Category: English

1 My mother was dying of irreversible heart failure, and she begged me to fly back to the States to perform her transplant surgery. Stepping off the plane, I took a deep breath of the familiar Boston air, wondering if I would ever be able to call her Mom again. Ten years ago, the Brooks family found their biological daughter living out in the boondocks. The fake daughter, who had supposedly committed a string of vicious, unforgivable acts, was kicked to the curb. I was that fake daughter. The one who never stood a chance to clear her name. I was rushing to the hospital with the donor heart secured in my arms when a sports car swerved into the wrong lane and forced my cab to a screeching halt. The biological daughter stepped out of the passenger seat. She gave me one look, and before I could react, her bodyguard kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to hit the hard pavement. “Cynthia Brooks, you stole twenty years of my rich, perfect life, and you still want more? You actually have the nerve to come back and fight me for my parents?” I looked up into her glaring eyes. “Harper, if you value the life you have right now, you need to let me go. Now.” Before the words even left my mouth, Harper’s hand cracked across my cheek in a vicious slap. “Who the hell do you think you are to threaten me?” She stared down at me, her eyes brimming with absolute disgust. “I didn’t get to completely destroy you ten years ago, Cynthia. But look at you now, delivering yourself right to my doorstep.” She bent down, her manicured fingers digging into my jaw, forcing my face up. “You think you deserve to call her Mom? That is my mother. Not yours. You are a cheap knockoff. Where do you get off calling her that?” I didn’t have the energy to argue with her toxic logic. I just tightened my grip around the insulated medical cooler in my arms. Inside that box was a donor heart. It had to be transplanted within six hours. Harper noticed my death grip. Her gaze dropped to the cooler. “What kind of treasure are you guarding like your life depends on it?” She shot a look to her left. Two massive bodyguards stepped forward and violently wrenched the cooler from my chest. Harper popped the latches. A cloud of chilled vapor spilled out into the humid air, revealing the perfectly preserved human heart resting inside. Staring at the organ, a twisted, sick smile spread across Harper’s face. She looked at me with a morbid kind of thrill. “Wait, is your heart failing, Cynthia? Do you need a transplant? Oh, how tragic. Looks like karma is real after all!” “Tell me something,” she taunted. “If I just rub my dirty, unwashed hands all over this thing, it’ll be ruined, right? It’ll be completely useless. And you’ll just die.” She reached her hand toward the open cooler. “Don’t touch it!” I finally screamed. My entire body was shaking, but I forced myself to swallow the panic. “Harper, listen to me. That heart isn’t for me.” “I am a surgeon now. That heart belongs to my patient. Do not touch it. Destroying that will not hurt me!” I desperately wanted to scream that the heart was for our mother. But before I flew back, Margaret had explicitly forbidden me from telling anyone. Especially Harper. Margaret had kept her failing health a total secret from her biological daughter. She felt so guilty about the twenty years Harper spent in poverty that she refused to cause her any emotional pain. Harper’s hand hovered over the ice. She tilted her head, her eyes darkening with pure venom. “A surgeon?” She let out a dry, hacking laugh. “You really do have all the luck, Cynthia. Why?” “Why didn’t you end up homeless, wandering the streets like a stray dog? How did you become a doctor? How do you get to stand in an operating room?” She turned away, staring off as if sucked into a nightmare. “Do you have any idea what my life was like for those first twenty years? The years you stole from me?” “A rotting shack in the middle of nowhere. Freezing in the winter, flooded in the summer. Eating stale bread and pickled garbage. Wearing other people’s stained hand-me-downs.” “That man beat me senseless whenever he drank. That woman hated the sight of me. I was forced to work the dirt since I was a toddler. Look at my hands! I had frostbite and calluses before I could even read.” “And you? You wore the princess dresses that belonged to me. You slept in my mansion. You took ballet, you learned the piano, you got accepted into a prestigious university abroad.” “Why didn’t you have to suffer the misery that was meant for you? God is so completely blind!” Her voice escalated into a hysterical screech. I tried to keep my tone even. “Harper, a nurse switched us at the hospital.” “If you want to say I lived your life, I accept that. Even though I had no say in it.” “But later? You framed me. You bullied me. You forced Mom and Dad to publicly disown me and throw me out on the street with absolutely nothing. Hasn’t the debt been paid?” I paused, my voice trembling. “I have never personally done a single thing to hurt you. My conscience is clear.” Harper burst into maniacal laughter. “Paid? You think it’s that easy?” Before the echo of her laugh faded, she plunged her bare, unsterilized hand straight into the medical cooler and squeezed the donor heart. Preservation fluid dripped through her fingers as the vibrant, life-saving organ deformed under her grip. She held it up right in front of my face, her voice dripping with malicious amusement. “Sucks to be your patient. Guess this piece of meat is garbage now.” A raw scream tore out of my throat. “Do you have any idea who needs that heart!” 2 Seeing me break down completely only made Harper smile wider. “I don’t give a damn who needs it.” “All I know is that I am the true heiress of the Brooks family. With how much Mom and Dad owe me, they will cover up anything I do.” “But you? With this heart ruined, let’s see if you can keep playing doctor.” The blood was pounding in my ears. The roaring in my head was deafening. Since begging wouldn’t work on a psychopath, I was going to call the cops. But the second I pulled my phone from my pocket, Harper snatched it right out of my grip. At that exact moment, the screen lit up. A text notification popped onto the lock screen. [Mom: Cynthia, where are you?] Harper’s smug face contorted the second she read the caller ID. She glared down at me, her eyes burning with absolute hatred. “You are still secretly talking to my mother!” “Cynthia Brooks, you are still trying to steal my place!” “You have a career, you have everything, why do you still have to steal my mother!” I looked up at her, my mouth tasting like ash. “I am not trying to steal her from you.” The moment the words left my lips, Harper brought my own phone down and smashed it brutally against my temple. “Then why the hell is she saved as ‘Mom’ in your phone!” The heavy device struck my head with a sickening thud. A blinding flash of pain and extreme dizziness washed over me, and the world tilted. I nearly collapsed fully onto the concrete. Harper grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to look at her. “Tell me! Why do you still call her Mom! What gives you the right!” I stayed completely silent. There was no way to explain it to her. Even if Margaret wasn’t my biological mother, she had raised me for twenty years. Even though she threw me out like trash, some pathetic, broken part of me still viewed her as a mother. I was so starved for the memory of her maternal warmth that I never had the heart to change her contact name. But I wasn’t going to justify my trauma to Harper. It would only make her crazier. I bit my lip and bent down to pick up my shattered phone from the asphalt. But just as my fingers brushed the screen, a heavy leather shoe stepped squarely onto the back of my hand. I slowly looked up. Standing above me was Liam Spencer. My childhood sweetheart. The boy who had promised to marry me. He stared down at me with dead eyes, the pressure of his shoe steadily increasing. After ten years of not seeing each other, his first words to me were a demand. “Cynthia, apologize to Harper right now.” The boy who once swore he would protect me from the world was now grinding my hand into the dirt, demanding I apologize for a crime I didn’t commit. My chest caved in. Whatever lingering affection I had for my parents or Liam was officially dead. Their love belonged exclusively to Harper now. Harper smirked, her face glowing with triumph. “Oh Liam, you always know how to take care of me.” I swallowed the sharp pain radiating up my arm. “Liam, I will tell Harper whatever she wants to hear. I will say I’m sorry a thousand times.” “But I have a critical surgery to perform right now. This is a matter of life and death. If I am late, every single one of you will regret this for the rest of your lives.” Liam didn’t lift his foot. “The surgery doesn’t matter, Cynthia. What matters is that you shouldn’t even be here. Your presence is making Harper anxious.” “She finally came home and got the life she deserved, and you, you little fraud, have the audacity to show your face again?” I ignored the agonizing pain in my hand and stared at him in pure disbelief. “Liam, I am a doctor. I have to save a dying patient. Harper is angry, fine, but have you lost your mind too?” “A heart transplant has a six-hour window. The clock is ticking.” “Harper contaminated the surface, but there is still a slight chance I can salvage it with heavy sterilization protocols. But if you keep me here any longer, this heart is going straight to the incinerator!” Seeing zero reaction from either of them, I finally drew a deep breath and screamed the truth. “The person I am trying to save is Harper’s mother.” “Margaret is lying on an operating table right now with total heart failure, waiting for this exact heart to save her life!” 3 Harper froze for a split second before letting out a mocking scoff. “You actually have the nerve to use my mother as a shield?” “Mom is perfectly healthy. She doesn’t have heart problems. You really won’t give up your pathetic lies until you’re in a coffin, will you?” She turned to Liam, her voice turning sweet and sickeningly cruel. “Liam, I want her hand destroyed. I want to make sure this little thief can never pretend to be a doctor again.” “Step on it. Step on it as hard as you can. Crush it until she can never hold a scalpel for the rest of her miserable life.” Without a shred of hesitation, Liam shifted his body weight over his foot. My right hand was pinned to the abrasive asphalt. I could feel my knuckles shifting violently under his sole. My fingernails began to crack, and bright red blood pooled out from the edges of his expensive shoe. My whole body convulsed in agony. Tears streamed down my face without my permission. “Liam…” “Stop… please stop… don’t you remember what you promised me when we were kids… Liam, look at me… it’s me… it’s Cynthia…” Liam refused to meet my eyes. “Harper is the true daughter. You didn’t just steal her parents’ love, Cynthia. You stole my love.” “You are nothing but a thief. A thief doesn’t deserve the prestige of being a surgeon. Do you honestly think dirty hands like yours deserve to hold a scalpel?” And then, I heard the sharp, sickening crack of my own bones snapping. Harper heard it too. She gasped in faux concern. “Oh no, Cynthia, what a tragedy! Your bones just broke.” “I heard that cardiac surgery requires intense, microscopic precision. With your finger bones shattered to pieces, how are you going to do all those delicate little stitches?” “Stop crying and tell me. Can you still play doctor now?” In that exact moment, the last ember of hope in my soul died. Liam finally lifted his foot. I stared blankly at my right hand. The same hand that had meticulously sutured hundreds of arteries on the operating table. It was a mangled, bloody mess of crushed bone and torn skin. A guttural wail tore out of my throat, a sound of absolute, soul-ripping despair echoing from the deepest part of my chest. Harper didn’t just want me kicked out of the family. She wanted to obliterate my entire existence. I stared at the hand I was so incredibly proud of. It was ruined. I would never perform heart surgery again. And I could no longer save my mother. Right then, the driver’s side door of Harper’s sports car opened. My father stepped out. Richard Brooks. He had been sitting inside the car the entire time. Watching with cold, indifferent eyes as I was forced to the pavement, slapped, and as Liam crushed my fingers into dust. “Alright, alright, Harper. Her hand is ruined. Let’s call it a day.”

