Category: English

After testing into the same university as my online boyfriend, he sent me a photo of a girl and asked for a breakup: “I’ve fallen in love with her. I’ll compensate you.” I laughed: “Unless she’s willing to be the side chick, I can’t let you go.” He got annoyed: “Silly girl, I’m a cheater and I’m terrible in bed. I don’t deserve you.” The funny thing was, the girl in the photo was me. He then sent me a picture of an incredibly handsome guy. “This is my roommate, the campus heartthrob. His family is rich, he’s never had a girlfriend, and he’s packing 8 inches. I’ll have him date you, okay?” I swallowed hard: “Okay, but don’t come begging for me back.” He swore: “Don’t worry, whoever begs to get back together is a dog.” But later, the usually rebellious and cool guy was wearing a collar, kneeling at my feet like a dog, crying and begging: “Please get back together with me, or let him be the main guy and I’ll be the side piece. I’m not terrible in bed, I’m a natural-born machine.” “Please?” 01 [Babe, let’s break up.] Even though this online relationship was something I could take or leave, getting a sudden breakup text from Julian was still very surprising. I called to ask him why. Julian was very honest: “I saw a freshman today. She completely fits my aesthetic, like she was tailor-made for me.” “I feel like if I can’t be with her in this life, living will have no meaning.” “So Babe, let me go. I’ll make it up to you.” I laughed: “You used to say that if you couldn’t be with me in this life, living would have no meaning.” Julian cleared his throat guiltily: “Guys say all sorts of nonsense when they’re chasing girls, but she’s different. I’m serious about her.” Serious after just seeing her? I didn’t believe a word of it. Besides, Julian and I had been dating online for a year. He was a highly intelligent straight-A student, with sharp, handsome features and eyes that naturally tilted up at the corners, looking like they had hooks in them when he wasn’t smiling. He was exactly my favorite type of bad-boy handsome. I wanted to get a taste of him before breaking up. I tried to keep him: “A lot of people also say I’m super pretty. Why don’t you look at me first before deciding?” I opened my photo album. “No need, I’ve seen your pictures. I know you’re very pretty, but you’re the mature, older-sister type. I prefer her kind of cute, sweet vibe.” My pictures are the mature type? “Julian, are you mistaken? I have nothing to do with the mature type.” Julian sent a photo. “Before, to chase you, I lied and said I didn’t care about a girl’s looks. I never video-chatted with you, and never asked you to send photos, because I had already seen you from your profile picture history.” I looked at the beautiful woman in the photo he sent, sitting on a motorcycle, wearing a black leather jacket, looking heroic and cool. But that wasn’t me; that was my actual older sister, Sarah. Julian sent another photo of me. “Let me show you my dream goddess.” “Speaking of which, you two have somewhat similar eyes, but your vibes are completely different.” “You’re beautiful and badass, looking cooler than me. If your voice didn’t suit my taste, I actually wouldn’t have chased you.” “But she’s different. Big eyes, small face, a sweet voice. She’s completely stolen my soul.” “Anyway, showing you the photo is just to say I’m serious. Don’t use her photo for anything bad.” I didn’t expect Julian to like me this much. I burst out laughing. I decided to mess with him a bit. “Unless she’s willing to be the side chick, I can’t let you go.” Julian sighed heavily: “Silly girl, I’m a cheater and I’m terrible in bed. I don’t deserve you.” Liar. He was the captain of the college basketball team, with incredible stamina and impossibly long legs. When we were on the phone, his “solo sessions” started at half an hour minimum. Just as I was about to say the second photo was me. He suddenly sent a picture of an incredibly handsome guy. “This is my roommate, the campus heartthrob, Liam. His family is rich, he’s never had a girlfriend, and he’s packing 8 inches. I’ll have him date you, okay?” The Liam in the photo had pale skin and red lips, with a high nose bridge. He was wearing a clean, neat white button-down shirt. The fingers holding the pen were long and slender, the nails neatly trimmed. Sitting at a desk bathed in sunlight, he looked like a piece of clear, flawless jade. My heart skipped a beat. And it was that skipped beat that made me realize. I didn’t really have a favorite type of handsome guy. I was just shallow. Besides, I hadn’t met a guy I felt stronger about right now. I might as well try dating Liam. But. “Will he really date me?” “He will. We’re best friends. If he dares not to date you, I’ll put a knife to his neck.” I laughed: “Okay then, but don’t come begging for me back.” Julian swore: “Don’t worry, whoever begs to get back together is a dog.” Heh. Did he think I would beg to get back together? I used to date online secretly because my parents were strict about my studies. Now that I was admitted to UCLA, my family supported me dating. I couldn’t wait to date all the handsome guys. I would never go back to an ex. “Which university are you at? I’ve given Liam your Snapchat. I’ll have him ask you out tomorrow.” Before, to surprise Julian, I only said I was studying in California, I didn’t specify UCLA. But there was no point in hiding it now. I was just about to say it. “Forget it, you guys chat yourselves. I need to prepare things to confess to the sweet girl tomorrow. Bye.” Julian hung up the phone. Immediately after, Liam sent a friend request on Snapchat. 02 But I played hard to get and didn’t tap [Accept]. Today, on move-in day, someone took a picture of me and put it on the campus forum, causing a minor sensation. The next day, during freshman orientation, many people came specifically to see me. Among them was Julian. He stood in front of me holding a huge bouquet of red roses and three hard-to-get Sonny Angel blind box figures. He was direct: “Hello, Mia. I’m Julian from the Computer Science department, a junior this year. I fell in love with you at first sight. Will you be my girlfriend?” I looked closely at Julian. To be honest, he was even more handsome than in his photos. The faint outline of his abs under his black t-shirt, the bulging muscles and twisting veins on his arms. He practically radiated sexual tension. The surrounding students started cheering: “Say yes! Say yes! This is Julian, the Computer Science god, the face of the school! Usually, it’s girls chasing him to confess!” “I never thought I’d see the day Julian begged for love. Seeing how he avoided women before, giving off total unattainable vibes, I used to lament that he was wasting all that good hardware.” When Julian and I dated online, he was full of dirty talk, nothing like “unattainable.” I was amused by the students’ silly comments. Julian mistakenly thought I was satisfied with him. He revealed a winning smile. “Sorry, I don’t want to date you.” Julian’s smile froze on his face. The cheering students also went silent. The scene was very awkward. “Why?” Because you just broke up with me last night and even set me up with a high-quality match. But I didn’t say that. I waited for him to find out himself. When we first met in a game, he liked my sweet voice, and I liked his good looks. To spend more time with him, I pretended to be a bad student, always pestering him to tutor me. He was also very patient, not only teaching me how to solve problems but also frequently sending me money, showing off his boyfriend material. But I didn’t expect that right when we could meet in person, he changed his mind and broke up. Since he wasn’t really invested in me, I wouldn’t call him a jerk. “I already have someone I’m interested in.” “So you’re not dating yet? Then give me a chance to pursue you, okay? I will definitely treat you better than that guy.” “No, I have no interest in you.” Julian looked embarrassed. Someone in the crowd gasped in disbelief. “But you’re the only one for me. I won’t give up on you. Please accept these gifts.” Those Sonny Angels were really cute. But I didn’t want to get tangled up with Julian. I shook my head and refused. Julian tried to force me to take them: “If you don’t take them, I’ll throw them in the trash.” “Then throw them.” I don’t know if Julian threw them or not. I took my roommate Chloe’s arm and walked away without looking back. Chloe: “You’re so fierce, daring to reject Julian in public.” “It’s fine. I’m just using him to warn off the guys looking to confess to me, so I don’t have just any guy coming up to me.” “That’s true. I saw on the campus forum that many guys were talking about coming to confess to you.” Speaking of which, I remembered Liam. I accepted his friend request and agreed to have dinner with him. 03 In the restaurant. Liam was sitting at a window seat. Seeing me sit across from him, his eyes lit up, then he froze. I smiled at him: “I’m the girlfriend Julian introduced to you, Babe.” “Are you curious why I look different from the photo?” Liam said “Yeah,” his voice deep and pleasant. Seeing me staring straight at him, his ears suddenly turned completely red. He used drinking water to cover up his shyness and nervousness. I was surprised. And a little troubled. I didn’t expect there to be such pure guys these days. I kinda didn’t want to date him anymore. After all, I was just in it for physical fun, not emotional connection. But he was really attractive. And his lips were red and soft, looking very kissable. Sigh. I’ll let him choose himself. “So do you want to date me, or do you want to date the girl in the photo?” “If it’s the girl in the photo, I can introduce you.” “You.” Liam didn’t hesitate. Then he couldn’t blame me. After all, he might not be emotionally invested in me either. Or like Julian, he might be invested for a while, and then change his mind. So whatever, let’s just enjoy the moment first. “Julian said you have 8 inches, is that true?” “I’m not talking about age.” I asked bluntly. Liam suddenly stiffened. He turned bright red. He couldn’t speak for a long time. I frowned: “Do you not? If you don’t, then I won’t date you.” Liam looked around and whispered: “I do.” “Can I see?” “R-right now?” “Well, no, let’s wait until we finish eating.” Liam nodded, the blush on his face deepening. He handed me the menu. Seeing it was my first time there, he thoughtfully recommended the restaurant’s specialties. Halfway through the meal, Julian called Liam. The volume was quite loud, I heard it all. Julian: “Did you meet Babe?” Liam: “Yeah.” “I didn’t lie, right? She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” “Yeah.” “Then you date Babe properly. It’s best if you give her all your free time, don’t let her have time to think of me. That Mia is harder to chase than I thought. I have to really figure out how to get her, I don’t have the energy to deal with Babe.” “Yeah.” “Thanks, having you is really my blessing. I’ll treat you to a big meal tomorrow.” “No need, I’m eating right now, hanging up.” “Okay.” Liam put down his phone. I suddenly remembered something: “Do you know my name?” Liam paused for a few seconds: “I don’t.” “My name is…” “Sorry.” Liam suddenly interrupted me, “I need to go to the restroom.” Liam walked away quite hurriedly after saying that. Like he couldn’t hold it in. I continued eating. By the time Liam came back, I had forgotten to tell him my name. After leaving the restaurant, Liam offered to get a hotel room. Me!! 04 Did I misjudge him? He’s actually this open! Liam seemed to see through my thoughts and hurriedly explained: “Don’t misunderstand, I don’t want to have that kind of relationship with you.” “You can inspect the goods first. I didn’t lie to you. I want you to feel secure being my girlfriend.” Oh, so that’s it. But suddenly having to look at that, it’s pretty awkward. “Can we wait a few days? Getting a room just to look at that seems like a waste of money.” “As long as it makes you feel secure, the money isn’t wasted. Besides, I have a lot of money.” Liam was very insistent. I felt he really was too innocent. And exceptionally considerate of others. I agreed to him. Afterward. A blushing Liam looked at a blushing me. “I’m very traditional.” “I’ve shown you my most important thing. From now on, no matter what happens, you can’t break up with me.” My mind was entirely filled with how it was so… Would it really feel that good to use… I completely didn’t hear what Liam was saying and just vaguely agreed, saying “Okay.” Liam was very happy and took me back to school. Right before reaching the dorm building, I saw a couple making out in the distance. I stopped and asked Liam: “Can I kiss you?” “You can.” Liam, with red ears, cupped my face, lowered his head, and gently kissed my lips. And quickly separated. He seemed very nervous. Even his fingers were trembling slightly. He looked incredibly cute. And his lips were so sweet and soft. A light touch like that was definitely not enough to satisfy my craving. “Can we kiss a little longer? A little harder?” “I’ll try, but it’s my first time kissing someone. If I hurt you, remember to tell me.” “Mhmm.” Liam lowered his head to kiss me again. This time was okay. It’s just that he didn’t use his tongue. Just as I was about to pry open his teeth. Julian’s shocked voice suddenly came from behind. “Liam! Babe?” Liam and I both froze. Liam pulled me into his embrace, letting my face bury into his chest. His hand was also touching my face, seemingly intentionally blocking it. But I didn’t have time to think about it. My thoughts were entirely stolen by his wildly beating heart. Just one kiss, and his heartbeat was this erratic. Then wouldn’t that mean… I was immersed in dirty thoughts. Julian walked over step by step, saying happily: “You brought Babe to campus to hang out.” Uh. It seemed Julian really didn’t expect that I, the “bad student,” could study here. Liam’s voice was cold: “Why are you here?” “I came to give Mia something.” “Congratulations, you guys got together so fast.” Liam gave a very faint “Yeah.” Julian looked at my back and asked with a smile: “Babe, you’ve been hiding in Liam’s arms this whole time. Are you shy because I saw you kissing? Aren’t you going to say hi to me?” I wasn’t shy. And I could definitely say hi. So, feeling mischievous, I turned around and smiled at Julian.

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In the college group chat, the academic advisor posted the list of accepted students for the highly coveted internship program. Immediately, my roommate sent three “celebration” emojis, pushing the image up. I scrolled up and stared at the screenshot for a long time, only to realize my name wasn’t on it. How could that be? I got the Dean’s List scholarship every year, and my interview had gone flawlessly. Besides, Horizon Tech was the only company I wanted to intern for. I gathered my courage and DM’d the advisor to ask why. I didn’t expect him to ignore my private message and instead post a passive-aggressive comment in the main chat: “If you didn’t get accepted, just don’t ask. You’ll only humiliate yourself.” “If you’re not cut out for campus recruiting, just be a good girl and apply for a minimum-wage factory job.” I wanted to explain. But he just blocked me. Left with no other choice, I had to swallow my pride and call my dad: “I didn’t get the internship at our subsidiary.” 01 At 11:59 PM, the group chat, which was supposed to announce the accepted interns today, finally showed some activity. But strangely, the advisor only posted an image without tagging anyone. I was puzzled. As soon as I refreshed the chat, my roommate, Chloe, spammed three “party popper” emojis. “Chloe, stop messing around.” I anxiously scrolled up to find the image and my eyes widened in shock. My name wasn’t on the list. I remembered clearly that the HR representative was very impressed with me during the interview. He even said he’d keep a close eye on me once I joined the company. But now, everyone in my dorm except me had been accepted. Even Chloe, who failed classes regularly, got in. I, the one who won scholarships every year, was the only one rejected. A cold sweat broke out on my back as I counted the names on the list again. Exactly eight. No more, no less. Which meant there was no “accidental omission.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Meanwhile, Chloe had somehow produced a bottle of champagne. “Girls, let’s party! We got into Horizon Tech, our futures are bright!” Horizon Tech was a major player in the electronics industry, definitely a step up from the other companies recruiting on campus. I was frustrated. I gathered my courage and DM’d the advisor. “Mr. Davis, do you know why I didn’t pass?” I just wanted to know the reason. I didn’t expect him to not only ignore my direct question but also post a snarky comment in the main chat: “If you didn’t get accepted, just don’t ask. You’ll only humiliate yourself.” Confused, I slowly typed a question mark. It was like I had stepped on his tail. He unleashed a barrage of messages in our private chat: “What do you mean by that? Are you suspecting some kind of shady business?” “Don’t think you’re so great just because you have good grades. Companies look at overall soft skills.” I felt he was misunderstanding and tried to explain. But the messages kept coming: “If you’re not cut out for campus recruiting, just be a good girl and apply for an assembly line job at a factory.” “Why keep asking? What’s there to ask? Look at the time! You have zero professional etiquette!” I really didn’t get it. What time was it? Why did he post the list at this hour? I was going to swallow my pride and play nice to smooth things over. But then, he blocked me. My anger flared up. In a flash of realization, it hit me— “Chloe, why did you spam three emojis right after the list was posted?” 02 The air in the room froze for a second. “Aria, what are you trying to say?” “Are you implying that you not being on the list is because of my three emojis?” “Why did I do it? I was trying to be considerate! I was afraid you’d be heartbroken, so I tried to push the message out of sight.” “You’re biting the hand that feeds you!” The more she spoke, the more “hurt” she became, crying so hard she could barely catch her breath. “Chloe, don’t cry. Don’t let her get to you.” The dorm RA frantically handed Chloe tissues. The other two roommates also jumped to her defense. “Aria, I can’t believe you’re such a bitch. Taking out your failure on someone else.” “Exactly! Chloe even said she was going to share her champagne with you to spread the good luck.” “I don’t think you should drink it anyway. Bad vibes.” They teamed up, rolling their eyes at me. If this wasn’t a modern, science-based society, I’d seriously suspect they were possessed. Normally, we all got along great. Before every finals week, I tutored them for free. Except for Chloe, who was truly hopeless, the others barely managed to pass because of me. They always thanked me profusely: “Aria, thank god for you! You’re an absolute angel!” I didn’t expect that after three years of being an “angel,” I’d suddenly become a “bitch.” I replayed my tone from earlier in my head. It was calm, not emotional at all. Besides, I was positive the image hadn’t been in the chat for more than two seconds before her emojis pushed it up. Chloe was lying. She couldn’t have opened the image, read the list, and reacted that fast. She knew the results beforehand! I clenched my fists in anger. The RA stood up and yelled at me: “Aria, you’re definitely in the wrong here.” “But we’re all sisters. If you apologize to Chloe, she’ll forgive you.” I found it laughable. What kind of “sisters” were these? They were clearly taking her side. I couldn’t be bothered to argue further and pulled the covers over my head to sleep. But it wasn’t over. The advisor called me five times in a row, screaming the second I picked up: “Who do you think you are? How dare you bully a classmate?” “Sometimes, grades really don’t reflect a person’s character.” “I’m warning you! If you don’t apologize to Chloe, don’t even think about graduating!” He had a lot of nerve! I glanced at Chloe, who was still putting on a tearful act. Why was the advisor protecting her so fiercely? 