Category: English

1 We’d been married just a month when Garrett was diagnosed with ALS. The doctor explained his muscles would slowly waste away until his breathing failed. The moment we heard, I made him quit work. I took four jobs to pay for his treatments, working until my feet swelled so badly I couldn’t fit them into shoes. But if it kept him in therapy, I thought it was worth it. Until one rainy night. A drunk man cornered me at an alley’s mouth, dragging me into the dark as he hurled crude slurs. Terrified, I screamed to Garrett, standing frozen at the curb, “Call the police!” He didn’t move. Not a muscle. When the attacker fled after some teens passed by, I collapsed at Garrett’s knees, sobbing. “Why didn’t you call for help? Why did you just watch him hurt me?” He only stared at the ground, whispering a broken apology. My heart sank into ice. A week later, on the way to his checkup, a woman in a white dress slipped on the wet pavement. Without hesitation, Garrett shoved me aside and lunged forward, catching her with startling strength. “Vanessa, are you alright?” he cried. That name—one I’d seen scrawled in the margins of hundreds of hidden love letters—hit me like a blow. In that moment, I knew: I was his ALS. I was the disease paralyzing his life. The damp wind howled through the alley, carrying the bitter scent of rain and decay. My clothes were torn, and my hair clung to my bleeding forehead. The drunkard had fled, startled by the rowdy voices of teenagers on the main street. Yet my husband, the man I had sacrificed my health to protect, had not moved an inch. He had not yelled, he had not reached for his phone, and he had not made a single attempt to save me. He had simply watched. I dragged my bruised body toward him, holding onto the cold brick wall for support. “Garrett.” My voice was completely hoarse, barely a whisper. “Why didn’t you call the police?” He kept his head lowered, his fingers twitching slightly. It was one of the few movements he claimed he could still manage. “You could have at least screamed for help! Anything!” My quiet questions quickly spiraled into hysterical screams, echoing sharply in the quiet night. “You watched him drag me into the dark! You just stood there! Did you want me to die in there?” My tears finally broke through, washing over the dirt and blood on my face. He finally looked up, his lips parting with visible effort as he forced out three quiet words. “I… am… sorry.” The apology was clear, devoid of the slurs and stutters he usually performed. The last of my strength left me, and I collapsed onto the damp pavement at his feet. An apology? To pay his twenty-thousand-dollar monthly medical bills, I spent my nights scrubbing grease off restaurant dishes, kneeling on hard office floors to wax tiles, and working double shifts as a caregiver. I slept barely three hours a day, and my feet were permanently bruised and swollen. I had only brought him out tonight because I thought he was depressed from being cooped up in our small rental. And in return, I received a hollow apology. The void in my chest grew wider, letting the freezing wind hollow me out. I could not bear to look at him. I forced myself up and began limping back toward our apartment. He followed slowly, his steady, deliberate steps a stark contrast to the frail, trembling gait I had spent months trying to preserve. Once inside, I locked myself in the bathroom. The hot water sprayed over my skin, but it could not wash away the deep, bone-chilling disgust that had settled inside me. The reflection in the mirror was unrecognizable: haggard, bruised, and completely hollowed out. Garrett knocked on the door, his taps light and patient. “Audrey… open the door…” I ignored him. After a few minutes, the knocking stopped. When I finally stepped out, the apartment was dead silent. Garrett was sitting in his wheelchair, his back to me, his shoulders trembling slightly. Was he weeping? I walked closer, only to see the bright glow of his smartphone screen. He was looking at a chat interface, the contact name saved as Vanessa. His latest message had been sent only a minute ago. “I miss you so much.” His thumbs were moving across the screen with incredible, fluid speed, typing a sentence that shattered my world. “She is getting so annoying. I do not think I can keep up this act much longer.” 2 The blue light of the screen illuminated his face, revealing a look of pure, irritated disdain rather than guilt. My blood ran cold. Sensing my presence, he spun around, frantically trying to slip the phone under his thigh. But it was too late. Our eyes met, and the fragile, pathetic mask he had worn for months completely disintegrated. “Audrey, let me explain…” His voice caught in his throat as his eyes fell on my own phone, which had just lit up with a notification. It was a final notice from the medical center. “Dear Mrs. Audrey, the payment for Mr. Garrett’s specialized neural therapy is now overdue. Please settle the outstanding balance of two hundred thousand dollars within three days, or all medical services will be permanently suspended.” Two hundred thousand dollars. What a joke. I closed my eyes, the memory of our wedding day flashing before me. Garrett had looked so handsome, standing before me as he whispered his vows. “Audrey, I am going to make you the happiest woman in the world.” Shortly after, he told me his startup had collapsed, leaving him in massive debt. He asked if I would still marry a ruined man, and I had held him tight, telling him I loved him, not his bank account. Then, only a month later, he was diagnosed with motor neuron disease. Without hesitation, I sold our cozy little apartment, rented a cheap place in the slums, and began working myself to the bone. I truly believed that as long as we did not lose hope, we could beat the illness. But reality had just delivered a devastating blow. “Explain what?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Explain that you can move perfectly fine? Or explain that you have been treating me like an idiot?” Garrett stood up from his wheelchair. He stood perfectly straight, his posture athletic and strong, with none of the trembling weakness he had feigned for a year. “I did not mean for it to go this far, Audrey,” he said, taking a step toward me. “It was just a game at first…” “A game?” I backed away, avoiding his touch. “My bones aching from exhaustion is a game? You watching me get dragged into an alley is a game? Your games are incredibly expensive, Garrett.” His expression flickered with a brief hint of guilt, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. “It was Vanessa! She made a bet with me!” he blurted out, desperately trying to shift the blame. “She said if I married you, I had to prove that my heart still belonged to her! She said I couldn’t have any normal contact with the world until she returned! I only did it for her!” “For her?” I repeated, the absurdity of the words ringing in my ears. “So I was just your servant? Your amusement?” “I did not want you to suffer! I felt terrible watching you work!” he argued loudly, as if he were the victim. “I wanted to tell you the truth so many times! But Vanessa said this was the ultimate test of our love! She promised she would come back to me soon!” “And the two hundred thousand dollars for your medical bills?” I shoved my phone screen in his face, displaying the collection notice. “If you are bankrupt, where did that money go?” His face turned instantly pale. “I… I…” He stammered, unable to find a lie. I did not need his answers anymore. I marched into the bedroom, reached under the bed frame, and pulled open a hidden compartment. Inside was a high-end laptop. I powered it on, and a private stock trading platform appeared on the screen. The balance of his portfolio was filled with more zeros than I cared to count. And his recent transaction history showed a massive wire transfer from yesterday afternoon. The memo read: For Vanessa’s Art Gallery. 3 I carried the laptop out and slammed it onto the coffee table in front of him. “Is this part of the test too? Throwing millions at your mistress while your wife is driven mad by a two-hundred-thousand-dollar debt?” “You sat in that wheelchair, watching me run myself ragged to pay for your fake treatments, listening to me break down over collections. Did it make you feel powerful, Garrett?” “Do you even have a soul?” Unable to contain my fury, I grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it at his head. He ducked with effortless coordination, his quick reflexes a painful reminder of his lies. “Audrey! That is enough!” He snapped, lunging forward and grabbing my wrist. “Money, money, money! That is all you care about! I admit I lied to you, but haven’t I provided for you? I let you live under my roof, I kept you clothed, what more do you want?” “Provided for me?” I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “I lived in this run-down apartment because you claimed we had to sell everything to pay your debts! I wore secondhand clothes, and I ate the leftovers from the restaurant kitchen! Is this your idea of providing for me?” “Vanessa is different! She has never known hardship! I owed her a life of luxury!” he bellowed. “You owed her, so I had to pay the price?” My heart felt completely cold. “We are divorcing, Garrett.” “Divorce?” He stared at me, then let out a mock chuckle. “Audrey, do not flatter yourself. Who do you think you are? Do you think you can survive in this city without me? A woman with no pedigree and no qualifications, you will never find another man of my stature.” “Is that so?” I wrenched my hand from his grip, walked over to the front door, and pulled it wide open. Standing in the hallway was a tall man in a tailored three-piece suit. It was Harrison, my new representative and the CEO of a major corporate firm. Earlier today, I had been on my knees scrubbing the lobby floors of his corporate headquarters. He offered me a polite nod before turning his cold, piercing gaze toward Garrett. “Mr. Garrett, a pleasure. I am Miss Audrey’s legal representative and her newly appointed trustee.” Harrison handed me a leather folder. “Miss Audrey, the transfer of your father’s estate shares has been executed. As of today, you are officially the majority shareholder of Omni Group. This is the financial investigation report on Mr. Garrett’s assets you requested.” I took the document and threw it directly into Garrett’s face. The sheets of paper scattered across the floor, each page a detailed record of his fraud and betrayal. Garrett’s jaw slackened, his eyes darting between the papers and my face in utter disbelief. “Omni Group? You…?” He whispered, looking as if his world had just tilted on its axis. I looked at him, speaking with absolute clarity. “I forgot to mention, my father is the founder of Omni Group. He insisted that if my future husband loved me for who I was, the family shares would be my dowry. But if he proved to be a parasite, the experience would simply be the cost of a valuable lesson.” “Congratulations, Garrett. You taught me a lesson I will never forget.” The color drained from Garrett’s face, and he stumbled backward until his back hit the wall.

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After quitting my soul-crushing job to move back to my hometown and embrace the soft life, I somehow ended up marrying my best friend’s brother. But he didn’t seem to like me at all. No big deal, I thought. I’ll just treat it like I married my best friend. So, after we tied the knot, I was constantly running over to her place. Until one day, he cornered me against the wall and refused to let go. “Wifey, are you really going to make me live like a monk forever?” “???” 1 The moment I told my best friend I was quitting my job to move back home and rot in peace, she immediately arranged for me to be picked up. I hadn’t even finished handing over my work projects before I was strapped into the leather seat of her chartered private jet. Ah, the perks of having a filthy-rich heiress as your best friend when you’re just a burned-out corporate drone. “You should have quit and come back ages ago! Do you have any idea how bored I am living out here by myself? It’s going to be so much fun having you back to play with me!” Harper Jenkins looped her arm through mine, practically bouncing in her seat. For the entire flight, she whined about how lonely her luxurious princess life had been during the two years I was grinding away in New York City. “Let go of my arm for five seconds so I can submit this resume, then you can hug me again.” I shot her a fake glare, and she pouted, loosening her grip. I said I was moving back to live the “soft life,” but really… I was just relocating my corporate slavery to a different zip code. I still had to find a job. Right as my email sent successfully, Harper leaned over. “Wait, isn’t that my brother’s company? What position are you applying for? I’ll just shoot him a text.” “…” What is it like having the daughter of the local billionaire real estate mogul as your best friend? I shed a single tear of frustration—you could have told me that before I spent three hours polishing my resume! Just like that, I seamlessly joined Nolan Jenkins’s company. Harper must have pulled some serious strings, because my administrative role had surprisingly few responsibilities. I could clock out right at 5:00 PM every day and go straight to hang out with her. She took me out to eat and drink all over town, frequently dragging me back to her family’s estate for extravagant meals cooked by their private chef. These were delicacies I couldn’t even dream of affording during my years in NYC. Going from surviving on shrimp-flavored instant ramen to eating actual lobster ravioli felt completely surreal. “Maya, the two years you were gone, I just couldn’t fit in with those snobby socialite girls. We couldn’t vibe at all. You’re the best. Only you will sit on the curb and eat late-night street tacos with me.” Saying that, she pushed a plate of non-spicy tacos toward me. “No hot sauce for you.” “Thank you, Your Highness.” “Oh, stop it. Hey, if you see my brother around the office lately, steer clear of him. We got into a huge fight.” “Huh?” To be honest, I had been working there for nearly a month and hadn’t even caught a glimpse of Harper’s brother. “I just agreed with my mom for two seconds that he needs to hurry up and bring a girlfriend home, and he lost his mind. He even froze a bunch of my black cards! With a rotten temper like his, it’s a miracle if any girl ever likes him.” “And honestly, with that attitude, if the future sister-in-law he finds has the same terrible temper, I’m going to be so annoyed,” Harper complained. “I haven’t even met your brother yet. He probably doesn’t know who I am, right?” I sucked in a sharp breath. If he was mad at Harper and took his anger out on me at work, what would I do? I despised toxic workplace culture and getting yelled at by bosses. But I had no choice; I needed to make a living. If I hadn’t been completely crushed by the extreme commutes and endless overtime in NYC, I wouldn’t have fled back home. “You’ll meet him eventually. Just avoid him for now. He’s way more intense at work than he is in normal life.” I nodded sensibly, vowing to never cross his path. But the universe has a sick sense of humor. The very next morning, I was caught red-handed swiping my badge at the exact minute my shift started. It was all Harper’s fault. She insisted on dragging me out for drinks last night. After a few rounds of tequila, I passed out. When I woke up this morning, I threw on whatever clothes were on the floor and sprinted to the office. I shoved my haggard face toward the biometric scanner and successfully clocked in with two seconds to spare. I let out a massive sigh of relief. My perfect attendance bonus was safe. “Clocking in at the last possible second, showing up to work looking completely unkempt. Which department are you in?” A cold, deep male voice echoed from behind me. It definitely wasn’t my manager’s voice. I stiffly turned my head and was met with the devastatingly handsome—but incredibly sour—face of a stranger. “Admin…” “An admin showing up looking this sloppy? Have you ever read the employee handbook?” “I apologize, I’ll go freshen up right now.” “Name.” I gasped silently, suddenly recalling Harper’s warning from last night. Don’t tell me this is her psycho brother. “Maya.” “New?” “Started a month ago.” “Got it.” What exactly did he get? I stood there in total confusion, watching him stride toward the private executive elevators. Crap. That was definitely Harper’s psycho brother. Crap. He definitely knows I’m Harper’s nepotism hire best friend. I wanted to cry as I face-palmed my own throbbing, hungover head. 2 Thanks to experiencing Nolan’s legendary scowl firsthand, I was completely distracted all day, just staring at the clock waiting to go home. The second it hit 5:00 PM, I bolted out of the building, terrified of running into him again. As soon as I stepped into the lobby, I saw Harper waiting for me. “Maya, babe! My chef said he’s making Italian tonight, your favorite! Let’s go, let’s go! We’re eating at my place. His truffle risotto is to die for!” She hooked her arm through mine, but I hesitated. “Going to your place… what if we run into your brother?” “What’s wrong? Did he yell at you?” Harper dropped her bubbly persona and instantly looked ready for a fight. “No, no, nothing like that…” “Relax. Ever since he got mad about us telling him to find a wife, he hasn’t stepped foot in the house. He’s staying at his own penthouse.” “Oh, okay. Phew.” Hearing that I wouldn’t have to face Nolan, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s go! The chef asked if there’s anything else you’re craving. He can whip up pretty much anything.” “I want some clam chowder. All that spicy food yesterday gave me a stomachache…” “Done and done!” … Right as I was stuffing my face in the Jenkins family’s lavish dining room, Nolan walked in. The spoon froze halfway to my mouth. We locked eyes in a naked, awkward stare-down. He casually swept his gaze over the dining table, where Harper and I were having the time of our lives, keeping his face entirely blank before heading upstairs. Harper’s parents were vacationing in Europe, and Nolan lived in the city. The massive estate was supposed to be completely empty except for Harper. Neither of us expected him to show up. Harper and I exchanged a panicked glance, immediately lowered our heads, and continued eating in complete silence, putting an abrupt pause on the highly inappropriate gossip we had just been discussing. I swear I had no idea he was coming back, Harper texted me under the table. Is it too late to run? I texted back. It’s fine. The unwelcomed one is the third wheel. He’s the extra. We continued texting back and forth, silently chatting. Right when our text thread was getting spicy, Nolan came back downstairs. “Playing on your phones while eating? Have you forgotten your manners?” It was that familiar, icy tone. I didn’t dare look up. “Thirty-two years old and still no girlfriend. Have you forgotten your manners?” Harper shot back. “Pfft!” I swear my laughter threshold is very high, but I genuinely couldn’t hold it in. Nolan’s face darkened even further. He dropped a stack of files onto the table, his long, elegant fingers tapping sharply against the polished wood. Tap. Tap. Tap. He glared at Harper, then shifted his icy gaze to me. “Maya, is it? Have this stack of documents brought to my office before 10:00 AM tomorrow.” “…” I shot Harper a desperate look for help, but she kept her mouth shut. My phone buzzed twice. Sorry Maya babe, I can’t run my mouth anymore. If I piss him off again, we’ll only be able to afford the discount cabana boys for our next pool party. Fly high, Maya. Take this bullet for me! “…” 3 The next morning, I nervously carried the files to Nolan’s office. He wasn’t there, but a stunningly gorgeous woman was sitting on his leather sofa, scrolling through her phone. If my guess was right, this had to be Nolan’s girlfriend. Any woman who could casually lounge in the Grumpy