Category: English

The new transfer student claims she’s a “challenge player,” forcing my childhood best friend to help her complete all kinds of explicit tasks. I saw through her act. Tried to warn him to stay away. He turned on me instead. “Ivy’s doing a challenge. If I don’t help her, she’ll be punished. Sera, you’re so selfish.” I stopped warning him. Then her sex toy fell on the floor in class. And he blamed it on me. My reputation was destroyed. The delinquents dragged me into an alley. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Ivy brought her toy to class. — The vibrator rolled across the floor. Ms. Romano’s face went black as coal. She ground out the words. “Whose is this?!” The class erupted. Shocked gasps everywhere. No one expected someone to use a sex toy in class. Especially in Ms. Romano’s class. Ivy, sitting in front of me, turned bright red. Her head dropped. She was always wild. But getting caught like this was humiliating. Just as she was about to cry, her seatmate Julian shot to his feet. He pointed directly at me. “Ms. Romano, I noticed Sera acting weird all period. Her hands kept going under the desk. It’s definitely hers.” His voice was full of righteous anger. “Sera, I never thought you’d sink this low. Using that in class? During a lecture? Have you no shame?” The room exploded. Curious stares. Disgust. Mockery. Revulsion. Every eye in that room landed on me. I started shaking. Not from fear. From rage. Because I’d lived this moment before. — In my previous life, this is where everything went to hell. Julian’s accusation blindsided me. I cried. Denied it. Begged everyone to believe me. No one did. From that day on, I went from honor student to school slut. Every guy felt entitled to undress me with their eyes. Every girl whispered behind my back. When I tried to fight back, they laughed. “Your own best friend said you’re a whore. Stop playing victim.” The rumors followed me everywhere. Bathrooms. Cafeteria. My DMs. Then the delinquents dragged me into an alley after school. My parents tried to get justice. Ms. Romano told them I “asked for it.” I dropped out. Two months later, I jumped off a building.

Thinking about that ending, I dug my nails into my palms. Forced down my rage. This time, I wouldn’t let Julian throw me under the bus. I shot to my feet. “Ms. Romano, my hands have been on my desk taking notes all period. The girl sitting next to me can confirm.” My seatmate nodded furiously. “That’s right! Julian, which eye saw Sera’s hands under the desk? Stop making shit up.” Julian didn’t even flinch. “Maybe I was mistaken about that. But that doesn’t change the fact the vibrator is probably Sera’s. Why else would she be so defensive?” I was shaking. Trying so hard to stay calm. But my face was red. Flushed with anger and humiliation. Julian was going to throw me under the bus. Again. To protect Ivy. Again. Fine. I narrowed my eyes. “I’m wearing jeans. Ivy’s wearing a skirt. If we’re talking about easy access, suspicion falls on her.” The room went dead silent. “Here’s what we’ll do,” I continued. “I’ll strip down in front of all the girls in this class to prove my innocence. But Ivy has to do it too.” Ivy’s eyes went wide. She looked at Julian like a drowning person reaching for a life raft. Julian’s face twisted. “Sera, you’re disgusting! Trying to frame Ivy when you know she’s innocent!” I crossed my arms. “You can accuse me all you want. But I’m proposing a fair solution. If Ivy’s got nothing to hide, she shouldn’t be afraid to prove it.” Ms. Romano looked tempted. Julian panicked. “Ms. Romano, we can’t do this. Think about how this would look if it got out. For the school’s reputation, we should just drop it.” Julian was the star quarterback. The golden boy whose father donated the new football field. Ms. Romano loved him. She sighed. “Fine. This time, I’ll let it go. But if I catch anyone with something like this again, I’m calling parents immediately.” — After class, Julian grabbed my wrist. Dragged me to an empty classroom. “Sera, I know you don’t like Ivy. I know you’re jealous we’ve gotten close. But trying to ruin her over this? That’s evil.” “If people found out that vibrator was Ivy’s, her reputation would be destroyed. Don’t you have any empathy?” I laughed. Actually laughed. “Empathy? You tried to frame me for something I didn’t do, and I’m the one who needs empathy?” Julian’s jaw clenched. “You don’t understand. Ivy has to complete these tasks. She’s part of an exclusive challenge. If she doesn’t finish, there are consequences.” I glanced at Ivy. She wasn’t crying anymore. She was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, smirking at me. Only an idiot like Julian would believe that Ivy—who smoked, drank, got into fights, and had a back tattoo—was just a “good girl forced to do bad things by an online challenge.” Julian grabbed my shoulders. “The task isn’t complete yet. Go tell Ms. Romano the vibrator was yours. Then get it back for Ivy.” My mouth fell open. “You have perfect grades. Ms. Romano will just scold you. She won’t actually call your parents.” He smiled. The kind of smile you give a dog when you want it to sit. “We’ve known each other our whole lives. I know you’re a kind person, Sera.” That’s when I knew. Any affection I’d had for Julian died in that moment. I smiled back. Sweet as poison. “Ms. Romano loves you, Julian. You’re the star quarterback. Why don’t you go tell her the vibrator is yours? I bet she won’t even scold you.” Julian’s face went black. “Sera!” “Believe whatever fantasy you want about Ivy’s ‘challenge.’ But leave me out of it.” I shoved past him and walked out.

I knew they wouldn’t give up. So I hired a hacker online. Had them break into Julian’s phone. Gave me access to everything. Two days later, I was reading their text conversation. I saw Ivy crying to Julian about how scared she’d been. Their conversation got flirty. Then Ivy changed the subject. Mentioned her next “task.” She had to plant her underwear in another guy’s desk. I almost choked. This girl had balls of steel. Looked like the last incident hadn’t taught her enough. Julian was clearly reluctant. Then he said: “Does it have to be yours? What about someone else’s? I’m going to Sera’s house this weekend. I’ll use hers. That way, we can also get you off the hook for the vibrator thing.” “With her underwear involved, Sera won’t be able to accuse you so easily anymore.” Watching them casually plan this out, I smiled coldly. Waited for the weekend. Julian and I were neighbors. We’d grown up together. Actual childhood friends. Both of us were top students with Ivy League dreams. Our parents loved that we were close. But ever since Ivy transferred in six months ago, Julian and I had drifted apart. He hadn’t come over in months. So when he showed up at my door that Saturday, my parents were thrilled. “Sera! Julian’s here!” They welcomed him warmly. “Come in and study with Sera. I’ll make you both lunch.” Julian smiled at me. Ruffled my hair like old times. I pulled away. My parents laughed. “Did you two have a fight?” Julian smiled so sincerely it made me sick. “I’m sorry, Sera. I was wrong the other day. Forgive me?” I studied his face. Behind the smile, I could see the impatience. The irritation. “You really know you were wrong?” He forced a laugh. “I was wrong, I was wrong. Now let me in.” The last shred of nostalgia I had for him evaporated. I stepped aside. After lunch, Julian said he had to go. The second he left, I checked my room. The new pack of underwear I’d just bought? Gone.

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Five minutes before I say “I do,” my fiancé’s dead brother’s widow staggers into the chapel with her dress half off, screaming that my “godfather” raped her. “Luca, save me! Nico Sokolov forced himself on me!” Chiara collapses at his feet, mascara running, one strap of her black dress hanging off her shoulder. “He said I was a fake, that I stole the Marchetti name from your real bride, that he could do whatever he wanted to me — I want to die, Luca, I want to die — ” The pews go off like a powder keg. People are on their feet. Someone shouts *animal*. Someone else shouts my name like a curse, like I dragged a wolf into a church. Luca strips off his jacket and wraps it around Chiara like she’s made of glass. Then he looks at me. Cold. The way you look at a stain. “Marchetti.” He doesn’t even use my first name. “Get that piece of shit out here. Now. He’s getting on his knees in front of Chiara, and after that I want him cut. All three legs. Or this wedding’s off.” My parents stand up like they’re about to lynch me. My future father-in-law cracks his knuckles. I almost laugh. Because my “godfather” doesn’t have three legs to cut. — *Smack.* My mother’s palm lands so hard my ear rings. “You think this is funny?” Her hand is shaking. Her nails almost go in my eye. “I should’ve left you in that group home. I knew you were trash the second I brought you back.” I taste blood on my lip. I keep my face flat. “Chiara has class. You? You brought a family of rapists with you.” “Mom.” My voice is calm. I want it calm. “Did anyone call the cops?” “Did anyone get a rape kit done?” “Or do we just take Chiara’s word like it’s the gospel?” My father kicks over a vase of white lilies. “She wouldn’t *lie* about something like this, you stupid bitch!” He points at the back of the church like a general. “I want the muscle on Sokolov. Right now. In front of God and every family in New York. We cut him here. Tonight. For Chiara.” Chiara presses her face into Luca’s chest. Her dress is in ribbons. There are dark red marks all up her neck. “Don’t — don’t blame her, Daddy,” she whispers, just loud enough for the front rows to hear. “Maybe Nico just couldn’t help himself. I’m not a real Marchetti. I shouldn’t have stolen her place — ” “Couldn’t help himself?” Luca’s whole face is red. He’s stroking her hair like she’s a sick dog. “He’s a fucking animal. By the time I’m done, he won’t be helping himself to anything ever again.” He turns to me. The man I was about to marry. “Marchetti. You heard her. She’s still defending him. Still trying to protect *you*.” “A girl raised by a rapist doesn’t walk into a Romano house. I’m giving you three minutes. Get him here. If he runs, *you* go down for it. You’ll do Chiara’s time.” The whispering in the pews is acid. “Real daughter, my ass.” “Letting her own family rape her sister-in-law. Disgusting.” “Luca’s right. Put the dog down.” I pull out my phone. I look right at Chiara. She’s still curled into Luca’s chest. The smallest smile twitches at the corner of her mouth when she thinks no one’s looking. “Chiara.” My voice carries. “You’re sure it was my godfather who raped you.” “It was him.” She looks up, eyes wet, blazing. “I’ll see him in hell. I’ll see him *dead.*” “Good.” I turn to Luca. “And you said you want him cut. All three legs.” “Every fucking one,” he hisses. “Good.” I dial. I hit speaker. “Since you’re all in such a rush to meet the devil — let’s introduce you.” One ring. Two. The line picks up, and the roar of a heavy bike engine blasts through the speaker and ricochets off the stained glass. I speak softly. Politely. Like I’m ordering room service. “Godfather. Come down to the church.” “Somebody here says they want to take your dick off.” —