03 The next day, I went to the career services office and got the contact info for the Horizon Tech representative. He remembered me and enthusiastically asked if I was ready to sign the internship offer letter. I was confused. I opened the group chat image and stared at it. It didn’t look Photoshopped. I hit record on my phone and asked him, “Mr. Smith, I was accepted by your company, right?” His voice rose with excitement. “Aria, you were the very first candidate we decided to accept.” I knew there was something shady going on! I immediately contacted my academic counselor. The counselor promised to investigate but stalled me for three days. During those three days, the advisor didn’t post anything in the group chat. But the other students had already quietly signed their offer letters. I was furious and stormed into the counselor’s office. She looked sympathetic and handed me a bottle of water. “You can’t really blame Mr. Davis for this. The company only wanted to hire 8 people, but because there were so many outstanding candidates, they accepted one extra. So when Mr. Davis took the screenshot, he just cropped it wrong.” Seeing I didn’t move, she shoved the water into my hand. “Don’t worry. A student as excellent as you will do just as well at any other company.” “It’s just an internship. Does it really matter where you go?” “The ultimate goal is graduation, right?” This was getting ridiculous. “Counselor, there were 9 names on that list. You expect me to believe he accidentally cropped out the very first one?” She patted my shoulder, continuing to gaslight me. “The company has already finalized the process. You need to let it go. Besides, causing a scene won’t do you any good. A major company like Horizon Tech usually only recruits from Ivy League or top-tier universities. This is their first time partnering with a state school like ours. If word gets out that there was a mistake on the acceptance list, it’ll ruin the school’s reputation.” I refused to back down: “I was supposed to be notified to sign the offer letter days ago! He clearly did it on purpose!” Seeing she couldn’t fool me, her face hardened. “Aria, why are you being so difficult?” “Even if you take this to the Dean or the President, the administration will prioritize the university’s interests.” “The best way to resolve this is to say Mr. Davis cropped the image incorrectly, and that you voluntarily declined the offer.” She shifted the blame onto me and threatened: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you tarnish the university’s reputation, you won’t be graduating.” Graduation, graduation, always threatening me with graduation. I was burning with rage. Why was everyone against me? 04 When I got back to the dorm, my roommates were happily packing their bags. “Oh my god, this is great. We can apply for early departure in a few days.” Seeing me return, Chloe cleared her throat very dramatically. “Girls, let’s keep our excitement to ourselves so we don’t upset the jealous monster and have her snap at everyone.” “I heard that if we perform well during the internship at Horizon Tech, we might get full-time offers.” “It’s normal for some people to be jealous of us.” She was saying it specifically for me to hear. And I gave her the reaction she wanted. “Chloe, how do you have the nerve to show off?” As far as I knew, Horizon Tech had a cutthroat corporate culture. “With your grades? Barely passing makeup exams after begging the professors? Are you sure you can survive at Horizon Tech?” Maybe because I was usually so easygoing and rarely argued, Chloe wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction. She froze for a second, then lashed out in embarrassment and anger. “Aria, stop bringing up grades every time you open your mouth.” “Whether I survive or not, at least I got in.” “And you? You don’t even have an internship. What right do you have to put me down?” “So what if you have good grades? So what if your resume is perfect? It was all for nothing! I hate your arrogant ‘I have good grades so I’m better than everyone’ attitude!” I didn’t know she resented me that much. But back when I stayed up late designing that perfect resume, they all praised it and practically stole it to use as a template. They even had me review and edit theirs. I remembered Chloe putting a lot of false information on hers. I warned her then that getting caught lying wouldn’t be worth it. She brushed it off, saying she was just “embellishing.” But Horizon Tech’s HR department wasn’t stupid. How could they not see through her cheap tricks? Unless Horizon Tech was in on it too? Then I really was going to have to “snap at everyone.” “Chloe, since I’m such a ‘jealous monster,’ I’m going to report you to Horizon Tech right now for resume fraud.” Chloe didn’t seem scared. She smirked at me smugly. “I always knew you were a snake.” “Do you know why Horizon Tech came to our school to recruit this year?” “Because of me. I’m the reason there are 8 spots.” She paused. “If I don’t go, I can’t guarantee those other spots will still be there.” That bombshell shocked my previously silent roommates into attacking me. “Aria, we’ve been friends for years. Why are you doing something so vindictive that ruins things for everyone?” “If you dare ruin this for us, I swear I’ll curse you to get struck by lightning.” It wasn’t even raining. I grabbed the door handle to leave. My arm was yanked back by the RA, who gritted her teeth. “Aria, let it go. I can get you a job soldering circuit boards at my uncle’s factory, okay?” She acted like she was making a huge concession. “That factory pays really well.” I felt sick to my stomach. “Go work there yourself.” 05 Hearing that the 8 Horizon Tech internship spots were at risk, the advisor rushed over. “There’s another good company coming to recruit soon. I’ll give you a strong recommendation.” His expression was like he was bestowing a massive favor upon me. The counselor, who must have heard the rumors, also called me. “Aria, doing this is unfair to the other students who earned their spots.” “You need to understand, this is how the real world works. Connections matter everywhere.” “You can’t just think about your own interests. You have to look at the big picture.” Fairness? The big picture? They really thought they could walk all over me. I contacted Mr. Smith and reported Chloe for resume fraud. But Chloe didn’t seem worried at all. Not only was she partying every day, but she also completed her early departure paperwork right on schedule. On the day they were leaving campus, Mr. Smith finally replied. He said the documents had been verified and there were no issues. I found that strange. “Her fake credentials passed the initial screening?” This time, Mr. Smith didn’t reply. What was even more interesting was that in the internship group chat, the advisor stopped being sneaky about Horizon Tech info. He made a very public announcement tagging everyone: “Notice: The eight students accepted by Horizon Tech, please gather at the school gates today at 2:00 PM. The company will send a private shuttle to pick you up.” Chloe replied “Received” instantly. Then she DM’d me to gloat. “How does it feel? Have you accepted defeat?” “If you get on your knees and beg me, maybe I’ll consider bringing you along.” Ha, does she think her family owns Horizon Tech? I ignored her and headed straight for the university’s disciplinary committee. They seemed to be expecting me and deliberately stalled, much like the counselor had. Taking my statement alone took two hours. It didn’t matter. I pressed the button on the voice recorder in my pocket. I was going to take down this whole nest of rats. Walking out of the disciplinary office, I instinctively checked my phone. Chloe had posted a Snapchat story and specifically tagged me. “Just finished washing the balcony, and this crazy wind blew all my hard work away. So tragic.” The attached photo showed a floor covered in clothes, pants, and underwear, soaking in a puddle of muddy water. Coincidentally, they were all mine. Immediately following that, Chloe messaged the dorm group chat. “We’ve been roommates for years, so I helped you put the clothes back on your bed.” Wow. She didn’t even spare my bed. She had been holding this in for days just for this moment, right? I rushed back to the dorm. There wasn’t a soul in sight. I furiously took photos of the disaster on my bed, posted them on my story, and tagged a bunch of people. “What should you do when you’re bullied by roommates?” Not long after the post went up, the advisor called, demanding I delete it. “What are you trying to do? How does smearing the university benefit you?” “Aria, I’m officially notifying you: given your recent behavior, the university will not recommend you to any recruiting companies. You’re on your own for an internship.” Through the phone, besides the advisor’s vicious threats, I could also hear Chloe’s gloating laughter: “Acting so arrogant with zero backing. Truly stupid.” “A nerd who only knows how to study. Do you really think you can find an internship on your own?” “My advice for her: if you’re incompetent, just go work an assembly line at a factory.” They seemed really obsessed with forcing me to work in a factory. I didn’t have any other special skills, so I had to humbly contact my dad: “I didn’t get accepted into our subsidiary.”

On the day of high school graduation, in front of the entire class, I threw a thick stack of cash at Silas Carter’s feet. “I’m bored with this. Let’s call it quits.” He knelt down, picking up the bills one by one. With a raspy voice, he said only one word: “Okay.” By the end of summer, Silas boarded a train for Harvard. I boarded a flight out of state to begin a long, grueling journey of chemotherapy. Many years later, I returned home. I was lying in a hospital bed, my hair completely gone from the treatments. Just as I was busy picking out a wig on my phone, the ward door swung open. There stood Silas Carter in a white lab coat. Our eyes met. 01 When Silas walked in, I was facedown on the bed, positioned awkwardly for an exam. My phone was blaring the high-pitched voice of an Amazon influencer: “Prime Day deals! Don’t miss out, these wigs are selling fast!” “Miss Bennett? Looking at hair pieces again?” The noisy room went silent instantly. The nurse pointed at me. “Dr. Carter, this is the new patient for the clinical trial. She’s already signed the consent forms.” The moment Silas looked at me, I froze like a deer in headlights. My mind went completely blank. Ten years. The man I thought I’d never see again had suddenly become my attending physician. And he walked in right while I was doing my post-op exercises. I wanted to die. I scrambled up, frantically adjusting my lopsided surgical mask. I sat there, frozen. Even though I didn’t look him in the eye, I could feel his gaze landing on me. It was icy. Cold. It was nothing like the helpless, gentle look he used to give me when I got a math problem wrong ten years ago. “Miss Bennett, this is the head of our department, Dr. Silas Carter. He will be personally overseeing your treatment plan.” I dodged his gaze and gave a quick, jerky nod. I didn’t make a sound. The med student standing beside him opened my chart and began reciting my history. “Maya Bennett, female, 28. Ten years ago, a routine physical revealed enlarged cervical lymph nodes. Initial diagnosis: Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Further biopsy showed—” “I don’t need to hear the rest,” Silas interrupted. “Oh? Do you know this patient, Doctor?” My heart jumped into my throat. I pretended to be busy fiddling with my phone. I could feel Silas staring at the ridiculous knitted beanie on my head—the one with the little sheep ears. After a long pause, he said flatly, “I don’t. But her case is unique. I reviewed the files beforehand.” My phone screen automatically jumped to the checkout page. The timer was counting down. Seconds ticked by. I was so dazed that I forgot to hit “buy.” The med student finished reporting the plan. Silas listened, his voice devoid of any personal emotion. “Fine. Continue the current regimen. Recheck tomorrow.” Then, he moved on to the next patient. He was in the ward for twenty minutes. Until the moment he left, he never looked at me again. I moved my stiff neck and realized my back was soaked with sweat. The link for the wig had expired. It was sold out. Dammit. But the only thing I could be grateful for was that Silas had clearly forgotten me. Even when the student read my full name, he hadn’t flinched. 02 When Silas and I first met, we didn’t get along. I was a brat with a rich father, acting out and failing every class. The principal, hoping Silas’s brilliance would rub off on me, made him my desk mate. At first, Silas ignored me. He spent every day buried in his SAT prep books, over and over. He was smart, kind, and gorgeous. His only “flaw” was that he was poor. I was the opposite. I wasn’t smart, I wasn’t particularly kind. Sitting next to him, I looked like a brainless socialite. Luckily, my social intelligence was high. While all the other girls sent him flowers and love letters, I bought him the most expensive Princeton Review and Barron’s prep sets. I bought every single one of his textbooks and exam fees. Within a semester, I had won him over. The day I tentatively kissed him was his birthday. His white shirt was wrinkled, my lipstick was smudged on his lips, and he looked down at me. “What does this mean?” It was my first time kissing a boy. My brain short-circuited. I stammered, “D-don’t you get it? Be my boyfriend.” The tips of Silas’s ears turned red. He whispered, “Okay.” Those were the good days. I hated studying, but I would sit obediently by his side in the library, listening to him tutor me. In one year, my scores went up by hundreds of points. I was on track to get into a university in New York. I wouldn’t have to do long-distance with him. If only that physical hadn’t happened… “BLEGH—” My retching echoed in the hospital bathroom. I clutched the toilet, my vision swimming, drenched in a cold sweat. My best friend, Chloe, rubbed my back. “This isn’t working. Your reaction is too intense. I’m going to find the doctor.” I grabbed her hand. “Don’t. I’m used to it.” During my first bout years ago, I went through 27 rounds of chemo alone. I survived. I held on for ten years, but the cancer came back. I didn’t want to be a nuisance to the doctors every time I felt sick. Chloe wasn’t having it. “Isn’t Silas your lead doctor? I’ll find him. He’ll have a way to help.” I hugged Chloe’s leg. “My dear, please, just drop it. You should be glad he hasn’t recognized me. If he does, he’ll probably order a hundred more rounds of chemo just for revenge.” “Who told you we do a hundred rounds of chemo?” A cold voice came from behind us. I froze. I didn’t dare turn around. Chloe let out a breath of relief. “Dr. Carter, Maya isn’t feeling well—” “It’s a normal reaction to the treatment. If she can’t handle it…” I didn’t hear what else he said to Chloe. My mind was stuck on one thought: Did he hear what I just said? 03 That evening, the nurse came in to give me an anti-nausea shot. She looked at me curiously. “Do you know Dr. Carter personally?” I lay on the bed, feeling like a ghost. “No. Why do you ask?” “Dr. Carter never handles these small details himself. But he went to the office personally today to tell your primary care physician to order these specific shots for you.” I looked at myself in the mirror. I had lost so much weight. The pain had drained the color from my face. Compared to ten years ago, I looked like a different person. There was no way… Even if Silas had a great memory… Wait. He did have a great memory. What if he was just biding his time to get back at me? The name “Maya Bennett” was right there on my chart. How could I think he wouldn’t know? Chloe chimed in, “Is your Dr. Carter really only 28? He’s already a department head?” “Oh, you did your research! Dr. Carter was a prodigy. MD-PhD, graduated by 26. His resume is one in a million. Most people can’t compare.” The nurse saw Chloe’s interest and smiled. “Thinking of chasing him? Save your breath. He’s already spoken for.” Chloe winked at me. The nurse continued, “The Dean’s daughter. She’s a PhD from Oxford. Word is, they’ll be married soon.” The smile died on Chloe’s lips. I started picking at a loose thread on my hospital gown, suddenly finding it the most interesting thing in the world. After the nurse left, Chloe whispered, “Maya, I’m so sorry…” “Hey, it’s fine.” “I’m 28 now, not 18.” The dream of the cold, handsome god falling for me ended ten years ago. 04 I didn’t see Silas again after that day. I couldn’t see him, but I heard about him. He was either away at a medical conference or in the lab doing research. He only came for rounds once a week to adjust treatment plans. During the break between chemo cycles, patients are allowed to go home. I didn’t see him until the day I was discharged. On my way home, I got a call from my old high school class president, Marcus. “Maya! Are you still in the city? How’s the treatment going?” The background was noisy. It sounded like a party. The old valedictorian’s voice cut in: “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick? If Marcus hadn’t mentioned it, we wouldn’t have known.” I was actually pretty popular in high school. I’d kept in touch with Marcus and a few others. I laughed weakly. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.” “That’s nonsense. Where are you staying? We’re coming to see you tomorrow.” I couldn’t say no to their kindness, so I gave them my address. My family had spent a lot of money on my treatments over the years. Thanks to Chloe, I’d found a relatively cheap apartment to rent near the hospital. It was a ground-floor unit with a small yard. When I felt well enough, I could plant flowers or maybe get a dog. Half our class stayed in our hometown; the rest were scattered across the country. Only five or six people showed up. They arrived with bags of groceries. “We wanted to go out for hot pot, but it’s too hot. Let’s just cook here.” I was wearing a thick beanie. I smiled. “It’s fine, I have AC. I missed hot pot.” They piled into the kitchen, shouting and laughing. The house suddenly felt alive. It felt like graduation all over again. Marcus asked while peeling carrots, “Have you reached out to Silas?” I froze for a second. “What?” “Come on, didn’t you know? He’s a world-renowned specialist in hematology. He specializes in lymphomas. Why didn’t you ask him for a consult?” “Oh, I—” I really didn’t want to be linked to Silas again. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Marcus wiped his hands on his apron and went to open it. Then, I heard the cheers. “Silas! You actually made it!” “Wow, Dr. Carter, long time no see.” “Come in! Maya wants hot pot. You’re the expert—can she even eat that?” I stood there like an idiot. My face was bare, no mask, no makeup. I felt exposed, like I was standing under a spotlight. I didn’t expect them to contact him. And I definitely didn’t expect to face him while I looked like this. Silas looked at me calmly. “Keep the broth mild,” he said softly. “Right, right! Listen to the doctor. No spicy broth!” Everyone went back to being busy. Silas took off his shoes and stepped into the guest slippers Marcus gave him. He handed a bag of fruit to the people in the kitchen. Marcus tried to lighten the mood. “Hey, whatever happened is in the past.” “Let bygones be bygones. Silas, you’re a big-shot now, don’t hold a grudge against Maya.” “Here, help us prep the greens.” Silas was handed a colander full of spinach. He was pushed toward the sofa. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the living room. The AC hummed in the corner. I dodged his eyes, frantically reaching for the mask I’d left on the couch. Silas snapped a spinach stem with a crisp pop. He said flatly: “You’ve already recognized me. Is there really a point in hiding?” 05 The atmosphere was suffocatingly awkward. Actually, I was the only one who felt awkward. I hesitated, then slowly pulled my hand back, feeling defeated. “I thought you didn’t recognize me. That’s why I didn’t say hi at the hospital.” “There was no need.” “What?” “We aren’t close. No need for greetings.” Silas kept his head down, expertly prepping the spinach. He had no intention of chatting. I nodded silently and pushed a glass of water toward him. “Drink some… water.” “I’m not thirsty. Thanks.” Cold. So cold. Since he rejected me, I didn’t want to keep embarrassing myself. I just sat there. I tried to remember if I’d done anything humiliating during my hospital stay. Marcus poked his head out of the kitchen. “Maya, we’re out of paper towels. Grab me a roll?” “Oh, sure.” I stood up quickly and started rummaging through the bottom of a cabinet. The landlord’s furniture was old. When I pulled the drawer, the whole cabinet shook. A heavy photo frame on the top shelf lost its balance and started to tip. By the time I realized it, it was too late. I just crouched down and covered my head. I waited for the impact. The next second, the light dimmed. Silas had reached out and caught the frame. Because his back was to the light, I couldn’t see his face, but the air around him felt frigid. He didn’t look happy. “Thanks,” I whispered. Silas ignored me. When I crawled out from under the cabinet, I saw what he was looking at. It was a photo I’d secretly taken of Silas sleeping ten years ago. The summer sun was filtering through the trees, landing on his sharp profile. He was fast asleep. He hadn’t even noticed me tentatively reaching out to touch his hand. In that moment, I seriously considered snatching the photo and eating it. “Maya Bennett.” “Yeah?” “Explain this.” I paused, instinctively reaching up to scratch my head. A clump of hair came away in my fingers. Under Silas’s freezing gaze, I forced a laugh. “It’s just… an ‘Ex Wall,’ right? Haha. Just for memories—” “Oh? Is that so?” Silas pointed to a group of photos of me and Chloe. His voice took on a sharp edge. “According to you, you’ve dated girls too?” I swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. I… I’ve dated everyone.” Silas’s sharp gaze felt like it was burning through me. I couldn’t keep the fake smile up. I looked everywhere but at him. “Maya, you guys—” Marcus opened the kitchen door, sensed the weird tension, and immediately shut his mouth. Silas’s face was dark. He put the frame back, wiped his hands with a tissue, and grabbed his jacket. “Hey, Silas! Where are you going?” “Emergency at the hospital. I have to go.” “Wait, we haven’t finished talking about Maya’s case… Silas, stay for dinner!” Silas stood at the door and looked at me. I said nothing. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something. But he was disappointed. I stayed silent. Silas let out a very soft, mocking laugh. “Is there really a point in an unwelcome ex staying here?” The door clicked shut. Silas was gone. 06 Silas’s departure cast a shadow over the room for a minute. But soon, the smell of Marcus’s hot pot broth brightened things up. “Marcus, you’ve still got it. Your cooking is amazing.” Marcus chuckled, holding a beer. He nodded at me. “Maya, don’t take it to heart. Silas… hey, I’ll talk to him! He’s got to give his old class president some respect!” The others chimed in with comforts. “When I called him, he sounded busy. But he’s a professional, he’ll help you.” “Yeah, let’s eat!” I wasn’t actually that hurt. Mostly, I just felt guilty. In my mind, Silas and I shouldn’t have any more overlap. I didn’t want to bring him more trouble because of my illness. We had a lively dinner. Marcus even started a FaceTime call with the whole class group. The group chat exploded. For a moment, it felt like the days before the SATs. Everyone was talking about their dreams. Planning graduation trips. Back then, Silas and I were desk mates. A week before the finals, he came back from the teacher’s office and saw me with a red marker, doodling on a map. He asked, “What are you doing?” I held up the map and waved it in front of him. “Can’t you tell? It’s New York!” I’d drawn two red circles. “This is your school. And this one… this is mine.” I drew a straight line between them. “The shortest distance between two points. That’s how far apart we’ll be.” Silas couldn’t help but smile. “You think you can get into a school in the city?” “What, you wouldn’t be happy?” He sat down next to me, neatly stacking his papers. He said softly, “I’d be very happy.” But my luck was bad. A few days later, I got my physical results. The labs were a disaster. Warning arrows covered the page. The doctor told my parents we needed to go to a specialist in the city immediately. From the looks of it, I wouldn’t be going to college at all. I tentatively asked Silas, “Hey, what if I got really sick one day and couldn’t go to New York? What would you do?” Silas’s pen stopped. He frowned. “Are you sick?” “No! Don’t jinx me! It’s an online personality quiz! Answer seriously!” “I’d probably get into the best med school I could. I’d just change my major.” That answer made my heart ache. I pushed my math homework onto his desk. “Whatever, just do your math problems! Nerd.” He loved math. Why would he want to be a doctor? On the afternoon the finals were ending, I got a nosebleed. Blood stained the exam paper. I didn’t know if it counted as “tampering” with the test. It didn’t matter. I left that night for a hospital out of state. Standing on a busy city street, I wanted to cry. The New York promise… I was the one who arrived first. Then came the diagnosis. Packing my bags. I threw that cash at Silas in front of everyone. I ended our story with a messy, cruel period.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “409918”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was trying to catch up on sleep on my flight when a flight attendant unexpectedly shook me awake. “Excuse me, ma’am. I noticed you didn’t order a meal. Are you feeling unwell?” I shook my head. “Just tired. I’m going to sleep. No food for me, thank you.” But ten minutes later, the exact same flight attendant woke me up again. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to eat? We have a wide variety of options for our in-flight service today.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Please, I just want to sleep. I really don’t want to eat.” I had finally managed to string together a few minutes of interrupted sleep. I didn’t expect to open my groggy eyes and be met with the flight attendant’s overly eager gaze yet again. “If you’re not eating, I need you to fill out this survey and explain exactly why.” “And you can’t just check the multiple-choice boxes. This is so we can provide you with better service in the future.” 01 After pulling an all-nighter, I was flying out of state for a business trip. Tray table locked, seatbelt fastened. The sound of the plane’s engines roaring to life was my favorite lullaby, signaling my long-awaited date with the Sandman. This particular client was notoriously difficult to please. The night before the trip, they were still asking me to “make the black pop” on our presentation design. Thankfully, after rushing and burning the midnight oil, I finally submitted a deck they were satisfied with. A three-hour flight isn’t incredibly long, but it isn’t short either. It was just enough time for a deep, restorative nap. Terrified of being disturbed during the meal service, I pulled out a sticky note I had written while waiting at the gate and slapped it right on the seatback in front of me. Neon yellow paper, bold red Sharpie. “Please do not wake for meal service. Thank you.” Normally, I’m not this aggressively extroverted. But having a deep, sweet sleep interrupted is a cruel and unusual punishment. My eyelashes fluttered shut, and I drifted off beautifully. But before I could even reach the drooling stage of a good nap, a warm touch pressed against my arm. At the same time, a saccharine female voice leaned close to my ear. “Ma’am, what would you like for your meal today?” I waved my hand in despair and pointed at the sticky note on the seat in front of me. But the voice beside me didn’t disappear. Instead, it went up an octave. “We have the beef bowl or the chicken and rice. Which one would you prefer?” “Ma’am? Ma’am?” Through the relentless calling, I forced myself to muster a shred of consciousness. “No, thank you. I’m not eating. Thanks.” Forcing a chronically exhausted corporate drone to speak and answer questions is a cruel thing, but I figured the flight attendant was just doing her job. Wage slaves shouldn’t make life harder for other wage slaves. That was a core philosophy I adopted after entering the corporate world. My eyelids grew heavy. I snuggled into my seat, desperately hoping to seamlessly transition back into sleep. But the very next second, the flight attendant’s voice rang out again. “Are you really sure you don’t want to eat, ma’am?” “The food on this route gets great reviews. People rave about it on TikTok and Instagram all the time.” God help me. Was this airline meal made of gold? Was it mandatory that I eat it? “Thank you, but I really don’t want to eat. I just want to sleep.” “And please, you don’t need to ask me again. Thank you.” I pointed to the sticky note on the seat again, blindly grabbed my noise-canceling headphones from my pocket, and put them on. My verbal, physical, and visual rejections didn’t buy me peace. Instead, the flight attendant crouched down and spoke in a voice that sounded sincere, but was perfectly calibrated to carry to the rows in front of and behind me. “It’s completely fine, ma’am.” “These meals are complimentary and included in the price of your ticket. There’s no extra charge, so you really don’t need to worry about the cost.” That woke me up. I was pissed. “I told you I want to sleep and not to wake me up. What is your goal in repeatedly harassing me and asking me questions?” “And bringing up the cost? With your twisted logic, working as a flight attendant is a waste of your talents. You should go write soap operas; you’d probably get a billion views overnight.” “Just go, go away. I’m begging you.” I put my hands together in a pleading motion, turned my body away, closed my eyes, and tried to salvage the rest of my time. But a second later, the flight attendant stood up, her voice choking with tears. “Ma’am, are you feeling unwell?” “I apologize, I was only worried about you.” “Ma’am? Ma’am?” 02 I wasn’t a “Ma’am.” I was a victim. I was a corporate workhorse enslaved by my boss, and currently, I was a monkey in a zoo being gawked at. I opened my eyes, my gaze slowly sweeping over my surroundings. Even through the haze of sleep deprivation, I could clearly feel the burning stares coming at me from all directions. “Alright, alright, don’t give her a hard time. The flight attendant is just doing her job.” “Seriously. She’s just a young girl, why does that passenger have such a nasty temper?” “She’s probably just jealous because the flight attendant is pretty. She’s giving her a hard time on purpose.” They weren’t just staring; they were gossiping. And they weren’t even whispering. I rubbed my aching neck, took a deep breath, and didn’t rush to respond to the teary-eyed flight attendant. Instead, I looked straight at the older couple who were gossiping the loudest. I didn’t say a word. I just stared. However long they kept talking, this “hard-working” flight attendant would have to stand in front of my furious face. This is called pressure transfer. My boss uses it in meetings all the time. I took the best parts of the tactic and discarded the rest. The results were instantaneous. Soon enough, the flight attendant standing before me, as well as the nosy passengers on either side, followed my gaze to the couple. The couple exchanged an awkward glance and sheepishly lowered their heads. External threats neutralized; time to handle the internal issue. I slowly looked up at the flight attendant in front of me. She blinked her reddened eyes, looking at me innocently. It was as if I were the wicked hunter, and she was a cornered, helpless fawn. Finally realizing I wasn’t an easy target, she spoke, her voice pitiful. “Ma’am, I am so sorry. I only wanted to provide you with better service.” “I’m still in my probationary period. Please give me a chance, okay?” “Please don’t file a complaint against me. I promise I’ll be more careful and fix my mistakes in the future.” An apology was fine. There was no need to push someone to the brink. Even though I still felt incredibly annoyed, I shook my head at her. “It’s fine. I won’t report you. We’re all just trying to make a living.” “I just want to sleep. Until the plane lands, please do not wake me up for meal service or anything else.” “Seriously. Please.” Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. This time, I watched the flight attendant turn around and walk toward the other end of the plane before finally burying my face back into the seat cushion. The unpleasant interruption was finally over. If I didn’t catch up on sleep now, I would be nodding off like a pigeon pecking at grain during my afternoon meeting. My meticulously prepared presentation—the “minimalist but with flair” deck—would be dragged through the mud by the client. All my hard work, and the final payment, would vanish into thin air. Interrupted sleep is incredibly hard to resume. After repeatedly inhaling and counting sheep, drowsiness finally hit me. Just as I was sinking into that hazy, blissful state, a sharp pain shot up my arm. I opened my eyes, wincing. The next second, the sharp, stiff edge of printer paper was thrust into my face. The flight attendant had returned. She solemnly handed a pen to me. “Ma’am, if you’re not eating, I need you to fill out this survey and explain exactly why.” 03 I looked at the red scratch on my arm, then at the printer paper now resting on my tray table, densely packed with questions. It was the middle of summer, and I had been sweating profusely. The fresh paper cut stung like fire as sweat seeped into it. Anger flared up inside me, burning so hot my tongue felt tied into knots. Just as I was trying to find the words to express my fury, the flight attendant leaned in and meticulously instructed me. “You can’t just check the multiple-choice boxes. Please make sure to fill out the detailed comments section as well.” “This is so we can reflect and summarize our performance, allowing us to provide you with better service in the future.” My tongue untied itself, but my brain felt like it was short-circuiting. My only request was that she leave me alone so I could sleep. Why was it absolutely necessary for her to repeatedly wake me up? If I were sitting in the emergency exit row, I would force myself to stay awake to fulfill my duties, no matter how tired I was. But I was just a regular passenger. Saying no to food is a right. Saying no to a survey is a right. Seeing me sit in stunned silence, a flash of impatience crossed the flight attendant’s eyes, though her smile grew even sweeter and more accommodating. “Ma’am, are you having trouble reading the English on the form?” “If needed, we can provide Spanish or French translation services for you.” Before my exhausted brain could even process the insult, she leaned down, starting her unsolicited translation. “Estimada pasajera… Dear passenger, thank you for your cooperation…” Her accent was terrible. Honestly, if this were any other time, I might have found the sheer audacity amusing. But right now, I had absolutely zero patience left. “You want feedback? Here’s your feedback.” I grabbed the pen she had forced on me and aggressively drew a massive ‘X’ across the entire survey. I pressed down so hard the pen tore right through the paper. “Ma’am, you…” The sudden outburst left the flight attendant—who had been smugly butchering her translation moments before—staring in utter shock. Before she could react, I whipped out my phone and snapped a photo of the torn survey and her face. I take back what I said earlier. I was reporting her. As soon as I got off this business trip, I was filing a formal complaint. I’ve flown countless times, and I had never met a flight attendant this unhinged. “You can leave now. Save yourself the effort of trying to patronize me.” “And you don’t need to ‘reflect and summarize’ for the future, because I will never fly this airline again.” I didn’t mince words. I crumpled the torn survey into a ball and tossed it into the seatback pocket, completely ignoring how the flight attendant’s smile was freezing over, inch by inch. “Ma’am, I am so sorry.” “Please do not let my individual mistake affect the evaluation of our entire flight crew.” “You can apologize to me however you want, but my colleagues are innocent. Please do not project your anger onto innocent people.” “Adults should know how to maturely manage their emotions, instead of…” Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over, but she stubbornly held them back. Her voice was full of grievance, every word articulated clearly. I squeezed the airsickness bag in my hand until it crumpled. Excuse me? When did I say I was reporting the entire crew? What kind of toxic, guilt-tripping corporate logic was this? Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in again. I looked at the flight attendant, who was putting on a tearful performance while stubbornly refusing to leave my side. There truly is a wall in communication between some people. With bizarre individuals like her, the best tactic is to completely ignore them. Thinking this, I pulled out my laptop. Since sleep was out of the question, I might as well use the time to review my presentation one more time. But the very next second, a scalding cup of hot coffee was splashed all over my keyboard. Watching the dark brown liquid seep deeper and deeper into the keys, I frantically leaned over, trying to dig through my bag for tissues. But before I could even pull them out, a heavy coffee pot hovered directly over my arm, blocking my access to the tissues. “I’m so sorry, I just wanted to pour you a cup of coffee to apologize…” 04 “I’m so sorry, I just wanted to pour you a cup of coffee to apologize.” “Please don’t be angry. I’ll pour you a fresh cup right now.” “Please, I beg you, do not report our crew…” Buzz, buzz, buzz. Her voice echoed relentlessly in my ears. I wearily lifted my head and looked at her. Both of her hands were tightly gripping the coffee pot. She lowered her eyes, looking like a child who had made a mistake. Yet, right next to her on the beverage cart sat a thick stack of life-saving napkins, which she conveniently ignored. “Move your hands first. Let me grab some napkins to wipe off my keyboard.” I spoke, my voice dripping with exhaustion. At this point, the only thing that mattered was saving my laptop. I truly didn’t have the energy to care about anything else. The sticky coffee liquid dried on my dark clothing. After a lot of scrubbing, the keyboard finally looked somewhat normal again. Though it was a mess, at least my most crucial piece of equipment had survived. I slumped numbly back against the seat, glancing at the time on my desktop screen. There was an hour and a half left until landing. Instead of trying to salvage a fragmented nap, I decided to go to the lavatory and wash my face. With that in mind, I unbuckled my seatbelt and started to stand up to head toward the back. The next instant, a splash of hot coffee was dumped directly onto the top of my head. Drip, drop. The coffee ran down my hair, soaking into my undershirt. I stood frozen in shock, instantly transforming into a walking espresso machine. “What the fuck…” Feeling the sticky, hot mess covering my body, and remembering my tight schedule after landing, my rage finally overpowered my exhaustion. I wrung the coffee out of my bangs and glared coldly at the flight attendant who caused this disaster. Just as I was about to speak, she set the coffee pot down and looked at me with disdain. “Ma’am, I have already apologized to you.” “You can be unhappy with me, but we are in a public space. Please mind your manners.” ??? She was speaking English, but put together, I didn’t seem to understand the logic at all. Remembering the photos I had taken on my phone, I forcefully swallowed my anger. I turned sideways to avoid brushing against the seats and walked into the lavatory. Splashing cool water on my face made me feel slightly better. After landing, I’d get my checked luggage first, then change my clothes in an airport restroom. I had a Ziploc bag in my carry-on with a spare change of clothes. I could send the dirty ones to the hotel’s laundry service later. As for my hair… I’d have to see if I could find a salon near the meeting location to get it quickly washed and blown out. With the next steps clear in my head, I wiped the stains off my body. But the moment I pushed open the lavatory door and stepped out, I was met with two eager faces. “Hello, I am the Purser for this flight.” “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Connor and I were both high-profile attorneys. He was a rising star in corporate finance, while I specialized exclusively in divorce litigation. Our relationship was stable, our careers complemented each other, and we had been featured multiple times in legal magazines. In the industry, we were considered the model power couple. That was, until a college reunion. Connor’s college sweetheart suddenly teared up, mentioning that she had married the wrong man and was living a miserable life. Finally, she looked at Connor with tear-blurred eyes. “Connor… do you take divorce cases?” 01 Neither Connor nor I had originally planned to attend this alumni reunion. But I wrapped up my casework early and decided to tag along with him. Besides, at a reunion like this, running into an old flame and catching up was perfectly normal. I figured my presence there might just be a third wheel. Connor couldn’t help but laugh. “Attorney Chloe, you’re just a workaholic without a husband for the night, but you sure know how to spin it. You truly deserve your title as the firm’s top litigator.” “Everyone agreed to bring their plus-ones. We have a beautiful life together, there’s no lingering ‘what-ifs’ from the past.” “Do me the honor and come with me?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. My remaining workload wasn’t urgent, so I changed my clothes and headed out with him. Who knew my passing thought would become a prophecy. At the reunion, we really did run into Connor’s “one that got away,” Olivia. Olivia was Connor’s girlfriend in college. Back then, they were the golden couple—the handsome scholar and the beautiful campus queen. After graduation, Olivia entered the workforce, while Connor stayed for his master’s in law. They say graduation season is breakup season. Add to that the crushing workload of law school, and Connor couldn’t even provide her with basic companionship. Olivia quickly found a new boyfriend. Rumor had it, he was the heir to the company she worked for. I didn’t know if Connor had been devastated by the breakup back then. But whenever he mentioned that past relationship to me later, he brushed it off with a few casual words: “We just wanted different things.” But unrequited young love—how could she not be the elusive “white moonlight” in his memory? Olivia looked a bit thin. Her porcelain face had light makeup, her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and she was still undeniably beautiful. Yet, she was alone. A curious classmate asked about the “plus-one” rule, wondering why she hadn’t brought her other half. Olivia just smiled and said nothing. I lifted my gaze to glance at Connor. He was focused entirely on peeling shrimp for me. Hearing the question, he even shared a knowing smile with me, his expression completely unfazed. After a few rounds of drinks, the atmosphere grew lively. The conversations deepened. Some people were networking and referring jobs, while others silently exchanged business cards. We were all adults in our thirties now; the unspoken rules of society were ingrained in our minds. The passionate bonds of our college days, sealed with a warm “plus-one” invite, were now just the perfect bridge for exchanging resources. Only Olivia sat alone in the corner, looking slightly out of place. She had lived a life of luxury for years, and these corporate struggles were completely alien to her now. Someone walked over to her with a wine glass, half-joking: “I heard our campus queen married into serious money! It’s a shame you didn’t bring your husband today. Otherwise, us corporate drones could have asked the billionaire heir for a leg up.” Olivia remained silent for a long moment before raising her glass and downing her wine in one gulp. Her eyes turned red, and even her voice trembled: “I don’t think I can help you guys with that. I… I’m planning to get a divorce.” 