Boss’s private office was definitely not ordinary. I offered the beauty a polite smile, neatly stacked the files on Nolan’s desk, and turned on my heel to make a quick escape. But she called out to me. “Excuse me, do you know where Nolan went?” I shook my head blankly. Not only did I not know, but I was actively praying he wouldn’t show up while I was still in the room. Since she called him by his first name, she was definitely someone important. Acting on the absolute rule of never offending the boss’s inner circle, I smiled politely. “I’m just here to drop off some files. I don’t know where he is. Maybe you could wait a little longer?” “Fine.” I nodded, silently rejoicing that the boss’s lady didn’t give me a hard time, and elegantly power-walked toward the door. But naturally, whatever you fear most will definitely happen. I walked right out the door and collided straight into Nolan’s solid chest as he rounded the corner. I patted my own chest to soothe my startled nerves, staring up at him, completely speechless. He looked down at me with a dark expression, not saying a word. The silence was suffocating. I had no choice but to speak first. “Boss, the files are on your desk. Your girlfriend is waiting inside for you. If there’s nothing else, I’ll head back down.” Nolan’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Girlfriend?” “Huh?” “Follow me.” “Huh?” I awkwardly trailed behind Nolan. He took one step into his office and abruptly stopped. I crashed face-first into his back. My nose legitimately throbbed. “Why did you st—” “How many times do I have to tell you? Stop coming to find me, and stop letting yourself into my office.” Nolan’s cold voice cut off my complaint. The gorgeous woman stood up from the sofa. “Nolan, I regret it. Let’s start over.” “You really think I’m your toy? Pick me up when you’re bored, throw me away when you’re done?” “But you’ve been single all this time… weren’t you waiting for me? Nolan, I know you still love me. And now I’m back.” The woman was getting emotional. She stepped forward to hug him, but Nolan effortlessly dodged her. When he stepped aside, my presence behind him was fully exposed. Realizing how humiliating it was to have an audience, she glared at me with deep annoyance. “Why are you still here?” “…” Do you think I want to be here?! “Vanessa, we broke up a long time ago. Keep harassing me, and I’ll file a restraining order.” “Nolan, please, just hold me.” Listening to her whiny, desperate tone made me feel slightly nauseous. I was just about to use the distraction to slip away when Nolan reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Plus, I already have a girlfriend.” Nolan pulled me firmly to his side, wrapped a heavy arm around my shoulders, and pulled me tight against his chest. Me: “?” “Her?!” Vanessa’s voice spiked an octave, dripping with disbelief. “Her.” Nolan squeezed my shoulder tighter. I was so stiff I felt like a wooden board. “You’d better leave on your own, or I’m calling security to drag you out.” Judging by his tone, Nolan was genuinely furious. I didn’t dare breathe. I just came up here to deliver some paperwork, and I was getting front-row seats to premium billionaire drama. At least I had material to gossip with Harper about over dinner tonight. I was mentally organizing how I’d tell the story to distract myself from the overwhelming, dominant aura Nolan was radiating right beside me. Seeing that Nolan was completely unyielding, Vanessa realized she was humiliating herself. She shot me one last venomous glare and finally stormed out. 4 For a long moment, it was just me and Nolan left in the office. The atmosphere instantly froze. I quietly reminded him, “She’s gone. Can you let go now?” He was holding me way too tight. It was the closest I had ever been to a man’s chest, and I was genuinely terrified. Look, Harper and I talked a big game. We’d hire cute bartenders to pour us drinks and hype us up at parties, but we never actually crossed any lines. Despite our open-minded humor and wild talk, my actual experience with physical intimacy was practically zero. “Ahem… Maya…” Nolan paused, and another deafening wave of silence washed over the room. “Take tomorrow off. Let’s go get our marriage license.” “?” “Are you insane?” “Every single black card of Harper’s that I froze will be transferred to you. We’ll sign a contract. You pretend to be my wife.” Wait. This transaction… doesn’t sound like a bad deal? The credit limit on just one of those cards was more than I could earn working like a dog for the rest of my life. “On the condition that we don’t interfere in each other’s personal lives. But to ensure my parents don’t see through the lie, you have to move in with me. I won’t control what you do.” Nolan laid out the terms slowly, like he was negotiating a corporate merger. I absorbed the information like a sponge. Finally, I just said, “Let me think about it.” “Don’t discuss this with Harper. She won’t agree to it.” “…” He knows me too well. “Give me your answer by tomorrow.” … That afternoon, I made up an excuse to take half the day off. I needed to go home and think this through. As absurd as it was, I desperately needed the money. The terms Nolan offered were practically a Maya-trapping device. Unlike Harper, I grew up poor and miserable. My mom died in childbirth. My dad loved her so much he couldn’t live without her; he jumped off the hospital roof. He didn’t die, but he was left completely paralyzed. A perfectly happy family was destroyed the moment I was born. I didn’t have a real home growing up. I bounced from relative to relative, living out of suitcases, constantly reading the room and catering to everyone else’s moods just to survive. I met Harper when I was working as a barista to pay my way through college. We bonded over being from the same hometown, but we were from completely different worlds. Knowing her made me realize that girls were actually allowed to be innocent, carefree, and blissfully happy. We truly became best friends during our junior year when a manipulative jerk scammed her out of $5,000. To get her money back, I chased the guy down five city blocks, tackled him, beat the crap out of him, and took the cash back. Five thousand dollars was more than my tuition and living expenses for all four years combined. He had easily swindled it with sweet talk. There was no way in hell I was letting him get away with it. From that day on, the way Harper looked at me changed. She stuck to me like glue, dragging me out to eat, drink, and party. I was willing to indulge her because she was also willing to sit in silence with me at the library for ten hours straight without a single complaint. Harper is a ride-or-die friend. Maya Certified. After graduation, I wanted to try my luck in New York. The big city always has more opportunities. Harper moved back home. She begged me to come with her, but I refused. I wanted to make more money to pay for my dad’s medical care, even though the odds of him recovering were nonexistent. I struggled in NYC for two years, sending almost every penny I made back home to keep my paralyzed father on life support. The turning point came a few months ago when the hospital finally declared him dead. I didn’t feel overwhelmed with grief; I just felt an immense, crushing weight lift off my shoulders. I was finally free of the burden of keeping him alive. All I had left was a mountain of medical debt. My debt to my parents was paid in full. I just wanted to live the soft life now. I’d pay off the debt slowly. I told Harper I was coming home to rot. Being poor was fine, as long as I was happy. I had suffered for twenty-six years. For my twenty-seventh year, I was going to live for Maya. So, when I say Nolan’s offer was tempting, I mean it was life-changing. The money he was offering would wipe out my medical debt instantly, allowing me to truly stop hustling for survival. Marriage didn’t mean anything to me anyway; I had never expected romance to magically fall into my lap. And now, I could literally get paid to be married. Why the hell not? So, in the end, I hid it from Harper, and I married her billionaire brother.

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In the dead of night, a severe allergic reaction struck. My throat began to swell, cutting off my air. Panicking, I dialed my husband, Nathan, who was a doctor on duty at the hospital. “Hello?” he answered. He rarely picked up during a night shift, yet this time he answered almost instantly. A wave of relief and warmth washed over me. “Nathan, I’m having an allergic reaction. Can you…” Before I could finish, the playful voice of his female intern, Sienna, drifted through the line. “Haha, fooled you! The call hasn’t actually gone through yet. Dr. Nathan is busy right now, so please try again later!” The line rang a dozen more times before the call actually connected. “I’m on shift. We’ll talk when I get home. Bye.” My throat had swollen shut, leaving me unable to make a sound. Not that he gave me a chance to try. The cold, mechanical dial tone buzzed in my ear, throbbing against my temples. When I tried calling back, his phone was already turned off. The antihistamines I had swallowed did nothing. Instead, my chest tightened, and my breath grew shallow. Fighting to keep my eyes open, I forced myself to dial 911. But I couldn’t even rasp out my address. Under the operator’s urgent, frantic questions, the phone slipped from my limp fingers. In the final second before darkness took me, a single thought crystallized: If I survive this, Nathan and I are done. For good. 1 When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I saw was the anxious face of my best friend, Gwen. “Vivi, thank God you’re awake! I nearly died of fright when the hospital called me!” She squeezed my hand, her eyes red. “Do you have any idea how bad it was? You went into anaphylactic shock. They had to resuscitate you for six hours! You’ve been asleep for two days and a night!” I tried to comfort her, but the moment I moved my lips, a wave of numbness spread across my face. I looked around the room. It was a four-bed ward, occupied only by myself and an older woman in the corner. There was no sign of Nathan. “Don’t bother looking. He hasn’t set foot in here,” Gwen said, her voice dripping with irritation. Forcing myself upright, I fumbled around for my phone. There was only a single text from him. It wasn’t asking where I was, or why I hadn’t come home. It was just a cold, brief update: Out of town for a week. No discussion. Just an announcement. After a moment’s hesitation, I typed back: I had an allergic reaction. Take your meds. What if I’m in the hospital? Don’t be dramatic. There’s medicine at home. The reply was entirely expected, yet it still made my eyes sting. I swallowed the lump in my throat, letting go of the very last shred of hope I held for him. After three days, my condition improved slightly, and I practically forced Gwen to go back to work. At noon, as I went down to pick up my takeout, I walked past the nurses’ station and caught them gossiping. “Did you see that gorgeous couple in private room 502? They look like movie stars.” “And they’re so sweet together. It was just a mild allergy, but her boyfriend pulled strings to get our deputy director to run her allergen panels personally.” A cold, bitter feeling crept into my chest. Once upon a time, Nathan had been just as terrified for me. The first time I had a severe reaction, he had stayed by my bedside for twenty-four hours straight. As long as I couldn’t eat or drink, he refused to touch a single thing. He had never been one to show emotion, but that night, he wept as he held me close. “Vivi, you’re the only family I have left. Please don’t leave me.” Today, all I got was a text telling me to take my medicine. How passionate a man is when he loves you, and how utterly freezing he becomes when he doesn’t. Clutching my takeout bag, I turned around. But a casual glance through a half-open door froze me in my tracks. Inside private room 502, Nathan was leaning over a bed, tending to a young woman. Sienna. He was pouring her water, gently peeling a piece of fruit for her. Just a few nights ago, my throat had been terribly dry, and I had asked him for a glass of water. He had scoffed, “Is a sore throat keeping you from using your legs or your hands? I’ve had a brutal shift, Vivi. Can you give me a break?” I had felt so small, so pathetic. I wanted to explain that I was too dizzy to stand, but before I could get a word out, he had rolled over, taking most of the blanket with him. From that night on, I never asked him for anything again. Sienna pouted playfully, though her lips curved into a smug smile. “Dr. Nathan, it was just a little itch. You’re being way too dramatic.” Nathan maintained his usual stoic face, but his voice was remarkably gentle. “Allergic reactions can be lethal. Just lie still. Once the lab results are clear, I’ll take you out.” A dry laugh caught in my throat. So he did know allergies could kill. It was just that my life didn’t carry the same weight as someone else’s. I pulled out my phone and quickly typed a message: Where are you? Half a minute later, the reply came: Working overtime. The chime of my phone seemed to catch his attention. Nathan looked up, his gaze sweeping over the hallway and landing directly on me. He held my eyes for less than a half-second before casually looking away, as if I were a complete stranger. Walking back to my ward, I pulled up my emergency contacts. Under Primary, it read: Nathan. Under Secondary: Gwen. Without a moment’s hesitation, I hit delete on his name. If he couldn’t be reached when my throat was swelling shut, there was no point in letting him hold that spot any longer. On the day I was discharged, I ran into Nathan right at the entrance of our apartment building. Sienna was trailing close behind him. The moment he spotted me, he instinctively stepped forward, shielding her slightly behind his shoulder. A protective reflex. “Sienna and I just got back from our business trip,” he explained quickly. “She got car sick, so I brought her over to rest for a bit. I didn’t think you’d be home during the day. If it bothers you, I can take her home right now.” His mouth kept moving, but I felt entirely detached. Aside from our arguments, Nathan was normally a man of few words around me. Now, whether out of guilt or something else, he was rambling in full, defensive sentences. He had said more to me in thirty seconds than he usually did in an entire day. Sienna kept her head low, her voice trembling like a kicked puppy. “Maybe I should go, Dr. Nathan. I don’t think your wife likes—” “I don’t mind,” I interrupted. A flicker of surprise crossed both their faces. After all, I had always been perfectly warm and welcoming to the other interns in his department. Sienna was the sole exception. It wasn’t an irrational hatred, either. I kept finding things she had “accidentally” left behind in Nathan’s car—a lipstick, a small pocket mirror, cute stickers. Every time I brought them up to him, Nathan would just scowl and mutter, “Impassive child’s play.” I had agreed back then. Only a child who wanted attention would try to mark her territory. What I hadn’t noticed at the time was the faint, amused curl at the corner of Nathan’s lips whenever he dismissed her. Until two months ago, that was. Sienna had texted me a picture of herself and Nathan lying on the same cot. That was the day I finally snapped. I threw the phone at him, screaming and demanding answers like a woman possessed. He had calmly explained that it was just a cot in the lab. They had both been fully clothed; what could they possibly have done? Besides, there were other researchers in the lab. Surely I didn’t think they’d sleep together with a third party in the room? Sienna had called me right on cue, sounding utterly apologetic. “I’m so sorry! It was just a joke. There were actually four of us in the room that night.” Nathan had chimed in, “If it bothers you that much, I’ll keep my distance from her.” Looking back, I realized how incredibly foolish I had been to buy into their absurd excuses. Once inside the apartment, Sienna headed straight for the master bedroom. Nathan grabbed her arm, casting a cautious look in my direction. I offered a thin smile. “It’s fine. Go ahead and rest.” I wouldn’t be using that bed anyway. A flicker of uncertainty crossed Nathan’s eyes. He seemed to search my face, desperate to find some sign of anger or jealousy. But my expression was a smooth, empty slate. Letting go of her arm, he muttered, “I’ll make lunch.” I nodded and sat down on the sofa. Moments later, Sienna’s voice drifted out. “Dr. Nathan, do you still have those tampons I left in your bag last time?” She popped her head out and stuck her tongue out sheepishly at me. “Sorry, I hate carrying a purse, so I just slip them into Nathan’s bag. I’m sensitive to most brands, and that’s the only one that doesn’t give me a rash.” Her eyes, however, sparkled with triumph. Nathan reached into the leather messenger bag I had bought him, retrieved a tampon, and handed it to her. Then he turned to look at me, his mouth opening as if to offer an explanation. I closed my eyes and leaned back, pretending to doze off. I felt his gaze lingering on my face for a long time before he finally walked into the kitchen. Nathan made a spread of four dishes—spicy pork with peppers, a cold spinach salad, stir-fried beef with celery, and a wild mushroom soup. Every single dish was heavily garnished with chopped scallions. Sienna emerged from the bedroom wearing one of my silk robes, letting out a delighted squeal. “Oh, wow! All my favorites! I’m going to eat so much!” I sat there, my silverware untouched. Nathan frowned, a hint of his usual impatience creeping into his tone. “If you don’t eat now, don’t ask me to cook for you when you get hungry tonight.” My voice was flat, devoid of any anger as I stated a simple fact. “I’m allergic to green onions.” Nathan’s hand froze, his fork hovering in mid-air. For once, his cold mask cracked. “Right. I forgot,” he muttered, sounding genuinely flustered. “I’ll whip up something else for you.” “Don’t worry about it.” I grabbed my purse from the counter. “You two enjoy. I’m going to stay at Gwen’s for a few days.” Before walking out, I looked at Sienna. “Make yourself at home.” Just as I was about to close the door behind me, Nathan’s hand shot out to block it. “Do you really have to be so petty with a kid?” he hissed under his breath. “I’m sending her home right after we eat.” I didn’t answer. Instead, my eyes fell on his left hand. “You’re wearing a ring,” I noted quietly. In our four years of marriage, he had never worn his wedding band. He had always claimed it was unsafe and impractical for a surgeon. Nathan quickly pulled his hand back, tucking his fingers out of sight. “Sienna insisted. She bought them as a joke.” He swallowed hard. “It’s not a couple’s ring, it’s just…” “Just asking,” I interrupted. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” He bit his lip, studying my face before his tone softened. “Go rest at Gwen’s then. I’ll pick you up tomorrow after my shift.” I didn’t reply. I just turned and walked down the stairs. It didn’t matter anymore. After today, who slept in our bed, whose tampons he carried, or whose matching ring he wore would no longer be my concern. On the cab ride over, we passed the jewelry boutique where we had bought our rings years ago. I asked the driver to pull over. Tracing the gold band on my finger, a memory from seven years ago surfaced. A stubborn boy had insisted he hated rings, and an angry girl had stormed off. A few weeks later, that same boy had knelt before her with the exact diamond ring she had coveted. “Will you be my only family?” he had whispered, his eyes shining. “In sickness and in health, until death do us part.” My vision cleared, blinking away the phantom memory. I pushed the glass doors open and walked up to the counter. “Do you buy back estate jewelry?” I asked. The next day, Gwen accompanied me back to the hospital for my follow-up appointment. My regular physician was away on a seminar, so I was squeezed into another specialist’s schedule. When I walked into the exam room, the older doctor looked at me in surprise. “Vivian?” I blinked, and then recognition clicked. “Dr. Harrison!” A rare smile broke across his otherwise stern face. “I remember you from your wedding with Nathan.” Dr. Harrison was Nathan’s mentor and one of the country’s leading immunologists. Nathan had promised years ago to bring me to his office for a thorough evaluation. But he had put it off, year after year, until the promise had faded into nothingness. After a series of tests, Dr. Harrison reviewed my charts. “Your physical allergens haven’t changed, Vivian. Which means this sudden flare-up is likely stress-induced. Have you been suffering from insomnia, severe anxiety, or depression lately?” I froze. A sudden, bitter wave of realization crashed over me. No wonder my health had been deteriorating over the past six months. It turned out my body was physically rejecting the misery of my marriage, even when my mind tried to play it down. On the ride back, Gwen spent the entire time cursing Nathan’s name. But I felt remarkably numb. Perhaps it was true what they said—when your physical health is failing, you lose the luxury of caring about heartbreak. My phone buzzed in my lap. Nathan: You went to see Dr. Harrison? Vivian: Yes. Nathan: Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gone with you. Vivian: It wasn’t planned. Just a coincidence. Nathan: He said there is still one test result pending. I’ll pick you up tonight, and we can go together tomorrow. My thumb brushed over the smooth envelope containing the divorce papers in my bag. Vivian: Okay. When I arrived at the apartment that evening, the place was spotless. He had clearly spent hours scrubbing it. He blocked my path just as I was heading toward the guest room. “Are you still mad at me?” I shook my head. “Then why aren’t you sleeping in our room?” I looked at him, then let out a single, honest word. “It’s dirty.” I meant it literally, but Nathan flinched as if I had slapped him. “She’s just a kid, Vivian,” he snapped, his jaw tightening. “Be reasonable. Know when to stop.” Know when to stop. It had been years since I last heard him use that phrase. Hearing it now dragged up memories I thought I had buried long ago. I had fallen for him at first sight during our university’s freshman orientation. He had been an ice king, cold and unapproachable. After several of my attempts to talk to him were met with silence, I began asking around. I learned he was an orphan, surviving solely on academic grants, part-time jobs, and the kindness of his professors. I convinced myself his cold exterior was just a shield. I believed that if I showered him with enough warmth, I could melt the ice. I used to pick the best pieces of meat from my plate and drop them onto his. During his track meets, I would scream his name so loudly my voice drowned out the entire crowd. Over the holidays, when everyone else went home and he had nowhere to go, I stayed behind to keep him company. Whenever my persistence wore him down, he would sigh and mutter those exact words: Know when to stop. But I had ignored them. “Come to my place for Thanksgiving! My mom’s cooking is incredible!” “Don’t be sad. From now on, I’m your family!” Then, during our sophomore year, a ceiling fan in our classroom came loose and plummeted toward my head. Amid the screams of our classmates, Nathan had thrown his body over mine. The heavy, muffled groan he let out as the metal blades struck his back was a sound I remembered for years. In the quiet years that followed, that memory had saved our relationship a thousand times over. But as I looked at his hardened jawline now, I couldn’t find a single trace of the boy who had once risked his life to shield me. I gently pulled my arm out of his grasp and walked past him into the master bedroom. I ripped back the duvet. Nothing. I slid open the nightstand drawer. Nothing. Finally, I knelt down and reached under the bed. My fingers brushed against silk. I pulled out a black lace bralette. It wasn’t mine. Nathan’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. I let out a soft, mocking laugh and tossed the lace directly into his face. “You’re the one who needs to know when to stop, Nathan.” Without waiting for a reply, I walked back to the guest room and locked the door. The next morning, Nathan took a late shift so he could drive me to the hospital. But the moment we arrived at the clinic, I saw Sienna sitting in the waiting area.

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1 I owned a watch that could rewind time by exactly five minutes. On my twenty-eighth birthday, my husband was reportedly killed in a car crash on his way to buy my birthday cake. Desperate to save him, I pulled that forgotten watch from the depths of my closet. But five minutes was such a terribly short window. To save him, I had to rewind time over and over, crashing and bleeding in the process. Finally, on my thirtieth attempt, I pushed my car to one hundred and twenty miles per hour, timed the brakes with absolute precision, and managed to intercept his vehicle before the collision occurred. But when the driver-side window rolled down, Dominic merely looked me up and down with a sneer. “You really are pathetic, Sienna. You actually ruined your own face just to save me.” “Well, look at you now. Let us see how you plan to compete against Melody for the pageant crown.” I stood frozen in the cold air, suddenly remembering the terrible cost of the watch. Every single activation fast-forwarded my biological clock by one year. I had used it fifty times in total over my life. Fifty years had been stripped away in a matter of hours. At twenty-eight, I had suddenly become a seventy-eight-year-old woman. “You… you did this on purpose?” “Of course,” Dominic said, leaning back in his seat. “Melody wanted to win the crown, but you have held the title for ten consecutive years. This was the only way to get you out of the competition.” He offered a cold, smug smile. “It is a good thing you told me about that watch five years ago. Otherwise, we could never have pulled off such a seamless plan.” I had shared the secret of the watch with him during our third year of marriage. To help him secure a critical business merger, I had used the watch three times, a strain that had cost us our first unborn child. When he found out, he had wept, holding me close and begging me never to touch the watch again. He swore he would work day and night to build a life for us so I would never have to sacrifice myself. True to his word, he spent the next few years climbing the corporate ladder, and the watch was buried deep in our closet. Yet now, he had used my own life as a pawn to elevate another woman. “Weren’t you afraid I wouldn’t be able to save you?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Even with the watch, my physical limits are human. What if I had failed?” He gave a soft, amused chuckle. “I was never in any danger, Sienna.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an empty, theatrical blood pack. The hospital notification and the crash had all been carefully staged. It was nothing but a grand performance designed to drain my youth. “Do not look so miserable,” Dominic said, reaching out to pat my withered cheek. “Even if you look like this, you are still my wife. That will not change for the next few decades.” Decades? He assumed only my appearance had changed. He did not understand that my internal organs had also aged to seventy-eight. I did not have decades left. My body would soon succumb to the natural decay of old age. Before I could speak, Dominic opened the car door and walked past me, his eyes lighting up. “Melody.” I turned slowly, my stiff joints aching. Melody threw herself into Dominic’s arms, sobbing as she playfully hit his chest. “Dominic! You scared me to death! I thought something had actually happened to you!” Dominic wiped her tears away with a look of pure devotion. “It is alright, sweetheart. Look what I bought for you.” He opened the trunk, and a bundle of colorful balloons floated into the air, revealing a beautiful cake. “It is your favorite mango flavor. I drove all the way to the bakery on the east side to get it.” Melody blushed, leaning against his shoulder. “You are so bad. Who said I was your wife?” The cake had never been meant for me. The words I love you, my beautiful wife written in frosting had been meant for her all along. I clutched my hands tightly, forcing my tears back. Melody finally noticed me, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Is that… Sienna? Why do you look so hideous?” She turned to Dominic, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Dominic, I only joked about wanting her to lose her beauty, but you actually turned her into this. She looks so old, it is almost sickening.” Dominic pulled Melody into his chest, covering her eyes with his hand as he glared at me. “You are offending Melody. Apologize to her.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped my throat. “I will not.” “Sienna, I am ordering you to apologize. If you refuse, I will not help you settle your traffic violations.” “Driving at one hundred and twenty miles per hour on public roads will get your license revoked, and you will likely face jail time. Good luck rebuilding your life with a criminal record.” During my thirty attempts to save him, I had driven like a maniac, nearly dying in several of the timelines. Now, the very act of saving his life was being used as blackmail. “I said no!” Dominic pulled out his phone, preparing to call the precinct. I did not move, looking at him with quiet disdain. “Go ahead and make the call. But if I am locked up, Melody can forget about winning the pageant.” Having won the crown for ten consecutive years, I held significant influence within the committee. Dominic, despite his wealth, had no real connections in that circle. Otherwise, he would not have resorted to such extreme measures. Dominic paused, his finger hovering over the screen, before slowly slipping the phone back into his pocket. That single hesitation caused my tears to spill over. For Melody’s sake, he could not bear even a fraction of a risk. Only true devotion makes a man cautious. Melody burst into a giggle behind his back. “Are you serious, Sienna? Have you looked in a mirror lately? Who would believe that a wrinkled old woman was once the beauty of the city? If you show up at the venue, people will think you are the cleaning lady.” Looking at my dry, wrinkled hands, I raised my arm to slap her. Even if my youth was gone, I was still Sienna. But Dominic caught my wrist effortlessly. He squeezed my hand, shoving me back onto the asphalt. “Do you still think you are the queen of Bay Harbor? Look at yourself. You are not even fit to carry Melody’s shoes.” Melody offered me a smug, victorious smile from behind his shoulder. My palm scraped against a sharp stone on the ground, and the sharp sting made me sob openly. Dominic’s cold expression softened for a fraction of a second, but the emotion vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He reached over to the passenger door, peeled off the custom decal that read Sienna’s Seat, and ushered Melody inside. Three years ago, an assistant had tried to sit in that seat. Dominic had coldly ordered her out of the car, fired her on the spot, and spent ten minutes sterilizing the leather before allowing me to sit. Now, he looked down at me with sneering indifference. “You actually know how to cry, Sienna? I thought someone as arrogant as you was incapable of feeling pain.” How could I not feel pain? Years ago, when he was hospitalized with severe gastric bleeding from constant corporate drinking, I had wept by his bedside. He had taken my hand, offering a pale smile. “Sienna, I will protect you for the rest of our lives. I will never let you shed another tear.” Now, my tears only irritated him. Dominic hauled me up by my collar and shoved me into the dark trunk of his car. After what felt like an eternity in the cramped space, the car finally came to a halt. When the trunk opened, I realized we were at the backstage entrance of the pageant finals. Dominic dragged me out into the light, immediately attracting a crowd of reporters and photographers. “This is Sienna,” Dominic announced loudly. The cameras flashed rapidly, capturing my wrinkled face. “My goodness! What happened to the reigning queen? She looks older than my grandmother! Melody is definitely going to win tonight!” “This is a massive scoop! Keep filming!” “Miss Sienna, as a ten-year champion, what right do you have to step onto the stage looking like this?” I covered my face, trying to shrink away from the blinding lights. Instinctively, I looked for Dominic, the man who had always shielded me from the media in the past. But he had already stepped in front of Melody, protecting her from the crowd just as he used to protect me. “Look, her husband does not even care about her anymore! Get closer, we need the front-page shot!” Someone tripped me in the chaos, and I crashed heavily onto the floor. The reporters immediately crowded over me, pointing their lenses at my face. “She looks terrible up close!” “Look at those wrinkles, how disgusting!” Their cruel whispers washed over me like a tide. Then, Dominic’s cold voice cut through the noise. “Sienna will be competing tonight as scheduled.” The room fell silent. I knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted me to stand beside Melody as a hideous foil to guarantee her victory. When we reached the dressing rooms, I saw that my private vanity had already been relabeled with Melody’s name. She was already seated inside, having her makeup done. Ignoring my injuries, I limped over to her. “This is my dressing room. Get out.” “Are you joking?” Melody laughed, not even turning around. “Do you honestly think you still need makeup? How many pounds of powder would it take to fill the cracks on your face?” The staff in the room snickered, whispering behind their hands. I reached out to grab her arm to pull her from the chair, but I was no longer the strong, youthful woman I once was. Melody pushed me away with ease, sending me sprawling onto the floor. “You are nothing now, Sienna. Everything you have belongs to me.” Melody stepped forward, the heel of her shoe grinding heavily into my right hand. A sharp, agonizing scream escaped my throat. Hearing the noise, Dominic rushed into the room. Before he could speak, Melody quickly slapped her own cheek, her eyes filling with tears. “Dominic, Sienna said I stole her room and tried to hurt me. Is this her room? I will leave if it makes her happy.” Her fragile act immediately stopped Dominic from coming to my aid. His brief look of concern turned into cold anger. He dragged me up from the floor, forcing my face toward the mirror. “Look at yourself, Sienna!” He held my head in place, forcing me to stare at the wrinkled, white-haired old woman in the glass. “Accept reality. You are ancient now. Your body is practically ready for the grave.” “You cannot compete with Melody.” My reflection swam in my tears. “But, Dominic… you gave me this dressing room as an anniversary gift,” I whispered, my voice breaking. A fleeting look of guilt crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resolve. “Melody likes it.” “Besides, you will have no use for a dressing room after tonight. I will buy you something else.” “Melody, come here. Give her the slap she deserves.” He kept his grip on my head. “I did not touch her!” I cried out. “Do you expect me to believe that? You have always been too proud to let anyone take what is yours.” With a smug grin, Melody stepped forward and delivered a hard slap to my face. My cheek instantly burned and swelled. Dominic let go of me, retrieving an ice pack to soothe Melody’s face. I was forced onto the stage without any styling or a proper gown. When I looked at Melody, I realized she was wearing the custom French gown Dominic had ordered for me months ago. It fit her perfectly. I offered a quiet, bitter smile. The dress had never been sized for me in the first place. When the music began, my appearance threw the host into an awkward silence. Melody glided down the runway like a graceful swan, while I limped beside her like a withered shadow. The audience began to murmur, and soon, angry shouts erupted. “We paid to see beauty, not this ancient relic! Refund our tickets!” The demands for refunds echoed through the hall. As we turned to walk back, Melody subtly stuck her foot out. Lost in my own despair, I tripped and fell flat on my face in front of the entire crowd. Plastic bottles and trash began raining down on me from the stands. My vision blurred, and the world faded to black. When I opened my eyes, Dominic was standing over me with a dark, impatient look. “Where is your watch?” Melody was sobbing softly beside him. “Sienna, I need you to rewind time so Melody can win the final interview segment.” They assumed the pageant was decided solely by looks, but the final interview carried significant weight. Even without me, Melody’s empty-headed answers would have cost her the crown. “I will not do it, Dominic.” My body could not handle another activation. “You have no choice. Melody has dreamed of this crown her entire life, and I will make sure she gets it.” Ignoring my protests, Dominic began searching my pockets until he found the silver watch. “Dominic, if I use it again, I will die!” His hand paused. “I have already used up too much of my life! Another rewind will kill me!” Dominic froze, looking down at me with a flicker of hesitation. But Melody’s weeping grew louder. “If she does not want to help, she should just say so. There is no need to make up such ridiculous lies. You are only twenty-eight, Sienna. How could a simple watch kill you?” “Dominic is only being gentle because he pities you.” The hesitation in Dominic’s eyes vanished, replaced by cold annoyance. He forced the watch into my hand. “Stop lying, Sienna. You are only throwing a tantrum because you are afraid I will leave you now that you are old. Do this for me, and we will go home and live our lives.” He pressed a sharp safety pin into my left palm. “You only need to go back five minutes. You will be unconscious backstage. Use this pin to wake yourself up, then go straight to the judges. You have worked with them for years; they will change the scores for you.” “Melody is only half a point behind the leader. It will be easy.” He had planned everything so perfectly. Yet he had never once considered the price I would have to pay. “Even if it costs me my life, you still want me to do this?” I asked, the pin digging into my flesh until a drop of blood appeared. Dominic avoided my gaze. “You are not going to die. I still love you, Sienna. We will grow old together.” He wrapped his fingers around my hand, forcing my thumb onto the crown of the watch, and twisted it. The temporal shift began. Every time Melody failed to secure the top spot, Dominic forced me to rewind again. One time. Two times. By the tenth activation, a copper taste filled my mouth, and I coughed up a dark pool of blood. Dominic looked startled, but after a moment, he pushed my hand back onto the watch. Finally, on the fifteenth attempt, the judges yielded to my desperate pleas and altered the scores. Melody was announced as the winner. I collapsed onto the cold concrete backstage, every ounce of my life force drained. Looking at the silhouette of Dominic and Melody embracing under the stage lights, I let out a soft, rattling sigh. “Goodbye, Dominic.” Blood began to trickle from my eyes, nose, and mouth. My heart gave one final, weak shudder and stopped. Dominic slowly released Melody, turning back to look at me. Seeing me lying motionless on the floor, he frowned, assuming I was still playing the victim. “The judges told me you got her the scores, Sienna. You did well. Now stop pretending and get up.” When I did not move, a sudden chill seemed to strike him. His face drained of color as he slowly knelt beside me, his hands trembling as he reached out to turn me over.