There’s a soft laugh on the other end. Dry. Amused. Almost bored. “Yeah? Tell him to sharpen the knife first.” *Click.* The dial tone is louder than it has any right to be. Five hundred people listen to it together. Luca freezes. Then he picks up a champagne flute and smashes it against the altar. “You put it on speaker on *purpose,*” he says. “You tipped him off.” “Luca — ” Chiara curls smaller against him, shaking. “He took pictures. Of me. With his phone. If those get out — ” “Hey. Hey.” Luca cups her face like she’s about to break. He turns to his crew, eyes black. “Lock down every exit in this city. I want Sokolov dragged in here by his hair. I’m doing the cutting personally.” I watch the man I was supposed to spend my life with rock his dead brother’s wife in his arms, and something inside me freezes solid. Three months ago, Luca’s brother Marco died on the Long Island Expressway. Brake failure, they said. Three months ago, Luca was the boy who sat by my hospital bed the night I got food poisoning and held my hand and swore on his mother’s grave he’d never let anyone hurt me. Now he’s *Chiara’s* good little brother-in-law. Available twenty-four hours a day. “Get over here.” My father grabs me by the hair and forces me down. “You apologize to your sister. On your knees. *Now.*” My knees crack against the marble. I feel skin split. “If Chiara forgives you, I’ll only send Sokolov to the joint. I won’t disown you.” “I didn’t do anything wrong.” I lift my head. Look him in the eye. “I’m not kneeling.” Six months ago they drove four hours upstate to bring me home. Their *real* daughter. Their heart. Six months later, one tear from Chiara and I’m a stray dog they regret feeding. “Still talking back?” My father raises his hand again. “Fine. The Romanos can kill you tonight for all I care. The Marchettis won’t lift a finger.” “Daddy, please don’t — ” Chiara is sobbing. Her eyes glitter. “It’s my fault. I have the wrong face. My sister grew up rough, she can’t help the people she ran with — ” “Chiara. You’re a saint.” Luca raises his head. Every livestream phone in the front row points at him. “But animals get put down.” He turns to the cameras. There must be twenty of them. Society pages. Mob gossip blogs. Some asshole’s TikTok. “Romano family. One million for Sokolov’s right hand.” “The Marchettis match it!” my father shouts. “Two million!” The whole church explodes. Flashbulbs everywhere. They’re going to chase him down like a deer. I push myself off the floor. My knee screams. I grab the mic out of the priest’s hand. “You’re so sure my godfather did this.” My voice goes everywhere — the speakers, the streams, every screen in the city. “Want to put your money where your mouth is?” “A sit-down. Right here. Right now.” My voice cracks but I don’t slow down. “If my godfather raped Chiara — I drag him in myself. I sign over my inheritance. I walk into the precinct tonight and take the charge. I do the time.” My parents go still. “But if he’s clean — ” “Every Romano share. Every Marchetti asset. Mine.” “You — apologize. On a livestream. To him.” “And Luca.” I turn. He’s gone white. “You wanted his three legs. If you lose? You give up yours.” “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” my father howls. “You’d bet the *family* on a rapist?” “Why are you scared?” I push the mic into the closest camera. “You said the evidence is rock solid. Unless this whole thing is a setup my sister cooked up?” Chiara rips her dress further down her shoulder. Bruises. Bite marks. She’s screaming. “Take the bet! *Take it!* He raped me, it’s true, I’m not letting that go! I want her to lose everything! I want him in the ground!” “Done.” Luca slams his fist on the altar. “Get paper. Get a notary. Marchetti, when he gets here, I cut him myself, and then you crawl to Chiara on your hands and knees the rest of your life.” Four minutes later there’s a contract on the red carpet. Cameras everywhere. Bloody thumbprints, both sides, because in our world ink isn’t enough. The doors of the church kick open with a sound like a gunshot. —

My godfather walks in. The helmet comes off. Pink-violet hair, short and wild, catches the chandelier light. Black diamonds in both ears. A leather jacket that fits like sin. The whole church chokes on its own breath. The livestream chat freezes for a full second. Then it loses its mind. “holy shit this is the rapist?? sign me up” “That jawline. That chest. I’d let him.” “Wake up sheeple a hot rapist is still a rapist” My godfather doesn’t look at any of them. Just walks straight to me. Lazy. Easy. Like the room isn’t full of people screaming for blood. “Which one of these dogs,” — a slow look across the pews — “wants to take my dick off?” Chiara’s pupils blow wide. The blood drains out of her face like somebody pulled a plug. Her finger comes up shaking. “Him! *Him!* He’s the one, Luca — he tore my clothes off, he held me down, he said a fake Marchetti deserved to get passed around like a party favor — ” The crowd goes nuclear. “Showing his face after what he did?” “Animal!” “Somebody do the world a favor!” My godfather flicks a glance at Luca. Then looks down at me. The hardness drops out of those eyes for a half-second when they land on my mouth. On the blood there. “So this is the fiancé.” Soft. Almost gentle. “He’s even uglier in person.” A thumb skims the corner of my lip. Wipes the blood off. The whole room sees it. The streams see it. I don’t move. Luca *roars.* “Sokolov, you filth! You wear a man’s face but you’re not human — Boys! On him! I don’t care if he leaves in pieces!” A dozen of Luca’s soldiers move in. Bats. Brass. One pipe. “Easy.” I step in front of my godfather. “Luca. Even a court lets the accused open his mouth.” “You in a hurry to convict? Or are you scared of what’ll come out?” “You — ” Luca doesn’t get the rest out. Chiara shoves him off her and *runs.* Straight for the balcony stairs. Heels stabbing the marble. “Then I’ll prove it the only way left!” she screams down at us. “If none of you will believe me, I’ll *make* you believe me!” She vaults the rail. “CHIARA!” “NO — !” She drops. The sound her body makes when it hits the marble is wet and final. Her left leg bends the wrong way. Blood spreads under her like a halo. The flashbulbs stop for one whole heartbeat. Then the church *detonates.* “She killed herself! She killed herself because no one believed her!” “Sokolov is dead. He’s dead tonight.” “Beat him to death, somebody beat him to death!” Luca crashes down the stairs and scoops her up. She’s chalk-white. Her lips are blue. But her eyes — her eyes are still tracking. Still locked on my godfather. “Now.” A whisper that carries somehow. “Do you believe me. Nico Sokolov raped me. He *raped* me.” “I want him bleeding out, Luca. I want him in a fucking *box.*” Luca is crying. Crying. My mother is on me. Another slap. My head whips sideways. “You demon — I gave birth to a *demon* — ” My father aims a boot at my stomach. My godfather hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me back. Light. Easy. My father’s foot finds air; he goes down on his ass on the marble. “This is — this is mutiny,” he babbles. “She raised her hand against me. Mutiny — ” The cameras eat it up. “That’s the real daughter? Cold as ice.” “The fake one had to break her own leg to be believed and the real one’s still defending the rapist.” And in the middle of it, broken on the floor, bleeding from a leg she just snapped on purpose — Chiara catches my eye. And smiles. A small, sharp, very private smile. That’s when I understand. She just bought herself a victim’s badge with one leg. She is going to die before she lets me take it off her. —