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1 I ended up with the guy who ruthlessly bullied me in high school. When the morning light spilled into the room, I barely moved my arm. Instantly, the arm clamped around my waist pulled me tighter. Roman Vance buried his face in my neck, kissing my skin. His voice was thick and raspy with sleep. “Did you sleep well last night?” I stiffened for a second, then obediently nodded. If this were the past, I might have put up a slight struggle. But he had spent the last three weeks teaching me a very clear lesson. Obedience was the only way. He reached for my hand resting by my side, intertwining his fingers with mine. He let out a low, amused chuckle against my hair. “You didn’t throw the ring away this time?” … He was talking about the diamond ring resting on my ring finger. There had been two others before this. One I hid in the back of the freezer. The other I tossed into the decorative fountain down in the courtyard. I didn’t want to recall the consequences of losing those first two rings. But the consequence of keeping the third one was clear: I was going to marry him. The man I feared more than anyone else in the world. 2 I loved my time in the shower. Because I didn’t have to face him, and I wouldn’t trigger any terrifying memories. But as I stared blankly into the fogged-up vanity mirror, the steam couldn’t hide the glaring, harsh marks scattered across my skin. My eyes were bloodshot. I just stood there, staring at my reflection. Until Roman’s slow, methodical knocking echoed from the bathroom door. “Taking a long time in there.” “If you don’t come out, I’m coming in.” “…” It wasn’t like he hadn’t barged in unannounced before. I immediately turned off the water and wrapped myself in a towel. … Breakfast was arranged perfectly on the dining table, though Roman probably didn’t have time to eat. The morning news played in the background. With his long, elegant fingers, he cleanly and sharply tied his necktie. Noticing my eyes fixed on him, he leaned over and tapped my nose. “Like what you see? Want to tie it for me next time?” I turned my face away. He just let out a careless, low laugh. Deliberately, he picked up the glass of milk I had been drinking from and took a sip, placing his lips exactly over my lipstick mark. … “Be good. Wait for me to come home.” “I’m taking you dress shopping tonight.” 3 Roman left. I stared blankly at the TV for a long time. Then, I picked up the glass he had just drank from and hurled it violently at the screen. The TV only shuddered, but the heavy glass shattered into a hundred pieces across the hardwood floor. The loud crash made the housekeeper gasp in shock. But I just pulled my knees to my chest, curled up in my chair, and cried. … Roman Vance was my walking nightmare. Back in high school, out of the entire clique that made my life hell, he was the cruelest. I remember him standing over me with that arrogant smirk, taking my backpack and dumping all my textbooks from the second-floor balcony. He orchestrated the entire class to isolate me. With his encouragement, a group of girls dragged me into the restroom and slapped me across the face. As long as he led the charge, no one dared to help me. Because Roman was the heir to a massive corporate empire. His dad’s company had funded the entire new science wing of our school. He mocked me flawlessly, and back then, bullying me simply became the school trend. I heard that his handsome face was the subject of countless girls’ fantasies. But to me, he was the demon that kept me awake night after night, shivering in terror. And yet, this same man… Seven years after graduation… Said he was going to marry me. 4 I could never shake the habit of trembling whenever I saw Roman. Even though we had been sharing a bed for three weeks. No one would help me. When my mom found out a man of Roman’s status wanted to marry me, she acted like she had won the lottery. Roman seemed to have switched cars again today. The backseat of this one was incredibly spacious. I hated cars with spacious backseats. The privacy partition was rolled up. No one in the front could see what he was doing to me in the back. But Roman was quieter than usual today. Probably because I wouldn’t stop shaking. He had turned the heat up in the car, but the tremors wouldn’t stop. Ignoring my resistance, he pulled me flush against his chest. “Hazel, are you really that terrified?” The man’s low whisper brushed against my ear. He knew exactly who caused me to be like this. “I’m taking you to pick out a wedding dress. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I tried with everything I had to suppress my trembling, but a sarcastic, broken laugh escaped my lips anyway. Who would have ever thought? The very man who pushed me into the abyss… Was now gently whispering about wedding dresses. 5 The boutique Roman brought me to was located inside a private, gated mansion. Crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant, blinding light over the stunning gowns displayed on mannequins. I wasn’t in the mood to look, let alone choose. I just let Roman and the designer discuss custom styles for me. I let the assistants wrap measuring tapes around my body like I was a doll. The boutique had a small courtyard garden in the back. That interested me more. So, while they talked, I lifted the hem of my skirt and walked out to the small koi pond. There was a wrought-iron gate at the back of the garden. It looked like if I could just pass through it, it would lead to infinite freedom. In truth, I had thought about running away a million times. But every time I mustered the courage, a crushing realization hit me: I had nowhere to run. My mom desperately wanted this marriage. She had grabbed my hands and begged me to stop causing trouble. I sat by the edge of the pond until Roman finished his meeting and came to find me. “What are you thinking about?” He always did this. Looking down at me from high above. So, I rolled up my sleeve and held my arm out to him. On my wrist was a small, circular red scar, bordered by thick, raised tissue. “Look. The cigarette burn you gave me.” I was referring to a day in high school. He was in a bad mood, dragged me into a corner, and pressed a lit cigarette directly into my skin. It hurt so much. It hurt so badly that I forgot what else he did to me that day. The man looking down at me froze. For a long moment, he just stared. Then, he crouched down in front of me. Even though I hated to admit it, Roman’s face was flawless. Perfect. Like a masterpiece sculpted by the greatest artist of ancient Greece. If he looked at anyone with a tender expression, they would drown in his eyes. I guess that’s why they say the devil always wears the most intoxicating face. The flame of his lighter flickered. Right in front of me, he lit a cigarette. I flinched automatically, terrified the burning ash would fall onto my arm again. But the next second, without batting an eye, he pressed the glowing, burning tip of the cigarette directly into his own wrist. In the exact same spot as my scar. He looked at me quietly. “Does that make you feel a little better, Hazel?” “…” I looked down. The ashes crumbled, and the raw, fresh burn was glaring to look at. Suddenly, he reached out and pulled me into his arms. “Hazel. If only you could give a fraction of your pain to me.” Summer fireflies drifted upward over the pond. I stared blankly at the rippling moonlight. “Roman, you know full well that you’re the one who caused all that pain.” His body went entirely rigid. Then, slowly, he began stroking my hair. “Then let me atone for it. Please?” “…”

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1 My boyfriend was hailed as a once-in-a-century painting prodigy, while I struggled to even distinguish the most basic color wheels. For seven years, he shielded me from the world’s ridicule, until a brilliant young artist named Giselle entered the picture. When I broke my leg and desperately needed his care, he spent the night refining draft sketches for Giselle. When a creep stalked me down a dark alley and I called him crying for help, his priority was rushing Giselle’s dog to the veterinary clinic because it was having a difficult labor. Today, when his friends teased him once again, saying he and Giselle were a match made in heaven, Tristan didn’t snap back in my defense like he used to. Instead, he simply offered a bittersweet, regretful smile and let it slide. That very evening, over dinner, he looked up and asked, “Maybe I should ask Giselle to consult her uncle? He’s a specialist. Who knows, he might be able to cure your color blindness.” My hand, holding the ladle over the bowl of chicken soup, froze. On the surface, Tristan looked like a devoted partner trying to salvage a fracturing relationship. But in reality, his heart had already drifted. He was finally confronting my mediocrity, and worse, he was starting to resent it. Instead of answering, I offered a faint, bitter smile. “Why do you bring up Giselle so much lately?” Tristan blinked, a rare flash of guilt crossing his face. “You know how it is,” he stammered, trying to justify himself. “She’s the only one in the industry who can actually challenge me right now…” Tristan was a proud man. In the past, he would never have bothered with such defensive explanations. Back then, he would have wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “Sia, my world only has room for my brush and you. I don’t have the energy for anyone else.” Now, without him even realizing it, Giselle had climbed the ranks. She was his priority, and I was just an afterthought. When my broken leg kept me bedridden, he spent the night refining her canvases. When a stranger followed me down the street and I called him in tears, he told me to wait because Giselle’s Frenchie was in labor. When I finally confronted him, screaming through my tears, his voice was cold as ice. He claimed it wasn’t about Giselle, but about art and saving a life. But Tristan, I had told him from the very beginning: I do not tolerate dirt in my eyes. I do not share. His defensive bravado crumbled the moment I slid a photo across the table. It was a picture of