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When my biological parents, accompanied by the girl who had taken my place, finally tracked me down, I was standing in a dirty alleyway, holding a baseball bat and smoking a cigarette with a group of delinquents. They froze. Every single one of them instinctively reached out to shield the fragile, sweet-looking girl standing behind them. 1 Who would have thought that a street rat like me was actually the long-lost heiress to the Sterling Group? In that dim alleyway, wearing a wrinkled high school uniform but holding a bat and a cigarette, I watched the Sterling family instinctively reach out to protect the curious, wide-eyed girl standing behind them. At the very front, an impeccably dressed middle-aged couple stared at me in absolute disbelief. The woman’s voice trembled. “Are you… Harper Smith?” I had a cigarette dangling from my lips. Hearing my name, I crushed it out under my shoe and nodded, confused. The guys next to me exchanged bewildered looks, having no idea what was going on. “Harper, who are these people?” Before I could answer, the elegant woman suddenly rushed forward, threw her arms around me, and burst into tears. “My daughter! My beautiful daughter! I’m your real mother… We finally found you!” I had no idea why this woman was losing her mind. Even the stoic middle-aged man next to her had red, tear-filled eyes. I was just about to push her off when a young man stepped forward. He pressed his lips together, looking at me with a deeply complex expression. “Harper, hello. I’m your biological older brother, Arthur Sterling.” “Seventeen years ago, your current adoptive mother was a maid in our house. She was pregnant and gave birth at the exact same time as our mother.” “But she was wicked. Blinded by greed and wanting a life of luxury for her own flesh and blood, she secretly switched you and her baby.” Before I could even process the shock of my true identity, I noticed something else. When Arthur mentioned how “wicked” and “greedy” my adoptive mother was, all the color drained from the face of the girl standing behind them. Her face turned chalk-white, she bit her lip, and tears welled up in her large, doe-like eyes. Arthur seemed to realize his slip-up. He immediately turned around and started speaking to her in a soft, coaxing voice. Even my supposed biological parents, who had just been clinging to me like a lifeline, instinctively let go. They turned back to the girl, their voices dripping with tender reassurance. “Chloe, sweetheart, don’t be scared. This has nothing to do with you. You and your sister are both our precious babies. We will never abandon you.” Ha. Precious babies? They really had the nerve to say that right in front of their actual biological daughter. 2 That very afternoon, under the shell-shocked gazes of my alleyway crew, I got into a multi-million-dollar luxury SUV and drove away. Of course, right before I left, Leo—that absolute idiot—yelled at the top of his lungs: “Harper! When you’re rich and famous, don’t forget us! We’ll be waiting for you!” I rolled my eyes, gave him an “OK” sign, and got in the car. When I turned around, the Sterling family was looking at me with incredibly complicated expressions. I stared back, completely unbothered. To be honest, I didn’t feel much of anything. After spending seventeen years under the “care” of my wonderful adoptive mother, my only goal in life was survival. Everything else was just noise. As for being switched at birth? It just meant I was finally getting an upgrade in living conditions. The girl who had been sobbing earlier, Chloe, finally stopped crying. Her face was a portrait of sorrow, her voice laced with heavy guilt. “Harper… I’m Chloe. I’m your… older sister. I am so, so sorry. It’s all my fault that I stole seventeen years of your life…” As she spoke, fresh tears started pooling in her eyes again. My newly acquired father pressed his lips together and sighed deeply. My mother and brother immediately jumped in, cooing and comforting her again. I let out an irritated click of my tongue. The one thing I absolutely cannot stand is people who cry over every little thing. If crying actually solved anything, I would have drowned the world in tears during the countless times I prayed for someone to save me over the last seventeen years. “Excuse me, uh, Chloe, was it? Could you please stop crying?” “Do you realize that from the second we met until now, you’ve already had two major breakdowns? The way you’re acting, anyone would think you were the one who grew up in the slums suffering. Could you stop stealing my spotlight? I haven’t even started my tragic crying scene yet.” Her sobbing stopped instantly. Her face froze. The entire Sterling family froze. The car descended into dead silence. I didn’t care. I looked away, resting my chin on my hand and watching the scenery roll by outside the window. Through the tinted glass, I could clearly see the towering skyscrapers and the glowing city skyline in the distance. It was the very first time I had ever been this close to that world. After a long pause, my “mother” was the first to speak. “Harper, I’m sorry, but your sister didn’t mean it like that. She’s just very innocent and highly sensitive. She truly just feels guilty toward you.” My father nodded in agreement. But my brother, Arthur, rubbed his temples. The look he gave me was a mix of exhaustion and a faint trace of disgust. “Harper, Chloe is just terrified that now that you’re back, we won’t want her anymore. Please don’t blame her, okay?” “Also, once we get home, you really need to change your behavior. Look at how you’re dressed—you look like a street thug, and you were even smoking! How can a girl behave like that?” “A girl should be gentle, quiet, and elegant. Exactly like Chloe.” He phrased it as advice, but his tone carried the unmistakable weight of a command. It seemed he had voiced exactly what the rest of the Sterling family was thinking. My parents nodded emphatically. Even Chloe, the fake heiress of this whole ‘Prince and the Pauper’ situation, chimed in with her “thoughtful” advice: “Yes, Harper. Those people you hang out with are bad influences. You can’t keep mixing with that crowd. I heard your grades aren’t very good, and it’s definitely because those delinquents dragged you down.” “When we get home, I can tutor you! And I have so many clothes in my closet, you can pick whatever you want! Mom, Dad, and Arthur bought them all for me, we can share!” Listening to this textbook, passive-aggressive, backhanded “kindness,” I was completely speechless. But the Sterling family looked at her with even more pride, clearly thinking she was a shining example of generosity and grace. I found the whole thing hilarious. I actually let out a short laugh. Ignoring the disapproving glares from the Sterling family, I casually dropped a single sentence: “But those ‘bad influences’ and ‘delinquents’ you’re talking about are the only reason I was able to pay my tuition and eat every year.” “And I have your wonderful biological mother to thank for that, Sister.” “Oh, and my brilliant older brother—you’re so smart, you should be able to guess exactly why my last name is Smith, right?” Everyone’s mouths snapped shut. Their faces went chalk white. Even Arthur, who had just been lecturing me so confidently, didn’t dare look me in the eye. As for Chloe, her face flushed crimson. She dropped her head, clutching the hem of her designer skirt so tightly her knuckles turned white. I smirked inwardly. A fragile flower raised in a greenhouse—even if she was a toxic, manipulative white lotus—actually thought she could beat a carnivorous plant that clawed its way out of the abyss? 3 The very first thing the Sterling family did when they brought me home was change my name. I chose my new name myself: Harper Sterling. The Sterling family hosted a massive, extravagant gala to celebrate my return. That night, every relative, friend, and major business partner of the Sterling Group attended. The mansion was ablaze with crystal chandeliers and diamonds. My parents, with me dressed in a meticulously tailored gown, stood on the grand stage and formally introduced me to the elite society. My story was already the hottest gossip among the wealthy elite, so no one acted particularly shocked. However, as I looked out at the crowd, I saw Chloe mingling and laughing effortlessly with the guests. I scoffed internally. She was definitely plotting something. Sure enough, the second I stepped off the stage, she smoothly grabbed my arm. “Harper, come with me! Let me introduce you to the kids our age.” She smiled warmly, looking like the picture-perfect, caring older sister. Even my mother, who had been holding my arm, nodded in approval. “Go ahead, Harper. Follow your sister and get to know everyone.” I smiled, shrugged, and followed her over. A group of wealthy teenagers were lounging on a velvet sofa. They were clearly the kids Chloe had grown up with. They looked me up and down with blatant disdain. One guy holding a champagne flute actually scoffed out loud. “Where did this trash come from? Does she really think she can just waltz into our circle?” Chloe immediately jumped in to “defend” me: “Oh, come on, Liam. Don’t be mean to my sister. It’s her first time at a party like this, she doesn’t understand how things work.” Her best friend sitting next to her yanked Chloe back. “Chloe, you’re too nice. People are just going to walk all over you.” She shot me a look of pure disgust. “Let me make something clear to you. In our circle, we don’t care about bloodlines. We only respect capability.” “I heard you were some street rat who spent all her time with thugs. Ha. You better check yourself before you think you can threaten Chloe’s position.” “You could never compare to her. She’s already helping her brother with corporate affairs, her grades are flawless, and she’s practically guaranteed early admission into an Ivy League. You better bury whatever petty little schemes you have in your head.” I listened with great interest as they took turns taking shots at me, while Chloe played the role of the reluctant peacemaker, dropping “nice” comments at the perfect moments. When the flock of noisy ducks finally shut their mouths, I took a slow sip of my drink and spoke. “Are you done? If you’re done, go get me some appetizers and a glass of juice, and I might forgive you.” I lazily dropped myself onto a plush armchair. The entire group stared at me in shock before erupting into hysterical laughter. The guy, Liam, laughed the hardest, spilling champagne on his shoes. “Oh my god, this is hilarious! Chloe, what is wrong with your sister? She wants us to fetch her food and drinks? Has she completely lost her mind?” Chloe looked at me with a face full of reprimand, but I knew she was screaming with joy on the inside. “Harper… how could you order everyone around like that?” “Why shouldn’t I?” I widened my eyes in feigned innocence, pulled out my phone, AirDropped a file to the mansion’s main projector system, and hit play. Instantly, the massive speakers across the ballroom blasted the arrogant voices of the trust fund kids. “Where did this trash come from?” “I heard you were some street rat?” “You better check yourself!” … Nobody was laughing anymore. The entire gala went dead silent. The elders and the titans of industry looked absolutely livid. The teenagers sitting across from me turned pale as ghosts. They stared at me, completely speechless. But of course, the palest face of all belonged to my lovely white lotus sister. My parents marched over, their faces dark like thunderclouds, staring silently at the parents of the kids involved. Even my insufferable older brother, Arthur, walked over with a tight, forced smile, stepping protectively in front of me. Chloe’s lips trembled as she tried to explain that she had tried to stop them from mocking her sister, but failed. My parents, always soft-hearted toward her, took her hand and told her not to be afraid. I gave a small, mocking smile. The very same kids who had been acting like royalty two minutes ago were now being physically dragged over by their parents, forced to apologize with painfully strained smiles. “Oh, Harper, dear… my stupid son was just running his mouth. Please don’t be angry, I’ll deal with him when we get home!” “Yes, exactly! My daughter too, I’ll ground her for a month! She has the nerve to judge others when she’s failing half her classes!” My parents’ expressions softened slightly. They looked at me hesitantly. “Harper, maybe… we just let this go? It’s just kids messing around.” Since I was such an obedient, good daughter, of course I had to agree. So, I looked innocently at the group of red-faced, humiliated teenagers standing in front of me. “Like I said earlier, just go get me some appetizers and a glass of juice, and I’ll forgive you.” No one was laughing this time. Under the watchful, piercing gazes of hundreds of elite guests, the group swallowed their pride, turned around, and went to fetch my food and drinks. I took a slow sip of the orange juice they brought me, and finally dropped my verdict: “I forgive you! See? I’m a very generous person!” Chloe didn’t smile for the rest of the night. She was much quieter after that. Unfortunately, I thought she had learned her lesson, but she was actually just saving her energy for a much bigger play. 4 During breakfast a few days later, I casually brought up my adoptive mother, Maria Smith. “So, what are you guys planning to do about Maria?” The Sterling family exchanged awkward, uncomfortable glances. Chloe immediately dropped her head, looking like she was on the verge of tears again. My father was the first to speak. He looked at me with an appeasing smile. “Well, Harper, people like that… karma will catch up to them eventually!” My mother quickly agreed. “Exactly. Going after her would just dirty our own hands.” Arthur continued eating his breakfast calmly, completely opting out of the conversation. I gave a half-smile. “So what you’re saying is, you have no intention of holding her accountable?” My parents looked embarrassed, opening and closing their mouths without making a sound. Arthur finally sighed, put his fork down, and spoke in a helpless tone. “Harper, everyone in our circle knows Maria is Chloe’s biological mother. You know how society works. If her biological parents have criminal records, it will inevitably taint Chloe’s reputation.” “Of course we want that woman to be punished, but not at the cost of ruining Chloe’s future. She’s innocent in all this.” “Besides, Maria did raise you for seventeen years. It makes it difficult for us to go after her legally. You understand where we’re coming from, right?” Chloe looked at the family with tears of gratitude. My parents gently patted her hand, and my brother gave her a warm, reassuring smile. It was a beautiful, touching family portrait. I let out an incredibly inappropriate scoff, shattering the heartwarming moment. “Raise me?” Under their irritated glares, I slowly rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, exposing arms covered in overlapping scars and cigarette burns. My mother gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Tears instantly pooled in her eyes. Even my father’s lips trembled. Arthur turned his head away, unable to look. Only Chloe bit her lip and clenched her fists under the table. I continued, rolling up my pant legs to reveal calves crisscrossed with dense, faded whip marks. Seeing them completely paralyzed with horror, I finally smiled in satisfaction. I slowly rolled my sleeves and pants back down, and dropped a single sentence. “I’m going to school. I won’t be riding with my sister today.” I threw my beat-up backpack over my shoulder and didn’t refuse when the chauffeur opened the door for me. Only an idiot turns down a free ride, especially when it’s on the Sterling family’s dime. But looking back, I realized it was probably the shocking, visceral reality of my scars—and the family’s intense reaction to them—that finally pushed Chloe over the edge. She knew that if she didn’t do something drastic, her biological mother’s sins would ensure she never regained her true standing in this house. At school, Leo saw me in the hallway and immediately started screaming. “Harper! You’re back! The Queen of Lincoln High has returned!” I had told him a million times to stop watching cheesy gangster movies, but he never listened. I ignored him. The entire school had heard about my identity. Everyone was absolutely floored that I was the true heiress to the Sterling Group. It was pretty shocking, I sneered internally. The real heiress of the Sterling empire was a violent, foul-mouthed street rat. Put anyone in their shoes, and they’d obviously prefer the gentle, brilliant, fake heiress. Leo was so used to calling me “Boss” that I couldn’t be bothered to correct him. Without breaking stride, I reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “I told you not to smoke on campus. Did you think I wouldn’t find out just because I was gone for a few weeks?” Leo grinned and leaned in closer. “Boss, how is the new house? They aren’t bullying you, are they?” I smirked and shot him a side-eye. “Who could possibly bully me?” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “So, Boss… are you still going to hang out with us? Are the rich kids… going to look down on you for being friends with us?” His voice got quieter and quieter until he couldn’t even look me in the eye. I scoffed and smacked him on the back of the head. “You little idiot. Didn’t you just tell me not to forget you when I got rich? Why are you backing down now? What’s wrong with you guys? Why would anyone have the right to look down on you?” Leo’s head snapped up, his usual exaggerated bravado returning. “Hell no we ain’t backing down! We’re sticking with you to the top, Boss!” But his eyes were completely red. I smiled, remembering the last time I saw Leo cry. He had secretly stolen two thousand dollars from his parents and pooled it with the other guys to pay my tuition. When his parents found out, he refused to tell them what the money was for. They assumed he blew it on cigarettes and girls, and beat him half to death. When he came to see me, his eyes were just as red, but he had the biggest, stupidest grin on his face as he shoved the cash into my hands. I bit my tongue to force down the lump in my throat. I looked out the window at the distant, sprawling clouds, my voice very quiet. “I probably won’t be staying in that house for very long.”