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The day my Harvard acceptance letter arrived, everyone expected me to frame it. Mount it on the wall like a trophy. Proof that Ethan White had finally made it. Instead, I declined the offer and enrolled at MIT. It wasn’t impulse. It wasn’t rebellion. It was survival. Because I reborn. In last life, accepting Harvard meant becoming the perfect husband for Sarah. It meant watching her, six months pregnant with my child, stand over me with a smile. “If you hadn’t gone to Harvard,” she’d whispered, rope cutting into my wrists as I hung from the ceiling beam, “my family never would have chosen you. And my love wouldn’t have drowned his heartbreak at that club. They wouldn’t have found him dead in some backroom, servicing strangers for pills.” Her voice had been so calm. So rational. “You stole his place. So you’ll pay with your life. Piece. By. Piece.” She deliberately had a miscarriage that night. The reason was that she didn’t want to have a child with me. She felt disgusted. I died at the same night… And then I woke up. Eighteen years old. Acceptance letters scattered across my desk. The same day. My phone buzzed. Mr. Kowalski, my guidance counselor. “Ethan, the deadline’s tonight. Harvard’s waiting. You’re really going to make them sweat?” I ended the call and stared at the MIT enrollment form on my laptop screen. Different path. Different future. No Sarah. The door flew open. “Ethan.” My mother swept in. Her hands fluttered. “Tell me you’ve confirmed Harvard. Please. I need to hear you say it.” Seeing mom now—alive, whole, not beaten to death by Hawthorne security—made my throat close. In that other life, she’d found my body. Seen what Sarah had done. And she’d lunged at the woman who’d butchered her son. The Hawthorne guards hadn’t hesitated. I reached for her hand. “I’m going to MIT, Mom. The research programs align better with my focus. Cybersecurity architecture, AI ethics, systems integrity—” “No.” She yanked her hand back. “You’re going to Harvard. Do you understand me? When you fall, you get back up where you fell. I taught you that.” My blood went cold. She remembers. She reborn too? “Mom—” The front door slammed. My father’s voice boomed through the house, followed by a second set of footsteps. Lighter. Deliberate. “Sebastian! Come on in, son. Let me grab you something to drink.” Sebastian Vance. Not my brother by blood. Not really. But my father—decorated veteran and self-made businessman—had adopted him at thirteen after his father, Dad’s Army buddy, died in combat. Except Sebastian’s father hadn’t died in combat. He’d died of a heart attack in a motel with his mistress, but my father had needed a redemption arc more than he’d needed the truth. I watched Sebastian glide into my room, all easy smiles. “Ethan.” He clasped my shoulder. “Dad wants to talk to you about Harvard. He’s really proud, man.” My father appeared behind him, already talking. “Two spots. Harvard only takes two from Riverside Prep, and this year it’s a miracle we got that many. Ethan—” He looked at me the way you’d look at a stain. “You’re going to withdraw your acceptance.” My mother stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Sebastian needs this.” Dad’s voice carried the weight of absolute authority. “His father gave his life for this country. For me. The least we can do is make sure his son has every advantage. Ethan’s smart—he’ll land on his feet. MIT, Stanford, whatever. But Harvard?” He put his arm around Sebastian. “That’s Sebastian’s spot. And the Hawthorne family is looking for a Harvard man to marry their daughter. That’s his future. Not Ethan’s.” “He earned his acceptance—” “And Sebastian earned our loyalty!” My father’s face flushed. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to owe someone your life? His father took a bullet meant for me. So yes, Elena. Sebastian gets the girl, the school, and the life. That’s not negotiable.” My mother looked at me, and I saw it again—that flash of something ruthless beneath her beauty queen mask. She remembered Sebastian sitting outside while I bled out. She was trying to weaponize me against him. I pulled out my phone and opened the photo album. Found last night’s graduation party. There. Sebastian and Sarah Hawthorne, tucked into a corner booth at The Dorset Club. Her hand on his thigh under the table. His mouth at her ear. The angle of the shot made it clear—this wasn’t friendly. This was ownership. I held up the phone. “They’ve been together for months.” My voice came out flat. Clinical. “So it doesn’t matter where I go. I’m not in the running.” Sebastian’s smile never wavered. “Ethan.” He sighed, wounded. “I know you had feelings for Sera. But she sees you as a friend. A brother, even. You need to let her go.” He checked his watch. “Actually, I’m late. We’re catching a movie. Dad, you coming?” My father was already grabbing his keys. “I’ll drive you.” The door slammed. Silence. Then my mother’s hand cracked across my face. “You coward.” I tasted blood. “I thought getting a second chance meant you’d be smarter. Faster. But you’re still the same pathetic boy who let them walk all over him.” Her voice shook. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me in this house? Your father worships Sebastian. Your grandmother thinks I’m worthless because I can’t control you. My entire future depends on you marrying into the Hawthorne family, and you’re just going to—what? Run away to MIT and play with computers?” The same script as before. Always the same. In last life, I’d internalized it. Believed I owed her my success. My sacrifice. My life. I’d studied until I couldn’t see straight. Married a woman I didn’t love. Let myself be reshaped into the perfect Hawthorne son-in-law because I thought it would finally be enough. It never was. “I’m going to MIT,” I said quietly. “And this time, I’m living for myself.” She opened her mouth, but I was already walking out.

I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple. That night, I woke to the sound of my bedroom door clicking open. My father stood silhouetted in the hallway light. Behind him—Sarah. I lunged out of bed. “What the hell—” But they were already at my desk. My laptop glowed, enrollment page still open. Sarah’s finger hovered over the keyboard. “Don’t you dare—” My father caught me in a bear hug, pinning my arms. “She’s doing you a favor, son. Trust me.” “That’s my MIT enrollment—” Sarah clicked DELETE. The page refreshed. Application Withdrawn. I went numb. “Sarah—why?” She didn’t even look at me. Just reached down and unplugged the laptop, lifting it by the screen. “What are you—” “If I leave the computer intact, you’ll find a way to re-enroll.” Her voice was ice. “I won’t make that mistake.” She raised the laptop above her head. “No no no—please—” It shattered against the hardwood. Glass and circuitry exploded across the floor. I stopped fighting. My father released me, and I collapsed to my knees, staring at the wreckage. “You knew I picked MIT,” I whispered. “I told you this morning.” Sarah crouched in front of me, and for the first time, I saw her eyes. Empty. Flat. She’d reborn too. “You said a lot of things last time,” she murmured. “You said you didn’t want me. You said you weren’t interested. But the first night we were together, you were in my bed before I’d even finished unpacking.” My stomach lurched. “That wasn’t—Sera, your roommate drugged me. You know that. She wanted to humiliate me at the party, and I came to you because I trusted—” “Liar.” The word landed like a slap. She stood, smoothing her skirt. “You manipulated me from day one. Played hard to get so I’d chase you. And the moment you had me, you ruined everything.” She turned to Sebastian, who’d appeared in the doorway. Her voice went soft. Tender. “It’s done, baby. He can’t threaten you anymore.” Sebastian’s smile was small. Satisfied. “Wait—” My mind raced. “Sera, I’m not trying to come between you two. I want you to be together. Just let me go. I’ll transfer schools, move across the country, whatever you need—” “You really think it’s that simple?” She leaned close, her breath cold against my ear. “Did you think I’d forget what you did to Sebastian in last life? How you let him die?” “I already paid for that. I died—” “Not enough.” Her whisper was a blade. “I’m going to make you watch Sebastian and me build the life you stole from him. And you—” Her lips curved. “You’re going to spend every day in hell.” She straightened. “Oh, and before I deleted your enrollment? I submitted a formal withdrawal letter to MIT on your behalf. Citing personal reasons and a commitment to Harvard.” She tilted her head. “Congrats, Ethan. You’re going to be a Hawthorne after all.”

They locked me in my room after that. Took my phone. My laptop. Even the old iPad I kept in my desk drawer. For three days, I was a prisoner in my own house. But they didn’t know about the backup phone taped under my bed frame. The one I’d bought with cash the day I woke up reborn, because some paranoid part of me knew they’d try this. I powered it on and opened my email. One unread message. From: MIT Admissions Subject: Enrollment Confirmed Dear Ethan White, Welcome to MIT. Your enrollment in the Computer Science and Engineering program has been finalized. We look forward to seeing you at orientation on September 1st. I closed my eyes, exhaling for what felt like the first time in days. The system Sarah had accessed wasn’t real. I’d built a dummy server the day I got the acceptance letter—a perfect replica of MIT’s enrollment portal, hosted locally on my laptop. If anyone tried to tamper with my decision, they’d be deleting a ghost. The real enrollment had gone through the morning I woke up in this timeline. I texted my best friend Marcus: Need you to grab my dorm stuff and meet me at South Station. Day before move-in. I’ll explain later. His reply came in seconds: Dude. What did you DO? Escaped. — Move-in day. I waited until my mother left for her book club and my father took Sebastian shopping for his dorm at Langford College—the private liberal arts school Sarah’s family had paid to accept him after his 140 SAT score. Picked the bedroom lock in twenty minutes. Walked out the front door. Took the subway to South Station and didn’t look back. The train to Boston pulled away from the platform, and I watched my childhood disappear through the window. For the first time since I’d woken up in this nightmare, I let myself breathe. — I dozed off somewhere around Providence. When I woke up, something felt wrong. The train had stopped. But we weren’t at South Station. I looked out the window—and my blood turned to ice. We were at a private rail platform. Sleek. Modern. The kind of place you only accessed with a keycard and a seven-figure bank account. And standing on the platform, arms crossed, was my mother. She smiled when she saw me. “Ethan. You’re awake. Perfect timing.” The train doors hissed open, and two men in black suits stepped aboard. “Mrs. Vance.” The taller one nodded. “We’ll take him from here.” “Wait—Mom—what is this?” She leaned into the train, her smile bright and terrible. “The Hawthornes are very excited to meet their future son-in-law, sweetheart. Sarah’s been asking about you.” “I’m not—I don’t want—” “You’re eighteen. You’re brilliant. And you’re exactly what the Hawthorne family looks for in a match.” She stepped back as the men hauled me to my feet. “Oh, and I have wonderful news. They’ve agreed to let you and Sarah get engaged today. Isn’t that romantic? The wedding will be right after her graduation.” “You can’t do this—” “I can. And I am.” She waved as they dragged me onto the platform. “The Hawthorne estate is lovely this time of year. You’ll see.”

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I gave the stolen sandwich to a scrawny girl shivering in the alley, and she became my shadow. Two orphans with nowhere else to go. We survived together. At sixteen, I found Seraphina cornered by three gang punks behind the bodega. I grabbed a broken bottle and took down four before their leader showed up with his crew. They left me half-dead on the pavement. Two weeks in bed before I could walk again. Seraphina loved music. On her seventeenth birthday, I broke into a high-end music store in SoHo and stole a vintage keyboard. Got arrested that same night. Spent two weeks in juvie. When I got out, she was waiting with red-rimmed eyes. “Never do something that stupid for me again,” she whispered. At nineteen, Seraphina got her acceptance letter to Juilliard. I wasn’t built for college, but I so happy when I got the news.I worked three jobs—sometimes pulling double shifts at the construction site—just to cover her tuition. By twenty-four, Seraphina was a rising star. Piano prodigy. Concert halls across the country. We moved into a penthouse on the Upper East Side. Twenty-six years old, and I was still breaking my back on construction sites. She’d just won the International Tchaikovsky Competition. Gold medal. Front page of every music magazine. I saved for weeks, bought a secondhand keyboard, and planned to surprise her. Play something I’d been practicing. Tell her I loved her. I sat at that keyboard all night, waiting. She never came home. The next morning, my phone blew up with notifications. “Piano Prodigy Seraphina Wells Goes Official with Music Dynasty Heir Sebastian Thorne!” The photo showed her leaning into him, her eyes soft in a way I’d never seen. Not for me. Never for me. I knew Sebastian. Old money, Juilliard graduate, violin virtuoso. Everything I wasn’t. I pressed a key on the keyboard. Dead silence. The batteries had died. Just like us.