02 The classmate had only been making polite banter. But at Olivia’s words, a wave of awkwardness washed over his face. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea…” The private dining room gradually quieted down. Olivia’s tears suddenly spilled over. She looked utterly heartbroken. “It’s my own fault for being blind. I married the wrong man. I can’t blame anyone else.” A female classmate handed her a tissue. Between sobs, Olivia began to tell her story. It was nothing new: her husband was unfaithful, the family assets were entirely controlled by her in-laws, and his mistress had even provoked her so aggressively that it caused her to suffer a miscarriage. A beautiful woman crying is always a compelling sight. The old classmates listened, filled with righteous indignation. “What a scumbag! Why haven’t you divorced him yet?!” “Exactly! Our campus queen has the looks and the degree. Why should you put up with this?” “Divorce him today, find a young boy toy tomorrow! Life is short, live it up while you can.” Naturally, someone took the opportunity to point to Connor and me. “Hey, don’t Connor and Chloe run their own law firm? With our top-tier attorney here, you have nothing to worry about! Not only will you get the divorce, but they’ll strip that billionaire of everything he’s got!” Olivia’s eyes lit up, and her sobbing slowly ceased. I turned to look at Connor as well. His face was calm. He merely squeezed my hand a little tighter. He spoke in a steady voice, “My wife is the head of our divorce litigation department. If you need anything, you can consult her.” The atmosphere froze for a second. Olivia bit her lip, staring at me for a long moment before asking softly: “I’ve heard of Attorney Chloe’s stellar reputation. I wonder if it would be too much trouble to ask for some help?” I sighed inwardly. Her situation was actually very clear and painfully typical. Trust fund kids might be blinded by love, but the first-generation wealth builders are always ruthlessly clear-headed. Many wealthy families operate this exact way. They let the woman marry into the family, they let her live in the lap of luxury, but by the same token, they can kick her to the curb at any moment. All the legal procedures and financial structures are ironclad, leaving zero loopholes. I weighed my words carefully, trying to analyze her situation as objectively as possible: “…From a legal standpoint, the marital assets available for equitable distribution are practically zero.” “Even if he is the party at fault.” Olivia’s mouth dropped open in shock. I pointed to the rare leather Hermes Birkin bag sitting on her chair. “Perhaps, you should try to strategize and ask for more high-value gifts.” “Jewelry, designer clothes, and luxury goods like that are typically not subject to asset division during a divorce. They default to the woman’s personal property.” Olivia’s face instantly changed. She stared at me with a dark, heavy gaze: “So, what you’re saying, Attorney Chloe, is that after all my years of youth and sacrifice, all I can walk away with is a few handbags?” I was slightly surprised by her reading comprehension, but I nodded anyway. “It’s incredibly common for the ultra-wealthy to do this kind of pre-marital legal structuring.” A female classmate muttered a curse at the scumbag husband, while others whispered their sympathies for Olivia. Olivia ignored me completely. Instead, she turned her gaze back to Connor. “Connor, do you agree with this?” Connor stiffened, his grip on my hand tightening even more. I had to use a considerable amount of force to pull my hand away. With Connor’s professional experience, he understood this situation even better than I did. Sure enough, he remained silent. Seeing this, Olivia let out a few cold laughs. Then, she grabbed her bag and stood straight up: “I may not be as successful as you, Attorney Chloe, but I’m not so pathetic that I’d trade years of my relationship for a few handbags.” “Tell me, Attorney Chloe. Right now you’re advising me to trade my love for bags. What’s the next step?” “Are you going to suggest I pop out a few kids to extort them for child support?” “If this is the kind of advice a ‘top-tier’ divorce lawyer gives, then I don’t need it.” 03 Because of the scene Olivia caused, the reunion ended early. The restaurant was quite a distance from our house. Even with clear night traffic, the drive took nearly twenty minutes. Connor sat in the passenger seat in complete silence. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His eyes were half-closed, but his brow was deeply furrowed. This was the exact expression he wore whenever he encountered a particularly thorny case. I understood. After all, anyone would be slightly shaken by everything that had happened tonight. When we got home, I went into the study to handle some work. Connor didn’t follow me in like he usually did. I didn’t mind. That was, until the sound of shattering glass suddenly echoed from the living room. I walked out to see Connor standing in front of the wine cabinet. Red wine was splattered across the floor, looking like a gruesome crime scene. I frowned. “Why the massive mood swing?” Connor paused as he reached for a glass shard. “What?” I kept it brief: “Olivia.” Connor fell silent again. A trace of annoyance suddenly flared up inside me. Regarding tonight’s events, I was the one who should be angry. Olivia’s inexplicable outburst before she left had left me speechless. So, I coldly reminded him: “Connor, I told you early on I didn’t want to go. You insisted I come along.” “You were also the one who directed Olivia to ask me for advice.” Connor looked up at me, the bloodshot veins in his eyes clearly visible: “Yes. But Chloe, did you really have to be so harsh with your words?” I experienced a brief moment of pure confusion. I seriously had to think about whether the “harshness” he referred to was my conversation with Olivia, or my current tone with him. Connor rubbed his temples wearily: “Chloe, you’re so smart, and you’re always the objective observer. You saw at a glance that it was a dead end.” “But did you ever put yourself in her shoes? As the client, she’s already in immense pain from a miserable marriage.” “Why did you have to rub salt in her wounds?” He even looked at me dead in the eye. “Chloe, where is your empathy?” I literally laughed out loud from the sheer absurdity. Thankfully, years of courtroom conditioning meant my mouth reacted faster than my brain: “Connor, get your facts straight. I am not the cause of Olivia’s miserable marriage.” “Instead of preaching to me about meaningless empathy, you should teach Olivia how to leverage her resources.” “If she had even an ounce of sense to use what she had, she wouldn’t have ended up in this pathetic situation.” “Besides, when it comes to asset protection and legal structuring for high-net-worth clients, you know the drill better than anyone.” “What, did you just never imagine that one day those tactics would be used against your precious first love?” Connor’s face turned ugly. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so sharp-tongued. He instinctively opened his mouth to explain, “Chloe, that’s not what I meant…” I curled my lips into a sneer, unable to hold back my sarcasm: “Then what did you mean? Don’t tell me you actually think that in this day and age, a mere marriage certificate is enough to walk away with half an empire built over generations?” “Or when you go to court, are you going to negotiate with the judge about how much ‘feelings’ and ‘youth’ are financially worth?” “Connor, what exactly are you so angry about?” Connor stayed silent for a very long time, then let out a heavy sigh. I watched as he meticulously wrapped the glass shards in paper, and painstakingly cleaned up the spilled red wine. Once everything was handled, he reached out and pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry, Chloe.” “I know everything you said was the truth. I just lost my head for a second.” “I just… felt a little sorry for her.” “But at the end of the day, it was her choice, and it has nothing to do with anyone else.” 04 I didn’t let the argument escalate further. First, he had already apologized to me with utmost sincerity. He bought flowers, bought gifts, spent money, and put in the effort. He even thoughtfully left a note on the bank transfer that read: “Voluntary Gift.” Second, I didn’t hold my partner to some impossible standard of perfection. Olivia was a preexisting fact long before I came into the picture. No matter how they broke up, the beautiful moments of their past love wouldn’t just change or disappear. Perhaps people change, and things fade. But those memories will always become precious under the weight of time. I allowed Connor to keep that preciousness. People are emotional creatures, after all. Even an object becomes hard to part with after a long time, let alone someone you once loved. If I were in Connor’s shoes today, I might not be entirely stone-hearted either. And objectively, Olivia’s situation was pitiful. Putting aside her Ivy League degree and the bright future she should have had. As a woman, I sympathized with the pain and despair of being betrayed by the person she shared a bed with. I also admired her resolve to choose divorce when faced with a rotting marriage. That was part of my genuine inner thought. When I first entered the legal field, I didn’t have the luxury of picking my cases. Whatever landed on my desk, I poured my soul into it. Later, as I climbed the ranks and gained authority, I truly pivoted toward becoming a specialized divorce lawyer. Of course, before things truly fell apart, I believed every relationship deserved to be treated with care. Connor was exactly that. He was handsome, had a great personality, excelled at his job, and was a fantastic cook. In his early thirties, he maintained a strict fitness routine. His abs were clearly defined, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist—he was vibrant and full of life. By all worldly standards, he matched my preferences perfectly. So, this marriage, as it stood, was worth protecting. Life moved forward calmly. Connor and I worked as usual. If we happened to get off work early, we’d catch a movie or he’d cook a massive dinner. Olivia seemed like a side quest in a video game that briefly popped up. If ignored, it would quickly disappear. I didn’t hear about her again until half a month later. It was a small get-together with friends, and coincidentally, one of Connor’s old classmates was there. The classmate suddenly brought her up. “She and her husband have been fighting like crazy lately. Her Instagram used to be so aesthetic and peaceful, but now it’s all dramatic, depressing quotes. It’s a mess.” “Oh right, Connor, what’s up with you two playing the cold, elite couple in the group chat?” “Was it because of that night? Because she inexplicably blew up at Chloe?” I froze, lifting my gaze to look at Connor. Connor was busy boiling some vegetables in the hotpot. He thought for a second, then unlocked his phone and pushed it in front of me. He kept it brief: “She tried to add me a few times. I didn’t accept.” I glanced at the screen. Olivia had sent five consecutive friend requests. The first was the default system message. The second had a note: [It’s Olivia]. The third said: [I have something to ask you]. Clearly, Connor had ignored the first three. So for the fourth, she wrote: [Are all you lawyers this arrogant and condescending?] Connor still didn’t accept. The most recent one read: [I was overly emotional that night. Please apologize to Attorney Chloe for me.] I looked at Connor. “You’re not going to respond?” Connor furrowed his brow. “There’s no need.” I thought for a moment. Then I clicked reply under Olivia’s final message: [No need. This is Chloe.] I assumed this would be the end of it. But a few days later, our law firm welcomed an unexpected guest. Olivia. 05 A visitor is a guest; there was no reason to refuse her entry. When I finished a meeting and returned to the office area, she was standing in front of the firm’s Wall of Honor near the entrance. It was covered in the firm’s history, profiles of our practicing attorneys, and various awards. Olivia had her head tilted up, reading through them one by one. Finally, her gaze locked onto a specific spot. It was the page for the firm’s partners. Connor’s photo hung in the most prominent spot, his name followed by a long list of honors and awards. I stood behind her for several minutes before she finally snapped out of her daze. I cut straight to the chase: “Is there something we can help you with today, Ms. Olivia?” She smiled, her eyes curving. “Attorney Chloe is so brilliant, can’t you guess why I’m here?” I feigned curiosity: “This is a law firm. Naturally, you’re here for a lawsuit.” “Don’t tell me you just came to sightsee.” The smile in her eyes vanished inch by inch. “Yes.” “But I have a question. Are all the divorce cases here handled exclusively by you, Attorney Chloe?” I leaned back against the wall, quietly assessing her. She was wearing a hot pink slip dress today. Compared to the light makeup from that night, this was a bold, intense look that certainly caught the eye. With every movement, a strong scent of perfume wafted through the air. The corners of my lips curled up slightly: “Divorce isn’t exactly a complex legal matter. The facts are usually clear, the targets are simple.” “Any of the attorneys you just saw on that wall are more than capable.” She stared intensely into my eyes: “What about Attorney Connor?” I raised my hand and pointed down the hall: “Connor’s office is right over there.” “But he’s in a meeting right now. You’ll have to wait.” “Thank you, Attorney Chloe.” Olivia tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “But I already made an appointment with the receptionist.” At 4:30 PM, Connor returned to his office. The receptionist must have informed him beforehand; his expression didn’t change much when he saw Olivia. He walked over to me first. “Chloe, wait for me. We’ll head out exactly at 5:00.” I nodded. We had a movie date at 6:00 PM. Olivia followed Connor into his office. To protect client confidentiality, it was standard practice to close the door during consultations. I watched as Connor noticeably hesitated, then opted to leave the door slightly ajar. Low voices drifted out. It was mostly Olivia speaking, with Connor occasionally asking a question. I couldn’t be bothered to eavesdrop, so I used the time to review my case files. At 5:00 PM, the Slack notification popped up right on time, reminding everyone the workday was over. I glanced over at his office. They weren’t done. Colleagues began filtering out one by one. The sweet girl at the front desk came over to ask if I needed her to order overtime dinner. I smiled and shook my head. “No thanks, I’m leaving right now.” By 5:30 PM, the door across from me had somehow been shut completely tight. Olivia’s hot pink silhouette reflected against the frosted glass, looking even more vibrant under the bright office lights. At 5:40 PM, I grabbed my bag, left, and drove to the movie theater. Connor never showed up. But during the movie, my phone kept blowing up with texts and calls from him. Annoyed, I just switched it to airplane mode. Peace at last. When the movie ended, I followed the crowd out and immediately spotted Connor standing by the exit. His gaze cut through the sea of people, landing heavily on me. He stepped forward, his tone rushed and panicked: “Chloe, I didn’t mean to miss it. I lost track of time, and then I couldn’t reach you.” “I rushed over as fast as I could, but they said I was 20 minutes late and wouldn’t let me in. All I could do was wait here.” A faint, unmistakable perfume drifted off his clothes. Fighting down a wave of nausea, I cut him off. “Let’s just go home.” 06 Connor took Olivia’s case. He brought it up the second we walked through the door: “Olivia wants me to represent her in this lawsuit. She spent the whole time detailing everything that’s happened over the last few years, which is why I missed the movie.” “She’s had a really hard time. She just wanted a normal life, but then she got tangled up with a family like that…” “But Chloe, if you’re uncomfortable with it, I can drop it.” As he spoke, he took a step closer to me. That wave of nausea hit me again. I couldn’t help but say bluntly, “Your perfume smell is a bit strong.” He froze, immediately explaining: “Olivia’s heel broke. I just caught her so she wouldn’t fall.” “I’ll go shower right now.” Two days later. A girl from the admin department brought over a stack of representation agreements for the firm’s official seal. I glanced at them, and Olivia’s contract was right on top. The “Lead Attorney” line was blank. I asked, “Is this case signed?” “Attorney Connor said he’ll sign it later,” she explained, then added, “But her retainer has been paid in full.” I nodded. That afternoon, Connor specifically sought me out. He even brought his tablet with the preliminary case files, looking incredibly serious. “Chloe, she can’t drag this out any longer. She needs someone to guide her and cut the Gordian knot.” “Connor, I didn’t realize you weren’t just a lawyer, but a magician too.” He blinked. “What?” I burst out laughing. “Isn’t it all right there in the background check?” “The company and the real estate are all under his parents’ names. Even the husband himself lives off a trust fund allowance.” “Good thing Olivia hasn’t worked since they got married, otherwise she’d be giving him half her income.” “For a case like this, she’s paying you top dollar. Honestly, unless you have some kind of magic wand, what can you do?” Connor’s face went pale. He looked at me: “Chloe, I haven’t signed it yet.” “If you’re really this upset, I can transfer it to another colleague.” “But trust me, I know what I’m doing. I promise you, it’s strictly professional.” I smiled. Just listen to him. From ‘I can drop it’ at the beginning, to ‘I can transfer it’ now. The difference in commitment was glaringly obvious. And, of course, the prerequisite was still ‘if you’re really this upset.’ I waved my hand, replying warmly: “I’m just joking, don’t take it so seriously.” “The client already paid the retainer. If you should sign it, sign it.” “At the end of the day, it’s revenue for the firm.” … Olivia began frequenting the law firm. At first, she would politely greet me, or specifically mention that if I was worried, I could sit in on the meetings in Connor’s office. After I politely declined a few times. She started just standing outside my door, giving me a curt nod before twisting her hips and walking straight into his office. I looked up. The glass door across the hall was shut tight. Faint, scattered laughter drifted out, the tones drawn out and flirtatious, designed to tug at a man’s heartstrings. I got up and went to the conference room. Today was our regular staff meeting. After reviewing the month’s cases. A junior associate asked, “Chloe, where’s Connor? Why didn’t he come to the meeting? I had a case I wanted his advice on.” I said, “He’s busy.” The colleague let out a disappointed ‘oh,’ then smiled: “Chloe, you handled that case last time so brilliantly! I read the ruling. The husband didn’t get away with a single cent. That has to be one of the most satisfying divorce victories in years, right?” “That case was indeed a textbook example. I’ll summarize the key points and post it in the group chat later.” “Thank you so much! I really want to study it.” Right then, Connor pushed the door open and walked in. “Study what? Chloe, why didn’t you grab me for the meeting?” Before I could speak, the junior associate chimed in: “Chloe said you were busy.” Connor froze. The associate smacked his forehead: “We were just talking about studying Chloe’s amazing case file.” “Oh right, Connor, didn’t you just take on a new divorce case? You should check the group chat too, it might come in handy!” Connor hesitated, glancing over at me. The corners of my lips curled up. “Attorney Connor’s case is highly complex. I’m afraid my methods won’t apply.”