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1 Rowan and I lived together for three years. All that time, a framed photo of a snow-capped mountain stayed on his desk. When I asked to replace it with a New Year’s photo of us, he smiled and refused, saying the composition was perfect. While cleaning one afternoon, sunlight hit the glass just right. That’s when I noticed her—a tiny girl in a red parka, standing on a trail halfway up the slope. She was small, easy to miss unless you looked closely, yet perfectly in focus, as if the photographer had centered her while pretending to capture the landscape. Scrolling through Rowan’s Instagram from three years ago, I found four posts that month. Every one was a landscape—and every one hid that same flash of red. When he got home late, I handed him the frame. “Who is she?” I asked. He wiped dust from the corner, set it back in place, and said, “Just some random tourist.” His finger lingered on the edge, brushing it like he was touching a cheek. In three years, he had no photos of us on his phone. Yet that red figure had been his wallpaper the entire time. I laughed softly and looked away. The next day, I accepted a company transfer. There was no place for me in his view, and I was done being part of the backdrop. “Change the sheets in the master bedroom to a fresh set. Riley is moving in for a few days this afternoon.” Rowan dropped that bomb without even looking up as he kicked off his dress shoes in the entryway. I was sitting on the couch, double-checking the electronic receipt for breaking our apartment lease. My finger froze over the screen. “Who is Riley?” “A junior from my college. She just moved back to the States and hasn’t secured an apartment yet.” Rowan tossed his leather briefcase onto the coffee table and loosened his tie. “Two days ago, you swore the girl in the mountain photo was a complete stranger.” His fingers froze on his collar button. Two seconds passed before he furrowed his brows. “You stalked my old posts?” “Your profile is public. I scrolled back three years. It took quite a bit of effort.” He let out a heavy sigh and walked over, sitting down next to me. “Rowan. You and I have lived together for three years. And now you’re letting a girl you secretly photographed for five years move into our home?” “What do you mean, secretly photographed? Don’t make it sound so creepy.” His tone carried a sharp edge of impatience. “The outdoor club went to Alaska together. She happened to be standing in front of me, so I snapped a picture. That’s it.” “Then why didn’t you happen to snap a picture of a guy?” “Do you really have to be this petty?” Rowan stood up, looking down at me with absolute exhaustion. “She is a young girl who just moved back to the country. She has no family here. What is so wrong with me looking out for her as an older alumni?” “There are plenty of hotels.” “Do you have any idea how expensive hotels are in this city? She just got her first job. She doesn’t have that kind of cash.” “Our apartment isn’t a homeless shelter.” He stared at me for a long, heavy moment before letting out a cold scoff. “Sloane, you never used to be this narrow-minded.” “I used to be stupid.” “Whatever. I’m not doing this with you.” Rowan turned his back and walked straight toward the master bedroom. “I already promised her she could stay. She’ll be here with her luggage this afternoon. Hurry up and change those sheets.” “I’m not doing it.” “If you won’t, I will.” He violently yanked open the closet door and pulled out a brand-new four-piece bedding set. I sat on the couch and watched him work. In three years of living together, the man didn’t even know how to turn on the washing machine. Now, for another woman, he was clumsily wrestling with a pillowcase. At three in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. Rowan practically jogged to open it. “Rowan!” A crisp, sweet voice floated into the apartment. A girl in a khaki trench coat stepped inside, dragging two massive silver suitcases behind her. She spotted me and paused. “You must be Sloane.” She smiled sweetly, her eyes curving into perfect little crescents. “Rowan talks about you all the time. He says you’re amazing at taking care of people.” “He never talks about you.” I leaned against the wall, keeping my voice completely flat. Riley’s smile froze. She cast a pitiful, wronged look at Rowan. Rowan immediately shot me a lethal glare. “Can you just shut your mouth for one second?” He turned back to Riley, his voice instantly softening into melted butter. “Ignore her. She’s just in a bad mood today. Are those bags heavy? Let me take them into the room for you.” “Thank you, Rowan.” Riley followed him into the master bedroom. That was the room we had slept in for three years. I had been sleeping in the guest room for the past week. Rowan claimed his neck was acting up and said the mattress in the master bedroom was softer. Being the understanding girlfriend, I had voluntarily moved to the guest bed to give him space. Looking at it now, he was just clearing the room for her. Ten minutes later, Riley walked out of the bedroom. She strolled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, scanning the shelves. “Rowan, why don’t you have any ice water in here?” “Sloane has a weak stomach. We only keep hot water in the house.” Rowan answered from the living room. Riley pulled a mug from the rack and filled it halfway from the hot water dispenser. It was my mug. I had commissioned that mug from a local pottery studio. My initials were carved right into the bottom. I walked over and snatched the cup straight out of her hand. A splash of hot water hit the cuff of her trench coat. “Ah!” She let out a sharp shriek and stumbled backward. Rowan charged into the kitchen like a bull and shoved me hard out of the way. “Are you out of your mind!” He grabbed a handful of paper towels and frantically dabbed at Riley’s sleeve. “Did you get burned?” “No, the water just spilled.” Riley bit her lower lip. Her eyes instantly welled up with red-rimmed tears. “Does Sloane hate that I’m here? If it’s too much trouble, I can leave right now.” She turned, taking a dramatic step toward the bedroom to get her bags. Rowan reached out and grabbed her wrist tight. “Where are you going? This is my apartment. I decide who gets to stay.” He slowly turned his head, fixing me with a look of pure disgust. “It’s just a cheap mug. Would it kill you to let her use it?” “I don’t know if it’ll kill her, but I find it disgusting.” I tossed the mug directly into the stainless steel trash can. The sound of shattering ceramic echoed violently in the kitchen. Rowan’s face went completely rigid. “Sloane, don’t push your luck.” “What luck? The luck of putting up with you?” I stared back at him with absolute ice. “Rowan, you can let her sleep in the master bedroom. But if she touches a single thing that belongs to me, I will smash it into pieces.” “You are completely unreasonable!” “You’ll find out exactly how unreasonable I can be very soon.” 2 Over the next two days, Rowan and Riley turned the apartment into their own personal playground. When I walked out of the guest room in the mornings, the bathroom was perpetually occupied. I could hear Riley humming a pop song over the sound of the running shower. I stood outside that door for a solid thirty minutes. Rowan walked out of the kitchen carrying two plates of perfectly fried eggs. He gave me a sideways glance. “What’s the rush? Riley takes her time washing her hair. Could you not just wake up earlier?” “It is eight in the morning. I leave for work at eight-thirty.” “Then go use the public restroom down the street.” He said it so casually. Like asking his girlfriend to use a public toilet was the most normal thing in the world. I stared at those beautifully golden eggs on his plates. In three years of dating, the man had never cooked breakfast for me once. He used to tell me the grease from cooking was bad for my skin and insisted I learn to cook instead. I believed his garbage. I woke up thirty minutes early every single day to make him oatmeal and coffee. It turned out he wasn’t incapable of cooking. He just didn’t want to cook for me. The bathroom door finally unlatched. Riley stepped out wrapped in a white towel. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, leaving puddles on the hardwood floor. “Oh, sorry Sloane. I didn’t know you were in such a rush.” She smiled without a single shred of actual guilt. “It’s fine. Take as long as you want from now on.” I walked into the bathroom and clicked the lock shut. On the vanity, my expensive face wash had been squeezed flat, the cap left wide open. My favorite pink towel was currently draped over the dripping showerhead. I ripped the towel down and threw it straight into the trash can. Then I turned around, left the apartment, and went to work. I deliberately stayed at the office late that night. Our lease didn’t expire for another two months, and I needed time to secure my next move. When I pushed open the front door, the living room lights were off. The only illumination came from the flickering glow of the television screen. On the couch, Rowan and Riley were huddled together, watching a horror movie. Riley had her face buried in Rowan’s shoulder. Her arms were wrapped tightly around a throw pillow. It was the pillow I had hand-stitched. It had my and Rowan’s initials intertwined in the center. “Rowan, I’m scared.” “Don’t be. It’s all fake.” Rowan patted her back gently. His voice was incredibly soft. I stood in the entryway feeling like a complete stranger intruding on someone else’s happy home. When he was chasing me back in the day, he took me to a horror movie too. I had been terrified and grabbed his sleeve. He had yanked his arm away in disgust and told me the special effects looked like cheap garbage. I used to think he was just an unromantic, pragmatic guy. It turned out even pragmatic guys had a deeply tender side. It just depended entirely on who was sitting next to them. I reached over and flicked on the main entryway light. The harsh brightness shattered their intimate little bubble instantly. Riley bounced off Rowan’s shoulder like she had been electrocuted. Rowan scowled at me. “Could you announce yourself when you walk in? You almost gave us a heart attack.” “This is my home. Is turning on a light a crime now?” I kicked off my heels and walked straight up to the couch. I snatched the embroidered pillow right out of Riley’s arms. “Sloane, what are you doing.” Riley looked up at me with wide, pitiful eyes. “This is mine.” “It’s just a pillow. What’s the big deal if I hold it for a bit?” “I don’t share.” I hugged the pillow to my chest and walked toward the guest room. Rowan’s suppressed anger echoed behind me. “Sloane, why are you acting so territorial lately? You’re acting like a paranoid hoarder.” “It’s my stuff. I’ll hoard it however I want.” I didn’t even look back as I slammed the bedroom door shut. The next day was Saturday. I spent the morning packing up the clothes and books I rarely used. I heard the sound of someone rummaging through drawers outside. I opened my door and saw Riley digging through the master bedroom’s nightstand. It was a drawer Rowan and I used to share. It held all our important documents and valuables. “What are you looking for?” I leaned against the doorframe, watching her. She jumped, startled. In her hand was a red velvet box. It was the tie clip I had bought just last month. I was planning to give it to Rowan for his thirtieth birthday. It cost me half a month’s salary to have it custom engraved with an initial. “Rowan said he couldn’t find his favorite tie clip, so he asked me to look for it.” She confidently flipped the box open. “Wow, this is gorgeous. It even has an R engraved on it.” R was the first letter of Rowan’s name. It was also the first letter of Riley’s. “Give it back.” I held out my hand. Riley pulled the box tight to her chest. “Sloane, this belongs to Rowan, doesn’t it? Why are you trying to take it?” “I bought it.” Rowan walked through the front door right at that moment, carrying a bag of groceries. Hearing the argument, he dropped the plastic bags and walked over. “What’s going on?” “Rowan, Sloane is trying to steal your tie clip.” Riley held the box out to him, her eyes instantly going red again. Rowan looked at the silver clip inside the velvet cushion and paused. “You bought this for me?” “Yes.” “Then it belongs to me, doesn’t it?” He snatched the box from her hand with absolute entitlement and clipped it directly onto the collar of Riley’s parka. “Riley has a big job interview today. I’m letting her borrow it for good luck.” I stared at that elegant, custom-made silver clip sitting awkwardly on her bright red outdoor jacket. “Rowan, that is a men’s tie clip.” “Who cares about gender rules? As long as it works.” He waved me off like a minor annoyance. “Besides, if you’re so heartbroken over it, just go buy another one.” “Just buy another one?” “It’s really not a big deal. Do you have to act this petty over everything?” I looked at his arrogant, deeply entitled face, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat. “You’re right. It’s not a big deal at all.” I turned around, walked back into the guest room, and locked the door. “Are you having another mental breakdown!” Rowan smacked his palm violently against the wood. 3 Friday night was my company’s annual appreciation gala. As the lead project manager, my attendance was mandatory. Rowan was the representative for our partner firm, so he was naturally on the guest list. According to company tradition, semi-public couples like us were supposed to walk the red carpet and sign in together. I had confirmed the schedule with him a whole week in advance. At five in the afternoon, I finished putting on my evening gown at home and gave him a call. “Are you on your way?” “Not yet. Riley has a bit of an emergency.” The background noise on his end was chaotic. It sounded like a shopping mall. “What emergency could possibly be more important than my project’s gala?” “She passed her interview. She said she needs a professional suit, so I’m helping her pick one out.” “Rowan, the gala starts at six-thirty. This is the celebration dinner for the project I led.” “I know, I know, we’ll make it in time. You go ahead. I’ll be there a little late.” He hung up immediately. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had spent two hours perfecting my makeup. My face was completely devoid of emotion as I picked up my clutch and ordered an Uber. I signed the guestbook alone. I walked to the head table alone. Seeing me flying solo, my coworkers immediately started teasing me. “Sloane, where’s Mr. Prince Charming? Didn’t he want to play your bodyguard tonight?” “He had some things to take care of. He’ll be here soon.” I held my champagne flute, flashing a flawless, bulletproof smile. At seven-thirty, the banquet was already halfway over. The heavy double doors of the ballroom suddenly pushed open. Rowan walked in wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. And tucked smoothly into the crook of his arm was a woman in a stunning red evening gown. It was Riley. Every single pair of eyes in the room instantly locked onto them. My knuckles turned white around the stem of my champagne glass. That red dress was the exact one I had seen in a magazine last month. I had told Rowan how much I loved it. I hadn’t bought it because the price tag was absurd. Now, it was draped over Riley’s body. And it fit her sickeningly well. Rowan led Riley straight to our table. “Sorry we’re late. Traffic was a nightmare.” He casually pulled out the empty chair next to me and offered it to Riley. The color drained from my coworkers’ faces. Everyone exchanged incredibly awkward glances. “And this is?” The CEO cleared his throat, asking the question everyone was thinking. “This is my college junior, Riley. She just moved back to the States. I brought her out to experience the industry a bit.” Rowan introduced her with absolute confidence. Riley stood up and raised her wine glass. “Hi everyone, I’m Riley. Rowan talks about you all the time. Thank you for taking such good care of him. Cheers.” She spoke with the supreme confidence of a hostess welcoming guests into her own home. Paige, my assistant sitting on my other side, couldn’t take the disrespect. She muttered under her breath. “The only one taking care of Rowan is our Sloane.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried perfectly across the table. Riley’s face froze. She looked at Rowan with big, wounded eyes. Rowan frowned deeply, shooting Paige a freezing glare. “The partnership between our two companies is built on professional merit, not on who takes care of who.” That sentence dropped the temperature at the table below freezing. The CEO scrambled to save the mood. “Right, right, merit is everything! Come on, let’s cut the celebration cake!” A massive three-tiered cake was wheeled out onto the floor. It was covered in little fondant figures representing everyone on our project team. Sitting at the very top of the highest tier was my figure. Because I was the absolute backbone of this project. The event host handed me a silver knife tied with a red ribbon, gesturing for me to make the first cut. I started to stand up, but Rowan suddenly clamped a heavy hand over mine. “Let Riley cut it.” The entire ballroom went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I turned my head, staring at him in utter disbelief. “Excuse me?” “Riley just landed a great job today. We should celebrate her too. Let her borrow some of your good luck.” He snatched the knife right out of the host’s hand and shoved it directly into Riley’s palm. Riley gave a pathetic, fake little pushback. “I shouldn’t do this. This is Sloane’s big night.” “What’s the big deal? It’s just a slice of cake. Sloane doesn’t care about stuff like this.” Rowan gave her a gentle push on the back. Riley smiled shyly and walked right up to the cake, gripping the silver knife. She brought the blade down hard. The very first slice went straight through the top tier, cutting right across my fondant figure. The top half of my little sugar clone tumbled off the cake and crashed onto the silver tray. Scattered, hesitant applause echoed around the room. Every single person was looking at me with intense, suffocating pity. That pity humiliated me worse than a slap to the face. I stood frozen, watching Rowan gaze at Riley with absolute adoration as she sliced a cake that wasn’t hers. Somewhere deep inside my chest, the last remaining pillar holding my love for this man completely collapsed. I set my champagne glass down on the table with a soft click. “Sloane, are you okay?” Paige tugged anxiously at the hem of my dress. “I’m fine.” I grabbed my shawl off the back of the chair. “Since Rowan loves cutting cakes so much, I’ll leave you all to it. My stomach is acting up. I’m heading home.” “Sloane!” Rowan snapped at my back, a harsh warning in his tone. “Everyone is watching. Are you seriously going to throw a tantrum and embarrass us all?” I stopped walking and turned around to look at him. “The only one humiliated here is me.” I turned back on my heels and walked out of the ballroom without looking back once. 4 Tomorrow was our four-year anniversary. It was also the day I had scheduled my flight out of the city. The company had arranged my transfer to the Seattle branch, and I