“Bro, you’re really coming back?” Leo’s voice crackled through the phone, disbelief bleeding through every word. “After everything you did for Seraphina—she’s a superstar now and you’re leaving?” “Is she coming with you?” I dug my thumbnail into my palm, forcing my voice to stay light. “Just me. She’s got her career in Manhattan. Big things happening.” Silence. Then: “Something happen between you two?” I didn’t know how to answer. How do you explain that love dies slowly? That we’d been boiling in the same pot for years, and the water had evaporated without either of us noticing? “There was never anything to begin with,” I said. “You not happy I’m coming home?” “Hell no—I mean, hell yes! You’re my best friend, man. Come back anytime.” When I hung up, I stared at the penthouse. Two years we’d lived here. Fifteen years we’d survived together. Seraphina had carved herself into every corner of my life. Letting go wasn’t an option—it was an impossibility. But I had to try. I grew up with nothing. No parents. Bounced between shelters and streets, begging for scraps. Then I met Seraphina. She was eleven, same as me. Gas leak explosion took out her entire apartment building. She came home from school to black rubble and police tape. The girl had nothing left. When she saw me stealing bread from a dumpster, she recognized something—kinship, maybe. Desperation. She followed me for three days before I finally split my sandwich with her. We’d been inseparable ever since. I saved her life more than once. Pulled her out of the East River when bullies threw her off a dock. Gave up my shot at trade school to work construction so she could attend Juilliard. When she got that acceptance letter, she sobbed into my chest. “I won’t let you down,” she’d promised. “I’ll make this worth it.” And she did. Within six years, she was headlining Carnegie Hall. We traded the crumbling studio in Queens for a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows. But the gap between us grew wider with every standing ovation. She was a prodigy. A sensation. I was a high school dropout with a criminal record. We didn’t fit anymore. Maybe we never had. Especially after Sebastian entered her life. “Sebastian has such a deep understanding of Chopin. He can hear the smallest variations in my tempo.” “Sebastian and I are planning a joint recital. His violin with my piano—it’ll be incredible.” “Sebastian helped repair the old Steinway today. He even knows how to voice hammers.” Then, a week ago: “Won’t be home tonight. Celebrating the gold medal with Sebastian.” I needed to see him. Needed to understand what kind of man lived in the space I used to occupy.

Lincoln Center felt like a cathedral built for people I’d never be. I stood in the marble lobby wearing a faded jacket I’d owned since I was nineteen. Every person who passed me radiated wealth—tailored suits, silk scarves, designer shoes. I was a stain on their pristine world. “Excuse me, sir. Are you here for Miss Wells’ rehearsal?” The voice belonged to a man in an immaculate navy suit. Warm smile. Perfect posture. The kind of guy who’d never had to fight for anything. Sebastian Thorne. I recognized him from the photos. “I’m looking for Seraphina. Can you point me in the right direction?” His smile dimmed. “Miss Wells is in rehearsal. I’m afraid she can’t be disturbed right now.” He studied me like I was a vagrant who’d wandered in from the street. “Who are you to her?” The question stabbed deeper than it should have. “I’m the person who raised her,” I paused,and added, “Her brother.” The words felt like a surrender. His expression softened immediately. “Oh,Welcome! You’re Seraphina’s brother. I apologize—I didn’t realize.” He gestured down the hall. “I’m actually headed to the rehearsal space now. You can walk with me.” I followed him through the labyrinth of hallways, past musicians warming up in practice rooms, past posters of Seraphina’s face plastered on every wall. People greeted Sebastian like royalty. He responded to each one with practiced charm. When we reached the rehearsal room, Seraphina was just stepping out. She froze when she saw me. Her eyes darted to Sebastian, then back to me. “Jax. What are you doing here?” Her tone wasn’t warm. It was guarded. Almost… afraid. Afraid I’d embarrass her? Afraid I’d hurt Sebastian? I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Sebastian broke the tension. “Your brother came to see you. I thought we could all grab dinner together.” She didn’t refute it—not a word, not a single flicker of denial. The restaurant was the kind of place where they don’t list prices on the menu. I sat across from Sebastian and Seraphina, watching them speak a language I didn’t understand. “The rubato in the third movement needs to breathe more,” Sebastian said. “You’re rushing the diminuendo.” Seraphina nodded, her eyes bright. “I was thinking the same thing. And the left-hand voicing in measure forty-seven—” “Needs more weight,” Sebastian finished. “Exactly.” They smiled at each other. I might as well have been invisible. Sebastian glanced at me, almost apologetic. “Sorry—this is all technical jargon. Seraphina and I talk shop constantly. Occupational hazard.” He said it kindly. Like he was trying to include me. But it only made the gap more obvious. I pushed food around my plate, swallowing words I couldn’t form. The conversation swirled around me, a current I couldn’t enter. After dinner, Sebastian insisted on showing me around Lincoln Center. We walked past rehearsal halls and performance spaces, Sebastian pointing out details I didn’t care about. Stagehands whispered as we passed. “Miss Wells and Sebastian Thorne are perfect together. Total power couple.” “A piano prodigy and a violin genius? They’re like something out of a movie.” “Who’s the guy in the old jacket? He looks so out of place.” I heard every word. That night, I bought a one-way ticket back to Montana.

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I used to be one of the top deep-sea divers in North America. Eight years ago, Sophia—the adopted daughter my parents treasured more than anything—caused a fellow diver’s death underwater so she could keep all the gold from a sunken ship for herself. After it happened, my husband Ryan forced me to sign a confession and take the blame in order to protect her. I was sentenced to twelve years in prison. Later, I got out early for good behavior. Now, I make a living gutting fish at a seafood market in Seattle. Until one evening, while I was standing there cleaning a tuna with my head down, my parents and my ex-husband came storming toward me like they’d lost their minds. My mother, Laura, dropped to her knees on the blood-slick floor covered in fish scales and melted ice, shaking as she sobbed. “Rosalind! Sophia went diving an hour ago, and she still hasn’t come back up!” “You’re the best diver in the country. Please—you have to save her!” My father Richard’s face was pale as he grabbed my arm with a death grip. “You’re the only one who can save her now!” And Ryan—my ex-husband—actually pulled out our old wedding ring and forced it back onto my finger. His eyes were red as he looked at me, his voice trembling. “Rosalind, if you bring Sophia back, I’ll remarry you.” I said nothing. I just instinctively touched the hearing aid in my right ear. Had they forgotten? Back then, all they could see was Sophia. They called me the real murderer. My father had even slapped me so hard he ruptured my eardrum. Since then, I’ve been permanently deaf in my right ear. The doctor had warned me clearly. With my current condition, if I went deep diving again, the pressure underwater could very likely cause a cerebral hemorrhage. I would die. … “Don’t be so damn ungrateful, Rosalind!” The market manager, Mary, suddenly snapped at me coldly. She’d always loved sucking up to rich people. Now she was practically bowing to Ryan and my parents with a flattering smile plastered across her face. But the second she looked at me, all that remained was contempt. “Mr. Miller and Mr. Carter are important people in Seattle.” “You’re just a fish seller. What are you acting so high and mighty for? If you save her, you’ll get money and your old life back. Why are you still making such a big deal out of this?” The people around us, clueless about the truth, immediately started whispering. “Isn’t that her sister? She’s really just going to let her die?” “Probably thinks the money isn’t enough.” “I heard she used to be a murderer.” Their stares pierced into me like needles. And the cruelest part was this— I was the one whose life had been destroyed. I was the one forced to take the fall for Sophia. Yet even now, everyone still believed I was the villain. I pulled off the ring and shoved it back into Ryan’s hand. Then I pointed to my hearing aid. “It’s not that I won’t save her.” “My ear is permanently damaged.” “If I force myself underwater, I could suffer a brain hemorrhage. I’ll die.” My mother Laura froze for a second. But in the very next moment, she collapsed onto the filthy floor covered in fish scales and dirty water and burst into hysterical sobs. “You spent eight years in prison, and you’re still this selfish?!” “You’d even fake a disability just to avoid responsibility!” “That’s Sophia! She’s your sister!” Father looked at me with utter disappointment. “How did I end up with a daughter like you?” “You’d leave someone to die and still stand here lying through your teeth. You’re vicious beyond belief.” Ryan’s eyes were bloodshot. Panicked, he dug a bank card out of his bag and shoved it into my hands. “Rosalind, I’m begging you…” “There’s five million dollars in that account.” “If you bring Sophia back, I’ll give you anything you want.” “We can even get remarried!” Hot tears splashed onto the back of my hand. But all I felt was unbearable pain. I suffered through eight years in prison, and Ryan never visited me once. And now, after finally seeing me again— it was still for Sophia. Still for the real killer. I swallowed the storm of emotions rising in my chest and pulled a medical report from my pocket. The diagnosis was written there in black and white: 【Severe Eardrum Perforation. Deep-Sea Diving Strictly Prohibited.】 But Ryan didn’t even look at it. He slapped the report out of my hand and completely lost control. “Enough!” “Rosalind, don’t you just want money? Name your price and I’ll pay it!” “Sophia doesn’t have time left! I’m begging you, okay?!” The next second, Mary suddenly rushed over and flipped my entire fish stall onto the ground. Fish and ice crashed everywhere. “Get out, you murderer!” “Don’t pollute our market!” “If you refuse to save her today, then don’t ever come back here again!” The crowd immediately joined in. Some spat at me and threw rotten vegetables. Others pulled out their phones to record. “Get out!” “Murderer!” “People like you don’t deserve to live!” I lowered my eyes to the medical report lying on the ground, smeared with dirt and footprints. And for the first time, everything felt absurd beyond words. For the past eight years, I had already lost everything. All I wanted was to live like a normal person. So why— why were they still refusing to let me go?