him and Giselle locked in a tight embrace. His face paled, then twisted in outrage, as if he were the victim of some profound betrayal. “You spied on me?” Catching his own defensive tone, he tried to backtrack, his voice softening in a desperate bid to smooth things over. “Giselle was drunk, Sia. I was just catching her so she wouldn’t fall…” Watching his clumsy performance, I swallowed the lump of burning sorrow in my throat. I decided to give him one last chance. “If you want us to have a future, delete her. Block her number, throw out her socials, and never see her again.” Tristan stared at me, his eyes darkening to a cold, predatory pitch. Then, without warning, he stood up and violently swept the entire dinner off the table. The plates shattered against the hardwood floor. “All you do is cook and clean!” he roared. “You have zero connection to my art! You can’t possibly comprehend the mutual respect between two geniuses! I have tolerated your mediocrity and your incompetence for years, and now you want to control my career and my life?” I didn’t say a word. I just stared at the broken porcelain and spilled soup scattered at our feet. It looked exactly like the end of our seven-year relationship. His rage was hideous, entirely foreign. For seven years, Tristan had been cool, collected, almost detached from the world. He only cared about his canvas and me. He had never been this savage, this monstrous, screaming as though I were trying to tear away his most prized possession. I knelt down, my fingers brushing against a sharp shard of a broken plate. My voice was as calm as a summer breeze. “Tristan, let’s break up.” 2 My mind drifted back to eight years ago. The day I met Tristan, I was hovering on the edge of life and death. Severe depression had blurred the lines between reality and delusion. I had wandered onto a bridge, staring down at the churning river that seemed to be beckoning me. Tristan, who happened to be passing by, noticed my trance-like state and pulled me back from the ledge. He had been at his own rock bottom back then. We found solace in each other, licking each other’s wounds until we became each other’s entire universe. Eventually, Tristan scaled the heights of the art world, while I settled into the quiet role of a supportive, stay-at-home girlfriend. Even so, whenever anyone sneered at me or looked down on my lack of ambition, Tristan was always the first to stand up for me. He fiercely defended our love. “Ignore them, Sia,” he would say, wrapping me in his warmth. “You will always be the only one for me.” I used to believe that love could conquer any obstacle. As it turned out, our forever had an expiration date of seven years. A sharp, stinging pain snapped me back to the present. Tristan kicked a broken bowl in frustration. The heavy ceramic shard ricocheted off the baseboard and sliced deep into my forearm. Blood welled up instantly, staining my skin crimson. Tristan froze. Panic washed over his features, and he rushed over, tears welling in his eyes as he grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry, Sia! God, I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve been hitting a wall with my painting, and the pressure has just been eating me alive…” Babbling apologies, he practically dragged me out the door to head to the hospital. In his frantic haste, the usually composed and meticulous Tristan lost his shoes three times on the way to the car. For a fleeting second, he looked like the man who would lose his mind just to keep me safe. But deep down, I knew. There was no going back. After the doctor finished stitching up my arm, Tristan left the room to buy me some warm soup. I sat alone on the hospital bed, holding my phone, and began deleting seven years of memories. That was when Giselle walked in. It was our first face-to-face confrontation. She was striking, possessing a sharp, ethereal beauty that mirrored her artwork. She looked down at me as if I were a speck of dust. “An idiot like you doesn’t deserve Tristan,” she said, cutting straight to the chase. “Do yourself a favor and leave him.” I let out a soft laugh. I didn’t even have the energy to argue. I just kept tapping my screen, deleting photo after photo. Annoyed by my silence, Giselle shoved her phone in front of my face, displaying her chat with Tristan. Sia has changed, Tristan’s message read. She never used to pick fights like this. Tonight, she didn’t even try to dodge the broken plate. I think she did it on purpose just to play the victim and get my sympathy. My chest tightened so hard it was difficult to breathe. In the past, if I so much as stubbed my toe, Tristan would lose sleep worrying about me. Now, with a deep gash on my arm, he dismissed it as a cheap trick to win sympathy. I suppose it’s true what they say: when a man stops loving you, even if you hang yourself, he’ll just assume you’re playing on a swing. I blinked rapidly, forcing the hot tears back. Giselle smirked and scrolled up. I watched, numb, subjecting myself to the torture of reading their history. This was the man who was supposedly a man of few words, who treated everyone but me with cold indifference. Yet here he was, texting Giselle every single day. They shared art, jokes, and even pictures of mundane things, like a crooked tree they saw on the street. The weight of it all suddenly felt incredibly tedious. I looked away from the screen and locked eyes with Giselle’s smug face. “You really are a shameless home-wrecker, aren’t you?” I said, emphasizing every syllable. Her smile flickered for a second before turning into a venomous grin. “Want to make a bet?” she whispered. “Let’s see who Tristan actually believes. Let’s see who he cares about more.” Before I could react, she grabbed a fistful of my hair, dragged me off the side of the bed, and slammed my head against the sterile white wall. My injured arm made it impossible to fight back effectively, and her attack was entirely unexpected. Once, twice, three times. She didn’t stop until warm blood began to trickle down my forehead. Instantly, her face morphed into a mask of pure terror. She stumbled backward, screaming as she ran out the door, “Doctor! Nurse! Help! Someone’s trying to hurt themselves!” 3 Tristan came rushing back into the room. Before I could utter a single word, Giselle threw herself at him, gripping his sleeve and sobbing hysterically. “Tristan, you have to believe me! I didn’t even touch a single hair on Sia’s head!” After a long, agonizing silence, Tristan murmured a few comforting words to her, then turned toward me with a conflicted expression. He stared at the fresh bandages wrapped around my head. “Sia, tell me the truth,” he said, his voice laced with pre-determined accusation. “Are you just jealous of the artistic connection Giselle and I share? Is that why you did this to yourself?” Slap! I cut his absurd accusation short with a stinging slap across his face. My left hand throbbed from the impact, but compared to the shattering pain in my chest, I felt absolutely nothing. Was this really the man I had loved for seven long years? Giselle gasped, rushing forward to pull the stunned Tristan away from me. “It’s one thing to frame me,” she cried, tears spilling over her cheeks, “but Tristan was only trying to understand! How could you lay a hand on him?” She turned to him, her voice dripping with sympathy. “Tristan, stay here. I’ll get an ice pack from the nurse.” I watched their little drama with cold, detached eyes. I pulled out my phone and dialed the police. “Don’t leave just yet,” I said calmly. “Since you claim I’m framing you, let’s let the police sort this out.” Giselle instinctively glanced up at the ceiling. I knew what she was thinking; she knew there were no security cameras in this private recovery room. Unfortunately for her, I had learned my lesson the hard way years ago. The moment she had walked in, I had quietly activated the voice recorder on my phone. I also knew Tristan too well. He was fiercely protective of those he cared about, and I was no longer the one he held dear. If I didn’t wait for the authorities to arrive before showing my hand, he would find a way to bury the evidence. Giselle stood quietly while I finished the call. She bit her lower lip, offering Tristan a brave, watery smile. “It’s okay, Tristan. As long as you believe me, nothing else matters. A clean conscience fears no accusation. I’m sure the officers will see through this.” Tristan looked at her with profound pity before turning his fury back on me. “When did you become so malicious, Sia? Making a false police report is a waste of public resources. You’d better have a damn good explanation when they get here!” I let out a sharp laugh. “Tell me, Tristan. From the second you walked into this room, have I uttered a single word accusing Giselle?” Tristan froze. A flicker of realization and embarrassment crossed his face. An exhausting wave of fatigue washed over me. I closed my eyes, refusing to engage with his pathetic deflections, and waited in silence for the police to arrive. Giselle was always one to seize the narrative. The second the officers walked through the door, she rushed forward, pointing a trembling finger at me. “I only came to visit her out of goodwill, but she suddenly started throwing her head against the wall to frame me!” Tristan stepped in, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry about this, officers. My girlfriend has been very unstable lately. She has a history of severe clinical depression, and…” My chest tightened. During the darkest years of my illness, Tristan would threaten anyone who dared mention the word depression around me. When I used to hurt myself, he would hold me so tight, ignoring the cuts from the sharp blades in my hands, whispering over and over, “Sia, you’re not sick. You’re just unhappy right now. I’ll make it better, I promise. Just don’t give up on yourself.” Yet now, to protect another woman, he weaponized my deepest trauma without a second thought. The lead officer didn’t buy their story immediately. He turned to me. “Miss Sienna, do you have anything to add?” I offered a polite, chilly smile and tapped my phone screen to play the recording.