accepted it without a single second of hesitation. It worked out perfectly. I didn’t even have to hunt for a new apartment. The next morning, for the first time in days, Rowan wasn’t lingering in the master bedroom with Riley. He was sitting on the living room couch, staring at a cold cup of coffee. When he saw me wheeling two massive suitcases out of the guest room, he blinked in surprise. “What is all this?” “The company is sending me on a business trip to the branch office.” I kept my voice completely flat. No anger. No emotion. “You need this much stuff for a trip? Didn’t you ship boxes of your books out yesterday?” “The conditions at the branch are rough. I’m bringing the things I’m used to.” He frowned, clearly unsettled by my unnatural calm. “Are you still throwing a fit over last night?” “No.” “Sloane, you are way too sensitive. Riley is just a young girl. What is so wrong with me looking out for her? We’re about to get married, why is your capacity for tolerance so pathetic?” Married. Hearing that word now felt like a sick joke. “Today is our four-year anniversary.” I reminded him. He slapped his thigh, adopting a look of sudden realization. “Right, right, I remember. I’m taking a half-day off this afternoon. I’ll go with you to buy that diamond ring you’ve been looking at, and then we’ll get a nice steak dinner.” “Okay.” I agreed instantly. My lack of a fight made him uncomfortable. He coughed awkwardly. “Just leave the bags here for now. I’ll drive you to the airport this afternoon.” At noon, I emptied the very last drawer in the guest room. There wasn’t a single trace left in that room to prove I had ever existed. I had even peeled off every Polaroid photo I ever taped to the walls. All that remained was a slightly yellowing blank wall. I sat on the bare mattress, waiting for a text from Rowan. At one-thirty, my phone rang. Through the speaker, I heard the screech of a cat and a woman’s hysterical sobbing. “Sloane, I’m so sorry, I can’t make it this afternoon.” “What happened?” “Riley was feeding a stray cat downstairs and it scratched her deep. She’s bleeding everywhere. I’m driving her to the ER for rabies shots.” “She can get rabies shots at any urgent care clinic in five minutes.” “She’s terrified! She’s crying so hard she can barely walk! How am I supposed to just leave her alone?” He spoke with frantic impatience, acting like I was being entirely unreasonable. “But you promised you would spend the afternoon with me.” “Can’t we buy the ring tomorrow? What difference does a day make for an anniversary? This is a medical emergency. Can you not grasp basic priorities?” I said nothing. It was always exactly like this. Her getting a paper cut was an emergency. Her being scared of the dark was an emergency. Her feeding a cat was an emergency. My expectations, my waiting, were always met with “next time” or “some other day.” “Go ahead.” I said softly. “Don’t be mad, okay? I’ll order some nice takeout tonight to make it up to you.” He rushed to hang up the phone. I stared at the black screen. I wasn’t angry. I didn’t shed a single tear. All I felt was an overwhelming, unprecedented sense of relief. I walked out to the living room and picked up the photo frame he kept in the most prominent spot by the door. The photo of the snow-capped mountain. I popped the cardboard backing off and pulled the glossy print out. I grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer. Carefully, meticulously, I cut the tiny girl in the red parka right out of the snowy trail. It left a jagged, ugly hole right in the center of the picture. I put the mutilated landscape back into the frame and placed it exactly where I found it. Then, I walked into the bathroom. I took that tiny red cutout, grabbed a piece of clear packing tape, and plastered it directly over the power switch of Rowan’s electric razor. When that was done, I walked to the coffee table. I laid down the printed lease termination agreement and the spare apartment key right in the center of the glass. Next to the key, I placed the engagement ring he had bought online for me years ago. A thirty-dollar cubic zirconia piece of junk. I grabbed the handles of my two suitcases and pulled open the front door. I took one last look at the place I had lived in for three years. Sunlight filtered through the screen door on the balcony. Tiny specks of dust floated in the warm air. This used to be my home. Now, it was just a cheap motel. The lock clicked shut with a sharp snap, locking the past away forever. The Uber driver helped me heave my bags into the trunk. “Where to, miss?” “To the airport.”

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1 Eight months pregnant, my doctor warned my stress-related condition was worsening fast—I might have just five years left. Determined to leave something for my unborn daughter, I began recording video messages set five years in the future. Midway through filming, a glitch froze the screen, then revealed my older self. “Was the baby safe? Boy or girl? Does she look like me—or her father?” I asked, imagining her in a little princess dress. “Have you found someone who loves her? Call her my sweetheart. Watch her try on her wedding dress for me.” Future-me turned away at the mention of the dress. “She was born,” she said flatly. “A girl. We named her Hope. But she never saw your videos.” “Naomi—Graham’s wife—deleted them all. Every trace of you is gone. Hope is five now. She doesn’t know what you looked like. She believes her father remarried, and her new aunt tells her she killed you.” “She hides in closets, stays silent, writes in a secret journal. Graham says they only keep her as a biological donor for Naomi’s son… who’s seven.” The final frame of the video flickered, replaced by an image of a medical chart. The patient’s name was mine. The cause of death was listed as chronic drug toxicity leading to anaphylactic shock. In the space for the attending physician, Naomi’s signature was clearly written. The screen went black, and the connection severed. A wave of icy terror washed over me. Naomi was my closest friend, my college roommate, and a brilliant psychology graduate. She had always claimed she chose that field because of me. She had been there when I witnessed my mother kill my unfaithful father, an event that left me plagued by nightmares and severe depression for over a decade. At the time, Naomi had wept, promising she would master psychology to cure me. She had kept her word, becoming my therapist and prescribing medications that finally allowed me to sleep through the night. Beside Graham, she was the person I trusted most in this world. How could I accept that the two most important people in my life were quietly plotting my death? The sound of the door opening broke my trance. Graham walked into the room, a warm, gentle smile on his face. “Sweetheart, Naomi formulated a new compound for your therapy. Why don’t you try it?” He unscrewed the plastic bottle, poured out a single pill, and held it to my lips. I looked up into his eyes. They were filled with a familiar, tender concern. I slowly parted my lips, took the pill, but slipped it beneath my tongue before swallowing a mouthful of water. “I will get you a blanket,” Graham said, turning toward the master bedroom. “The weather is turning cold.” The moment he walked away, I spat the pill into my palm. I pulled out my phone, opened a photo translation app, and scanned the tiny chemical symbols printed on the prescription label. My heart battered against my ribs, so hard I could barely breathe. The screen illuminated with a list of active ingredients. Diphenhydramine. Loratadine. Acetaminophen. Three of my most severe allergens, all packed into a single daily tablet. None of them were lethal on their own, but taken together over a prolonged period, they would systematically destroy my immune system until my body simply gave up. My hands began to shake. For five years, my health had steadily deteriorated despite the medication. I had assumed I was simply cursed, that my psychological trauma was too deep to heal. In reality, every single pill had been a slow, invisible blade. “What are you looking at, sweetheart?” Graham returned, carrying a soft fleece throw. I quickly locked my phone screen, squeezing my hand shut around the pill. “Nothing.” “You should spend less time on your phone. It is bad for your eyes.” He draped the blanket over my lap, his movements natural and caring. “Get some rest. Hope and I are waiting for you to get better. I have some urgent business at the office, so I must head out.” Though my daughter was not yet born, I had already chosen her name. I wanted the world to remember that I had been here, that I had loved. Yet in five years, she would have no memory of me at all. Her very existence would be reduced to a medical resource. As soon as Graham’s footsteps faded down the hall, I blinked back my tears and dialed a number I had not called in years. Before my mother passed away, she had told me: “Nora, if the world ever becomes too heavy to bear, find Uncle Thomas. He will protect you for me.” I opened a messaging app, my tears splashing onto the glass screen as I typed: “Thomas, please draft a divorce agreement for me. As quickly as possible.” Over the next few days, sleep became impossible, but I still made sure to attend my scheduled prenatal checkup. In the ultrasound room, the technician stared at the monitor for a long time, a look of pleasant surprise on her face. “Nora, your physical markers are significantly better than last month. Every indicator is recovering. If this trend continues, you might actually make a full recovery.” A cold sweat broke out across my back. Over the past few days, I had completely stopped taking Naomi’s pills. The video from the future was real. My final sliver of hope was shattered. “Thank you, doctor,” I forced a polite smile, clutching my purse tightly as I left the room. The hospital corridors were bustling with patients. As I rounded a corner, a small body collided with my knees. Instinctively, I reached out to steady him. He was a soft, frail little boy around two years old, his skin exceptionally pale and his lips tinted a faint, unhealthy blue. He held a small toy car, which had clattered to the floor, and his mouth puckered as if he were about to cry. “I am so sorry, sweetheart…” I knelt to retrieve the toy, but as I looked up, my entire body went rigid. Naomi stood before me, a stack of medical folders clutched to her chest. “Nora? What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, another figure stepped out from behind her. Graham. He carried a bottle of mineral water in one hand and a small cartoon backpack in the other. “Sweetheart, what a surprise,” Graham said, his voice entirely calm. “I came to help Naomi with her son’s appointment. The boy is quite ill, and she was struggling to manage everything on her own.” I stood there, looking at the three of them. They looked exactly like a family portrait. Naomi quickly adjusted her expression, offering a tired, apologetic smile. “Nora, please do not think badly of us. I was simply at my wit’s end, so I asked Graham for help. You know the father has his own family and refuses to support us. It is so hard raising a sick child alone, and Graham was just being kind.” I had to clench my jaw to keep from laughing out loud. She had repeated this story countless times. She had told me she fell in love with a married man who abandoned her, leaving her to raise a child with a chronic blood disorder alone. Out of sympathy, I had sent her large sums of money over the years, treating her child like my own. Instead, they had been feeding on my flesh and blood. I looked down at the little boy. His eyes and jawline were a near perfect mirror of Graham’s. No wonder Naomi had always kept him hidden from me. I forced my voice to remain steady. “He is a beautiful boy. When is his birthday?” “March seventeenth,” Graham answered casually. March seventeenth. My birthday. Fragments of memory began to piece themselves together. Two years ago, on my birthday, Graham had called to say he was stuck working late, then phoned later to say he had been in a minor car accident and was at the hospital getting his wrist bandaged. I had spent my birthday alone, watching the candles on my cake burn down to ash. When he finally returned, his wrist had indeed been wrapped in gauze. I had never doubted him. But now I knew. That night, Graham had been at the hospital to welcome his son into the world. At that moment, the door to the examination room opened. A doctor poked his head out, gesturing toward Graham. “Toby’s father? You may come in now. It is your turn.” The hallway fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. I did not scream. I did not cry. I simply offered a faint smile. “You should go inside. Do not keep the doctor waiting.” With that, I turned and walked away. Shortly after I arrived back at the empty house, my phone rang. It was Naomi, her voice trembling with tears. “Nora, I am so incredibly sorry about today. It was entirely my fault. I panicked and could not find anyone else to help. The hospital regulations require both parents to sign for the treatment, so I asked Graham to pose as the father.” It was a pathetic lie, but I chose not to shatter it just yet. “I am not angry,” I said quietly. There was a brief silence on the line. “Really? That is wonderful. I thought you… well, never mind. I sent a small peace offering via same day courier. It should arrive shortly. Once you receive it, you must promise to forgive me.” I gave a brief murmur of assent and hung up. Within twenty minutes, the doorbell rang. The courier handed me a paper bag. As I closed the door, a faint scent drifted from the package. It was a white musk perfume, the only brand Naomi claimed did not trigger her allergies. I tore open the bag, and a piece of black lace lingerie slid onto the floor. It was thin, delicate, and visibly worn. Near the collar, there was a faded, discolored smudge, as if it had been rubbed repeatedly against skin. The garment had been used. A wave of intense nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom, gripping the toilet bowl as I dry heaved. The tears finally spilled over, my chest tightening with an agonizing ache. After washing my face, I threw the garment directly into the trash. The front door opened again. Graham walked in, holding a small cake box from my favorite bakery. Seeing my pale face, he immediately came over and supported my shoulders. “What is wrong, sweetheart? You look terrible. Is the morning sickness acting up again?” I looked into his eyes. He had played the part of the doting husband for five years, and every expression was polished to perfection. “I am fine. Just a bit nauseous.” “Let me get you some warm water.” As he leaned over the coffee table to reach for the kettle, his collar slipped slightly, exposing his collarbone. Two inches below his neck, there was a faint pink smudge. It was Naomi’s favorite lipstick shade. I had spent hours helping her pick out that exact color at the department store years ago. Noticing my gaze, Graham casually adjusted his shirt. “Let me cut some cake for you. You have not had much of an appetite lately, and something sweet might help.” I took the small fork he handed me, staring down at the frosting. “Graham.” “Yes?” “I want a divorce.” His hand froze in midair. “Is this about what happened at the hospital today? I can explain, Nora. Please, do not be unreasonable.” He set the fork down, a flicker of irritation crossing his brow. I looked directly into his eyes. “Explain what? Explain that you and Naomi have a son together? Or explain that the two of you have been slowly poisoning me for five years? Pick one, Graham. I am listening.” In an instant, the warmth drained from his face. “Nora, this is a side effect of your medication. You are experiencing paranoid delusions.” I did not bother arguing. I stood up, walked into the bedroom, and grabbed a coat from the closet. “Where do you think you are going?” Graham followed me, blocking the doorway. “To the hospital,” I said, my voice completely flat as I slipped on my shoes. “To terminate the pregnancy.” Given my physical condition, bringing a child into this world would only doom her to a life of suffering. I had lived a painful life, and I refused to let my sweet Hope be born merely to be used. Hearing this, Graham panicked. “Have you lost your mind?!” I pushed past him, heading for the front door. I heard his hurried footsteps behind me, but before I could turn, a wet towel was clamped tightly over my nose and mouth. The chemical scent was overpowering, stinging my eyes. I struggled against his grip, but my strength quickly faded, and the world dissolved into darkness. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a cold surgical table. My wrists and ankles were secured with thick leather straps. This was not a public hospital. It was Graham’s private wellness clinic. “You are awake?” Graham’s face appeared above me. He was dressed in sterile blue scrubs, his mask and cap obscuring most of his features. “The stress triggered early labor. I suggest you cooperate with the procedure, for your own sake and the child’s.” My mouth was gagged, leaving me unable to scream. I felt the first sharp wave of a contraction rippling through my abdomen, breaking me out in a cold sweat. Graham had clearly administered a labor-inducing drug. I thrashed against the restraints, the pain in my stomach tearing through me like a physical blade. I could not scream; I could only let my tears and sweat mingle as they ran down my face. After what felt like an eternity of agonizing pain, my body felt as though it were being torn apart, and I nearly lost consciousness. Then, the high-pitched cry of a newborn pierced the silence of the room. I forced my head to turn, catching a glimpse of my tiny, fragile Hope. She was so small, her cries weak like a frightened kitten. Before I could even try to see her face, Graham stepped over to the counter and dialed a number. “The baby is delivered. Prepare the laboratory for the blood matching.” A surge of maternal fury gave me a sudden burst of strength. Hope had only just entered the world, and he was already planning to drain her blood. I thrashed against the leather straps with everything I had left, and one of the worn buckles suddenly gave way. I managed to pull my wrist free and rolled off the table, crashing heavily onto the cold floor. The fresh surgical incision tore open, leaving a bright trail of red across the linoleum. Without a single glance back at me, Graham cradled the crying baby and walked out of the room. In that moment, only one thought consumed my mind. I had to survive. I had to make them pay. Dragging my body across the floor, I stumbled out of the clinic. The security guard at the entrance froze in shock but did not dare to stop me. A woman drenched in blood escaping from a private facility was a terrifying sight. I ran with every ounce of strength I had left, collapsing into the nearest police station. As I pushed through the doors of the precinct, I cried out with all the breath in my lungs: “I want to report an attempted murder! My husband, Graham, has held me captive, forced me into a cesarean section, and has been poisoning me for years!” “He has an illegitimate child, and he is trying to drain my newborn daughter’s blood for a bone marrow transplant!”