The feeling of being attacked from all sides nearly crushed me. I couldn’t stay there another second. I could only shove through the crowd and flee the seafood market in humiliation. All the way home, strangers held up their phones and filmed me. Those looks of disgust, contempt, and hatred cut into me like knives. By the time I made it back to my tiny rental apartment, my back was already drenched in cold sweat. But before I could even catch my breath, my phone suddenly began vibrating nonstop. News notifications flooded the screen one after another. #MurdererSisterRefusesToSaveMissingDiver# #HeiressInCriticalDangerAsBiologicalDaughterColdlyStandsBy# #RyanOffersFiveMillionRewardToFindExWifeDiverAndSaveFiancée# I froze. Then I tapped on one of the livestream links. On the screen, Ryan was standing by the ocean. The sea wind whipped through his hair. That face I had once loved so desperately now looked twisted with anguish. In front of the cameras, my mother Laura was crying so hard she could barely stand. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry everyone… for taking up public resources…” “But I really have no other choice…” “Eight years ago, Rosalind caused a diver’s death over gold and was sentenced to prison. I thought she’d changed after all these years…” “I never expected her to still be this cold-hearted…” “Now Sophia’s life is hanging by a thread. Rosalind could save her, but she’s hiding on purpose and refusing to come out…” Father held Laura upright and bowed deeply toward the camera. “Please help us.” “If anyone can find Rosalind, we’re willing to offer a one-million-dollar reward.” The livestream exploded instantly. Comments flooded the screen at terrifying speed. “Expose her!” “People like this deserve punishment!” “Anyone know where she lives? Let’s drag this bitch out together!” “Trash like her should die!” My hands turned colder and colder around my phone. I had never imagined— they would take things this far. Just then— violent banging suddenly erupted outside my door. BANG! BANG! BANG! Before I could react, the already rotting wooden door was kicked open. My landlord stormed in with a crowd of people behind him. Dozens of phone flashlights instantly lit up my face. “They found her!” “She really was hiding here!” “Damn, she looks harmless, but she’s actually a murderer!” They flooded into my tiny apartment. My table was overturned. Dishes shattered across the floor. Someone deliberately dumped garbage onto my bed. I tried to stop them, but two large men pinned me down immediately. “Stay still!” “Apologize to your parents!” “Say you’re a bitch! Say you betrayed your sister!” Humiliation swallowed me whole like a tidal wave. My hair was yanked back as they forced me onto my knees. Phone cameras were shoved inches from my face. And then— the crowd suddenly parted on its own. My parents walked in. For one ridiculous moment, I actually thought— they were finally willing to believe me. But the next second, Father’s face darkened as he pulled out a thick coil of rope from behind his back. He glared at me through clenched teeth. “Tie her up!” “If she won’t go willingly, then drag her there!” I jerked my head up, almost unable to believe what I was hearing. “Dad?! Do you even hear yourself?!” “I already told you my ear is damaged! I can’t dive! I’ll die!” Then I turned desperately toward my mother. “Mom… doesn’t my life matter too?” “For Sophia, are you really willing to force me to my death?” Laura’s reddened eyes avoided mine, hesitation flashing briefly across her face. But only for a moment. Soon, that hesitation was replaced by cold resolve. “Sophia may not be our biological daughter.” “But she’s a thousand times kinder than you ever were.” “For the past eight years, she stayed by our side and took care of us in your place!” “And what about you?” “You’re a murderer who went to prison!” It felt like my heart was being torn open. So in their eyes, the daughter who sacrificed eight years of her life for Sophia was nothing but a stain. Disposable trash they could throw away at any moment. “I didn’t kill anyone!” I struggled violently and screamed the words out. “There was more to what happened back then!” “Why won’t any of you ever believe me?!” But no one cared. And just as despair was about to swallow me whole— Ryan suddenly walked in from outside. There was a high-voltage stun baton in his hand. Those eyes that once looked at me with tenderness were now terrifyingly cold. “Rosalind, don’t force me.” “For Sophia, there’s nothing I won’t do.” The next second, without a moment of hesitation, he slammed the stun baton hard into my back. Violent electricity tore through my body instantly. My entire body convulsed. And then my vision went completely black.

When I opened my eyes again, I had already been thrown onto the deck of a salvage ship. All around me was the dark, violent ocean. The freezing sea wind lashed endlessly against my face. My entire body still felt numb, and the sting from the electric shock lingered across my back. Ryan stood in front of me. His expensive coat whipped wildly in the wind. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with agitation. “Quit pretending to be unconscious.” “Get in the water and bring Sophia back up.” When I still didn’t respond, he clenched his jaw and softened his tone slightly. “Rosalind, I’ve already hired a lot of divers, but none of them are as capable as you. Even the coast guard can’t compare.” “Just listen to me. If you save her, I’ll remarry you.” “You’ll never have to do that filthy kind of work again.” Filthy. The moment I heard that word, my heart twisted painfully. Half a year ago, when I first got out of prison, I had still foolishly believed things might return to the way they were before. That night, I secretly went back to the family villa. Through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw the house glowing with warm light. My parents, Ryan, and Sophia were gathered around the dining table, laughing as they raised their glasses together. Like a real, happy family. And me— I stood outside in the snow like a homeless stray. A ruined woman who had spent eight years in prison for someone else. A criminal abandoned by the entire world. I didn’t even have the courage to walk through the door. That was the moment I finally understood. From beginning to end, there had never been a place for me in that family. … Slowly, I came back to myself. My eyes landed unintentionally on a photograph in Ryan’s hand. It was a candid shot from a beach volleyball game. In the picture, Sophia stood in the middle of the crowd wearing a fitted diving tank top, smiling brilliantly beneath the sun. But the most glaring thing— was the scar on her right shoulder. My pupils contracted violently. And in an instant, my memories were dragged back ten years. Back then, I was the captain of the diving team. Ryan and Sophia were both on my team. That day, a sudden underwater current hit without warning. The situation turned deadly in seconds. I immediately signaled everyone to retreat. But the accident still happened. In the chaos, I shoved Ryan and Sophia toward safety with everything I had. And then I was swept away by the current myself. Later, I was rescued from a deserted island after being unconscious for three full days. When I finally returned home, Sophia was the first to rush over and throw her arms around me, crying so hard her face was soaked with tears. “Rosalind! You’re finally back!” “This is all my fault…” “If I hadn’t failed to hold onto you, none of this would’ve happened…” “Thank God I managed to save Ryan…” At the time, I hadn’t noticed anything strange. Not until now. Only now did I finally understand. During the three days I was missing, Sophia had stolen my place and become Ryan’s savior. And I— became the person responsible for putting everyone in danger. No wonder Ryan later destroyed my life for her without hesitation. So everything had already gone wrong that long ago. How ridiculous. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, my voice hoarse. “I already told you…” “I can’t dive anymore!” “My ear can’t handle deep-sea pressure!” “I’ll die from a brain hemorrhage!” Ryan’s expression visibly shifted. For a brief second, hesitation flickered across his eyes. But the very next moment, Father suddenly stormed over and kicked me hard in the chest. “Enough!” “How long are you going to keep pretending?!” “Rosalind, you’re rotten to the core! You’re nothing but trash!” “You’d even fake a disability just to avoid responsibility!” The force of the kick sent me crashing onto the deck. Pain exploded through my chest so violently I could barely breathe. Not far away, Mother Laura had already broken down completely. “Oh God…” “Sophia is such a kind girl…” “If something really happened to her, what would we do…” She knelt on the deck with her hands clasped together, praying over and over. But her prayers had never once been for me. All she wanted was for Sophia to come back alive. I looked at this so-called family in front of me— and suddenly, all of it felt absurd beyond words. Just then, the captain hurried over. “Mr. Miller.” “According to the tracking data, Ms. Sophia disappeared in this area.” “Based on the timing, her oxygen supply can last thirty more minutes at most.” That sentence completely shattered the last thread of Ryan’s restraint. He spun around and roared at the bodyguards. “What the hell are you waiting for?!” “Put the diving gear on Rosalind!”