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During my first trimester, my husband’s grandmother showed up at our door to lay down the law. She intentionally killed the dog I had raised for three years and made a stew out of it just to sicken me. At the dinner table, she smugly bragged: “Meat from a mutt raised on expensive kibble sure is tender~” After dinner, she tried to force me to kneel and kowtow to a turtle she had kept for forty years, demanding I acknowledge it as my “God-Grandmother.” I obediently played along. What she didn’t know was that while acknowledging a “God-Grandmother” is easy, sending her off is a whole different ballgame! 01 My grandma was a professional contrarian, and my mom was a spitfire. The two of them battled it out their entire lives, ready to throw hands the moment they saw each other. Growing up immersed in their constant warfare, I mastered the art of managing in-law dynamics at a very young age. When people saw me, they stayed out of my way; when dogs saw me, they ran. But unfortunately for my skills, I married into a family of absolute softies. I had a whole arsenal of tactics with nowhere to use them. Life was smooth sailing, and I even gained six pounds. When I went to the clinic to ask about safe ways to lose a little weight, they checked my vitals and told me I was pregnant. The doctor said the first trimester is the most critical time. My in-laws treated me like fragile glass, terrified I might bump into something and hurt the baby. But just as I hit my third month, an old lady showed up at our house. The moment we locked eyes, I knew exactly what I was dealing with. The universally despised family troublemaker had arrived! The way she looked at me was exactly the same way my grandma used to look at my mom—desperate to find a bone in an egg, just looking for an excuse to pick a fight. My usually cheerful mother-in-law, Martha, was pale, currently on her hands and knees, scrubbing the hardwood floor inch by inch with a paper towel. My usually reasonable father-in-law, David, was trembling like a frightened quail, not daring to breathe too loudly as he brewed tea and poured water for her. My husband, Liam, stood there dumbfounded and blurted out: “Grandma!” Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward our bedroom. “Honey, pack a bag. We’re going to stay at a hotel for a few days. You’re pregnant, you can’t handle this kind of stress!” My phone chimed with a notification. Three thousand dollars had just been transferred to my account from my in-laws. Their goal was very clear: they wanted us to stay somewhere else for a while. Whenever his grandma decided to head back to her hometown, we could come back. “Is she really that terrifying?” I asked. “Terrifying doesn’t even cover it! She’s an absolute nightmare!” Liam gave me a quick rundown of the old lady’s dark history. When he was six, his grandma cooked the pet rabbit he had been raising for two years and tricked him into eating the meat. After he finished eating, she took him to see the bloody pile of rabbit fur. Liam was terrified and bawled his eyes out. The old lady sat there eating sunflower seeds, spitting the shells right at his face: “It’s just an animal. It died, so what? Are you really crying over it? “You don’t have an ounce of masculinity! Don’t you dare go outside and tell people you’re Agatha’s grandson! “You little brat, remember this: an animal is just an animal. I don’t care if you raised it for two years or twenty, it’s still just an animal. It will never be more important than your family!” When Martha came over to comfort Liam, the old lady kicked her hard in the stomach. “You jinx! Walking around with a long face every day, teaching my grandson useless nonsense. So a rabbit died, big deal! Are you trying to kill me, you old woman?” That single kick caused Martha to miscarry. It was a three-month-old female fetus. Martha wept uncontrollably in the hospital. The old lady sat at home, smoking her pipe, feeling completely justified: “It was just a money-losing girl. She’s gone, so she’s gone. What’s there to cry about?” David was furious and went to confront her: “That was your own granddaughter!” The old lady scoffed: “What ‘own granddaughter’? She wasn’t even fully formed, hadn’t even been born, and you dare call her my granddaughter? “And so what if she was a granddaughter? Girls just cost money! With that one kick, do you know how much money I saved you? Instead of being grateful, you’re here demanding an explanation? I see you really are an ungrateful wolf, forgetting your own mother the second you get a wife!” David was so angry he wanted to take Martha and Liam and cut ties with the old lady completely. The situation escalated and eventually reached the neighborhood association. The older generation places the utmost importance on filial piety. David wasn’t good with words. The old lady, however, had a silver tongue and twisted the facts completely. By throwing a massive tantrum, she somehow made David’s family look like heartless, unfilial children. The old lady blatantly favored David’s older brother, Robert. She took David and Martha’s hard-earned money to subsidize Robert, paying for his college and buying him a house in the city. Later, Robert married the daughter of a local official. The old lady moved in with them to enjoy the good life, which was the only reason she finally let David’s family off the hook. Outside the bedroom door, the old lady was currently berating David: “You ungrateful little brat! Now that you’ve made it big, living in a big house, driving luxury cars, you just sit back and watch your older brother and his family scrape by? You think you’re pretty great now, don’t you? Feeling real smug, aren’t you?” “Mom, we never thought anything like that.” “Shut your mouth! It’s all because of that seductress you married! If it weren’t for her whispering in your ear, would my son ignore his own mother? “Don’t think that just because you secretly moved out of state, I couldn’t find you! Let me tell you, you can run, but you can’t hide! I’ve been keeping a ledger of all the money you owe your brother all these years!” The old lady threw down a yellowed, tattered little notebook. David picked up the ledger and flipped through a couple of pages: “Mom, since when do we owe Robert over forty thousand dollars?” “What do you mean ‘over forty thousand’? It’s exactly forty-seven thousand, eight hundred and sixty-five dollars and thirty-seven cents! If your brother hadn’t jumped into that freezing river to save you, ruining his health, he would have been a high-ranking military officer by now! And I only gave you a discount because you’re my biological son and Robert’s blood brother! “You ungrateful little brat! Not only did you not try to make up for the damage you caused your brother, you even teamed up with this jinx to hide from me?! “Don’t call me Mom! I don’t have a shameless son like you!” “It wasn’t Robert who saved me; a bystander saved Robert!” Martha couldn’t stand it anymore and tried to explain things for David, only to receive a resounding slap across the face. “You home-wrecker! When I’m talking to my son, it’s not your place to interrupt! I said Robert saved him, so Robert saved him! “Cut the crap. I’m here on serious business. My oldest grandson is getting married in a few days. Clean out this house and empty it in the next two days so Tommy can use it as his marital home!” “Absolutely not! This is the house we prepared for Chloe and Liam!” Martha clutched her red, swollen cheek, refusing flat out. “You jinx, when is it your turn to speak?” While she was talking, I walked over to the dog crate and let Buster out. Buster is a Belgian Malinois. He’s incredibly protective of his owners and fiercely obedient. He’s just very energetic and always wants to be near me. After I got pregnant, my in-laws kept Buster in his crate to prevent him from accidentally knocking into me. “Buster, go!” Hearing the command, Buster shot forward like a bolt of lightning, stopping right in front of my in-laws. Under the threat of the Malinois, the old lady was forced to jump on top of the sofa, her spindly little legs shaking uncontrollably. “Y-you… stay away from me! I’m not afraid of you! “Don’t, don’t bite me! “Are you all dead? Hurry up and stop him! “H-help!” My in-laws stood frozen in place. I walked over, my heart aching as I helped Martha up: “Mom, your face is swollen. Liam, go down to the pharmacy and buy some anti-inflammatory ointment for Mom.” Hearing my voice, Buster happily trotted over to my side, rubbing his head against me affectionately. “Good boy!” I rewarded Buster with a nice scratch behind the ears. Seeing this, the old lady quickly realized what was going on. She pointed at my nose and screamed furiously: “Alright, you little tramp! You’re directing this wolf-dog to abuse an elder, aren’t you? You better slaughter this dog right now! Get on your knees and kowtow to me to apologize, or I’ll make my grandson divorce you! Let’s see what a used-up piece of trash like you will do then!” “Mom, Chloe and Liam have a very strong relationship; there’s no way they’re getting a divorce.” Martha spoke up for me, only to earn another glare from the old lady. I gave Buster a light smack on the rear. “Bark, bark, bark!” This time, Buster didn’t just bark at the old lady; he started lunging at her. And I showed absolutely no sign of calling him off. After a few lunges, the old lady’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted dead away. After she fainted, Martha transferred another few thousand dollars to me. “Chloe, hurry up and go stay somewhere else with Liam for a bit. We’ll never forget how you and Buster helped us today, but the old lady isn’t someone you want to mess with. When she wakes up, she’ll probably come up with some scheme to make things difficult for you!” “Yeah, Chloe, you’re still pregnant. The doctor said you shouldn’t experience extreme emotional swings. If the sky falls, Mom and Dad are here to hold it up. Just treat this as a second honeymoon with Liam!” “Mom, Dad, what are you talking about? The old lady might be hard to deal with, but I’m no pushover either! As for the baby, don’t worry about it. If it can’t handle a little turbulence like this, it doesn’t have the right to be my child!” I cooked dinner that evening, and the old lady finally came to. At the dinner table, she intentionally started picking fights. “The meat is so tough, are you trying to break my teeth?” “Didn’t you know I don’t eat seafood? And you purposely made smoked fish!” “Living the high life now, huh? Starting to waste food! Four people and you made eight dishes!” As she spoke, she tried to take the beef and smoked fish in front of me and put them in the fridge. “Put it down. “I said put it down, didn’t you hear me?” “You just won’t listen to reason, will you? Buster, up!” Amidst the furious barking, the old lady resentfully put down her bowl and chopsticks. I tilted my head and looked at her: “If you think the meat is too tough and hurts your teeth, then eat the porridge. Do you know why long-lived people live so long?” My husband weakly chimed in: “Because they love eating porridge! Porridge is good for you!” “No, it’s because they’re smart. They know who not to mess with!” I looked right at the old lady: “Grandma, you’re a smart person, aren’t you?” The old lady didn’t speak; she just glared at me. “Buster~” “Yes, yes, yes!” “Bark, bark, bark!” “Are you crazy? I said yes, and you’re still letting your dog bite me!” “Relax your foot, you’re stepping on his toy!” With Buster around, the old lady didn’t dare pull any stunts for the rest of the night. When we went to bed, Liam wrapped his arms around my waist. Tears soaked my shoulder as he cried like a little boy: “Chloe, where have you been all my life! “Sob, if only I had met you sooner! “Sniffle, I love you so much, honey.” A night of sweet dreams. The next morning, Liam got up to feed Buster. He searched the whole house but couldn’t find Buster anywhere. He looked at me, his eyes red: “What do we do, honey? Buster is gone!” As he spoke, he suddenly realized something. He ran to the kitchen and found a puddle of blood on the floor. The trash can also had a few tufts of black fur in it, exactly like Buster’s. Liam stormed over to the old lady, confronting her: “Tell me, did you kill Buster?!” “You little animal, is that how you speak to your grandmother?! Do you have any respect for God?! I got up bright and early to make breakfast for you all, and now I’m the bad guy?” “It was you! You cooked my rabbit back then!” “David! Control your son! He’s a grown man in his twenties and has absolutely no manners! Yelling at his elders like this!” David was called out of his room, Martha following closely behind. The old lady grabbed Martha: “You tell them! You were up earlier than me. Did you see me kill a dog?” “N-no, I didn’t.” Martha’s eyes welled with tears. “Forget it. It’s not a big deal. We’ll just look for him after we eat. He won’t stay lost forever anyway.” “Exactly, exactly. At least my grandson’s wife has some sense.” At the dining table, the old lady served me a bowl of meat broth. “Granddaughter-in-law, at least you’re reasonable. Unlike these others, who don’t know anything about human relationships. An animal is an animal. I don’t care if you’ve raised it for two or three years, or even decades, it’s never going to be more important than a person.” “You’re absolutely right.” “Everything has a destiny. Don’t blame me for speaking harshly, but if Buster really was killed and eaten, that was his karma. Don’t blame anyone else; blame it on the fact that he committed too many sins in his past life, or perhaps the owner who raised him committed too many sins. Granddaughter-in-law, do you think I’m making sense?” I nodded: “What Grandma says makes perfect sense.” She nodded in satisfaction. It wasn’t until she saw me finish the entire bowl of broth that her expression changed, and she asked me with a wicked grin: “How did the broth taste?” “Very tender.” “Of course it is! Meat from a mutt raised on expensive kibble sure is tender~” Liam was so furious he slammed his bowl onto the floor: “I knew it! You did it!” “You little bastard, shut your mouth! Who gave you the right to speak! Is your skin itching for a beating?” After scolding Liam, she turned her attention to me. “And you, you dog-relying thing! I gave you an inch and you thought I was actually afraid of you! Without that Malinois, you’re nothing! Take a look in the mirror, you’ve got the face of a widow. Only a blind fool would want you!” She got more and more smug as she spoke, laying down several “rules” for me. Riding the high of her own speech, she even demanded I acknowledge the turtle she had kept for forty years as my “God-Grandmother.” “I’ve raised this turtle for forty years. It’s old enough to be your grandmother! Letting you acknowledge it as a God-Grandmother is an honor. Don’t be ungrateful.” I nodded in agreement. However, she searched for a long time but couldn’t find her forty-year-old turtle anywhere. I unhurriedly stood up, fished a turtle shell out of the broth pot, washed it, dried it, and handed it to her: “Oh my, Grandma, the ‘God-Grandmother’ you were talking about… it wouldn’t happen to be this one, would it?”

Before they passed, my parents left me a legacy I never asked for: a merman. In this coastal town, they are bred like thoroughbreds—expensive, beautiful, and meant for one thing: the continuation of the line. But nature had been unkind to me. I was born with a withered right leg, a shriveled limb that forced me into a permanent, uneven hitch. And my merman, Caspian, loathed me for it. “A freak like you should just crawl away and die,” he’d snarl, his voice a haunting melody laced with poison. “You aren’t fit to touch my scales, let alone carry a brood.” After he smashed the last of my mother’s porcelain vases in another fit of rage, I fled. I limped out into the rain, my heart a ragged thing, and found myself wandering into the Abyssal Aquarium on the edge of the docks. In the dim, blue light of the back gallery, a stunning silver-white tail breached the surface of a massive tank. It didn’t splash; it glided, coiling around my waist with a firm, cool pressure that felt like a caress rather than a restraint. The merman’s eyes were the color of the deep Atlantic—pure, piercing blue. He tilted his head, guiding my gaze to a weathered wooden sign hanging by the glass: [DEFECTIVE STOCK. TRADE-INS WELCOME.] His eyes shimmered with what looked like unshed tears as he exhaled a string of iridescent bubbles. “Mistress…” he whispered, the sound vibrating in my very bones. “Take me home.” It was time. Time to trade in the old, bitter ghost in my house for something new. But when I finally told Caspian to move out, he didn’t flee to the ocean. He blocked the door with his powerful tail, his eyes bloodshot and frantic. “You’re throwing me away?” he choked out, his voice cracking. “For that… that piece of trash?” 1 I woke up before the sun hit the bay today, hitching my way down to the docks. My hip ached with every step, but I pushed through it. I found a trawler that had just hauled in a deep-sea catch and bought a heavy leather pouch filled with fresh, Grade-A pearls. The merchant counted my silver coins, his grin widening with every clink. “Living the high life with that merman of yours, huh, Jo?” he chuckled. “Treating him like a king. I bet he keeps you real comfortable at night.” My face went ghost-white. I didn’t wait for my change; I just turned and limped away as fast as my cane would allow. Behind me, the predictable whispers started, sharp as sea glass. “She’s delusional. A cripple trying to keep a Thoroughbred? That merman hates the ground she limps on. Word is he tries to bolt every time she turns her back.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead, trying to outrun the voices. By the time I reached the house, Caspian was already awake. He was in one of his moods. I heard the crash of glass before I even opened the door. The moment he saw me, his tail lashed the floor, propelling him toward me with terrifying speed. The sharp tip of his fin flicked across my cheek, leaving a stinging, hot trail of red. He didn’t even look at the wound. He snatched the leather pouch from my hand, rummaging through it with a sneer. “You’re late, little gimp. Please tell me you didn’t buy more bottom-shelf refuse.” He popped a large, lustrous pearl into his mouth, crunching it with disdain. “Tastes like silt. Mr. Blackwood’s merman gets the pearls imported from the South Pacific. Why am I stuck with a bargain-bin owner?” I covered my stinging cheek, my voice barely a whisper. “I was there when the boat docked, Caspian. I got the best they had. Mr. Blackwood’s staff hadn’t even arrived yet.” He let out a sharp, cold huff and turned his back on me, his tail splashing water across my skirts. I sank to the floor, my good knee hitting the wood with a thud, and began to pick up the shards of the life he was systematically destroying. When I went into his room to change the water in his tank, I found something tucked behind the artificial kelp. A few of my missing gold sovereigns. And a damp map of North Point. There was a circle drawn around Mr. Blackwood’s estate. I didn’t need Caspian to tell me. I knew. He wanted a man like Blackwood—towering, athletic, wealthy beyond measure. Not a lonely, limping landlady with nothing but a crumbling seaside house and a heart that was too easy to bruise. I dried the map, folded it neatly, and left it on the stand by the tank. Later that evening, as I was balancing the ledgers, a harsh scraping sound broke the silence. Before I could stand, Caspian burst into the study, his eyes glowing a manic violet-red. “Did you touch my tank? You took my coins and my map!” He lunged, his fingers—webbed and clawed—pinning my wrists to the desk. “Listen to me, you pathetic gimp. If you think stealing my things will make me roll over and breed with you, you’re wrong. You’re a broken thing. You don’t deserve to be a mother.” His words were a serrated blade, twisting in my chest. I clenched my fists, fighting the sob that threatened to break me. “I was changing the water,” I said, my voice trembling but flat. “I put them on the stand so the map wouldn’t rot.” Caspian’s fire died instantly. The room fell into a suffocating silence, so quiet I could hear my tears hitting the hardwood. A flash of something—regret? Confusion?—crossed his handsome face. He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder. I didn’t wait. I wrenched myself away and stumbled out the door. 2 Bayberry Cove isn’t large, and on a night like this, there was nowhere to hide. I walked with my head down, wiping my eyes, my breath hitching in the salty air. Before I realized it, I had walked into the Abyssal Aquarium. Usually, I came here to buy specialty brine shrimp or treats for Caspian, trying to buy his affection. Tonight, I just wanted to disappear into the blue. Suddenly, a massive silver-white tail breached the surface of a nearby tank, sending a spray of cool water over my face. I flinched, remembering the sting of Caspian’s fin earlier that morning. I braced myself for an attack. But the tail didn’t strike. It waved gently in the air, shedding water, before slowly, tentatively, curling around my waist like a silk ribbon. I looked up. A merman with hair like spun moonlight and eyes of deep sapphire was floating there, watching me through the glass. When he spoke, his voice was a low, resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate in my chest. “I’m sorry. Did I startle you?” As he spoke, a stream of tiny, shimmering bubbles floated toward the surface. He looked genuinely embarrassed, reaching out with a delicate, webbed finger to pop one. Against my will, I laughed. He smiled then—a real, gentle smile—and gestured toward the base of the tank. There was a small, brass plaque there: [ABYSSAL DEFECT. TRADE-INS WELCOME.] I froze. A “defect”? I looked at him closely. His skin was the pale ivory of the deep ocean, his features more refined than any merman I’d ever seen. But then I saw it. His dorsal fins weren’t smooth and rounded like Caspian’s pampered, bred-for-show fins. They were jagged, tipped with sharp, defensive spines. His tail, though magnificent, was scarred, with missing scales that broke the silver pattern. He was imperfect. Just like me. Seeing me stare, he tightened his tail around me slightly—not to hurt, but to hold. His blue eyes locked onto mine with a desperate intensity. “Mistress…” he whispered. “Please. Take me home.” He called me Mistress. A title Caspian had never uttered without a sneer. He gave me the dignity I had forgotten I possessed. I looked at his pure blue eyes, then back at the “Trade-In” sign. A sudden, wild thought took root in my mind. If Caspian hated me so much, why was I fighting to keep him? Maybe setting him free—and bringing this silver ghost home—was the only way we both could breathe. 