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In our sixth year of marriage, Liam started keeping a mistress. He pressured me relentlessly, demanding a divorce. I absolutely refused to sign the papers. Eventually, he stopped hiding it. He flaunted his little lover everywhere he went, bringing her into the light. But then, one day, I called him with urgent news. I told him to hurry up and finalize the divorce. Because I was about to deploy on a high-risk mission—one where I had just signed my Last Will and Testament. I probably wasn’t coming back. 1 I had been obsessed with Liam Hayes since we were kids. We grew up on the same block in the suburbs. But unlike his calm, measured personality, I was loud, reckless, and shamelessly chased him everywhere he went. The older folks in the neighborhood always said my personality was cut out for the Marines. I didn’t join the military in the end. I went to the Police Academy. But Liam never liked me. He had a type: gentle, big-eyed, pale-skinned girls. Yet, the girl he loved the most ended up running off with another man right when his first tech startup hit its lowest point. That same year, his mother passed away from cancer. His business was completely paralyzed, completely out of capital. Hit by wave after wave of tragedy, he reached the darkest, most lost point of his life. He completely fell apart. He drank heavily and let his beard grow out, looking like a ghost of his former self. I didn’t even think twice. I sold the downtown condo my parents had bought me and gave him every single penny. “Liam, take this money. Use it.” When he found out where the cash came from, he was furious. He cursed at me, saying some truly awful things. I was used to him finding me annoying, but that was the first time he had ever made me cry. My lips trembled, and I bawled right in front of him. “I believe in you! Your company is going to succeed. You’ll make so much money, you’ll be a huge CEO. This is just an investment!” To my absolute shock, he pulled me into a tight embrace. He told me that once the company took off, we would get married. 2 I had never made an investment before in my life. But the investment I made in Liam Hayes was wildly successful. His startup took off. Within the first year, he made his first million. He bought me a massive house, twice the size of the condo I had sold. He kept his promise. He got down on one knee and proposed. We got married. The house, the cars, the money—we had it all. We lived a happy, perfect life. But as his company expanded, his business trips became more frequent. He was busier than I was chasing down muggers and thieves on the streets. By our second year of marriage, he stopped coming home on time. By the sixth year, his company was preparing to go public. Only, his phone would often go straight to voicemail, and his collars frequently carried the faint scent of women’s perfume. My insomnia grew worse and worse. “Liam, we need to talk.” He sat there, running his fingers through his hair. “Sarah, I met a girl. She’s incredibly gentle, so understanding. I know this is entirely unfair to you, but if you agree to a divorce, I’ll give you ten percent of the company’s shares.” That day, I lunged at him and slapped him hard across the face. “Liam, you bastard! I loved you with everything I had, and this is how you repay me?” He grabbed me and held me tight. “I am so grateful to you. You stayed by my side during my darkest hour. But it’s been six years, and I still can’t bring myself to love you that way. Sarah, let’s get a divorce.” 3 I was usually so easygoing and agreeable when it came to him. But on the topic of divorce, I lost my mind. It was simply because I loved him too much. I still held out hope that I could win him back. I tracked down the girl and confronted her. I told her she was a homewrecker, that what she was doing was immoral. I told her if she agreed to leave Liam, I would personally write her a massive check. I even went to Liam’s father and exposed the fact that his son was keeping a mistress. I thought doing all this would bring Liam back to his senses. The reality was, he stormed into our house, grabbed me by the shoulders, and exploded in a terrifying rage. He called me psychotic. He said I knew his father had a bad heart, yet I still went and spilled everything. It triggered his dad’s heart condition, and he accused me of trying to kill the old man. He told me if I had a problem, I should come at him, not threaten an innocent girl. He called me malicious. He smashed half the things in our living room. He told me I disgusted him, and that from now on, I was on my own. After that day, I could never get through to his phone again. I sent him texts. “Liam, I’m sorry. I know I handled this terribly. Please don’t be mad anymore. Come home. I know you like girls with long hair and pale skin. I can grow my hair out. I can do skincare routines.” He replied with one single message: “Sarah, being married to you feels like being married to a guy. I just want a divorce so we can part on decent terms. Can you just let it go?” 4 The girl got pregnant. He couldn’t wait any longer. He personally brought over the divorce papers, along with a legal document transferring ten percent of his shares to me. That’s when I understood. From the very beginning, he never intended to have a child with me. I had suffered a miscarriage once before. After my body recovered, despite my protests, he always made sure to use protection. Yet now, he had gotten another woman pregnant. I felt violently sick. I ripped the divorce papers to shreds. I tore up the equity transfer agreement and threw the confetti in his face. “Liam, you are the one who wronged me. I don’t want your shares, and I will never make it easy for you two.” I couldn’t bear to face the wreckage of my life. I requested a transfer to the Major Crimes tactical unit, putting myself right on the front lines against violent cartels. I refused to come home. I refused to talk about the divorce. He didn’t bother saving my pride anymore, either. He bought a luxury villa for his mistress so she could rest during her pregnancy. The scandal spread to all our friends and relatives. People started whispering that I was barren, and that his affair was partly justified because I couldn’t give him a child. They looked at our broken marriage and felt exhausted by the drama. Even his father, knowing there was a grandchild on the way, stopped speaking up for me. 5 Everything changed when a major player showed up in a criminal syndicate we had been tracking. We raided one of their safehouses, and they retaliated with brutal force. They torched police cruisers. They ambushed our officers. One of our veteran detectives was spotted while doing surveillance. They stabbed him dozens of times. He died on the spot. That detective had a five-year-old daughter. A dead, heavy silence fell over the entire precinct. According to our intel, this syndicate was incredibly ruthless, operating near the northern border, and heavily armed with military-grade weapons. I lost five pounds in three days. Captain Reynolds patted my shoulder heavily. “Sarah, don’t let it crush you. We’re going to catch these bastards.” I nodded, but my mind was already made up. I was going to catch these animals with my own two hands. “Here’s your transfer order. You’re being moved to the records department tomorrow. Pack up your desk and report in.” I froze for a second, then stubbornly dug my heels in. “Captain, I’m not going back to a desk. I’m staying on the front lines.” “Don’t be stubborn, kid. What woman stays permanently on the tactical assault line?” I hesitated for a moment. “Captain, honestly, if you didn’t remind me, I’d forget I was even a woman.” I never liked dresses; I liked tactical gear. When I joined Major Crimes, long hair was a liability in a fight, so I chopped it off into a sharp bob. “Don’t argue with me, Sarah. Dan’s death wasn’t your fault. Stop taking the blame for it.” I stayed silent for a long time. This was the nightmare eating me alive over the past few days. “If I hadn’t taken time off that day, he wouldn’t have covered my shift. He wouldn’t be dead. He died in my place.” That day, I was supposed to be running an undercover newsstand. But Liam called me, demanding we meet immediately because his mistress, Chloe, was nearing her due date. He threatened that if I didn’t show up, he would come to my stakeout location and make a scene. To avoid blowing my cover, I was forced to call in a favor. Dan took over the newsstand. Dan had been on the force a long time. He had put away a lot of guys. The syndicate recognized him. That night, they trapped him in an alley and exacted a horrific revenge. 6 A week later, we got a tip. The syndicate was making a run for the Canadian border in three days. The department issued a direct order: we had to intercept them before they crossed. After the tactical briefing, every officer was handed a single sheet of paper. It was a pre-operation protocol. A Last Will and Testament. After I signed it, I called my family. Then, my final call went to Liam. “I’ve thought about it. I agree to the divorce. Meet me at the courthouse lawyer’s office in one hour.” He sounded completely taken aback. “Are you serious?” “Yeah. I’m already in the car heading there. You should hurry.” I had a longer drive from the precinct. He arrived before me, which perfectly suited his desperate urge to sever our ties. “Mrs. Hayes, here is the equity division agreement. Mr. Hayes instructed me to transfer ten percent of the company to you,” his lawyer said. “No need. I just want $150,000. Right now. Transfer it directly to my bank account. It’s the exact amount I got from selling my condo back then.” Both the lawyer and Liam froze in shock. But they did exactly as I asked. Liam made a phone call, and a moment later, $150,000 appeared in my account. There was no line at the clerk’s office today. We were called up almost immediately. “Are both parties dissolving this marriage voluntarily?” the clerk asked. “Yes.” The heavy stamp slammed down. Our marriage was officially terminated. I had to hurry back to base. I grabbed my copy of the decree and turned to leave. “Sarah.” Liam actually called out to me. “Yeah?” “You’ve lost a lot of weight.” “If there’s nothing else, I have to go.” “Does your unit have a big operation coming up?” “Sorry. Classified.” I hopped into a waiting cab and drove off. As the cab pulled away, I glanced back through the rear window. Liam was still standing on the courthouse steps, watching me leave.

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1 The day I was supposed to take the bench as Chief Judge, I got myself arrested for a DUI on purpose. Sitting behind bars for three days, I perfectly missed the murder trial of my wife’s childhood sweetheart. Everyone who knew me shook their heads. They pitied me for throwing my brilliant career straight into the gutter. But sitting on that freezing iron cot, all I felt was absolute relief. In my past life, my wife forced me to use my authority to acquit her bastard of a childhood friend. I refused and sentenced the scumbag to death according to the law. My wife hated my guts for it. After the divorce, she pulled every string she had, whipping up a frenzy online and framing me for abusing my power for personal revenge. Overnight, I went from a rising star in the justice system to a rat crossing the street. Countless ignorant netizens doxed me. Death threats stuffed my mailbox. The abuse bled into my real life, suffocating me until my mental defenses completely shattered. I was driven to a dead end and jumped off a building. I opened my eyes, sucking in a lungful of rust-scented air. I had actually returned to the day before the trial. “Is that him? The high and mighty Chief Judge? A drunk driver?” “Breaking the law he’s sworn to uphold. Throw the book at him!” “Scum like him doesn’t deserve the robe. Sickening.” Accusations and curses washed over me like a tidal wave. I looked at the furious faces behind the police tape, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. If I hadn’t been pushed to the absolute brink, who would willingly smash the career they spent a decade building? In my last life, my principles got me killed. This time, I had run the chessboard through my mind a thousand times. This was the only way out of a dead end. It would be a lie to say my heart didn’t ache for what I was losing. Before I could process the heavy emotions, two uniformed officers slapped cold handcuffs onto my wrists with a sharp click. One of them roughly shoved my shoulder, preparing to force me into the back of the cruiser. Right at that moment, a middle-aged woman in a red coat broke through the crowd like a madwoman. She pointed a trembling finger right at my nose and screamed. “You heartless animal! My son was killed by a drunk driver like you!” “You’re a judge and you dare to drink and drive? Why don’t you rot in hell with my boy!” Her voice cracked and tore. Driven to the edge of grief, she lunged forward, her nails aiming straight for my face. Looking at her twisted, tear-stained features, my vision blurred for a second. A few years ago, I was the one who presided over her son’s tragic hit-and-run case. What a cruel joke of fate. The wheel turned, and now I was the one wearing the handcuffs. Seeing her claws about to reach my eyes, the younger cop quickly stepped in front of me. “Ma’am, please step back. You need to calm down.” “Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down!” Her shrieks pierced my eardrums. “Why does a piece of trash like him get to wear that robe? What gives him the right to sit up high and decide who lives and dies!” The crowd immediately echoed her anger. People shouted that someone so filthy had no right to judge others. The cops were overwhelmed by the boiling outrage. They finally managed to pull the despairing mother aside. Taking advantage of the gap, the other officer shoved me hard into the police car. The heavy door slammed shut with a thud. The chaos outside was instantly muted. The young cop climbed into the driver’s seat. He glanced at the angry mob outside, still shaken, then glared at me through the rearview mirror. His eyes were full of frustrated disappointment. He shook his head in disgust. “What the hell were you thinking? A Chief Judge, holding the biggest case of the year, and you go out and drive drunk? Is your brain rotted?” “Anyone who didn’t know better would think you did this on purpose to dodge the trial.” A sharp ache hit my chest. I had bled for this profession for ten years. Every bone in my body carried a deep reverence for the law. Who would actually throw that away? But I had no choice. I had to burn it all down to survive. Seeing me sitting there like a mute statue, the cop wisely shut his mouth. I leaned back against the leather seat and closed my eyes, but my mind ran wild, dragging me back to my previous life. My wife was Meredith. The man who caused the fatal crash was her childhood best friend, Blake. That night, the rain poured down in sheets. Visibility was zero. Blake was dead drunk. He slammed the gas pedal, ran a red light, and hit a pregnant woman, sending her flying across the intersection. Her husband was standing only a few feet away, forced to watch his beloved wife smash onto the asphalt like a broken doll. Bright crimson blood mixed with the rain, pooling rapidly under the pale streetlights. She died on impact. The eight-month-old baby, fully formed and ready to see the world, died right along with her. The tragedy detonated across the internet. Public fury boiled over, and every lawyer in the city was placing bets on how long Blake would rot in a cell. Fate played a sick joke, and the gavel was placed in my hands. The second the news broke, Meredith called me. She felt zero sympathy for the dead. She simply demanded I use my authority to get Blake off the hook. Those were two innocent lives. And Blake didn’t show a single ounce of remorse in court. He even smirked at the grieving husband. My bottom line as a judge made me reject Meredith’s insane demands without a second thought. Taking all the brutal evidence into account, I brought the gavel down and sentenced Blake to death. The day of the verdict, Meredith was eerily quiet. But that very night, she packed her bags and left. The next morning, a cold divorce agreement was slapped onto my desk. I was completely stunned. She looked at me like I was garbage. A venomous sneer curled her lips as she told me I didn’t deserve to be her husband. “Blake and I grew up together, and you actually dared to sentence him to death. You’re a cold-blooded monster!” “I asked you for one tiny favor and you pushed back. What’s next? Are you going to throw me in a cell too!” Her beautiful eyes were swimming with raw, unfiltered hatred. I almost laughed at her twisted logic. If I didn’t sentence him to death, how could I face the public? How could I face those two murdered souls? She refused to listen to a single word of my defense. She just spun on her heels and slammed the door behind her. I tried to salvage things, but she was a block of solid ice. Exhausted to my core, I signed the papers. I thought the nightmare was over and we would just go our separate ways. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The day after the divorce, a massive smear campaign buried me alive. Hordes of internet trolls came out of nowhere, spinning a narrative that I was jealous of Blake and Meredith’s relationship, claiming I handed down the death penalty out of pure spite. The killing blow was an audio clip leaked online. In it, my voice used the most vulgar words imaginable to curse Blake, threatening to kill him sooner or later. It was a masterful AI deepfake. Meredith was a top-tier visual and audio designer. She had plenty of connections with people who could fabricate reality perfectly. I tried to clear my name. A few rational voices actually took my side. But that afternoon, my trusted assistant posted a massive essay online. He tearfully accused me of abusing my power and accepting massive bribes. When my own right-hand man threw me to the wolves, the narrative completely spiraled out of control. Not a single person believed my innocence anymore. I naively thought the internet’s memory was short. I thought time would wash it away. But the hatred escalated into real-world violence. Bricks smashed through my windows at midnight. Dead rats were left on my windshield. The death threats seeped into every corner of my existence. My sanity finally snapped. On a quiet, early morning, I stepped off the edge of a thirty-story building. The agony of my bones shattering and my organs tearing from the sheer force of the impact was still burned into my soul. Opening my eyes again, only ice remained in my veins. Since God gave me a second chance, I would never let anyone use me as a stepping stone again. Three days later, I finally walked out of the precinct doors. The desk officer handed me my belongings in a clear plastic bag. I nodded in thanks. The second I turned on my phone, it vibrated like a cornered hornet. Over a hundred unread messages flooded the screen. I skimmed through them. Most were from Meredith. Every single word reeked of arrogant rage. “Where the hell are you playing dead? Text me back!” “You have three hours, or I’m dragging you to sign divorce papers!” “You think you’re so tough now? Ignoring my calls and my texts?” Because I hadn’t replied, her final messages softened just a fraction. “Today is Blake’s trial. You better remember what I said and make sure he walks free.” Seeing that last line, I couldn’t hold back a cold laugh. I had spent three peaceful days behind bars, and she was out here writing a whole script for my life. I ignored her garbage texts. Glancing at my Rolex, I saw the time was just about right. I hailed a cab and headed straight for the courthouse. Green lights all the way. Half an hour later, the cab pulled up across the street from the towering courthouse. I looked out the window. Blake’s crime was so brutal that the court had barred public entry to the trial. But that didn’t stop the outrage. The plaza in front of the building was packed tight with angry protesters, and reporters had their cameras lined up like a firing squad. My eyes scanned the chaotic crowd and locked onto two very familiar figures. Meredith and my son, Toby. They were standing on their tiptoes, craning their necks toward the heavy doors, panic written all over their faces. This was getting interesting. I pushed the car door open, a mocking smile playing on my lips. I shoved my hands in my pockets and stood on the sidewalk, quietly admiring their little performance. A few minutes passed. Maybe she felt my unapologetic stare, because Meredith suddenly whipped her head around. Our eyes clashed in the air. The moment she recognized my face, Meredith looked like someone had hit pause on a remote control. Pure, unfiltered shock flashed across her perfect face. She let go of Toby’s hand and practically sprinted across the pavement toward me in her heels. “What are you doing here?” A subtle tremor of panic laced her voice. Her eyes darted between the closed courthouse doors and my calm expression. Her throat tightened. “At this time, you should be sitting in…” She forced the rest of the sentence back down her throat. I looked down at her, my voice dead flat. “Where should I be?” She bit her lower lip hard, her face draining of color. The mockery on my face deepened. I dragged out the syllables, asking her the exact same question again. Her mask completely shattered. Her voice grew sharp and erratic. “You should be on the bench! Why are you sneaking around out here? Did you abandon your post again!” Her volume was loud, laced with a preemptive, defensive fury. A few curious heads were already turning our way. I didn’t care if anyone recognized me as the disgraced Chief Judge who got busted for drunk driving three days ago. Meeting Meredith’s furious, panicked gaze, I let out a slow, clear laugh. “What trial?” “Three days ago, I was locked up for a DUI. I just walked out of the precinct ten minutes ago.”