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By the time I transferred to his school, Ryder had already dated every pretty girl in the hallways. He used to joke with his friends, “I’d rather date a stray dog than date Harper.” I am Harper. But a month later, his best friend pinned me against the lockers and confessed his feelings. When Ryder saw the faint mark on my collarbone, he completely lost his mind. “Who gave you permission to touch her?” 1 “Um… could you pass this to Ryder for me?” I took the pale pink envelope. It was the eleventh love letter this month. Everyone knew I was Ryder’s childhood best friend, and everyone knew that out of all the girls in the world, I was the absolute last one he would ever like. So, they felt perfectly safe using me as their personal mail carrier. Just like always, when Ryder took the letter, he raised an eyebrow, thought for a second about who the girl might be, and let out a soft scoff. “My standards aren’t that low.” He tossed the letter back into my arms. “Someone on your level? No thanks.” His friends burst into laughter. Ryder looked at me, his eyes dripping with sarcasm. Why? Because the very first love letter Ryder ever tore to pieces was mine. 2 Ryder and I grew up next door to each other. Our parents were close friends, so naturally, everyone assumed we were close, too. And in the beginning, we were. Until one specific… accident. We were playing Truth or Dare. Ryder picked dare, and someone challenged him to kiss me. Back then, we were just awkward teenagers with too much pride. He asked me, “Do you mind?” Before I could even process the question, he leaned in and kissed me. “Tsk. Nothing special.” From that moment on, I was no longer the untouchable straight-A student in everyone’s eyes. I was just another one of Ryder’s possessions. 3 Ryder’s grades were terrible. Because of that, his parents constantly asked me to tutor him. But on the day we agreed to meet at the local library, I stood alone at the bus stop for nearly an hour. Eventually, I opened Snapchat and saw his story—he was at a sketchy gaming lounge, bragging about a ten-game win streak. I took an Uber to the lounge. The air inside was thick with vape smoke. There was a girl literally sitting on his lap. Her friends were cheering him on. Suddenly, he turned his head and locked eyes with me. He gave me a nasty, wicked smirk. 4 “Harper, are you out of your freaking mind?!” Ryder had been screamed at by his parents, and his car keys and allowance were confiscated. He couldn’t go to the gaming lounge anymore, all because I snitched. “You shouldn’t be hanging around places like that,” I said, emphasizing every word. Back then, I hid my massive crush on him behind a wall of stubborn, self-righteous concern. But all my care only bought his growing disgust. Ryder grabbed my chin. “What gives you the right to control me?” “Did you honestly think that just because we kissed, you’re my girlfriend? What a joke!” 5 Ryder was undeniably gorgeous. Combined with his rebellious, bad-boy attitude, he quickly became the most popular guy in school. Girls lined up to try and tame him. He never turned them down, playing the field with a casual, heartless charm. Even when he was just shooting hoops, his skills had the bleachers screaming his name. But Ryder didn’t hold back. He hurled the basketball directly, and violently, at me. “Oops. Sorry.” He sounded entirely bored as he watched me clutch my stinging arm. “You’re not going to hold a grudge against me, right, my little childhood friend?” After that day, the whole school knew: Ryder hated me. 6 Gradually, I accepted that fact. I took the carefully written love letter I had poured my teenage heart into and buried it deep in a drawer. I stopped paying attention to him. But in front of our parents, we still had to play the part of best friends. “Ryder’s grades have really improved lately! It must be all thanks to Harper. Here, I cut up some fruit for you two,” his mother said with a bright smile. Ryder looked like he was in a great mood. But he subtly shot me a warning glare. His grades didn’t improve because of me. They improved because he was “studying” after hours with Stella, the most popular girl in our grade. I knew, because I had caught them making out in an empty classroom. 7 I had already tried to erase Ryder from my world. But we went to the same school; avoiding him completely was impossible. As a consistent straight-A student, I had just been nominated for State Honor Scholar, and I needed to give a speech the next day. I stayed late after school to rehearse in the auditorium. Walking down the hall, I passed an empty classroom. The sounds coming from inside were quiet but unmistakable. I just turned my head, and through the gap in the blinds, I locked eyes with Ryder. He had Stella pinned against a desk. In the brief second he looked up, he caught me. Right then, I knew he was adding another strike to my name. 8 Stella, Ryder’s new girlfriend, used to be the runner-up for Valedictorian. But after she started dating him, her grades visibly tanked. This quickly caught the counselors’ attention. They pulled me into the office. “Has Stella been acting strangely lately? Is she hanging around a bad crowd?” I just shook my head. “I don’t know.” But secrets never stay buried. Somehow, word got out that I had been questioned. Ryder and Stella’s relationship was exposed. His parents found out, and his dad—a man with a terrifying temper—dragged him home and beat him. My parents weren’t home that day. Ryder forcefully barged into my bedroom. “I underestimated you.” He shoved me hard. I lost my balance and crashed into my desk. One of the drawers flew out, spilling its contents across the floor. Ryder’s grip on my wrist tightened, then froze. Because we both saw it. Lying on the floor was the pale pink love letter. It had my name on it, and his. And he recognized my handwriting perfectly. 9 “Oh… so you’re just jealous?” Ryder’s face lit up with mocking realization. He ripped the love letter to shreds, then grabbed me. I struggled against his grip. “I didn’t snitch on you!” He raised an eyebrow. “I have something more important to deal with right now.” Ryder snatched a pair of scissors from my desk and snipped off a lock of my hair. “Harper, I would rather date a dog than date you.”

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1 I was beaten into a permanent disability by the school bully. Yet, my father, a star attorney, took the case as the defense lawyer for the main attacker. In court, his words were sharp and flawless as he successfully argued for a verdict of not guilty. He saved the girl who had nearly taken my life. All because the girl’s mother was the benefactor who had sponsored his college education decades ago. When I confronted him, my father stood tall, entirely self-righteous. “Everyone is equal before the law, Tessa,” he said. “I cannot abandon my professional ethics just because my daughter was the victim. Brenda was just impulsive. I couldn’t bear to see her entire life ruined over one mistake.” As I watched the girl walk out of the courthouse, a free woman, a smile stretched across my face. I pulled the disownment papers from my bag—the ones I had prepared days ago—and threw them directly at his face. “Since you value your professional ethics so highly, and since you love repaying favors so much,” I said, “I hope you do a good job defending the rest of your life.” My father didn’t even look at the document. To him, this was just another dramatic tantrum from his teenage daughter. “Have you had enough, Tessa?” He picked up the sheets of paper, crumpling them into a ball without reading a single line, and tossed them into the trash bin. “Tonight, Glenda is hosting a dinner at The Gilded Fork to celebrate. You’re coming with me.” “Brenda will be there too. I’ll have her offer you a proper apology, and we can put this entire mess behind us.” I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. Put it behind us? I was still confined to a wheelchair, and the girl who had shattered my knee had just walked free. And he wanted me to attend her victory dinner? “I’m not going,” I said quietly, turning my wheelchair toward the exit. Behind me, my father’s voice rose, thick with suppressed anger. “Tessa! Can you stop being so incredibly petty? Glenda’s family isn’t wealthy. She spent half her monthly wages on this dinner. If you don’t show up, you’re disrespecting me, and you’re disrespecting her!” I didn’t look back. I wheeled myself forward as fast as my arms could manage, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his voice. When I rolled past the courthouse doors, the blinding afternoon sun made my head spin. My mother’s sedan was parked at the curb. Seeing me emerge, she scrambled out of the driver’s seat, her face pale and anxious. “Tessa! How did it go? What was the verdict?” Looking at this woman, who had lived her entire life as a quiet shadow in our household, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. “Not guilty,” I said. My mother froze, her mouth slightly open. “But… how? Your father said the trial was just a formality. He said he was going to negotiate a suspended sentence. How could she be acquitted?” I let out a dry laugh. “Mom, your husband is a star lawyer. If he wants someone to walk free, they walk free. Even if that person broke his own daughter’s leg.” My mother wrung her hands, her eyes darting away in sheer discomfort. “Well… your father must have had his reasons. Glenda did help him back in the day…” “Save it,” I interrupted, cutting her off. “Take me to the hospital. I’m not going home.” She hesitated, glancing back at the courthouse steps. “Actually… your father texted me. He wants us to head straight to The Gilded Fork. He said if we don’t show up, he’ll freeze my credit cards.” I stared at her. Fifty years old, and she lived like a dog on a leash, entirely dependent on my father’s money, never daring to raise her voice. “Then you should go,” I said, pulling out my phone to hail an accessible rideshare. “I’ll go by myself.” “Tessa, please don’t be like this—” She reached out to grab my arm, but I yanked it away. “Mom, if you still want to be my mother, do not go to that dinner. If you go, don’t ever bother coming to see me again.” My ride pulled up to the curb. The driver quickly got out, gently helping me into the passenger seat. Through the glass window, I saw my mother standing on the pavement, her face twisted in agonizing conflict. But in the end, she let out a quiet sigh, turned back to her sedan, and drove off. She headed toward the restaurant. I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall in the silence of the car. This was my family. A self-righteous saint for a father, and a weak, submissive coward for a mother. And I was nothing but an inconvenient casualty in their lives. Shortly after I was settled into my hospital bed, my phone began to buzz