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My husband’s mistress complained that our daughter snubbed her by refusing to touch her food. That night, he ripped out Lily’s tongue — and served it to her as dinner. I snapped. I severed Amber’s tendons , hands and feet,then ripped her womb out and fed it to the dogs. I wanted her to feel exactly what I felt. Everyone thought Ethan Cole would kill me for it. Instead, he locked me in a psychiatric facility for two years — then shoved our daughter’s ashes in my face and made me sign the papers. “The Cole family doesn’t keep dogs that bite. Die in here, or crawl out and disappear.” After that, I was gone. Completely. Until three years later — when I inherited my father’s empire, every piece of it, legit and underground — and came back to find Amber still breathing. She slapped me the second she saw me. “Oh my God, Zoe. You’re alive? Could’ve sworn you’d be rotting in a gutter somewhere by now.” I smiled. Grabbed her forearm. And snapped it. “Funny — you forgot what I’m capable of. Let me jog your memory.” Amber screams like something dying. Her little entourage loses their minds — pointing, shoving, screeching all at once. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” “Do you have any idea who she belongs to?!” Some guy rushes forward to pull Amber away from me. I plant my foot in his chest and send him flying. Amber’s ghost-white, drenched in cold sweat, but she still manages to point at me with her good hand. Shaking. “Zoe! You crazy bitch! You actually—” “What? Surprised I would?” I cut her off. Drop her arm. Watch her stumble backward, clutching the twisted mess of it. “Three years, and the only thing Ethan taught you is how to talk shit? That’s it?” Dead silence. Ethan Cole’s name hits the room like a kill switch. The noise cuts out almost entirely. Amber’s voice cracks. Pitches high. Desperate. “Ethan’s going to make you pay for this! You hear me?! You’re DEAD!” I pull an antibacterial wipe from my bag. Clean each finger. Slow. Deliberate. Like I just touched something diseased. “Then tell him to come. I’ve been dying to ask how he raised you to be this useless. All bark. No bite. Just a yappy little thing that can’t do anything but make noise.” Gasps ripple through the crowd. Everyone in this room knows. Amber is Ethan Cole’s. His untouchable. Even back when she was just a dirty little secret on the side, nobody dared cross her. Three years under his wing turned her into one of the most dangerous women in this city. And I just shattered her arm and spat in both their faces. She’s shaking. Rage. Tears and sweat running together. Pathetic. “You’re NOTHING! A thrown-out ex-wife! A goddamn mental patient! Who the fuck do you think you are, putting your hands on me?!” I step forward. She scrambles back. Terror flooding her eyes. “Amber. Want me to remind you what it felt like? When the dogs got into you? Because I remember every second. And I can do it again.” Every drop of color drains from her face. Like she’s seen a ghost. Screaming, stumbling backward. “Someone grab her! Get this psycho away from me!” People shift. Nobody steps forward. Then the crowd parts on its own. Tall. Familiar. Flanked by bodyguards. Ethan Cole. Amber spots him and collapses into full hysterics. Throwing herself at him. “Ethan! She broke my arm! Oh God it hurts—” His eyes land on my face. Hold for one second. Brow tightening. Then he looks down at Amber — sobbing, shaking against his chest — and reaches for her. But not to comfort her. He grips her dislocated forearm. She gasps. Crack. She shrieks. Goes limp. He catches her. Pulls her close. “Shh. You’re fine.” His voice — dead flat. But the look he gives me is pure murder. “Zoe.” My name. Even. Measured. The pressure behind it could crack stone. “Three years gone, and you come back swinging like this? Hell of a homecoming gift.” I look at him. I think about the windowless days in that facility. I think about him forcing Lily’s ashes into my hands and making me sign away everything. I let my lips curl. No warmth behind it. “That was just the appetizer. You want the main course? I can serve it right now.”

Amber wails louder into Ethan’s chest. “Ethan it hurts so bad — she’s completely lost it — just kill her already!” He pats her back. Twice. Then keeps his eyes on me. “Seems those years locked up didn’t teach you a damn thing, Zoe. If anything, you got dumber. Bolder. Stupider.” I toss the used wipe into the nearest trash can. Look him dead in the eye. “That’s hilarious coming from the guy who let his whore get his own daughter killed. You wanna talk about stupid? Let’s talk about stupid.” “You—!” Vein pops at his temple. His arm crushes tighter around Amber. She yelps — but doesn’t dare say a word. “Take that back. Apologize to Amber.” His voice drops into command mode. Low. Absolute. “Then break your own hand. I might — might — let you crawl out of here still breathing.” I laugh. Loud. Right in his face. Like he just said the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life. “Ethan. Sweetie. You actually still think you’re God in this city?” I step into his space. Ignore the bodyguards going tense all around me. “You want me to apologize?” I point at Amber. Sneering. “Tell that bitch to give my daughter her tongue back first.” Amber shrinks behind him. Trying to disappear. His face goes black. Like a storm about to break. “Lily brought that on herself! She pissed Amber off!” The way he says it. Casual. Offhanded. Like he’s talking about a spilled drink. Something inside me goes ice-cold. Lethal. “Over one bullshit made-up complaint — you ripped your own daughter’s tongue out of her mouth? Even the sickest, most fucked-up animal on this earth wouldn’t do that to its own young. You’re not even an animal, Ethan. You’re something worse. Something that shouldn’t exist.” That night. When they brought Lily back. Her mouth — a lake of blood. Her tiny body curled on the cold floor like a shattered doll. She was staring at the ceiling. Big eyes — nothing left in them but tears and terror. Already gone. Drowned in her own blood. No breath. And Ethan stood right there. Looking down at me — collapsed, destroyed — and said in that dead flat voice: “She won’t piss Amber off anymore.” That was the moment I knew. One of us was going to die. And it wasn’t going to be me. “Shut your MOUTH!” Ethan. Roaring. I hit the nerve. “You wanna play it this way?! FINE! We do it the hard way!” Hand raised. Signaling the guards. “Pin her down! She won’t do it herself — then you do it for her!” They close in around me. Amber’s mouth curves into a smile. Already tasting my blood on the floor. I don’t move. Don’t flinch. Just look at Ethan. “You actually think I’m still her? That scared little wife you pushed around? The one who couldn’t save her own baby?”

Ethan charges. Hand clamping around my throat. Eyes bloodshot. Nothing behind them but murder. “You really think I won’t, Zoe? You really think I give a shit?” Vision going dark. But I look right at him. And smile. Force the words through his grip. “Do it then… squeeze…” “…just like you watched Lily choke on her own blood.” Her name. His fingers loosen. Just a fraction. I drive my knee up between his legs. Hard as I can. He grunts. Grip gone. I stagger back. Gasping. Throat raw and burning. Guards swarm me. Arms wrenched behind my back. Face slammed into cold marble. Amber peeks out from behind him. Pure poison in her eyes. “Baby, are you okay? Make her kneel! Force that bitch to her KNEES!” He straightens. Fixes his collar. Looks down at me like I’m something on the bottom of his shoe. “You heard her. Amber doesn’t like you standing.” He crouches. Quiet. Clear. “Get on your knees. Apologize. Then smash the hand you touched her with.” Pause. “Or I dump Lily’s ashes in a pig trough. Your choice.” Lily. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Pinned flat. Can’t move. I can only wrench my head up and stare at him. That tiny girl. Who called me Mommy in her little voice. All that’s left of her now — a handful of ash. And he’s using even that. To break me. “You don’t deserve to be called her father. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her memory—” My voice is shredded. Blood on my lips. He scoffs. Amused. “Monster or man — wasn’t that your choice? You married me, Zoe. You picked this.” And he’s right. I fell for Ethan Cole when he was nothing. Broke. Empty pockets. Big mouth. I ignored my father’s warnings. Walked away from everything the Sinclair name meant. Poured it all into him — the connections, the resources, my own blood and sweat — built the throne he’s sitting on right now with my bare hands. And what did I get? My daughter slaughtered. Myself thrown out like garbage. “Hard way it is then.” He stands. Patience gone. Nods at the guard. The man grabs my right hand. Ethan watches. Eyes flat. Unreadable. My voice — raw. But steady. “You sure you wanna go there, Ethan? You really sure?”

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Eight years since I was cast out of Olympus, and Ares finally found me — here, at the wind-scoured edge of the mortal realm. He found me looking wrecked, surrounded by eight children. “Thena…” His voice cracked. His eyes went red at the rims. “Weren’t you the one who despised children? The one who swore she’d stand at Father’s right hand and counsel the gods?” I was chewing dried bark. Without a word, I reached into the mud and hauled two filthy children out by the backs of their tunics, then turned and called the rest of them home. Aphrodite stepped into my path, tears catching the light, voice breaking. “Sister. It was Ares himself who convinced Father and Mother to drug you. Apollo switched the bridal chariot — Aphrodite rode away in yours, saffron-veiled and unrecognized, while you were sent in hers.” Apollo stood at her side, her hand loosely held in his, expression unreadable. He was waiting, perfectly still, for me to erupt in fury. Ares’s tone turned cold. “The mortal was rough, yes — but he looked after Aphrodite when she had nowhere to go. He was decent enough. You endured some hardship. Don’t make a spectacle of yourself.” Eight years ago, Aphrodite had returned to Zeus’s halls on Olympus to reclaim her birthright as the true daughter. She told everyone I — the false daughter — had barred her from the gates. These eight years were the lesson they decided I needed to learn. “Sister.” Aphrodite’s smile was patient, almost gentle. “The man is dead now. We’ve come to bring you home. But these children are low-born — you cannot take them with you. They’ve caused you nothing but suffering. So let’s simply kill them.” I looked up, startled. Kill them. All of them. I glanced around. The girl swinging from the branch overhead was the only daughter of Poseidon, Lord of the Deep. The one glaring at Aphrodite like she wanted to draw blood was Harmonia, daughter of Hephaestus, the great Forge-God. The two boys wrestling each other over a cricket cage were Castor and Pollux, the twins blessed by God. “You must be so relieved to finally be rid of them.” Aphrodite saw me react and smiled wider, dabbing prettily at her eyes. Behind her, Apollo’s guards closed their circle around me and the eight children. Swords came up. I pulled the farthest child into my arms and let out a slow breath. This one, above all, could not be harmed. Poseidon had carried his bloodline through five generations without a daughter. This girl was the miracle his entire household had prayed for across lifetimes. Every member of Poseidon’s domain was a gloriously unstoppable force — not one of them safe to cross. “What — you’d rather they live?” Apollo’s eyes were arctic, the cold radiating off him like a drawn blade. “Thena. Do you truly intend to drag eight strays back to Olympus with you?” I moved fast and pressed my hand over Harmonia’s mouth before she could open it. That girl’s tongue could flay stone. “Is Sister ashamed?” Aphrodite tilted her head, eyes soft with performed sympathy. “Apollo holds no grudge about your history. Once you come home with us, he’s willing to receive you into his sanctuary.” The tone was charity. She delivered it like a gift from the Fates themselves. “I’m not going back.” All of them stared. Ares’s face went hard. His voice dropped to a cutting snarl. “You pull faces at Aphrodite the moment you see her. Have you forgotten every lesson Father’s house ever taught you?” I had forgotten more than lessons. I had forgotten the night the snow fell thick and white, and Ares walked away through it with Aphrodite sheltered against his side, never once looking back. I had forgotten how Aphrodite crushed my betrothal token under her heel while Apollo watched — and felt nothing. Eight years was more than enough to set all of it down. “Go ahead, then.” Apollo smiled, slow and cruel. “Thena. Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of playing the grieving widow. Addicted to suffering among mortals?” He looked at the children the way a god looks at something fouling his path. “None of them are mine,” I said flatly. “You cannot touch them. And you would be wise not to try.” God of Light or not — had he not noticed that not one of these children was the slightest bit afraid of him? They were simply ignoring him, wrapped up in their own games and quarrels. “You won’t even claim them, yet you’d die to protect them?” Apollo let out a cold laugh and drew his silver bow in one motion, levelling it at the smallest child. “I cannot try?” Something lurched in my chest. I lunged to block — and Ares’s hand cracked across my face, hard enough that my ears rang and sparks burst behind my eyes. “I thought you’d been forced into this life. Now I see you chose it willingly. You disgrace everything Father’s house stands for.” The sound of the slap rang out sharp and clear. Every child went still. The ringing in my ears settled into a low hum. I drew a slow breath. Something deep and heavy sank inside me. “Apollo.” My voice came out steady. “Look at this child. Does he not seem familiar? He is your royal kinsman’s son — blood of Olympus.” Oktos had moved fast — but not fast enough. The arrow had grazed his arm. A long, clean cut opened along the skin. Blood welled and dripped. He ran into my arms crying, his face drained white. I pulled the divine seal-token from his waist and held it high. “Look carefully.” The mark of Olympian blood. Aphrodite’s eyes went wide with something that looked almost like fear. Apollo raised his bow again. “My kinsman has no children.” “You can’t even recognize your own cousin, and they made you Zeus’s heir?” Harmonia’s face scrunched with withering contempt. She thrust out the Forge-Seal — the divine sigil her father Hephaestus had crafted. “My father is the Forge-God of Olympus. If you want to kill someone — come for me.” This time, Aphrodite didn’t bother with words. She slapped the Forge-Seal out of Harmonia’s hand. “Are all of these ‘proofs’ something Sister prepared in advance? A little theater for our benefit?”

