, and dropped the paper on the floor, grinding it into the carpet with his heel. “Pocket change. Who does she think she’s impressing?” I watched them, a profound sense of nausea rising. That money was all I had. I’d earned it cents at a time, working the laundry and the kitchen in prison, saving every scrap for years. I had less than a hundred dollars left to my name. I said nothing. The oldest boy, Hunter, walked up to me. He stared at me for a long minute before letting out a sharp, practiced sneer. “Are you the woman from jail?” “You’re ugly. And you’re trying to steal my daddy. You have no shame.” He turned to the other kids, waving them over. “Look, guys! It’s the bad lady who makes everyone say we’re ‘illegitimate’!” Melanie rushed over, putting a hand over Hunter’s mouth with a dramatic sigh. “Hunter! That’s enough! Tell the lady you’re sorry.” She scolded him, but her eyes were dancing with triumph. It was a performance designed to trigger my in-laws’ protective instincts—and it worked. They immediately began coddling the boy and glaring at me. Bennett heard the commotion and walked over. He ruffled Hunter’s hair, his face softening with a fatherly concern I’d never seen. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s Daddy’s fault for letting people whisper.” Then he looked at me, his voice firm. “But from now on, legally, Nora will be your mother. No one will ever call you that word again.” 3 The next oldest boy, Parker, burst into tears. My mother-in-law immediately scooped him up. “What’s wrong, my angel? What’s hurting you?” Parker pointed a trembling finger at me, his face red and blotchy. “My teacher said people in jail are bad! I don’t want a bad lady to be my mommy! I want my real mommy!” That set off a chain reaction. Within seconds, the room was filled with the wails of six children. It was a symphony of chaos. “Don’t cry, sweetheart! The bad lady isn’t going to be your mommy, Grandpa and Grandma promise!” Hunter, the eldest, shot me a look of pure, calculated malice before squeezing out a few crocodile tears. “Grandma, you can’t promise that. I heard people say Mom can’t be the real Mrs. Sterling because Daddy won’t let her.” My in-laws spun around to face Bennett. “Bennett! Say something! If my grandson cries himself hoarse, I’ll never forgive you!” Bennett looked at me, then at the crying children. He looked caught, performative, and finally, resolute. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice carrying over the din. “I’ll give you the result you want. A man doesn’t cry; he takes care of his family. You have to be a role model for your siblings.” The crying stopped instantly. Melanie’s eyes welled up with “emotional” tears. “Bennett… do you mean it? Is this real?” Bennett remained silent, but he wouldn’t look at me. Suddenly, Parker—who was barely nine but easily weighed a solid 150 pounds—charged at me. “Get away from my daddy! Die, you bad lady! Die!” He was a heavy kid, and he was coming at me like a freight train. Instinct took over. I stepped to the side. He overbalanced, missing me entirely, and slammed face-first into the wainscoting of the wall. His nose erupted in blood, and a second later, a scream ripped through the room that sounded like a siren. “My baby!” Melanie shrieked, rushing to him. Then she turned on me, her face a mask of fury. “Ms. Shen, I know it’s been hard for you, watching me take your place all these years. If you have a problem, take it out on me! Parker is a child! How could you be so cruel?” I was speechless at the sheer audacity. Before I could get a word out—CRACK. Bennett’s hand moved faster than I could see. My head snapped to the side, the world spinning as the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. “I thought you just needed time to adjust,” Bennett hissed, his eyes cold and murderous. “But you’re actually laying hands on a child?” He had hit me with everything he had. My cheek felt like it was on fire. “I told you,” he snarled, “these children are the future of the Sterling name. They are the masters of this house. And you? You’re a leech. You’re a convicted felon whose parents live off my charity. Who the hell do you think you are?” Three-year-old Mia toddled over, hugging Bennett’s leg. “Don’t be sad, Daddy. I’ll help you hit the bad lady.” She balled up her tiny fist and shook it at me. Bennett picked her up, kissing her cheek. “My little angel. A princess shouldn’t have to do dirty work like that.” He gestured for Melanie to take the kids, and the eight of them began to walk toward the exit. My in-laws followed like obedient dogs, pausing only to spit toward me. “Pathetic, ungrateful bitch!” Once they were gone, my parents’ faces turned black with rage. “You ruined the wedding!” my father yelled. “You should have stayed in that cell for the rest of your life!” Tyler was even worse. The “humiliation” of his ruined day had pushed him over the edge. He rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me, his fists raining down on my head and shoulders. “You bitch! Why won’t you just die?” He grabbed me by the hair and began dragging me toward the door. The strength difference was too much; the more I fought, the more he tore at me. Bennett and the others stopped to watch. The kids clapped their hands, cheering. “Look, Daddy! The bad lady is losing!” “Uncle Tyler is a superhero!” My in-laws nodded approvingly. “See, babies? That’s what happens to bad people.” My head was ringing. My body was a map of blooming bruises. Everyone was watching the show, and Bennett’s cold, detached gaze was the sharpest blade of all. As Tyler raised his hand for another blow, I curled into a ball, closing my eyes and waiting for the end. Hate, hot and thick as tar, began to flood my heart. And then, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open. A familiar, raspy voice boomed through the hall. “Who the hell gave you permission to touch her?”

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