incessantly. I opened social media. Brenda had posted a photo album of her celebration dinner. In the pictures, she was raising a champagne glass, her face flushed red with joy. My father sat at the head of the table, offering his signature warm, distinguished smile. Her caption read: Thank you, Uncle Victor! Justice may be delayed, but it is never denied! Cheers! Justice? What a joke. I opened the comments. They were filled with congratulations from her friends. Brenda is queen! Attorney Victor is legendary! Where’s the cripple? Didn’t she come to pour the drinks? Brenda had replied: Probably crying in her bedroom, haha. My fingers shook against the screen. Suddenly, a notification popped up. A bank transfer of two thousand dollars from my father. His note read: Stop throwing tantrums. Use this to buy yourself something nice. I told Glenda she doesn’t have to worry about your medical expenses. Their family is struggling, and we need to show some compassion. I stared at the words, a wave of intense nausea rising in my throat. I hurled my phone against the brick wall. 2 I stayed in the hospital for three days. During that time, my father never visited once. Instead, Glenda showed up, clutching a plastic basket filled with bruised, rotting apples. She wore her dusty work uniform, standing awkwardly at the entrance of my room. “Tessa,” she said, placing the basket on my nightstand. She rubbed her calloused hands together. “Brenda is just a kid. Sometimes she gets rough and doesn’t know her own strength. I’ve already scolded her.” “Look, your father got her off, so let’s call it even, okay?” Even? I stared at the decaying apples she had likely picked up from a bargain bin. A dry laugh caught in my throat. “My leg is worth a basket of rotten garbage?” Glenda’s face hardened, but she quickly forced her polite smile back on. “Oh, Tessa, you shouldn’t talk like that. When your father was in college, I scraped together every penny to keep him fed. People need to show some gratitude. Look at how reasonable your father is.” “Besides, your family has plenty of money. You don’t need us to pay for your hospital bills. My Brenda still needs to get married, she can’t be carrying a debt.” In that moment, I understood the depths of human shamelessness. This family was a nest of leeches, and my father was the idiot who kept offering them his veins. “Get out,” I said, pointing at the door. “Take your garbage and get the hell out of my room.” Glenda’s smile vanished. “What an insolent, disrespectful brat. No wonder Brenda had to teach you a lesson.” She snatched her basket, muttering curses under her breath, and spat on the linoleum floor before slamming the door behind her. I pressed the call button, asking the nurse to come in and disinfect the room. It was repulsive. That afternoon, the head nurse came in, a worried look on her face as she held an invoice. “Tessa… your account is overdrawn. If we don’t receive a payment soon, we’ll have to stop your medications.” I blinked. “Overdrawn? Did my father… did Victor not pay the deposit?” The nurse shook her head. “He came by yesterday and withdrew the fifty-thousand-dollar pre-payment. He said… he said the other family was facing financial difficulties, so he was lending them the money to help them get by. He told us you could cover the hospital bills with your own savings.” A loud ringing filled my ears. The last thread of my patience snapped. He had taken my medical funds and handed them to the girl who had crippled me. Was this the act of a biological father? With trembling hands, I borrowed the nurse’s phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before connecting. In the background, I could hear the clatter of tiles and my father’s booming laughter. “Hello? Who is this?” “It’s me.” The line went quiet for a second, and then his voice turned sharp and impatient. “Tessa? Where is your phone? Why are you calling from an unknown number?” “Victor, did you withdraw my surgery deposit?” I asked, using his name. “Is that how you speak to your father?” he barked. “Glenda’s family is trying to buy an apartment in the city, and they were short on the down payment. I figured your hospital expenses weren’t that urgent, so I lent them the funds. Don’t you have your own savings? Use that first. Don’t be so incredibly selfish, Tessa. Learn to help those in need.” Help those in need. He was stripping my bones to keep them warm. “That was my surgery money!” I screamed into the receiver. “The surgeon said I need my second reconstructive procedure next week, or I’ll be permanently disabled! You gave my medical funds to Brenda’s family for an apartment? Are you out of your mind?!” Through the line, I heard Glenda’s voice in the background. “Oh, Victor, if Tessa needs it for her leg, we can wait on the apartment…” Then came my father’s firm, reassuring tone. “Don’t listen to her, Glenda. Doctors always exaggerate. It’s not that serious.” “Tessa, figure it out yourself. Stop bothering me.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen, my body freezing. The nurse cast a look of deep pity in my direction. “Tessa… is there anyone else? Can you call your mother?” My mother? The woman who couldn’t even buy personal items without begging for his permission? I shook my head. “No. Please prepare my discharge papers.” “But your leg—” “I’m done treating it.” Since the world was rotten to the core, I had no reason to play the good daughter anymore. I went back to our house while they were out. I packed up everything that belonged to me, leaving only the signed disownment papers on his desk. My vintage sneaker collection, my limited-edition collectibles, and the small gold bars I had accumulated over the years—I posted them all on online marketplace apps, selling them at a fraction of their value. I only accepted cash. With the money, I rented a small, accessible apartment in a neighboring town and checked myself into a private orthopedic clinic. Though I had missed the optimal window for treatment, the surgeon assured me that with enough therapy, I could walk again, though running or any intense physical activity was out of the question. I had been the captain of my varsity basketball team. Now, I was a cripple. But I didn’t shed a single tear. My tears had run dry that afternoon in the hospital.

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1 When I arrived at my own wedding wearing my formal suit, I found a professional octagon sparring ring erected in the center of the stage. My fiancée, Isla, was holding the hand of her male best friend, Wesley. She offered me a pair of boxing gloves with a bright, reassuring smile. “Lucas, it is an old custom from our hometown. The groom is supposed to have a playful wrestling match with the male members of the bridal party to bring good fortune. I specifically asked Wesley to step up. Just play along and keep it light.” Looking at the slender, lanky Wesley, I did not think twice before climbing into the ring. But the very next second, he executed a highly professional, brutal spin kick that struck my temple, causing a severe concussion and knocking me out cold. When I woke up, paralyzed in a hospital bed, Isla stood over me, holding Wesley’s hand. “The guests contributed so much money in wedding gifts, the ceremony could not go on without a groom. Wesley is willing to take care of me in your place. You are so kind, Lucas, I know you will not mind, right?” Driven by sheer despair and severe depression, I pushed my wheelchair to the edge of the apartment terrace and plunged into the dark abyss. But when I opened my eyes once more, I had returned to a month before the wedding. I turned on my heel and knocked on the heavy metal doors of the elite national martial arts training academy. “Coach, can you teach me how to shatter someone’s jaw in just thirty days?” The head coach looked me over, his eyes lingering on my thin arms and legs for several seconds before he let out a scoff. “Shatter someone’s jaw? With your frame, someone could knock you down with a single slap.” I did not say a word. I simply pulled a thick stack of cash from my bag and placed it on his desk. Five thousand dollars, every penny of the secret savings I had managed to keep over the past two years. The coach pushed the cash back with a look of indifference. “I do not need your money.” But when I rolled up my sleeve, exposing the dark, yellowing bruises left by Isla during her latest drunken rage, his expression shifted. He quietly retrieved a legal waiver from his desk drawer and slid it toward me. “Sign this. The academy is not liable for any injuries sustained during your sessions.” “This includes, but is not limited to, fractures, concussions, and internal bleeding.” I grabbed the pen and signed my name without hesitation. Once the waiver was secured, the relaxed expression vanished from the coach’s face. “Alright. From today on, I will train you with the intensity of an active professional lightweight champion.” “I cannot promise you will be shattering jaws in thirty days, but I guarantee you will be wishing you were dead by the end of the first week.” On my first day, my sparring partners threw me to the canvas forty-seven times. Every single time my back slammed against the heavy padding, the memories of my past life flashed before my eyes. I saw Wesley’s foot connecting with my temple. I saw myself lying in that sterile hospital bed, tubes running in and out of my body, while Isla stood at the foot of the bed with a look of false concern. “Lucas, Wesley is willing to take care of me in your place. You are so kind, I know you will not mind, right?” How could I not mind? Only three days after my paralysis, she had registered her marriage with Wesley. They lived in my fully paid apartment, spending my hard-earned savings. The world praised Isla for her loyalty and called Wesley a saint for stepping up. Not a single soul cared whether the paralyzed groom, left with a shattered skull, wanted to live or die. Driven by the memory, I pushed myself up from the canvas and gestured to my sparring partner. “Again.” The partner looked at the coach, who gave a brief, firm nod. “Go.” That night, as I lay on the narrow cot in the academy dormitory, my body was covered in dark bruises. My phone screen lit up with a message from Isla. “Sweetheart, I am still at the office working late. I am keeping an eye on the wedding planners, so just focus on being the most handsome groom.” I stared at the words working late, then opened her social media feed. Wesley had posted a selfie in a formal suit three minutes ago. In the background, resting on the arm of a velvet sofa, was a designer Hermès handbag: the exact bag I had purchased for Isla’s birthday last month. The caption read: Only the favored ones get the privilege of a trial run before the wedding. I gripped my phone, opened my chat with Isla, and sent a voice message. “Thank you for your hard work, darling. I trust you completely with the planning.” Then I typed out a quick follow-up. “By the way, I saw a custom-tailored suit, a limited edition. The deposit is twenty thousand dollars. What do you think?” “Is it too expensive? A regular suit is fine.” “But I only get married once, and you promised to give me the grandest wedding in the city.” She remained silent for nearly two minutes before sending a single word. “Alright.” A cold smile touched my lips as I locked the screen and turned toward the wall. Isla, in my past life, you wanted my money, my home, and my life. In this life, I will drain you dry first. 