I tore a strip from my robe and pressed it hard against Oktos’s wound, jaw tight. “Aphrodite. Wounding Olympian blood is a capital offence — even for you.” Ares waved a lazy hand. “Olympian blood. Thena, your performance is embarrassingly thin.” Aphrodite lifted her chin like a goddess who has just rendered a great service and took Apollo’s arm with both hands, leaning into him with practiced ease. From across the space between us, I held Apollo’s gaze. Steady. Unblinking. After a long moment, he spoke, face empty of expression. “Thena. You’ve learned to lie.” He had almost believed me. Aphrodite pressed her lips together and arranged her face into something wounded and uncertain. “Sister is having children impersonate Olympian blood. If word of this reaches Father Zeus, it will bring ruin down on all of us. She still hates me.” Both Apollo and Ares frowned. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Apollo pulled her close and pressed his lips to her brow. Ares, however, let his fury burn through what little reason he had left. “Eight years and you still haven’t learned your place! What exactly do you want, Thena? Aphrodite is the true daughter — you are the counterfeit! What right do you have to compete with her? What right do you have to resent her?” Each word landed like a blade finding a gap in armor. Then something warm closed around my cold fingers. “You used to have it very hard,” Harmonia said quietly. I pulled a smile from somewhere and gave it to her, then turned back and gathered myself. “Wait one quarter-hour. Then you’ll know whether I was lying.” One quarter-hour — the time every day when the children’s guardians came to collect them. The time when, on ordinary days, I would dust myself off and walk home unencumbered. “You’ve stalled long enough!” Ares’s fury was at its peak. Aphrodite stepped forward quickly, playing peacemaker. “Father’s house can certainly afford eight children. If Sister truly insists on sparing their lives… then let them live.” Apollo’s expression flickered, faintly displeased, but he gave a reluctant nod, his eyes already softening again as they found Aphrodite. “Whatever Aphrodite wants, I’ll go along with it.” Ares relented as well. My arms tightened around Oktos until my fingertips went white. “To the outside world, they can be called lost strays,” Aphrodite said pleasantly. “But Sister is returning to Olympus. She cannot remain entangled with these children — not even by a thread.” She drifted closer, eyes full of something that wasn’t quite a smile. “To make sure Sister remembers clearly — for every life we spare, we mark it on Sister’s body. One cut per child.” The moment the words left her mouth, all eight children surged around me. “How dare you — all three of you!” “Athena is brilliant — even my royal father has praised her wisdom before all of Olympus! How dare you treat her this way! I’ll tell him at once and bring her home with me. She won’t suffer another moment of your cruelty!” “My mother is waiting for Thena to teach her to play the lyre. You are not allowed to hurt her!” “If you have any courage at all, wait your quarter-hour! Using us as threats against her — you’re cowards! When Poseidon arrives, I’d like to see who among you dares lay a hand on her!” Within moments, all of them were seized — gagged, bound, forced to their knees in the dirt. But the quarter-hour was up. “Lady Athena!” Diomedes wrenched his horse to a halt, vaulted from the saddle, and put himself between us with wide, furious eyes. “Stand down! Who are you people?” I looked past him. No one else. My heart dropped into my stomach. “You came alone?” Diomedes’s jaw was tight, voice rough and low. “A wave of chaos spirits surged at the eastern border — origin unknown. Lord Poseidon led the others to drive them back. They haven’t returned.” Border unrest. The escort the twin realms sent for Castor and Pollux would be blocked as well. “Stop playing games.” Apollo’s expression was complicated, something shifting beneath the surface of it. When he spoke again, his voice had roughened almost imperceptibly. “Thena. Are these children truly worth this much to you? Worth your life? You’d go to every length to save them?”

The smile froze on Aphrodite’s face. She gripped Apollo’s hand tight beneath the folds of her golden robe. He didn’t react. She cut a sharp glance at me, then turned to Diomedes with a gasp, one hand flying to her mouth. “Diomedes — aren’t you dead? No wonder Sister refuses to leave with us!” Apollo’s gaze went dark and unreadable. Cold in a way that made the air feel thinner. “Don’t stay here,” I said to Diomedes. “Find Poseidon. Or Heracles. Bring them back.” Both figures were legendary — bearers of divine honors directly given by Zeus, never to be set aside. Apollo would know them on sight. Diomedes startled, then immediately moved to remount. Apollo moved without warning. Before anyone could react, he was across the ground, silver arrows loosed, knocking Diomedes off his horse — the shafts aimed at his heart. “Apollo, stop — he is a guardian of the mortal realm!” The words tore out of me. The god didn’t listen. Diomedes twisted, dodging the killing shots — but he was one against many. Apollo’s guards drove their blades in. One. Then another. Blood hit my face. I stood there with my mouth open, mind blank. “Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t deserve this!” No one listened. They pulled their blades free. Diomedes knelt on one knee in the dirt, bleeding from a dozen wounds, still trying to hold himself upright. Aphrodite’s guard stepped on the back of his neck and drove his forehead into the ground. Apollo stepped back with an expression of pure distaste. “Sister, that was no guardian. He drew arms against Zeus’s chosen heir. He’s an assassin.” Aphrodite’s smile grew brighter by the moment. Beside me, a blade rose, pale and cold in the light. “Sister should think carefully. These eight children — are you saving them or not?” “I’m saving them.” Eight cuts won’t kill me. These eight years, their families had looked after me in ways that had no name for it. Four cuts came down. The iron smell of blood thickened in the air until it was hard to breathe through. Ares grabbed the blade from the nearest guard, the vein at his temple pulsing. “Thena! You would still save them?!” Somewhere behind me, a child was crying, small and broken. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes. Each breath came in pieces. “I’ll save them. And I’m not going back to Father Zeus’s house.” Fury cracked through Ares like a thunderbolt. He drove four more cuts across my body, voice like hammered iron. “Whether you go back is not your decision. What you owe Aphrodite — what you owe this family — you haven’t finished paying it.” I swallowed the sound that tried to come out. Both hands found the ground. I pressed myself up, slowly, until my back was straight. Aphrodite watched my desperate, ragged breathing and looked genuinely pleased. “Ares, look — Sister is bleeding so much below. Is she… is she with child? We shouldn’t force her back to Olympus in this condition, I shouldn’t have pushed her—” I looked down, dazed. It was Oktos’s blood. Apollo turned sharply, jaw set. Two words, barely audible through his clenched teeth. “Get rid of it.” The guards obeyed immediately. They seized my arms and wrenched them back. Forced my abdomen bare. Fists came in. I could only make sounds I didn’t choose to make, feeling like everything inside me had been displaced. I couldn’t form a single word. “Nonsense — Lady Athena is pure. There is no child!” Diomedes’s mouth was full of blood. He held on, and he held his ground. Aphrodite laid one hand across the throat of the nearest child, fingers curling slowly. “Nonsense?” She glanced at Diomedes’s sudden tension. “If they aren’t Sister’s children, why do you care so much what happens to them?”