3 I didn’t say yes immediately. I left the aquarium in a daze, but my step was lighter than it had been in years. His name was Soren. And I wanted him. When I got home, I didn’t go to Caspian’s room to apologize as I usually did. Instead, I went straight to my office and pulled out my savings. If I was going to bring Soren home, I wanted him to have the best. I emptied my ceramic jar and noticed more coins were missing. I sighed. Caspian was likely siphoning off my savings for his escape. Fine, I thought. Consider it a severance package for a year of misery. I began making a list: Industrial-grade tank, high-flow filtration, premium sea minerals. Suddenly, the air in the room turned cold. Through the crack in the door, a pair of violet-pink eyes watched me. I used to fear that look—the cold, unadulterated loathing. Tonight, I ignored it. I didn’t invite him in. After five minutes, Caspian’s patience snapped. He shoved the door open, his voice sharp with irritation. “Hey. I’m hungry.” I didn’t look up from my list. “I bought pearls this morning. They’re in the kitchen.” Caspian’s tail lashed the floor. This was his version of an olive branch—actually speaking to me—and he was offended I wasn’t groveling. Suddenly, his nostrils flared. He glided toward me, leaning in close, sniffing the air around my neck. His pupils constricted into slits. “Why do you smell like a High-Abyssal? You went to see another male?” Before I could answer, he laughed, a cruel, dismissive sound. “Wait, what am I saying? You’re a crippled low-life. What kind of high-tier male would even look at you?” He snatched the list from my hand. “Large-scale glass tank… advanced aeration system…” His eyes lit up for a second. The violet softened into a shimmer of excitement. He quickly masked it with a sneer. “Hmph. I knew you couldn’t stay mad. You’re trying to buy my forgiveness with fancy upgrades, aren’t you?” He shook his head, looking smug. “I saw you crying when you left. I thought you finally got the hint, but here you are, still desperate to keep me.” I opened my mouth to correct him, but he didn’t give me the chance. He held out his hand. “Since you’re feeling generous, give me two more sovereigns.” I didn’t argue. I simply handed them over. Caspian looked at me suspiciously. “You aren’t going to ask what they’re for?” To find Mr. Blackwood, I thought. Usually, I’d ask and start a fight that ended in me feeling like a monster. Tonight, I just wanted him gone. I stayed silent. Eventually, Caspian scoffed, turned, and slammed the door. 4 Seeing Soren again made my heart do a nervous little dance. I arrived at the aquarium carrying a bag of large, lustrous black pearls, my pace almost brisk despite my limp. Soren was resting when I arrived, his body floating gracefully in the massive tank. He was breathtaking. His silver tail looked like it had been dipped in diamond dust; even in the dim light, it shimmered with an iridescent glow. His torso was lean and powerful, with defined muscles that spoke of a life in the wild, not a breeding tank. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. His pupils dilated, and his tail churned the water as he surged toward the glass. “Joanna! Get back!” A foul, fishy stench hit me. From a neighboring open tank, a massive manta ray—eyes a sickly red—leapt into the air. It was huge, twice my size, and it was coming straight for me with its mouth agape. I couldn’t move. I raised my arms to shield my head, bracing for the impact. But the pain never came. I heard a heavy thud as something slammed into the concrete floor. The manta ray let out a pained shriek, flopping helplessly. Soren was out of the tank, standing—no, balancing—on the coil of his massive tail. He stood over six and a half feet tall, his expression icy and lethal. I trembled. I had never seen a merman look so… predatory. Soren reached out a hand, his voice softening instantly. “Joanna. Come here.” I went to him. He wrapped his tail around me, pulling me into the cool dampness of his chest, and leaned his forehead against mine. “Are you hurt?” The way he clung to me, as if he was the one who needed protection, made my heart hammer. “I’m okay,” I breathed. I looked at the ray on the floor. “What happened to it?” “We are the ‘defects,’” Soren said, his voice bitter. “The staff doesn’t feed us properly. It was starving. It didn’t mean to hurt you; it just saw prey.” My heart broke for them. I immediately opened the bag of black pearls and offered them to the ray. The creature hesitated, glancing at Soren with palpable fear. “You can eat,” Soren commanded. The ray devoured the pearls. Once finished, it nudged Soren’s tail, looking ashamed. Soren sighed, reaching out to pull a jagged harpoon tip from the ray’s side. Then, using his tail like a powerful spring, he hoisted the massive creature back into its tank. The sheer strength of it stunned me. “How… how are you that strong?” Mermen were supposed to be pets. Caspian’s strength was all for show; he just broke dishes. But Soren… he was a warrior. Soren looked down, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “In the deep trenches, you fight or you die. I spent a long time fighting.” I reached out and touched his hair, a silent gesture of understanding. Soren pointed to the few remaining pearls on the floor. “Were those for me?” I nodded. But Soren shook his head, looking away. “You should take them back. Don’t bring them again.” “Why? Do you not like them?” “No,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “They’re too expensive. You have another merman at home. He’s… he’s the ‘perfect’ one. He should have the best. I can survive on scraps. Seaweed, salt water… I don’t need much.” A wave of fierce protectiveness crashed over me. Soren didn’t ask for pearls. He didn’t ask for gold. He just wanted to be seen. I made my choice. I reached down, took his scarred tail in my hands, and pressed a lingering kiss to the silver scales. Soren shuddered, his entire body turning a faint shade of pink. He pulled his tail back, cradling it like a treasure. “Three days,” I promised him. “I’m coming back to take you home. And there won’t be anyone else there. Just us. Okay?” 5 I walked through my front door and dumped the leftover black pearls in the entryway. Caspian appeared like a gust of wind, grabbing a handful and chewing them. “These smell weird. Like another male. Did you buy these off some street urchin? You’re so easy to scam, it’s pathetic.” “Eat them or don’t,” I said, my voice cold. “I don’t care.” He froze, the pearl halfway to his mouth. I didn’t wait for a reaction; I just went to my room to bathe. When I climbed into bed later that night, I found Caspian already there. He was soaking wet, ruining my fresh linens without a second thought. I frowned. He didn’t notice. “Human beds are actually pretty soft,” he mused. Mermen were bred for breeding. That was the law. A year ago, I had bought an oversized bed, hoping he’d join me. He had chosen to sleep in his cramped tank rather than touch me. Now, for some reason, he was here. He reached out a webbed hand. “You smell good tonight. What did you put on?” I pulled the covers up to my chin. “Your room is down the hall, Caspian. Get out.” His hand stopped in mid-air. He looked at me, genuinely stunned. “What? You mean you don’t want to…?” I turned my back on him. “Fine!” he barked, his pride wounded. “You can beg on your knees tomorrow, and I still won’t come back to this bed!” He slid out of the room, crashing into a side table on his way. Finally, silence. I pulled out my phone and found Mr. Blackwood’s number. It was time to clear the space for my merman. 6 The sun was bright—a perfect day for a new beginning. The aquarium staff was scheduled to deliver Soren this afternoon, but first, I had to finalize the deal with Mr. Blackwood. Ten gold sovereigns. That was the price we’d agreed on. It was exactly the amount Caspian had stolen from me over the last few months. We were sitting in the parlor, the paperwork laid out between us. Caspian emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes and looking annoyed. “I told you, I don’t want people in the house this early! I hate the smell of—” He stopped dead when he saw Blackwood. His eyes lit up, his tail shimmering as he glided over. “Mr. Blackwood. Good morning.” Blackwood looked Caspian up and down, a predatory glint in his eye. “He’s a fine specimen, Joanna. Truly top-tier.” Caspian looked confused. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my tea. Seeing that I was ignoring him, Caspian leaned into Blackwood’s space, flirting shamelessly. Blackwood smiled, standing up. “The ten sovereigns are paid. Give me the contract, and I’ll take him now.” I stood up to get the papers. Panic finally hit Caspian’s face. “What is he talking about? Are you… are you selling me?” “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “You want a man like him, and I want a merman who doesn’t hate me. We haven’t bred, so the contract is still transferable. He’ll take care of you.” I expected him to be thrilled. I expected him to pack his bags and bolt. Instead, he grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “No. I won’t go! I don’t give you permission!” 7 The delivery truck from the aquarium pulled up just as Caspian was losing his mind. He was frantic, his tail sweeping everything off my coffee table. A shard of porcelain sliced through my leggings, drawing blood. I had never seen him so unhinged. “You can’t do this! My parents gave me to you!” he screamed, his violet eyes brimming with tears. The doorbell rang. “Caspian, stop,” I snapped. “You don’t like me. This is better for everyone.” “How do you know what I like? You don’t know anything!” Blackwood reached out to grab his arm, but Caspian’s tail lashed out, nearly breaking the man’s ribs. He lunged toward me, his tail raised to strike in a blind panic. An Abyssal’s tail can hit with the force of a ton. I braced for the impact, closing my eyes. Suddenly, the front door burst open. A silver blur moved faster than I could follow. Soren was there, throwing himself between us. He took the full force of Caspian’s blow. I watched as Soren’s recently healed scales shattered. Blood began to seep into the carpet. “Enough!” I roared. I shoved the contract into Blackwood’s hands. “He’s yours. Take him. Now.” Caspian stared at Soren, then at me, his nose wrinkling. “That smell… it was you. All those days, Joanna was seeing you?” He turned on Soren, baring his teeth. “Don’t you know she belongs to me? You lured her away, didn’t you, you gutter-fish?” Blackwood’s security team stepped in, throwing a heavy capture net over Caspian. They dragged him toward the door. Caspian gripped the doorframe, his eyes fixed on mine, red and pleading. “Joanna! Are you really tossing me away for this freak?” I didn’t answer. I was already kneeling by Soren, looking at his bleeding tail. Caspian’s voice faded as they hauled him into the truck. “You’ll regret this! I never needed you anyway!” I didn’t care. I just needed my silver merman to be okay.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “409906”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had spent ten years of my life quietly in love with the boy next door. The night the Sinclair family went bankrupt, Chloe Sinclair spent twenty-four hours on her knees outside the Miller estate, begging for mercy. I was terrified that Mike would let his heart soften for her lies, so I made up an excuse. I told him it was my birthday and begged him to take me to the pier. I led him away to the bright lights and the loud music of the carnival, anywhere far from her. The next morning, the headlines broke. Chloe Sinclair had been driven to the edge by her creditors; she’d jumped from the roof of a high-rise. Mike didn’t say a single word. He was a ghost, a hollow shell of a man as he handled her funeral arrangements in absolute silence. Then, with that same haunting silence, he agreed to marry me. On our wedding day, the chapel was swallowed by an inferno. Everything we were supposed to be turned to ash in that sea of fire. He saved me—he dragged my body through the smoke, risking his life to pull me out—but he didn’t survive the heat. With his final ounce of strength, he reached out and shredded our wedding portrait, his fingers clawing at the canvas until his nails bled. “Meeting you,” he wheezed, his eyes burning with a hatred I had never seen, “is the only thing I regret about this life.” It was in that moment, as the life left his eyes, that I finally understood. He didn’t just resent me. He hated me. After he was gone, I became the pariah. I was the “black widow,” the woman who had brought nothing but bad luck to the Millers. At his funeral, his relatives didn’t hold back; they kicked and screamed at me while I sat in the dirt. Even his parents, who had always treated me like their own daughter, looked at me with nothing but icy indifference. “If it weren’t for you, Mike would still be alive,” his mother whispered, her voice like a knife. “Your existence was never anything but a burden to him.” I wandered the streets like a soul without a body until a truck sent me over the side of a bridge. I died the moment I hit the water. But then, I opened my eyes. I was back. One week before the wedding. This time, I’m letting go. 1 Inside the high-end bridal boutique, Mike Miller sat on the velvet sofa in his tuxedo. There wasn’t a flicker of groom-to-be excitement in his eyes—only a cold, simmering resentment. “Are you satisfied now, Grace?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom. “I never realized that when my parents took you in out of pity, you were actually plotting to force your way into my bed. You think a ceremony is going to make me love you? You’re dreaming.” I looked down at my phone. The date was exactly one week before the wedding. The Sinclairs hadn’t officially filed for bankruptcy yet. Chloe was still alive, still haven’t reached the point of no return. There was still time to fix everything. A wave of phantom pain from my past life washed over me, but I pushed the bitterness down. I looked at him and forced a small, tired smile. “I know,” I said softly. “I know your heart belongs to someone else.” I took a breath. “This time, I’m letting you go.” He blinked, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his face before he let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Letting me go? What is that supposed to mean? The invitations are out, the venue is booked. You think saying that now changes anything?” He stood up, towering over me. “I used to think of you as my sister. I looked out for you. I even let you into the inner workings of the company. But you? You’re a two-faced snake, Grace. It makes me sick.” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. “If you hadn’t poisoned my parents’ minds against Chloe, they wouldn’t have such a prejudice against her. You got exactly what you wanted. Don’t start acting like a martyr now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He stormed out of the boutique and stood on the sidewalk, lighting one cigarette after another. I looked at my reflection in the three-way mirror. The white lace felt like a shroud. I called the attendant over and gave her a new set of measurements—Chloe’s measurements. Then, I called the wedding planner and told them to change the bride’s name on everything to Chloe Sinclair. My phone wallpaper was still a photo of us from ten years ago. Back then, my parents had just died in a tragic accident, and my world had ended. Mike was the one who pulled me out of the wreckage. Our parents had been lifelong friends, and it was Mike who begged his parents to adopt me so I wouldn’t be lost to the foster system. He protected me from every bully at school. He kept me tucked under his wing, day and night. When classmates teased that I was his “little shadow,” he’d just offer a soft, indulgent smile. When a group of older boys tried to corner me once, Mike didn’t hesitate. He fought them until his knuckles were raw and his face was smeared with blood. I stood there, sobbing in terror. He took my hand, pulled me close, and covered my ears. “It’s okay, Gracie. Big brother is going to protect you forever.” He had kept that promise for a long time. Once I joined the company, I was his only “plus-one” at every gala, every event. Everyone whispered that the cold, arrogant Mike Miller only had a soft spot for his little sister. The rumors grew so loud that I started to believe them myself. When his parents found the journals where I’d poured out my teenage pining, they started pushing us together. But that fire in the chapel… that fire taught me the truth. I was never his heart. I was just a weight around his neck. I changed back into my street clothes and walked out of the shop, keeping my face carefully blank. The dress was handled. Now, I just needed the rings. “Mike,” I said, catching him as he blew out a cloud of smoke. “I want to pick out the rings. Come with me.” He knew Chloe’s taste better than anyone. He was busy staring at his phone, a faint, rare smile touching his lips as he typed a message. When he looked up at me, his gaze turned back to ice. “The dress wasn’t enough? You need the rings today, too? My god, Grace, you’re desperate to lock this down, aren’t you?” He checked his watch. “I don’t have time. Chloe’s family is having a crisis. I need to go to her.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached out to open his car door for him. “Go. Go to her. I’ll tell your parents there was an emergency at the office. I’ll cover for you.” Mike paused, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What’s wrong with you today? Usually, if I even mention Chloe, you turn into a brat. I guess now that the wedding is a week away, you finally feel like she’s not a threat anymore?” I didn’t answer. I just gave him a sad, tight smile. He didn’t wait for a response; he peeled away from the curb without looking back. 2 I walked through the biting wind for hours before I finally headed home. When I walked through the front door, his parents saw the look on my face and immediately knew something was wrong. “Oh, Gracie, honey, don’t look like that,” his mother said, rushing over to pull me into a hug. “Mike is just being difficult. He’ll settle down once you’re married.” “Look,” his father added, trying to cheer me up. “He says he doesn’t care, but he sent over these ring designs this afternoon. Pick whichever one you want. Don’t worry about the price—it’s on us. We’re going to make sure our Grace has the grandest wedding New York has ever seen.” They thought he was just being stubborn. They thought his heart would eventually follow his duty. But I knew better. Mike was only doing this to maintain the family’s image. If the fire hadn’t happened, we would have lived a life of polite, chilling distance. Everything would have been perfect on paper, and completely dead inside. I looked at the designs and pointed to the most extravagant, ornate diamond in the collection. It was exactly Chloe’s style. When word got back to Mike about the choice, my phone immediately buzzed with a call. “So the act is over?” he snapped as soon as I picked up. “You picked the most expensive one, of course. Let me make one thing clear, Grace: after the wedding, you can spend all the Miller money you want, but stay the hell out of my personal life.” I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “Okay. I promise.” The line went dead. A few minutes later, the family chauffeur sent Mike’s father a GPS notification for the Maybach. His father’s face turned a deep, angry red. “That boy… is he at the Sinclair house again?” He slammed his fist on the table. “Don’t you worry, Grace. We’re going to handle this. I’ll break his damn legs if he doesn’t start treating you with respect!” But before Mike even made it home, the corporate lawyers sent a frantic alert. Mike had breached ten major contracts and diverted company funds to bail out the Sinclair family’s failing business. It was a blatant display of favoritism. His father was livid, shattering a teacup against the floor. His mother looked devastated, but she still tried to hold it together for my sake. I looked at these two people who had loved me like a daughter. They had done everything to give me the life I thought I wanted. But love isn’t a choice you can force someone to make. It isn’t a habit you can grow. I knelt at his mother’s feet, leaning my head against her knee like I used to when I was a little girl. “Mom… I don’t want to get married anymore.” She froze. “What are you saying, sweetheart?” “You’ve both been so good to me. You gave me a home when I had nothing. But I can’t do this. I know he loves Chloe. If we get married, it will be a cage for both of us. I’ve already applied for a graduate program abroad. This time, I need to make my own path.” Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled me into a tight embrace. “Is this because of what he said today? Honey, weddings are stressful. He’s just confused by that girl. He’ll wake up. If he didn’t care about you, he wouldn’t have knelt before us all those years ago, begging us to take you in.” His father sighed heavily. “She’s right, Grace. The Sinclair business is built on sand—it’s going to collapse anyway. Mike just can’t see it yet. You’ve never been away from us. How can we let you go halfway across the world?” They thought I was just hurting. They thought they could fix it by taking my side. In my last life, I believed them. And in the end, I lost everything—including my relationship with them. I stood up and led them both into Mike’s bedroom. I pointed to a dusty pile of boxes tucked away in the far corner of his walk-in closet. “Those are every gift I’ve given him over the last ten years,” I said quietly. “He never even opened half of them. But look at his nightstand.” There sat a cheap, tacky little glass figurine Chloe had bought him at a flea market years ago. He kept it right where he could see it every morning. “I’m not a child anymore,” I told them. “I know the difference between obligation and love. Thank you for everything, truly. I will always be grateful. but I won’t let my gratitude turn into his misery. He wants her. I’m letting him have her.” 3 His mother was sobbing now, shaking her head. His father tried to argue, but I cut him off. “If we go through with this, Mike will be miserable for the rest of his life. We have one chance to fix this before it’s too late. I don’t want to be the reason he hates his own life.” I gripped their hands. “Please. Let me just be his sister. That’s a bond that can actually last.” Seeing my resolve, they finally stopped fighting me. His mother pressed a black credit card into my hand, whispering through her tears for me to take care of myself. “Don’t tell him yet,” I pleaded. “Let’s give him a ‘surprise’ on the wedding day.” I went back to my room and tucked the card away. I spent the evening packing up every memento, every photo, and every gift Mike had ever given me. I hauled the boxes down to the backyard, intent on burning them and leaving no traces behind. As the first flame licked at the corner of an old polaroid, a pair of designer heels appeared in my peripheral vision. Chloe Sinclair kicked the box over, the glass of a framed photo shattering against the patio. Before I could even react, she snatched up a jagged shard of glass and dragged it across her own wrist. As she screamed, Mike came charging out of the house. He didn’t even look at the fire. He swung his hand and caught me across the face with a stinging slap. “What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?” “Mike, I—” “Chloe came here to talk business, and you pull this? You psychotic freak!” I stood there, my cheek burning, stunned into silence. Chloe slumped into his arms, weeping pathetically. “I’m so sorry, Mike… I just wanted to come by and wish you both a happy marriage… I didn’t think Grace would snap like this…” She looked up at him with watery eyes. “I know she hates me. I should just go. I don’t want to be the reason you fight.” Mike’s face was a mask of cold fury. “Is this how it’s going to be? Now that the wedding is close, you don’t have to pretend to be the sweet little sister anymore? Poisoning my parents wasn’t enough, so now you’re physically attacking her? I’ve known you for ten years, Grace, and I never knew you were capable of being this disgusting.” He shook her slightly. “Tell me the truth. Did you have something to do with the Sinclair bankruptcy?” I stared at him, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. “Her family’s mess has nothing to do with me. I told you I’d let you go. I meant it.” Mike glanced down at the scattered photos in the dirt—photos of us smiling, younger and happier. His expression hardened. “Burning these? What is this, another one of your pathetic games? Playing hard to get? You think this is going to make me love you? It just makes me want to vomit.” He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “You’re coming to the hospital. If anything happens to her, I swear to God, I’m done with you.” He didn’t give me a choice. He threw Chloe into the back seat and dragged me into the front. He drove like a maniac to the ER, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. In my last life, Chloe died because of her creditors. In this life, because of Mike’s help, she had survived—but she had found a new way to hurt me. I watched him pace the hallway, frantic with worry, and I felt the final strings of my heart simply snap. Once the doctors announced she was out of danger and moved her to a private room, Mike finally exhaled. He looked at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Since this was your fault, you’re staying here to watch her tonight. I have things to handle at the office. Don’t leave.” He left without looking back. I stayed. I sat in the chair by the window and watched the sunrise. I didn’t sleep. The next morning, Mike returned with a thermos of homemade porridge. He glanced at the dark circles under my eyes, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of something that looked like guilt. “Did you sleep?” “No.” “Thanks,” he muttered, looking away. “For staying.” I let out a soft laugh and stood up, moving out of his way so he could sit by her bed. It was the first time in a long time I’d heard him say ‘thank you.’ It was far too little, and far too late. He seemed unsettled by my reaction. “Look, once Chloe is discharged, I’ll take you to the bridal shop again. We can pick a different dress. The one you chose before was… plain. And about yesterday… I was stressed. I shouldn’t have snapped. But this thing between us has nothing to do with Chloe. Don’t take your anger out on her.” I looked down at the floor, thinking about the one-way ticket to London I’d booked for the morning of the wedding. 4 I looked up and gave him a bright, empty smile. “There’s no need. I’m just happy to be marrying you. The dress doesn’t matter.” “Mike,” I added, “I hope you get everything you want.” He started to say something, but Chloe stirred on the bed, let out a soft moan of pain, and he was immediately gone, leaning over her, blowing on a spoonful of porridge to cool it down for her. While he was preoccupied, I slipped out of the room and went to finalize my visa paperwork. Later that afternoon, Mike sent me a text. He had actually invited me to a movie premiere. You’ve been wanting to see this one forever. I’ll pick you up at seven. It was a romance—a story about childhood sweethearts. I had mentioned it to him a dozen times over the last year, trying to hint at my feelings. Back then, he had just rolled his eyes and told me it sounded boring. I knew what this was. This was his apology. But the apology was for a girl who didn’t exist anymore. I typed back a quick reply: Don’t worry about it. You don’t owe me anything. He saved me, he gave me a home. I was paying him back by taking care of his true love. But Mike was stubborn; he insisted we go. I went to the theater. I sat in the lobby for forty-five minutes. He never showed up. Instead, my phone pinged with a local social news alert. CEO of Miller Corp hosts ‘Hospital Banquet’ for mystery woman. Chloe had wanted a candlelight dinner, so Mike had ordered a five-star hotel to cater a full meal in her hospital suite. In the photos, the candlelight flickered across his face, showing a tenderness and warmth I had never been the recipient of. I watched the movie alone. When I got home, there was a text from him. Sorry, something came up at the office. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. The dress was delivered to the house, make sure it fits. The dress was already altered for Chloe. There was no reason for me to put it on. I ignored the ache in my chest and started packing my final suitcase. I texted him back: It’s fine. I heard it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding anyway. I’m going to stay at a hotel for the next few days to get ready. He didn’t reply. But two minutes later, my phone rang. It was the hospital. Mike had been in a car accident on his way back from the hospital. There was a shortage in the blood bank, and he was heading into emergency surgery. I didn’t call his parents. I grabbed my coat and caught a cab to the hospital. As the needle slid into my vein, the world seemed to blur. I saw eighteen-year-old Mike again. I saw him in that alleyway, surrounded by those boys, his face covered in blood, yet he was still using his jacket to shield my eyes. “Wait for me, Gracie. Big brother’s got you.” He had protected me for ten years. This was the last time I’d protect him. When the surgery was over, I sat by his bed until he opened his eyes. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Thank you.” “Grace,” he croaked, his voice weak. “As long as you leave Chloe alone… I’ll keep you safe. Like I always have.” So, he still remembered those promises. I looked at his pale, exhausted face and smiled the same way I did when I was a girl. “Okay. Thank you, Mike.” His injuries weren’t life-threatening. The wedding would go on as scheduled. I felt a wave of relief. I hired a professional nurse to stay with him, went home to grab my bags, and checked into a hotel near the airport. Over the next few days, his parents sent me a flurry of messages. Mike was sending over jewelry sets, honeymoon itineraries to the places I’d always dreamed of visiting. He’d remembered everything. They were terrified I wouldn’t show up, begging me to change my mind about leaving. Then I saw Chloe’s latest Instagram post. A photo of her hand intertwined with his in the hospital bed. On her finger, the ornate diamond ring I had picked out. I smiled and turned off my phone. On the morning of the wedding, as I was heading to the airport, one final message came through from Mike. Are you ready? I’m on my way to get you. I didn’t answer. I deleted his contact and blocked his number. In the bridal suite of the church, Mike stared at his phone, a cold knot of dread forming in his stomach. He turned to his parents. “Is Grace still in hair and makeup? She’s been looking forward to this for years—why is she being so slow?” Before they could speak, his assistant burst into the room, his face white as a sheet. “Sir… it’s Grace. She booked a flight out of the country this morning. That plane… it just went down.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “409907”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I have a high-paying client who frequently commissions me to hand-knit custom scarves for astronomical prices. Until this latest order, when he transferred an extra three thousand dollars with a note: Make this one perfect. She’s the one I like best. The day after I shipped it to him, my gorgeous, brooding, and devastatingly poor boyfriend quietly handed me a familiar package. I stared at it. “…You knit this?” He pressed his lips together, looking almost shy. “Yeah. Do you like it?” I smiled, my teeth grinding so hard my jaw ached. “I love it. In fact, why don’t you knit me one every single week?” 1 I gripped the impossibly soft yarn of the scarf, letting out a breathless sound of amazement. “The stitching, the cast-off… it’s flawless. Roman, you put so much heart into this!” The more I praised him, the tighter my fingers curled into the wool. I was squeezing it so hard the fabric was warping out of shape. His slightly overgrown dark hair fell across his brow, half-concealing those striking, intense eyes. A faint, bashful smile touched his lips. “As long as you like it.” I tilted my head, pouring concern into my voice. “It must have taken you forever, right? To knit something this intricate as a beginner? It’s honestly incredible.” I kept my eyes locked on his face, watching for the slightest fracture in his expression. He paused—a hesitation so microscopic you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it. Then he let out a soft hum, his voice a cool, clear baritone. “It was a little difficult. But if you like it, it was worth it.” My hands balled into fists before I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest. I laughed, a bright, brittle sound. “I love it to death. In fact, why don’t you knit me one every single week?” The air in the room flatlined. Half a minute passed. Then, he agreed. “Okay.” A few seconds later, his hand hovered over my shoulder. “Are you… shaking?” Yeah. With absolute rage. My smile twisted, growing rigid against his shirt, and I forced a wet, choked sound into my throat. “I’m just so happy. It’s the first time anyone has ever made something by hand just for me. I feel so lucky. Just… impossibly lucky.” By the end of the sentence, I was literally grinding my teeth. My eyes were red—not from tears, but from the sheer, blinding heat of my anger. Roman awkwardly, mechanically, rubbed my back. “If you like it, I’ll just keep knitting them for you.” 2 After Roman walked me back to my dorm, a notification pinged on my Depop app. Z: [I need you to knit me one a week. Can you do that?] My thumbs flew across the glass screen: [Five thousand dollars a piece.] Normally, I charged anywhere from a hundred to maybe three hundred bucks for a custom knit, depending on the yarn. I got steady clients, and it was a decent side hustle to pay for my textbooks. That was, until this user named “Z” slid into my DMs. When he first reached out, I had typed up a whole paragraph explaining the different price points for merino wool, cashmere, and cable-knit patterns. He ignored it and immediately transferred a thousand dollars via Venmo. [Just use the best.] It screamed clueless rich guy with more money than sense. If he was offering, I wasn’t going to say no. After that, he became a regular. I even set up a hidden, exorbitant listing on my shop just for him to click and buy. Once finished, I’d overnight the scarves to the address he provided. It was right here in the city. Unsurprisingly, it was a zip code that belonged to an ultra-exclusive, gated enclave in the hills. The kind of place where the driveways are longer than my entire street. But not in a million years did I think “Z” was my sweet, beautiful, perpetually broke, tragically brooding boyfriend. The moment I sent the five-thousand-dollar price tag, my screen lit up. Z: [?] Me: [High demand lately. My rates went up.] The chat bubble stayed empty for a long time. Just as I debated deleting the message and backpedaling, a notification popped up. He had purchased five of my standard thousand-dollar listings. I let out a cold, hollow laugh. I immediately opened the Amazon app, found a bundle of cheap, machine-knit scarves for twenty bucks, and had them shipped to my dorm. Once they arrived, I’d just slap a new label on them and mail them to his mansion. It didn’t matter. I was the one who was going to end up receiving them anyway. After checking out, I opened iMessage. The only pinned thread at the top of my screen had a new text: Roman: [At work. Thinking about you.] My brow furrowed. I hit the FaceTime icon immediately. It rang and rang, the digital tone echoing in the quiet of my room, until it automatically disconnected. Twenty minutes later, he texted: [Manager caught me looking at my phone and yelled at me. Everything okay?] Me: [Nothing. Just missing you too.] In those twenty minutes, I had grabbed my bike and pedaled furiously across town to the dingy little diner where he supposedly worked. I walked in, breathless. “Carol, hey, about that guy from my psych class I recommended—” Before I could finish, the diner owner cut me off, her eyes wide and exasperated. “Look, Harper, I only hired him because you were one of the best waitresses I ever had!” “What happened?” “Day one, and he picks a fight with a customer! He was wearing some crazy watch—a vintage Patek Philippe, or something? The customer made a joke about it, asked to see it, and your boy told him to back off because if he broke it, he wouldn’t be able to afford the repair in ten lifetimes!” Carol pressed a hand to her chest, her face flushed with residual stress. “Who even knows if the damn thing was real? If it’s fake, why couldn’t the guy look at it? And if it was real… what the hell is a guy like that doing bussing tables in my diner? Were you trying to play a joke on me?” A cold tremor started at the base of my spine. My voice shook. “Is… is he still here in the back?” “He quit twenty minutes into his shift!” Carol barked a harsh laugh. “Turned my dining room upside down and walked out without even asking for his tips.” I stood there, anchored to the sticky linoleum. I didn’t know what to say. When I finally stepped back outside, the night wind carried a biting chill. It swept through my thin jacket, and a violent shiver wracked my body. Carol waved me off from the window, her face twisted in disgust. “Go home, Harper. I don’t know what kind of sick game you college kids are playing, but we always treated you right here. Unbelievable.” “I’m sorry,” I mumbled to the glass, though she couldn’t hear me. On the bike ride home, I pulled over under a flickering streetlamp and scrolled through my text history with Roman. I knew he was poor. I knew he skipped meals to save cash. So, whenever I finished a big knitting commission, I would quietly Venmo him a fifty or a hundred bucks here and there for “groceries.” It wasn’t much. But it was money I had scraped together from my own meager living expenses, money left over only after I made the monthly payment on the massive debt my deadbeat father had left behind when he died. My mother and I bled ourselves dry every month just to keep the collection agencies at bay. I thought Roman and I were the same. Two bruised, exhausted people huddling together for warmth in a freezing world. Turns out, I was just a prop in his little poverty-tourism roleplay. And he was cheating on me. All those other scarves I had meticulously knitted over the months—they went to someone else. As the recipient of the one he “liked best,” was I supposed to feel honored? 3 By the time the initial, violent wave of emotion crested and broke, a chilling clarity settled over me. After careful consideration, I decided it wasn’t time to blow the lid off this thing yet. After all, I was currently positioned to extract five thousand dollars a week from this guy’s trust fund. And I didn’t even have to knit the damn things anymore. If Roman was getting off on playing the starving artist and acting out some indie-movie romance with a tragic poor girl, exposing him now would ruin it. His ego would bruise, his novelty would wear off, and I’d lose my golden goose. While the novelty was still fresh, I needed to bleed him for all he was worth. Still. Was there a way to mess with him without breaking the illusion? I sat on my dorm bed, plotting. Three days later, I called him. “Are we still on for our date tomorrow?” His voice was smooth, immediate. “Absolutely.” I softened my tone, dialing up the sweetness. “Is the scarf ready? It’s been a few days, and since we haven’t seen each other, I just know you’ve been working so hard on it, right?” A beat of silence on the line. “…Right.” “Great. See you tomorrow.” The second I ended the call, my Depop notification went off. Z: [Is it done?] I glanced at my desk, where the cheap, machine-made Amazon scarf I’d picked up from the mailroom was sitting in a plastic bag. I read the message and ignored it. Z: [Rush order.] Z: [Can you deliver it tonight? Your shipping is always next-day, so we must be in the same city.] Me: [That’s going to be difficult.] A notification from Venmo appeared at the top of my screen. Z paid you $5,000.00. Me: […Fine.] Me: [Same address as before?] Z: [Yes.] Another notification. Z paid you $1,000.00. Z: [For the inconvenience. Bring it yourself or hire a courier, I don’t care.] I picked up the twenty-dollar Amazon scarf, inspecting it. Honestly? The machine tension was probably more even than my hand-knitting. I opened an app to hail a local courier. It was past midnight, and the estate was on the complete opposite side of the city, tucked high in the hills. The app suggested a $200 fee. I winced and hit ‘Request’. No one took it. I bumped it to $300. I waited thirty minutes. Still nothing. Any higher and I’d be cutting into my own ridiculous profit margin. Sighing, I grabbed a black baseball cap, oversized sunglasses, and a surgical mask. I stuffed the cheap scarf into a nice boutique gift box I’d saved, and snuck out of my dorm into the night. 4 The gated community was a labyrinth of aggressively manicured hedges and winding asphalt. Even after the security guard at the front gate called the house to clear me and gave me a map, I got turned around three times before I finally found the sweeping, modern architectural monstrosity that matched the address. I pulled out my phone. Me: [I’m at the gate.] I pulled the brim of my cap down further, pushed my sunglasses up my nose, and pinched the wire of my mask tight over the bridge. Before I left, I had even spritzed myself with my roommate’s sickeningly sweet vanilla perfume, just to mask my own scent. I absolutely could not let him recognize me. But standing there in the cold, staring at the massive frosted-glass double doors, a treacherous thought crept in. What if he does? What would that scene even look like? But reality quickly informed me that I was overthinking it. A girl in a sleek, tailored wool coat, a Birkin resting casually in the crook of her arm, walked up the driveway right beside me. She punched a code into the digital keypad with practiced ease. The heavy doors swung inward. A blast of heavily heated air rushed out, carrying the thumping bass of a house track. There were dozens of people inside. It was a massive, pulsing party. The girl turned her head, her perfectly winged eyeliner sharp as she assessed me. Her gaze dropped to the boutique box in my hands. “Delivery? Who bought it? Was it Ro? What’s inside?” She reached out, tapping the cardboard with a perfectly manicured nail, though she didn’t try to open it. I kept my mouth shut, my eyes locked on the scarf wrapped around her neck. My scarf. The thick, cream-colored merino wool I’d spent two weeks knitting last month. She rolled her eyes, bored by my silence. “Whatever. Want me to just take it in for him?” Right at that moment, a voice cut through the thumping music. Low, lazy, and magnetic. “Why are you standing out there? It’s freezing.” The girl and I turned at the same time. Roman was leaning casually against the doorframe. His dark hair was pushed back, untamed, revealing the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face. Gone was the brooding, silent, down-on-his-luck college boy. This guy looked like he owned the world. His dark eyes drifted from the girl to the box in my hands. “I ordered that. Bring it in for me, will you?” “Sure,” the girl chirped, snatching the box out of my hands. The amber lighting from the foyer spilled out onto the driveway. Roman stood up straight, preparing to pull the door shut. He cast a careless, dismissive glance my way—but then his gaze snagged on my sunglasses. In that microsecond, my heart slammed against my ribs. In my rush to leave the dorm, I had grabbed the first pair of sunglasses I found. They were a cheap, plastic pair Roman and I had won at a boardwalk carnival game a month ago. One of his dark eyebrows arched upward. His lips parted. “You the seller?” I gave a stiff, jerky nod. He let out a short, derisive scoff, casually looking me up and down. “Wearing sunglasses at midnight? Take the grand I tipped you and buy yourself a decent designer pair. Those look ridiculous.” I froze. With that, Roman turned his back, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind him. The pulsing music and the golden warmth were instantly severed, leaving me alone in the biting cold. I walked slowly down the long driveway until I hit a streetlamp. I pulled the sunglasses off my face, running my thumb over the cheap plastic frame. The paint was already chipping. It was uneven, fading at the edges. When I won them at that rigged carnival game, I was so thrilled. I thought they looked chic and edgy. I remembered putting them on, turning to Roman with a massive grin. “How do I look?” The tips of his ears had gone pink. He had nodded softly. “Beautiful.” Because of that, I had worn them to death. I cherished them. But looking at them now, under the harsh, buzzing glow of the streetlamp? They just looked cheap. Pathetic, even. 5 The next morning, I walked out of my dorm building. As I passed the communal dumpsters, my hand reaching into my tote bag, I locked eyes with Roman. The moment he saw me, the corners of his mouth tipped up into that familiar, quiet smile. My hand stopped mid-air. I had forgotten to throw the sunglasses away last night. I was planning to toss them this morning. Roman closed the distance between us. He pulled a scarf from his bag and gently wrapped it around my neck. The twenty-dollar Amazon special. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. I stretched my lips into a smile, pulling my hand out of my bag empty. “You knit this so beautifully. I love it.” His smile deepened, not a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “I’m glad.” I let him take my hand. I didn’t even bother trying to interrogate him about his “job” at the diner or the late nights “knitting.” He wouldn’t panic; he’d just smoothly spin another lie. We took the bus to the local amusement park. Just as we queued up for the first ride, a slender, terribly familiar figure appeared in my peripheral vision. It was the girl from the mansion. She was wearing a designer trench coat and carrying the same Birkin. She was staring right at us. Instinctively, I looked up at Roman. He met her gaze. I saw the microscopic lift of his eyebrow—a silent warning. A bright, overly sweet smile bloomed on the girl’s face as she marched over to us. “Roman! This must be your girlfriend.” He gave a noncommittal hum. I kept my face perfectly blank. “A friend of yours?” Roman stared at the girl for a few seconds, lacing his fingers through mine. “Not really.” “Hey,” she pouted, a playful, bratty sound. “Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” She tapped her chin, feigning thought. “Hmm… Roman grew up struggling, right? So my family hired him to tutor me in high school. I guess that makes me his former boss.” As she said it, she looked right at Roman, her eyes dancing with wicked amusement. Roman’s gaze turned icy. “Boss?” “Yeah. You should be a little nicer to your employer, don’t you think? Poor boy.” She beamed. If I didn’t know the truth, my heart would have broken for him in that moment. I would have hated this rich, entitled girl for humiliating my hardworking boyfriend. Knowing what I knew now? I just wanted to laugh until I threw up. Were they seriously flirting right in front of my face? “What are you guys riding? Let me tag along.” The girl pulled out her phone, waving it at Roman. “I actually need someone to carry my bags and hang out with me today. Five hundred bucks to be my personal assistant for the afternoon. Good deal, right?” Roman’s expression went completely dead. He glared at her. “Don’t ruin my date with my girlfriend.” The girl looked at me. “Five hundred dollars is a lot of money. You’re going to stop your boyfriend from earning a living?” “Do you want to earn it?” I asked Roman, my voice totally flat. He hesitated for two seconds. “Might as well.” I dropped the subject. I didn’t say another word. Roman’s thumb stroked the back of my hand. He leaned in, whispering, “I’ll transfer the money to you tonight.” I just smiled. Before we got on the drop tower, the attendant told everyone to remove loose articles, including scarves. The girl leaned against the metal railing, waving us off. “I hate heights. You two go ahead.” Roman pulled me toward the seats. “Scared?” “No,” I said. His lips pressed together. “Well, I am.” I glanced at him. Those dark, bottomless eyes were locked onto mine, waiting. Expecting me to comfort him. Despite everything, the muscle memory kicked in. I reached up and brushed my knuckles against his cheek. You play the part so well, rich boy. When the ride was over, Roman held my hand tightly as we walked back to the lockers. I noticed a small crowd gathered around the cubbies. When we pushed through, I saw my scarf—the Amazon one—soaking wet, covered in a thick, sticky green liquid. The girl was standing there, examining her manicure without a shred of remorse. “Oops. I bought an iced matcha and it just slipped right out of my hand. How much was it? I’ll Venmo you.” It didn’t look spilled. It looked like she had taken the lid off and poured the entire venti cup directly onto the fabric. I looked at Roman, pouring devastation into my voice. “But… you made this for me.” The girl crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at him. “Since when do you knit?” Roman looked down at the ruined scarf, his face completely devoid of emotion. Then he looked at me. “It’s fine. I’ll just knit you another one in a few days.” 6 “Bella. My patience is running out.” Roman was staring blankly ahead, rhythmically flicking a silver lighter open and closed in his hand. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. I was standing perfectly still behind the corner of the churro stand, my eyes cast downward, listening to every word. Bella rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Your little girlfriend reeks of student loans and thrift stores. Aren’t you embarrassed being seen with her in public?” “She’s gorgeous,” Roman replied flatly. “The guys and I have a betting pool on how long you can keep this up. I’m dangerously close to losing. If you’re struggling to shake her, I can help you.” Roman scoffed. “Fuck off. I’m not bored of her yet.” Bella sighed. “You’re sick, you know that? Did you seriously tell her you knitted that scarf yourself?” “You think I’m going to spend hours knitting a scarf just to play house?” A few seconds of silence passed. “Wait,” Bella said, her tone shifting to suspicion. “That scarf you gave me… is it from the same seller as hers?” “Yeah.” His voice was utterly bored. Bella hesitated. “Did you buy different price tiers? Because the one you gave me is pure, heavy cashmere. I looked closely at hers today—the yarn was cheap acrylic. The stitching was fine, but it was absolutely not the same quality as mine…” Roman’s brow furrowed. I could hear the shift in his posture. “What?” Bella let out a triumphant laugh. “The seller scammed you! They probably realized you have deep pockets and started sending you garbage to widen their margins.” Me, hiding behind the corner: … Don’t ruin my hustle, you spoiled brat! I already lost my relationship, am I going to lose my business too?! I pulled out my phone. Sure enough, a second later, a notification from “Z” popped up, demanding an explanation. I swiped it away. I’d play dumb until I got back to my dorm. “You don’t even need to worry about it,” Bella drawled lazily. “Your girlfriend clearly can’t tell the difference anyway. She can’t spot cheap yarn, and she can’t spot a fake poor boy. God, she is spectacularly stupid…” “Enough.” Roman’s voice dropped ten degrees, slicing through her sentence. “I’m taking her to a movie. Stop following us.” Bella clicked her tongue. “Fine. Have your fun for now. Just don’t forget we’re supposed to announce our engagement soon.” My head snapped up. For a second, all the ambient noise of the amusement park—the screaming on the rollercoasters, the carnival music—completely faded out. After a long, suffocating silence. I heard Roman’s voice. Clear. Resigned. “I know.” I turned on my heel and walked away. I don’t know how much time passed before Roman found me. He took my freezing hands in his, rubbing them. “I thought I told you to wait inside the bakery. Why are you out in the cold?” I didn’t say anything. Just then, a park employee pushing a roving merchandise cart spotted us and trotted over, beaming. “Are you two a couple? We’re running a promotion today! Show me your admission tickets, and I’ll take a free Polaroid for you!” She reached into her cart and pulled out a fuzzy headband with cat ears. “These look so cute in the photos.” I shook my head instantly, taking a step back. “No thanks.” Roman’s eyes drifted to the headband, then down to me. “I want to see it.” The employee sensed a sale. “Come on! You’re both so ridiculously good-looking. It’s a great souvenir.” Roman gently squeezed my hand, his dark eyes softening. “Just one picture. Please?” Whatever.

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I had spent six months begging my wife, Janet, to go to the championship game with me. It was a pilgrimage, a chance to see my favorite player’s jersey retired, a final goodbye to an era. But as the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, Janet was nowhere to be found. I’d called her a dozen times. Every single one went straight to voicemail. Then, the notification popped up—a new post from Toby. The caption read: “Shoutout to this legend for pulling two all-nighters and still coming out to support me at the Invitational.” The photo was a punch to the gut. Toby and Janet were at a crowded e-sports arena, their arms wrapped around each other, grinning and throwing peace signs at the camera. I didn’t hesitate. I powered off my phone, turned my back on the gate, and walked toward the customer service desk to check my bags. This game was supposed to be a tribute to a legend’s final stand. As it turned out, it was the perfect wake-up call for the end of my marriage. 1. I didn’t turn my phone back on until my flight landed back in Chicago five days later. Five days. Not a single missed call from Janet. Not even a text. The sky was bruising over O’Hare, a torrential downpour turning the tarmac into a gray blur. I stood at the arrivals curb for twenty minutes, watching the “No Cars Available” spinning wheel on my Uber app. That’s when my phone vibrated. Janet’s name flashed across the screen. Her voice was clipped, cold. “Where are you? Come pick up Toby and me from the terminal.” I didn’t say anything. A week ago, I would have been fuming. I would have demanded to know why she blew me off for a kid ten years younger than us. Now? I just didn’t have the breath to waste on her. “Bennett? Did you lose your tongue?” Janet snapped. “I’m at the airport entrance,” I said quietly. There was a beat of silence. “What are you doing at the airport?” “I just got back from the game.” Silence followed. It took her a few seconds to remember—to realize she had promised to be there with me. Before I left, I’d seen the hospital’s internal shift schedule. My heart had skipped a beat when I saw she’d traded several shifts for “personal time.” I’d foolishly thought she was clearing her schedule for us. I never imagined that “personal time” was for Toby’s gaming tournament. “Where exactly? We’ll find you,” she said. I gave her my location and hung up. Before she could arrive, a driver finally accepted my ride request. The black sedan pulled up just as Janet and Toby appeared through the sliding glass doors. Janet didn’t even look at me. She pulled Toby by the hand and slid into the backseat of the car I had ordered. “Toby’s exhausted,” she said, looking out at me through the open door. “I’m going to drop him off and get him settled. I’ll come back for you in a bit.” Before the door closed, Toby rolled down the window. His smile was thick with a smug, boyish triumph. “Thanks for the ride, Ben. You’re a lifesaver.” I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness. Janet frowned at him, though her hand was already reaching out to smooth his hair. “Don’t bother with the thank-yous. Close the window, Toby. If the rain gets in, you’ll start complaining about the damp again.” Her tone was a mock-scolding, the kind mothers use for favored children—or lovers use for their pets. The car was a mid-sized sedan; it could have easily fit three. But in Janet and Toby’s world, there was no room for me. I stood there, my suitcase at my side, getting soaked under the terminal awning. Eventually, I was the only one left. By the time the rain let up, Janet still hadn’t called. Instead, I saw her Instagram story. “Taking the kid to his big game. A little wish fulfillment and five days in Vegas.” It was a carousel of photos. I scrolled through the bright lights and the hotel suites until I hit the last one. My thumb froze. In the photo, Toby and Janet were lounging in a hotel room wearing matching silk pajamas—the exact set I had bought for our anniversary months ago. She’d told me they were “too much” and “not her style.” She’d refused to wear them with me, let alone post them for the world to see. In seven years of marriage, I had never appeared on her social media. She claimed she liked to “keep her private life private.” Apparently, she just liked to keep me private. The things I had spent seven years starving for, Toby had been handed on a silver platter. I had spent nearly a decade trying to melt the iceberg that was Janet Miller, only to realize she wasn’t frozen at all. She just wasn’t melting for me. I locked my phone and felt a strange, jarring laugh bubble up in my chest. It was the sound of a man finally realizing he’d been running a race that didn’t exist. I dragged my suitcase to the airport Hilton and checked in for the night. Going home now would just be an exercise in humiliation. 2. The next morning, I was at the hospital by 6:00 AM. Our hospital is one of the most prestigious in the state. Janet is a primary shareholder and a chief of surgery; I’m “just” an Associate Professor of Neurology. I hadn’t even had a sip of coffee before I was paged to the ER for a trauma consult. I ran into Janet right at the double doors. A pregnant woman had been brought in after a multi-car pileup. She was in critical condition, requiring a coordinated effort between OB-GYN and Neurosurgery. When we were working, Janet and I were seamless. We dropped the personal baggage and operated with a cold, clinical precision. It was the only language we still shared. When the surgery was finally over and the patient was stabilized, the scrub nurse leaned against the counter, grinning. “You two are seriously a powerhouse. Dr. Miller and Dr. Miller… it’s like you can read each other’s minds. It’d be a crime if you guys weren’t together.” Janet’s face darkened instantly. She opened her mouth to deliver a sharp correction, but I beat her to it. “Don’t start rumors,” I said, my voice flat as I stripped off my gloves. “I’m just a staff doctor. I’m hardly in Dr. Miller’s league.” Most of the hospital didn’t know we were married. Janet insisted on it, saying she hated “nepotism” and “mixing business with pleasure.” In the past, whenever someone suggested we’d make a great couple, I’d smile secretly, comforted by the idea that even strangers saw our connection. Now, the comparison made my skin crawl. “So, what’s the ‘dream girl’ look like then, Dr. Miller?” the nurse teased. Janet’s silhouette flashed in my mind—the way she looked in the light of an OR, the way she used to look before she got tired of me. I paused, pretending to think. “Honestly?” I said. “Aside from my career and my bank account, I don’t have room to love anything else.” The nurse burst out laughing. Behind me, Janet’s voice cut through the air. “Dr. Miller, I have a question about the post-op vitals. My office. Now.” The nurse took the hint and hurried off. I followed Janet to her office and sat across from her mahogany desk. “What’s the question?” I asked. Janet didn’t look at the charts. She looked at me. “You didn’t come home last night. Where were you? You know how I feel about cleanliness, Bennett. If I find out you were out doing something…” A smirk touched my lips, cutting her off. “Dr. Miller, we’re on the clock. This isn’t the time for personal matters.” I remembered a year ago, when I’d texted her during a lunch break to ask what she wanted for dinner. She’d pulled me into a hallway, checked for witnesses, and hissed at me about “professionalism” and “boundaries.” I hadn’t brought up our personal life at work since. Janet looked like I’d slapped her with her own rulebook. She sat there, stunned, before her face hardened into a mask of irritation. “Fine. Get out.” As I reached for the door handle, I turned back and gave her a small, polite smile. “Dr. Miller, while you’re at it, could you ask my wife if it was ‘appropriate’ for me to come home last night, given the circumstances?” She winced. A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes, but I didn’t wait for her to process it. I shut the door behind me. Just before my shift ended, I got a text from her. It was a screenshot of two tickets to a Broadway touring show for that night. I knew what it was. An olive branch. A “get out of jail free” card she thought she could play. I sent a final confirmation to my lawyer, checked my rounds, and headed out. I planned to go, if only to use the intermission to talk about the divorce. But as I walked out of the main entrance, I saw Janet’s silver Porsche idling at the curb. Toby was in the driver’s seat. Janet walked right past me, climbed into the passenger side, and they sped off together. Five minutes later, my phone chimed. “Toby had an emergency. Something he needs help with. Wait for me at the theater, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I didn’t go to the theater. I went straight to my lawyer’s office. After we finished the paperwork, I drove to the cinema near my hotel. I picked up a ticket for a sci-fi flick—something Janet always called “childish” and “a waste of brainpower.” I sat in the dark with a bucket of buttery popcorn and a large soda. In the past, I had force-fed myself her “refined” tastes. I’d eaten the kale salads, the unseasoned fish, the “clean” lifestyle she insisted on. But according to Toby’s Instagram, she’d spent the last five days eating tacos and greasy burgers with him. I had spent seven years trying to be the man she wanted, only to realize she didn’t even want that man. There was no other path left. 3. After the movie, I grabbed a beer at a dive bar by the river and sat there until nearly midnight. When I finally walked into the house, I was surprised to see the lights on. Janet was sitting on the sofa. For the last three years, she’d been “busy” with Toby until the early hours, or she just didn’t come home at all. In the beginning, we were the classic “power couple”—two doctors, always working. When she first took over the hospital’s board, I did everything to support her. I’d spend my few off-hours slow-cooking bone broths and medicinal stews to keep her strength up. She’d just called me a ” glorified manny.” She said my hovering was suffocating. Then Toby appeared. The “suffocation” disappeared, replaced by her absence. I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the slight fog from the beer. Janet was staring at me, her eyes icy. “You’re drinking, Bennett? You know I can’t stand the smell of alcohol on you.” I blinked. I didn’t bother defending myself. I knew that her “likes” and “dislikes” were entirely dependent on the person involved. When Toby got wasted at a frat-style party, she was there to tuck him in and give him IV fluids. When I had two beers after a fourteen-hour shift, I was “disgusting.” Double standards were Janet’s specialty. I was just done playing the game. When I didn’t engage, she looked genuinely confused. Usually, when she stood me up for Toby, I’d be waiting at the door, ready to demand an explanation, ready to fight for some scrap of her attention. I turned to head toward the guest room. “Do you even know what today is?” Janet asked suddenly. I glanced at the clock. It was 12:15 AM. “It was my birthday,” I said. “Technically, it was yesterday.” Usually, for the month leading up to my birthday, I’d drop hints. I’d try to steer her toward a restaurant or a gift. If she was in a good mood, I’d get a tie. If she was stressed, she’d tell me that “adults don’t need to celebrate aging.” This was the first time in our marriage she’d brought it up herself. I yawned. “It’s just a birthday, Janet. It doesn’t matter.” She looked frustrated. She reached over to the coffee table and tossed a small, wrapped box at me. Her voice had an uncharacteristic tremor of guilt. “I got you something. Just… see if you like it.” If her remembering was a shock, her buying a gift was a miracle. A year ago, I would have been on my knees with gratitude. I would have photographed the box from every angle and posted it everywhere. I picked the box up off the floor and set it carelessly on the dining table. “Thanks. I’m sure it’s great.” My indifference was clearly driving her crazy. “I know I missed the show. I apologized. But this attitude is getting old, Bennett. Toby’s sister asked me to look out for him on her deathbed. I have a responsibility to him.” I was busy checking a text on my phone. “Right. Total responsibility. Five nights in Vegas with a ‘kid’ is very responsible.” Janet flinched. Her face went from pale to a dark, ink-stain red. She waited for me to keep shouting, to give her something to fight against so she could feel like the victim again. But I just kept replying to my lawyer. Divorce was my only priority now. She eventually walked over, trying to peek at my screen. “What are you looking at?” I locked the phone. “Just some consulting work.” I grabbed a pillow from the sofa. “I’ve been drinking. I’ll sleep in the guest room so I don’t offend your ‘cleanliness’.” I didn’t wait to see her expression. I shut the door and slept better than I had in years. 4. The next morning, the courier delivered the formal separation agreement. I shot Janet a text: Come home early tonight. We need to talk about something important. She replied almost instantly: I’ll be there. I waited until 10:00 PM. She wasn’t there. I didn’t get angry; I just used the time to pack my essentials into two suitcases. At midnight, the front door finally opened. Janet walked in looking flushed and satisfied. She wasn’t surprised to see me waiting in the living room—that was my role, after all. The loyal dog by the fireplace. “Toby’s cat was having kittens,” she said, giving me the same rehearsed line she always used. “I had to stay and help. It was a mess.” I felt a ghost of a laugh. Last month, it was a “leak in his ceiling.” The month before, a “panic attack.” “I’m sure you were a big help,” I said, my voice steady. “Sit down. I have something for you.” She sat beside me, looking bored. As she moved, the scent hit me—heavy, floral lavender. I sneezed. I’ve been allergic to that specific scent for years. It was Toby’s signature cologne. Janet froze for a second, then smoothed her hair. “The hospital switched to a new soap in the doctors’ lounge,” she lied. I didn’t even bother to look at her. I pulled the envelope from my bag and slid it across the table. “Read it. If you agree, sign it. Let’s stop making each other miserable.” I checked my watch. “I checked the forecast today. It seemed like a good day for an ending.”

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