2 By day, I played the part of the doting fiancé, discussing suit styles with colleagues, tasting wedding cakes, and projecting an image of absolute bliss. The moment my shift ended, I headed straight to the gym. I put on my protective gear, laced up my gloves, and transitioned from sending sweet messages to my fiancée to striking the heavy bag with absolute fury. Following my instructions, the coach trained me specifically to counter the spin kick. “You said your opponent is experienced with this kick?” “Yes.” “What is his background?” “He used to be a sparring partner in underground rings.” The coach’s brow furrowed. “Fighters from those rings have dirty techniques. They do not follow standard rules; they target vital areas.” He pulled up a video of an underground match to show me. “Look closely. Before they launch the kick, there is a tiny rotation of the hip. It is incredibly fast, taking less than three-tenths of a second.” “Your job is to slip the angle within that fraction of a second, absorb the force, and close the distance for a counterattack.” I nodded, practicing the movement thousands of times. When Harrison, my closest friend, came to pick me up from the gym, he stared at the dark bruises covering my arms, his eyes filling with tears. “Lucas, have you lost your mind? Why are you doing this to yourself?” I removed my hand wraps and took a long drink of water. “Take a look at this.” I handed him my phone, displaying a series of financial statements provided by a private investigator. Isla had taken out eight thousand dollars in high-interest online loans. Six thousand of that sum had been spent on a gold Cartier bracelet delivered directly to Wesley’s apartment. Harrison’s jaw dropped. “She took out loans to buy him luxury jewelry? What has she ever bought for you? A cheap bouquet of flowers on your birthday! Call off the wedding, Lucas! You cannot go through with this!” I took my phone back, shaking my head. “I cannot call it off. I need her to climb onto that stage so I can make her spit out every single dollar she stole.” Harrison stared at me, his expression turning solemn. “I do not know what your plan is, Lucas, but whatever you do, I have your back.” I watched him drive away, then turned back to the heavy bag. Three days before the wedding, the investigator sent me a final audio recording, captured by a device hidden in Isla’s car. Wesley’s voice came through clearly. “Isla, after the wedding, he will be a vegetable. The house is fully paid for, right? We can transfer it to your name and move in together.” Isla’s laughter followed. “Do not worry. Once the house is secure, we will drain his savings. This marriage will be worth every penny.” “You are so wicked, Isla.” “Do you like it?” “I love it.” I sat on the bench in the locker room, listening to the file three times. My hands remained perfectly steady as I backed up the audio to three separate cloud servers. Then, I wired the final payment to the investigator with a short note: Excellent work. Worth every penny. Two days before the wedding, Isla’s mother arrived at my apartment. She brought a small bag of discounted fruit, sat on my sofa with her legs crossed, and began delivering her demands. “Lucas, I want to discuss something with you.” “Your apartment is registered solely under your name because you bought it before the wedding, correct? But now that you and Isla are becoming a family, keeping only your name on the deed looks terrible.” “Add Isla’s name to the title. Our relatives will see it as a sign of your devotion.” 3 I kept my eyes on my teacup, remaining silent. “Even Wesley said that a real man does not divide his property from his wife. Being generous brings good fortune.” How interesting. A complete stranger was dictating the terms of my estate, and my future mother-in-law saw nothing wrong with it. I took a deep breath, forcing a polite, submissive smile onto my face. “You are entirely right, mother. Let me have the deed, and I will take care of the paperwork tomorrow.” She beamed with delight, pulling the deed from her purse and handing it to me. She had been carrying it with her, waiting for this exact moment. I took the document and ushered her out of the apartment. The moment the door closed, the smile vanished from my face. I took the deed straight to a mortgage broker. I did not add Isla’s name; I applied for a home equity loan. The apartment was valued at $3.8 million. I secured a loan of $2.6 million. The funds cleared the same afternoon, and I immediately transferred the entire sum to Harrison’s account. In my past life, Isla had successfully transferred the title and sold the property, leaving me with nothing. In this life, she would not get a single penny. When I returned home, Isla was standing in the kitchen, offering me a bowl of dark, herbal soup. “Sweetheart, you look exhausted lately. I prepared some soothing herbal soup for you. Drink it and get some rest so you can be the most handsome groom.” I took the bowl, immediately detecting the medicinal scent hidden beneath the sweet dates. In my past life, this very soup had kept me asleep for ten hours, giving Wesley ample time to transform the wedding stage into a sparring ring. I brought the bowl to my lips, pretending to drink, but the moment she turned her back, I spat the liquid into a tissue and stuffed it into my pocket. “Thank you, darling. It is wonderful.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed her eyes. “Get some sleep. We have rehearsals tomorrow.” She took her coat and left the bedroom, closing the guest room door behind her to make a call. I pressed my ear against the wall, listening to her quiet voice. “Wesley, he drank it. He is out cold. Everything is set for the wedding.” Wesley’s voice came through the receiver. “Isla, should I target his left temple or his right on stage?” Isla chuckled. “Whatever makes you happy. As long as he spends the rest of his life in a wheelchair.” I retreated to my desk, opened my laptop, and began compiling all the evidence I had gathered into a detailed presentation. The title screen read: The Groom’s Reality. I programmed the file to upload and broadcast automatically on the wedding venue’s primary display screens. Once the preparation was complete, I lay down on the bed. I was no longer a victim; I was a blade waiting to be drawn. The morning of the wedding arrived. At six in the morning, Harrison arrived to help me prepare. He opened the garment bag containing the twenty-thousand-dollar custom suit, held it against my frame, and froze. “Lucas… your arms…” The suit was a short-sleeved style, leaving my newly developed, bruised muscles visible. “Do not worry about it. Just help me cover them with makeup.” Harrison bit his lip, applying three thick layers of heavy concealer to hide the yellowing bruises. Once the suit was on, I turned to look in the mirror. The man staring back at me was strong and steady, completely different from the broken, paralyzed victim who had rolled off the roof in my past life. The old Lucas was dead. The man standing here had returned from the depths of hell. 4 At eight in the morning, the bridal car arrived. Isla stood by the limousine, looking stunning in her white bridal gown. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. I offered a warm smile, taking her arm as we stepped into the car. Wesley sat in the passenger seat, dressed as the best man. He turned around, offering a weak, gentle smile. “Lucas, you look incredibly handsome today.” He let out a soft, delicate cough. I shook his hand with a smile. “Thank you, Wesley. I know you are not in the best of health, so I truly appreciate you stepping up as my best man.” “It is my pleasure. Seeing Isla happy is all I care about.” Isla met Wesley’s gaze in the rearview mirror. It was a brief, silent look of mutual triumph and anticipation. The limousine pulled up to the Grand Regent Hotel. The venue was magnificent, decorated with floral arches and red carpets. Isla got out first, opening my door with a dramatic, playful bow. “Sweetheart, we have arrived.” I stepped out, taking her arm. As we pushed open the heavy doors of the grand ballroom, the guests erupted into thunderous applause. I scanned the room. The flowers, the lighting, and the tables were exactly as planned. But in the center of the stage, where the champagne tower should have stood, there was a professional octagon sparring ring. The perimeter was secured with thick ropes, and the floor was covered in heavy blue mats. Two pairs of boxing gloves hung from the corner posts. I turned to Isla, pretending to be startled. “What is this?” Isla patted my hand, her tone light and reassuring. “Do not worry, Lucas. It is an old custom from our hometown. The groom is supposed to have a playful match with the bride’s male best friend to bring good fortune to the marriage.” She stepped aside, and Wesley emerged from the wings, wearing an athletic jacket and holding his gloves. His voice was soft and gentle. “Lucas, Isla insisted on this. I could not say no. Do not worry, I have a very weak constitution. Just play along and keep it light.” Below the stage, the relatives began to cheer. “Get in there, Lucas! It is for good luck!” “Do not be a coward! Show us what you can do!” “Wesley looks like he would blow away in a strong wind, what are you afraid of?” The pressure from the crowd built, exactly as it had in my past life. I remained silent for ten seconds, then looked directly into Isla’s eyes. “I will do it.” Isla looked startled. “But on one condition,” I added, my voice carrying across the stage. “In case of any accidents during the match, we must sign a legal liability waiver first.” I took a document from Harrison and slid it toward her. The terms were printed clearly on the white paper. “During the sparring match, both parties agree to waive all liability for any physical injuries sustained. The injured party assumes all responsibility, and no civil or criminal action may be pursued.” Isla skimmed the text, a small, arrogant smile playing at the corners of her lips. She saw this as my final, desperate attempt to protect myself. Wesley snatched the pen and signed his name with absolute eagerness. Once the document was signed and handed back to Harrison, I turned to face the audience, slowly removing my jacket and the heavy protective gear beneath.