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1 I woke up inside an angsty, toxic romance novel. Worse, I was the tragic female lead destined to suffer. But the moment I opened my eyes, I realized I had gained a bizarre power: I could modify any number in the text of this story. With a mental flick of my wrist, I decided to play God. The manipulative mistress in the original story bragged about weighing ninety pounds with the appetite of a tiny bird. I changed her weight to three hundred pounds, making her so massive she broke her chair and sent the male lead’s jaw dropping to the floor. In the original plot, she pushed me from a seventh-floor balcony, causing me to miscarry and shattering every bone in my body. I changed the number to the first floor. I fell, brushed the dirt off my jeans, and walked right back inside. While I lay dying in the original script, she and my husband took off for a ten-day tropical island getaway. I added some zeros, turning their quick vacation into a ten-year survival nightmare. By the time they returned, I had manipulated the numbers in my bank account to become the wealthiest tycoon on the East Coast. As for them? They had spent a decade playing a real-life version of Castaway, reduced to shivering, dirt-caked cave people. It all started when I opened my eyes to find myself trapped in this cliché nightmare. The mistress was named Tiffany, and my husband was Gavin. Tiffany was the newly hired secretary at Gavin’s corporate headquarters, a master manipulator who knew exactly how to play the victim. I, Vivian, had spent years building a life with Gavin. We were childhood sweethearts. I supported him through his grueling startup years, cooking his meals and keeping his home, only to become a boring, neglected ornament in his eyes once he made his fortune. He began cheating on me, letting his toxic mistress torment me until I lost my baby, ended up paralyzed in a hospital bed, and was finally dragged off to an asylum. After endless torment, the original Vivian became a vegetative shell. Only then did Gavin realize his mistakes and begin his pathetic, desperate chase to win her back. But I was here now, and I had no intention of playing the victim. When the system notified me that I could edit the story’s numbers, I grinned. I did not need to be greedy. A few strategically placed digits would do just fine. Sitting at the dining table, I watched Tiffany pick at her food. Knowing what was about to happen, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. In this scene, Tiffany had come to our house to provoke me. She pretended to be drunk, draping herself over Gavin. He brought her home to stay in our guest room, but in the middle of the night, she wailed that she was starving. Gavin ordered me to get out of bed and cook a three-course meal for her. The original Vivian complied, only for Tiffany to take one bite and sneer. “Gavin, I have the stomach of a bird, I barely weigh ninety pounds. I am completely full after one bite. I really envy Vivian. You can tell she has a wonderful appetite just by looking at her figure.” Then she pushed the plate away with a look of disgust. “Gavin, now that I am full, the smell of this grease makes me want to throw up.” Gavin immediately ordered me to throw all the food in the trash and scrub the kitchen so Tiffany would not have to smell it. As I slaved away, he watched me with cold disdain. “Vivian, you should learn some self-discipline from Tiffany. Look at your body, you have completely let yourself go.” The original Vivian wept silently in the kitchen. She only gained weight because she had been taking heavy hormone injections for years, desperately trying to get pregnant because Gavin said he wanted a family. Now, facing the exact same scene, I pulled up the system panel. I targeted the number ninety in Tiffany’s dialogue and changed it to three hundred. The effect was instantaneous. Tiffany’s silk blouse buttons violently popped off. One button shot through the air and landed with a splash directly in the soup bowl. Her body expanded so rapidly that the delicate wooden dining chair splintered beneath her. She crashed onto the hardwood floor with a heavy, flesh-shaking thud. Gavin stared at her newly acquired rolls of fat, his eyes wide with horror and disgust. I rested my chin on my hand, looking her up and down. “Well, sweetheart, you do not look like you have the stomach of a bird to me.” Tiffany tried to stomp her foot in anger, but her massive weight sent a violent shudder through the entire dining room floor. Gavin, like most superficial men, was entirely driven by looks. The disgust in his eyes was impossible to hide. “Tiffany, help Vivian clean up the table. Walking around will be good for your weight loss.” He was bound by the novel’s plot to cheat, but his eyes betrayed his sheer confusion. He could not understand why on earth he was falling for a loud, overbearing, three-hundred-pound woman. Later that night, the original plot dictated that Gavin would sneak into the guest room for some intense, skin-to-skin intimacy. I did not care about the betrayal, but I refused to listen to their noisy antics keeping me awake. So, I pulled up the system and changed their seven inches of intimacy to zero. Gavin spent the entire night huffing and puffing, completely blocked by Tiffany’s massive, three-hundred-pound stomach. 2 Despite their lack of physical success, the novel’s plot still forced a pregnancy onto Tiffany. Gavin moved her into our home permanently and demanded that I serve her three meals a day. In the original timeline, Vivian worked day and night, cooking gourmet meals to cater to Tiffany’s endless demands. Tiffany treated her like a servant, throwing tantrums and flipping the dining table whenever a dish was not to her liking. But I was not the submissive wife. I did not feel like cooking at all. I opened the system panel and changed the phrase “three meals a day” to “one meal every three days.” When Gavin opened his mouth to give his daily order, his voice sounded strained as the plot rewrite took hold. “Vivian, you will prepare one meal every three days to serve Tiffany.” I smiled brightly. “As you wish, darling.” Tiffany’s nightmare began. Waiting seventy-two hours for a single meal left her absolutely ravenous. Every time I placed a plate in front of her, she devoured it like a feral animal, practically licking the porcelain clean. She was too busy starving to complain about the quality, let alone flip any tables. Once, she looked at the bowl of plain instant noodles I set down and let out a soft groan of disgust. I immediately grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over, sending the noodles splashing across the floor. “Let me help you with that, Tiffany. I just realized I made this meal two hours too early. We still have time to wait before your three-day mark.” Tiffany shrieked in anger. But half an hour later, I found her on her knees, weeping as she scooped the stray noodles off the floor to eat them. From that day on, she treated my cooking with absolute reverence. She looked at every plate as if it were a sacred offering, terrified I would flip the table again. Ten months later, Tiffany gave birth to a baby boy. Shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant as well. In the original story, this pregnancy was the result of seven long years of medical treatments. Vivian cherished the baby, believing it would mend her broken marriage. But Tiffany saw the child as a threat to her position and decided to get rid of it. She began slipping high doses of toxic herbal extracts into my daily soups, causing me to suffer severe cramps and bleeding. When I was rushed to the hospital, she secretly swapped my pregnancy-safe medication with useless vitamins. After my third emergency room visit, Gavin slapped me across the face. “Stop putting on a show, Vivian. Do you really think this pregnancy makes you special? You think you can use a baby to tie me down? Tiffany has already given me a son. I only keep you around out of pity. If you try to use this baby for attention one more time, I will personally drag you to an abortion clinic.” That slap shattered the last of Vivian’s hope. She decided to survive just long enough to have her baby and leave him. But she never got the chance. Tiffany cornered her on the seventh-floor balcony and pushed her over the railing. Now, I stood on that same balcony, looking down at the ground. I felt a phantom ache in my bones, but I remained calm. I opened the panel and changed the number seven to one. As Tiffany crept up behind me, I turned, gave her a cheerful wave, and jumped over the railing myself. Amid her panicked screams, I landed softly in the manicured bushes of the first-floor garden. I crawled out, brushed the dirt off my knees, and walked back to the front door to ring the bell. 3 Because Tiffany had already poisoned my system with so many toxins, the minor fall was still enough to end the fragile pregnancy. But my bones were perfectly intact. As I lay in my hospital bed, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Best of all, Gavin and Tiffany had completely vanished from my sight since the incident. Just as I was enjoying the peace, my phone buzzed. It was Gavin. My finger slipped, and I accidentally answered the call. “Vivian, I am sorry,” Gavin’s voice sounded tight. “Tiffany has been feeling depressed lately and needs a change of scenery. I am taking her to a private island resort. I won’t be able to look after you for a while.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be heartbroken. “For how long, Gavin?” As I spoke, I opened the system panel and edited the text. Gavin’s voice faltered on the other end, sounding dazed and confused. “For… ten… years.” He cleared his throat, sounding utterly bewildered by his own words. “I am sorry, Vivian. I do not know why I said ten years. My original plan was just a quick trip to clear our heads, but…” I cut him off before he could recover. “Enjoy your decade, darling. Do not worry about a thing. I will take care of the company while you are away.” I hung up immediately, ready to enjoy my ten years of freedom. In the original timeline, Gavin left for his vacation without even paying my hospital bills. Meanwhile, Tiffany filled her social media with posts boasting about his generosity. She had shared photos of her bank account showing a five-hundred-thousand-dollar balance, alongside Gavin’s thirty-million-dollar account. Her posts featured designer bags scattered across a luxury hotel bed. Meanwhile, my own account had held a pathetic fifty dollars, a random handout Gavin had tossed to me weeks prior. Because I could not pay the hospital fees, I was discharged early. I had walked through a freezing rainstorm all night, clutching my aching stomach. That was the night the original Vivian finally lost her mind, sinking into a permanent state of paranoia until Gavin returned and committed her to an asylum. Now, I unlocked my phone and scrolled to Tiffany’s old boastful post. I changed her five hundred thousand dollars to five dollars. Then I turned Gavin’s thirty million dollars into three dollars. They were stuck on a remote island for the next ten years. I smiled, feeling like a benevolent savior. Adversity builds character, after all. I was simply giving them a wonderful opportunity to test the strength of their true love. Next, I opened my own banking app, stared at my fifty-dollar balance, and began typing zeros behind it until my thumb grew sore. I decided to take a nap and add some more tomorrow. In the original story, Vivian had called Gavin dozens of times a day during his absence until he finally blocked her number. I, on the other hand, was far too busy adding digits to my bank account to care about where he was. On the sixth day of his trip, Gavin called me. His tone was uncharacteristically polite, almost nervous. “Vivian, how have you been?” I was in the middle of typing another row of zeros and answered distractedly. “I am doing great.” Gavin hesitated, his voice tight with embarrassment. “Vivian, could you wire me some money? Or perhaps you could authorize an early release of my monthly salary of one million dollars? I was certain I brought enough funds, but for some reason, all my cards are being declined.” My eyes lit up at the mention of corporate authorization. “Gavin, you still have nine years, eleven months, and twenty-three days left on your island vacation. The company cannot run without a leader. Transfer all administrative rights to me, and I will handle your salary.” Gavin snapped, telling me I did not have the brains for business, but he quickly shut his mouth. He knew that if he abandoned the company for ten years without a trusted proxy, there would be nothing left when he returned. He had no choice but to sign the digital transfer forms. The moment the corporate power of attorney cleared, I did two things. First, I blocked Gavin’s number. Second, I adjusted his monthly corporate salary from one million dollars to one cent. For a husband who was entirely absent, a penny a month was more than generous. Ten years flew by. By constantly manipulating the numbers of my investments, I transformed myself into the most powerful financial tycoon on the East Coast. I was no longer the weeping housewife. I was a brilliant corporate force, running a massive business empire. Over the decade, handsome bachelors and elite suitors constantly sought my attention, and my life was filled with excitement. I had completely forgotten about Gavin and Tiffany. One afternoon, during a ribbon-cutting ceremony for my new shipping port, a loud gasp rippled through the crowd. “Look out there!” Everyone turned their eyes toward the ocean. A battered, makeshift raft was tossing and turning in the rough harbor waves. Two figures clung to the wooden logs. It was impossible to tell their gender at first. They were covered in layers of dirt, dressed only in woven leaves, with matted hair that dragged along the deck. I squinted at the two wild figures paddling desperately toward the dock. They looked strangely familiar. My jaw tightened as recognition set in. It was Gavin and Tiffany. I had been so absorbed in my multi-billion-dollar acquisitions that I had completely lost track of the timeline. Ten years had actually passed. Before I could process it, a massive wave flipped their fragile raft, dumping them both into the shallow, murky water near the shore.

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