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At eighteen, I picked up a delinquent bad boy nobody else wanted. I tried so hard, but I could never warm his cold heart. Later, his childhood sweetheart appeared. That was when I realized he did have a gentle side—just not for me. The day I let go, I lied and told him I’d be right back. And then I never returned. Seven years later, reuniting on a film set, the now A-list Oscar winner grabbed my wrist: “‘Be right back’?” “Where the hell have you been?!” 01 My palms were sweating so much they were clammy. The newly crowned Best Actor, Chase Montgomery, was standing barely fifteen feet behind me. If I turned around, we’d be face-to-face. The Assistant Director spoke up. “Chase, the next scene is your reunion with your ex. You need to show a sense of longing and reluctance to let her go.” Chase let out a soft, mocking scoff. “Longing?” “You don’t think it fits the scene?” the AD asked. “She’s an ex. What’s there to miss?” His voice was exactly as it used to be—careless, lazy, and unrestrained. “Cece.” The discussion behind me continued. I couldn’t hear what the AD said next. But Chase’s cold, detached voice pierced my eardrums with crystal clarity: “My ex? I forgot about her ages ago. I don’t make a habit of going back for seconds.” Oh. Well, as his “seconds,” I had absolutely no intention of acknowledging him either. Once the movie wrapped, we’d go our separate ways. Perfect. Just as I was comforting myself, a coworker yelled at the top of her lungs: “Cece! Did you find the props yet?!” 02 The set behind me went dead silent. I grabbed the props and sprinted away in a panic. Chase didn’t chase after me. Maybe he didn’t hear it. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t care. While setting up the soundstage, I pulled my coworker aside. “Next time, just call me ‘C’ instead of Cece.” “Why? Cece is cute.” “Going by an initial just sounds more professional on set.” She laughed and bought the excuse. This was my first gig as a co-director. Before I joined the crew, I knew Chase was the male lead. He was Hollywood royalty, a nepo baby with half the industry’s resources at his fingertips. But infuriatingly, he actually had the talent to back it up, winning an Academy Award at just twenty-five. And unluckily for him, I was his first love. I had hesitated to take the job. But I didn’t want to pass up such an incredible career opportunity, so I bit the bullet. I swore to myself I would never let him spot me. If he did, I was dead meat. Because seven years ago, our breakup was incredibly ugly. I left him a letter that read: “I knew you were Hollywood royalty from the start. I only got close to you so I could sell stories about your family to the tabloids. I actually hate street punks; I like preppy, educated guys. Don’t ever contact me again. Bye.” As carefree as those words sounded, my actual escape was pathetic. I had no idea how Chase felt when he read that letter. But I knew he was the type to hold a grudge. If he caught me, my career in Hollywood could be blacklisted in an instant. “Chase looks even better in person than on screen. His genetics are insane,” my coworker swooned. “Well, look at who his parents are. Two cinema legends. He was bound to look better than us mere mortals.” “I just love his vibe! So refined and elegant. Ugh, he must have been the Golden Boy in high school, right?” I almost choked on my own spit. Chase? The Golden Boy? Dead wrong. Not only was he not the Golden Boy, he was the notorious, violent bad boy everyone avoided like the plague. I remembered him sitting on the curb in the pouring rain, bruised and battered from a street fight, looking completely lifeless. It wasn’t until I walked up to him that he lifted his heavy eyelids. “Get lost.” His tone back then was like a rabid dog, ready to rip me to shreds. But I didn’t get lost. With trembling hands, I held my cheap floral umbrella over his head. That was how Chase and I began. I shook my head, forcing the memories out of my brain. The set was built, and we had a short break. The soundstage was too loud, so I slipped into the stairwell. The moment I pushed the heavy door open, the sharp smell of tobacco hit my nose. Chase was standing in the shadows, the glowing red cherry of his cigarette burning between his fingers. He lifted his lazy eyes and looked at me. Exactly like he did back then. 03 The stairwell was dark and suffocatingly quiet. “…Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude,” I muttered, keeping my head down as I turned to leave. But Chase called out, “What’s your job on set?” “Co-director.” “Just graduated?” “Yes.” “Landing a job under Director Davis right out of film school. That’s impressive.” “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.” “How old are you?” “Twenty-five.” He let out a low, breathy chuckle. “We’re the same age, and you’re calling me ‘Mr. Montgomery’?” “The primary AD calls you that, and he’s forty-three.” “Say it again.” I froze. What? I forced the words through my teeth. “Mr. Montgomery.” In the dark, I couldn’t see clearly, but I swore the corners of Chase’s mouth curled up. It was a cold, emotionless smile. It made the hairs on my arms stand up. But I clung to hope. There was no way he recognized me. Compared to seven years ago, I was a completely different person. I went from a scrawny, malnourished beanpole to a girl people actually called pretty. Even my own relatives barely recognized me these days, let alone some guy in a pitch-black stairwell. “I’ll leave you to your break, Mr. Montgomery. I’m heading back.” “Wait.” He stopped me again. “What’s your name?” The question caught me completely off guard. 04 “Cecilia. “My name is Cecilia Evans.” “Have you ever gone by any other name?” “No.” Chase fell silent. A cold sweat broke out across my back. My real name used to be Ryan. I changed it later. He had lied to me back then, so I was lying to him now. We were even. During the summer before my sophomore year of high school, I found Chase on a street corner. He told me he had nowhere to go and no family. I believed him. I thought he was just an unwanted, broke kid, just like me. When I was little, my mom resented me for being a girl. When my parents divorced, they both started new families. They both had sons. Neither of them wanted me, so I was dumped in my aunt’s basement apartment. I was always an incredibly obedient kid. Because if I was good, at least they would feed me. Chase and I were polar opposites. He smoked, fought, and broke every rule in the book. I was quiet, introverted, and knew nothing but studying. When sophomore year started, we ended up in the same homeroom. I sat in the very front row; he sat in the very back. No one knew what his family did. There were even rumors that he was an orphan who lived on the streets. At school, we acted like total strangers. But no one knew that every night, Chase would knock on my basement window. I would clear a small space on the concrete floor and set up a sleeping mat for him. The next morning, before my aunt’s family woke up, he would leave, as if he had never been there at all. Chase constantly skipped class and always showed up covered in bruises. Every time, I was the one who applied the antiseptic. “Ryan,” he would hiss, “can you be a little more gentle?” “Call me Cece.” “Right. Cece.” Cece was my childhood nickname, given to me by my late grandmother. I vastly preferred it over Ryan, a name born out of my mother’s disappointment that I wasn’t a boy. Because Chase constantly slept on my floor, I subconsciously believed he had it worse than I did. When I forgot my textbook and the teacher yelled at me, Chase walked all the way from the back of the room and slammed his textbook onto my desk. When kids from other classes bullied me and I was too timid to fight back, Chase stood in front of me and declared that I was under his protection. I thought we were two broken souls finding solace in each other. It wasn’t until much later that I realized it was all a lie. Chase was Hollywood royalty. His family owned half the mansions in Beverly Hills and a fleet of sports cars. A single pair of his sneakers cost more than my entire wardrobe for the year. He was just using me to piss off his elitist family. When did I figure it out? My thoughts were interrupted. Back on set, a coworker shoved an iced matcha latte into my hands. “Blair Kensington is visiting the set again! She bought drinks for the whole crew. Look at them! The billionaire heiress and the A-list actor. They’re literally a match made in heaven!” I looked toward the director’s tent. Blair was currently whining, acting coy. Chase had his head tilted, listening to her patiently. Just like everyone else, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the picture-perfect scene. Suddenly, as if feeling my gaze, Chase turned his head. And looked right at me. 05 I instantly dropped my head. When I looked up again, Chase was no longer looking in my direction. Maybe it was just my imagination. Blair was still clinging to his arm. “Chase, please come to Paris with me for Fashion Week when you wrap this movie!” Her tone and inflection were exactly the same as they were seven years ago. I couldn’t help but fall back into my memories. In high school, Chase and I maintained a purely platonic relationship. Until graduation. That summer, after a late-night class party, I was followed by a group of drunk street punks. Chase practically fell from the sky and beat them to a pulp. Maybe it was the relief of finally being done with high school, or maybe it was because we were finally adults. Suddenly, looking at Chase just felt… right. I gathered my courage and confessed my feelings. After that, I initiated our first time holding hands, our first hug, our first kiss… Chase was never overly passionate, but he didn’t push me away either. He remained a tough, stubborn brick wall who could never utter a single romantic word. But in some ways, he was a decent boyfriend. He was always there when I called, and he was generous with his money. However, Chase never introduced me to his friends. Once, I went to a local pool hall to find him, hoping to surprise him. Instead, his face went rigid, and he snapped impatiently, “Don’t ever come here again.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just thought that was his personality. Until Blair Kensington appeared. She wore designer dresses and flawless makeup. She burst into my world like a blinding spotlight. She whined and called him “Chasey.” “Chasey, what are you doing in a dump like this? Where’s the new Ferrari you just bought? Take me for a spin!” The word “Ferrari” nearly gave me whiplash. Blair looked at me, her eyes wide and innocent. “Chasey, who is she?” “Hi,” I said. “I’m his girlfriend.” “Huh? Are you joking? Why would he ever look twice at you? I’m his fiancée. Our families have an arranged marriage.” “Bullshit.” Chase’s face went dark as he practically shoved Blair out the door. “Don’t listen to her. I never agreed to the engagement.” His explanation was incredibly weak. Later, when Chase’s parents tracked me down, I finally learned the truth. Chase was the ultimate nepo baby. His parents controlled a massive chunk of the entertainment industry. He had a terrible relationship with them. He intentionally transferred out of his elite private prep school to a public high school just to rebel. He intentionally refused to go home. His parents were always away shooting movies and barely paid attention to him, completely unaware of the street-thug lifestyle he was living. At the end of our meeting, his father looked at me and said: “Miss Evans, you might not realize this, but Chase is incredibly rebellious. He’s only dating you to spite us. He doesn’t actually love you. He’s pulled stunts like this before. If you don’t believe me, just watch how he treats Blair.” “He loves Blair. They grew up together, he just hasn’t realized his own feelings yet.” “You and us… we are simply not from the same world.” It felt like I had been struck by lightning. And soon enough, I realized his dad wasn’t lying. Even though Chase claimed she annoyed him, he was incredibly patient with Blair. He indulged her tantrums and caved to her demands. The worst incident happened a few weeks later. Blair was actively mocking me for being poor. But the second Chase walked around the corner, her face crumpled into a mask of pure victimhood. “Chase! Ryan just shoved me into those thugs over there! I was so scared!” Chase instantly panicked. “Cece, I told you not to mess with her.” Standing behind him, Blair stuck her tongue out at me in a victorious, mocking grimace. In that moment, I understood everything. Chase wasn’t an unfeeling iron wall. He just didn’t bloom for me. At the end of August, I accepted his parents’ offer. With their financial backing, I went abroad for college. Given my background, it was likely the only chance I’d ever get at a real future. On the day I left, I told Chase I wanted to go buy some chocolate. Chase instinctively pulled out his wallet. “Buy the most expensive kind. Get some for me too.” I didn’t take his money. “I’ll use my own. I… I’ll be right back.” “Yeah. I’ll wait for you.” And then, I never came back.

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1 At our high school reunion, my wife excused herself, claiming she had to step out for a quick errand. I waited three hours, but she never returned. Just as I was about to go look for her, I caught the sound of her voice near the venue’s exit, talking to her best friend, Amy. “Tristan is getting married tomorrow,” my wife said, her voice laced with a breathless intensity. “I want to spend tonight wild with him. I don’t want to live the rest of my life with any regrets.” “Make sure you keep my cover,” she added. Amy sighed. “Are you really still that obsessed with him? Is Tristan really that special?” My wife let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Tristan isn’t as gentle or sweet as Hugh, but he’s a beast in bed. He gives me a thrill Hugh never could.” My mind went entirely blank. I quietly slipped back into the venue. A few minutes after I sat down, my wife walked back in, holding Amy’s arm with an innocent, bright smile. “Babe,” she said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Amy and I have so much catching up to do. I’m going to stay at her place tonight.” “Remember to pick me up tomorrow morning, okay?” The harsh fluorescent lights of the private room made my eyes sting. I stared at her, unable to speak. When she had left earlier, she was wearing a lavender knit sweater that elegantly exposed her collarbones. Now, she was wearing a high-collared white button-up shirt, buttoned all the way to the top. My chest felt incredibly tight. I forced out a strained nod. “The room is a bit stuffy,” I muttered, pushing myself up. “I’m going to step out for some fresh air.” The biting night air rushed down my throat as I leaned against the brick wall outside, drawing in deep, ragged breaths. My hand instinctively reached into my pocket for a pack of cigarettes, only to find it empty. I had quit smoking three years ago because Madeline hated the smell. When I finally walked back toward the room, the door was slightly ajar. Through the narrow gap, I could see the chaos inside. Madeline was sitting next to a man, her cheeks flushed red from the alcohol, her eyes hazy. She was leaning heavily against his shoulder, and the man was gently stroking her back. That man was Tristan. “What took you so long, Tristan?” one of our former classmates teased, raising a glass. “Did some pretty girl hold you up?” Tristan let out a low chuckle, casting a long, deliberate look at Madeline. “Yeah, you could say a little wildcat kept me busy.” Their eyes locked in a heated, silent exchange. Tristan whispered something in her ear, making Madeline bite her lip and smile. The rest of the room didn’t seem surprised at all. One of our old classmates, his face bright red and his speech slurred, let out a dramatic sigh. “Man, back in high school, we all thought you two would end up married. Who knew Tristan would transfer, and Madeline would end up with the new transfer kid, Hugh?” “Honestly, you two were always the perfect match. Hugh never really fit in with us.” Another drunk classmate chimed in. “Come on, Tristan, level with us. Those three hours Madeline ran off tonight, she was with you, wasn’t she?” Madeline held up her wine glass, her skin flushed. The room was warm, and she casually unbuttoned the top of her collar. I saw the dark, dark red marks staining her pale throat. Hickeys. She laughed, completely unbothered. “Yeah, I was with Tristan. What about it?” Our former class president, Brody, burst into laughter. “We knew it! That’s why we kept dragging Hugh into drinking games to keep him distracted. We didn’t expect you to have Amy cover for you too.” Their laughter echoed through the hallway, ringing in my ears. I stared at the group through the crack in the door, barely recognizing the people I had called friends. “Hugh only hangs around us because his family has money,” someone sneered. “He looks down on us anyway. Of course we’re going to help you cover this up!” Just last week, that same classmate had been pleading with me over dinner, begging for a meeting with my father to secure a supply contract for his struggling business. Now, he spoke of me with nothing but contempt. The drinking games continued inside, and Madeline lost a round. The group began chanting, demanding she do something daring as a penalty. Madeline rested her chin on her hand, thinking for a moment before snapping her fingers. “I’ve got it!” “Tristan and I will sleep together tonight, right under Hugh’s nose. How’s that for a thrill?” Amy nudged her nervously. “Hugh has been gone for a while. He could walk back in any second. Be careful.” Madeline rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with disdain. “Please. Hugh is an idiot. He’s incredibly easy to fool.” 2 I pushed the door open, and the rowdy laughter in the room instantly died. Madeline quickly put on a bright, seamless smile, grasping Amy’s hand. “Amy and I haven’t seen each other in nearly eight years, Hugh. We’re moving to New York in the fall, so we won’t get many chances to hang out. I really want to spend tonight with her.” Seeing my silence, Amy offered a tight laugh. “Can’t bear to let her go for one night, Hugh? Don’t be so possessive. Just because she married into your wealthy family doesn’t mean she has to give up her friends.” Madeline’s expression turned cold and defensive. “Hugh, when you proposed, you swore you’d never suffocate me. Now I just want to spend one night with my friend, and you’re acting like this? I married you, Hugh. I didn’t sell myself to you.” The classmates in the room shifted uncomfortably, casting disapproving glances at me. I picked up a stray glass of whiskey from the table and downed it in one swallow. The burn tore down my throat, leaving my voice hoarse. “I didn’t say you couldn’t go. Have fun.” Madeline’s eyes lit up. She stepped over and pressed a brief, sweet kiss to my cheek. “You’re the best, babe.” As her lips brushed my skin, a wave of cheap cologne and stale tobacco washed over me. An overwhelming wave of nausea hit my stomach. I pushed her away, leaning over the trash can in the corner, dry-heaving violently. The music in the room seemed to halt. Madeline’s face twisted in anger. “Hugh, what is your problem?!” Brody stepped forward, trying to ease the tension. “Are you okay, Hugh? Did you have too much to drink?” I forced down the sickness rising in my chest, catching the nervous, calculating look in Brody’s eyes. “I’m fine. Just drank too much on an empty stomach. I need to head back.” Madeline crossed her arms, waiting for me to apologize and coax her like I always did whenever she threw a tantrum. But this time, I remained silent. I had no intention of apologizing to the woman who had just bragged about cheating on me. Brody quickly tried to redirect the room’s attention. “Alright, let’s keep the night going! Tonight isn’t just a reunion, it’s also a bachelor party for Tristan. He’s tying the knot tomorrow.” “Hugh, you and Tristan missed each other by a hair back in high school. You should officially meet.” Tristan stepped forward, extending a hand toward me. “I transferred out in a rush back then, so I never got to meet the guy who took my desk. It’s been ten years, but it’s good to finally meet you. I’m Tristan.” 3 On his ring finger was a simple red string band. I had seen an identical red string ring tucked away in the back of Madeline’s jewelry box a year ago. When I asked about it, she had laughed it off, calling it a cheap high school souvenir. I looked at his face. Tristan’s name had been an omnipresent shadow throughout my high school years. Twelve years ago, my father’s job relocation forced me to transfer to Brightwood Academy. My very first day there was the exact day Tristan transferred out. I was assigned his old desk, and my name took his place at the top of the academic leaderboard. Whenever I aced an exam, the teacher would sigh and say, “If Tristan were still here, you two would be tied for first.” When I won the state track championship, the coach had patted my shoulder and mused, “If Tristan were running, it would have been a real battle.” Even during classroom cleanups, the student council reps would whisper, “From behind, you look exactly like Tristan. Same height, same build.” I had found his picture once in the school archives. He was wearing his varsity jacket, smiling with an easy, radiant confidence. The entire school adored him. Except Madeline. Whenever other girls swooned over his memory, she would scoff, her face contorting with anger. Once, when a group of girls was looking at his old yearbook photo, she had snatched the book, slammed it onto the floor, and stomped on it. “He’s nothing but a cowardly fraud,” she had spat. When we started dating, I asked her why she hated him so much. She had clenched her jaw, her eyes dark. “Because he’s a liar. A complete coward. Everyone is just too blind to see it.” She refused to say anything more. But whenever people compared me to him, she would always snap, “Hugh is Hugh, and Tristan is Tristan. There is no comparison.” I had foolishly believed she was protecting my dignity. Now, I realized she was protecting her own secret. I reached out and shook Tristan’s hand, offering a polite, empty smile. With Brody steering the conversation, the room quickly warmed up again, with classmates crowding around Tristan to ask about his wedding. Madeline’s eyes never left him. There was a look of intense adoration and longing in her gaze—a look she had never once directed at me in our four years of marriage. I sat quietly in the dark corner of the booth, feeling like a ghost at my own table. Someone nudged Madeline, asking if she had prepared a special gift for her old classmate’s wedding. Madeline’s cheeks flushed a light pink, her eyes darting away for a split second. “I’m still putting the finishing touches on it,” she murmured. “But it will definitely be a night to remember.”

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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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