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On the eve of our engagement party, my fiancé, Asher Sterling, and his female “best friend,” Harper Sloan, flashed a marriage license in the middle of a nightclub. Asher looked completely unbothered, waving his hand dismissively. “Relax, Elena. It’s just a prank. We’re going to annul it tomorrow morning. Everyone knows Harper and I are just buddies.” His tone was light, as if he were talking about the weather. But in Vegas, a marriage license is never just a piece of paper. The real trouble lies in the legal process required to revoke it, and Asher clearly had no intention of taking this seriously. Harper, looking like she was deliberately trying to provoke me, blinked her doe eyes. “Hey, don’t be such a buzzkill. You all witnessed us getting officially married. Aren’t you going to give us wedding gifts?” Sitting on the other side of the booth, Carter Brooks burst into laughter. He was Asher’s frat brother from college. “Sure thing. My real estate project in the Hamptons just got approved. I’ll put that up as a gift. But in Vegas, we play by Vegas rules—if you want this big gift, you have to win it from me at the table.” I didn’t speak. I just silently sat down on the velvet sofa and picked up a martini. Seeing Asher’s frowning face, I gently swirled my glass and flashed a perfect, polite smile. “Aren’t we rolling dice for wedding gifts? Count me in.” As I settled in, the noisy VIP booth fell into a momentary, deathly silence. Asher reached out, trying to wrap his arm around my waist, his tone filled with his usual superiority and dismissal. “Stop it, Elena. We’re just drunk and joking around. You should go back to the hotel and rest.” I shifted backward, dodging his touch, and swept a cold glance toward Harper. “Keep your hands to yourself, Asher. Legally speaking, Mrs. Sterling is sitting over there.” Asher’s face instantly darkened, and his voice turned impatient. “I’ve told you a million times, Harper is just my best friend. If I actually wanted to date her, do you think you would have had a chance these past few years?” I didn’t respond. I had heard this gaslighting script too many times. Because of Harper, he “forgot” our anniversary dinner. Because of Harper, he would dump me on the side of the road at 3 AM just to pick her up because she was drunk. And now, impulsively getting married in Las Vegas. All explanations converged into one classic excuse: We are just friends. The atmosphere grew stiff, so Harper leaned in. She sat directly on Asher’s lap. “Alright, don’t ruin the vibe.” She turned to me, smiling harmlessly. “Elena, there’s really nothing going on between me and Asher. We were just drunk and impulsive tonight. The lawyers will handle it first thing in the morning. If you’re upset, I’ll drink a few extra shots to apologize, okay?” Saying that, she grabbed a bottle of champagne from the table and chugged it. Asher’s expression changed. He immediately reached out to stop her, scolding loudly. “Are you crazy? Why are you drinking so fast!” When he turned back to look at me, his eyes were freezing cold. “Elena Vance, don’t go too far.” I couldn’t help but let out a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s fine. I’m not someone who can’t take a joke. Since everyone says I don’t understand you two, I’ll join you in being crazy tonight.”

The people in the booth were stunned for a moment, then immediately started smoothing things over. “That’s the spirit, Elena! We’ve wanted you to hang out with us for ages. It’s Asher’s fault for always hiding you away.” Carter winked at the couple. “Asher, get over there and take care of your girl.” Asher sneered, leaning back deep into the sofa. He pulled Harper back onto his lap, his large hand resting on her waist. “Don’t look at me. Tonight, she’s my legal wife.” Seeing that I maintained a faint smile and showed no signs of causing a scene, the group started to cheer. “Alright, alright! Happy wedding! How are we playing?” Harper had played with them for a long time. She laughed and explained. “Same as always. Dice game. But since Elena is here, and she probably doesn’t get the complex rules, let’s keep it simple—High or Low.” “The loser not only has to drink, but to celebrate my marriage to Asher, they have to add a bet to the pot.” The crowd got even more excited. “That’s not fair, is it? Everyone in our circle knows Harper and Asher are the best duo here. You two have husband-and-wife telepathy now; how are we supposed to win?” Asher’s hand stayed on Harper’s waist. He hadn’t looked at me for even half a second. He scoffed. “Then you can just fold now.” Carter, feeling competitive, took off the Patek Philippe Nautilus watch on his wrist. “I’ll start with a chip. Just won this watch at a Sotheby’s auction last week.” The electronic dance music in the club got louder, pumping adrenaline into everyone’s veins. Others started taking off expensive jewelry and luxury watches. Another socialite named Sienna threw down a Van Cleef & Arpels diamond bracelet. Asher didn’t say anything. He undid his custom Hermès cufflinks and tossed them on the table. My gaze froze for a second. Those were the engagement gifts I had given him. The back was engraved with our initials. Harper was still buzzing with excitement. She squeezed Asher’s hand and pouted. “Honey, I want that bracelet. Win it for me.” I said nothing. I took off the full-diamond studs from my ears and gently placed them on the table. “Happy wedding to you both. I’m in.”

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“Ms. Hayes, as you requested, we have prepared a body identical to yours. It will be delivered on time to your wedding with Mr. Vanderbilt in ten days.” Hearing the confirmation from the person on the other end of the line, Vanessa Hayes tightened her grip on the phone. The tension that had been coiling in her chest for days finally loosened, just a little. “Thank you. Your service has been excellent.” “This is what we do. Rest assured, the body’s realism is sufficient to pass a preliminary visual inspection by a coroner. It will not raise any immediate suspicion.” … Before ending the call, Vanessa went over a few more details with them, confirming every last point. Only then did she push the door open and walk back into the private club’s VIP room. The room had been filled with the loud, brash laughter of young money. The moment she pushed the door open, it was as if someone had hit a mute button. Benedict Vanderbilt, who was sitting at the head of the table, stood up immediately. He took her hand, his eyes full of concern, and quickly signed in ASL. “Sweetheart, what took you so long? Are you feeling unwell? Let me take you home to rest.” He was already putting an arm around her waist, ready to leave. Vanessa looked at his deep blue eyes, which held only her reflection, and a bitter ache rose in her throat. She shook her head gently, mouthing her reply. “I’m fine. Stay with your friends. I don’t want to ruin the mood.” Benedict double-checked with her several times before he finally led her back to her seat beside him. The room’s atmosphere heated up again. A man named Parker lifted his whiskey glass, grinning widely at Benedict. “Hey, Benedict, you and Vanessa are about to tie the knot. So what are you going to do about that little assistant you’ve got stashed in your downtown apartment?” Vanessa’s nails dug silently into her palms. The man next to Parker elbowed him in the ribs. “Dude, watch it. Vanessa is sitting right here.” Parker just shrugged, not caring at all. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like she can hear us. I’m just curious. I want to know how our Wall Street golden boy plans to handle his little pet.” Everyone at the table turned their eyes to Benedict. “I’m keeping her.” Benedict used his fork to expertly shell the lobster tail on Vanessa’s plate, arranging the snow-white meat neatly in front of her before he continued, completely unhurried. “She’s nothing but a bit of fun. The only woman I love is Vanessa.” “But if Vanessa ever found out, she would leave me. So I’ve kept it well hidden. Even after we’re married, she will never find out.” He then swept a warning glare around the table. “All of you—keep your mouths shut. If anyone breathes a word of this in front of Vanessa, don’t blame me for erasing you completely from New York’s social circle.” These men all moved in the same circles of wealth and privilege. The “a wife at home and a mistress on the side” routine was nothing new to them. Hearing Benedict’s words, they just clicked their tongues in amusement. “Man, you must be exhausted, having to hide a mistress like that. My wife stopped caring what I do in Palm Beach a long time ago.” “You think Benedict is like you, spreading it around everywhere? The man’s just keeping things fresh, get it?” One of them, eyes bright with gossip, leaned in closer. “Benedict, since Vanessa can’t hear—have you and your little assistant ever, you know, in that penthouse of yours on the Upper East Side…” He trailed off, leaving the rest to everyone’s imagination. Benedict let out a short laugh, twisting the engagement ring on his finger as he answered casually. “Of course. It’s very— stimulating.” The room erupted in loud wolf whistles and applause as everyone at the table gave him a thumbs-up. “You’re the man!” “I bet you’ve christened every corner of that apartment, haven’t you, buddy?” “Looks like marrying Vanessa won’t slow down your ‘private projects’ with that assistant one bit.” The flattery poured in one after another. Not a single person noticed that Vanessa’s knuckles were white around her knife and fork. No one knew that her surgery in Switzerland had been a complete success. Her hearing had been restored for a while now. And even more, no one knew that she had already decided to leave. She was never going to marry Benedict Vanderbilt. On the day of the wedding, all that would be left for Benedict was a “body” that looked exactly like her. Out of the corner of his eye, Benedict saw the untouched lobster meat on her plate. He immediately signed. “Sweetheart, why aren’t you eating?” Vanessa looked up at the man before her, at his eyes full of concern, and forced a stiff smile. She signed back. “What were you all talking about? You seemed so excited.” Benedict smiled tenderly. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her skin. “They were admiring us. They were saying we’ll be the most loving couple in all of New York, that our wedding will be the legend of the social season.” He made the sign for “I love you,” his gaze focused and deeply affectionate. The other people in the room exchanged meaningful looks. Vanessa saw the mockery in their eyes as clear as day. Her heart felt as if it had been dropped into a glass of martini, full of ice. Bone-chillingly cold. They were clearly talking about his dirty affairs with his mistress, yet he could look her in the face and say they were admiring their love. Benedict, I never knew you could lie without even blinking.

Vanessa put down her fork and knife and stood up. She didn’t want to hear another word of these hollow lies. Seeing her rise, Benedict quickly got up with her, signing to ask what was wrong. Vanessa shook her head and spoke softly—she knew he could read lips. “I’m tired. I want to go home and rest.” She didn’t wait for Benedict’s response and walked straight out of the private room. Stepping onto Sixth Avenue, Vanessa looked up. On the giant digital screen across the street in Times Square, the video of Benedict proposing to her was still playing on a loop. “Vanessa Hayes, marry me!”—those words were plastered boldly across the center of the screen. Tourists passing by were stopping to look up at the screen, sighing with envy. “Oh my god, I heard that Mr. Vanderbilt’s girlfriend is deaf. So when he proposed, he rented out the biggest screen in all of Times Square just so she could clearly see the words ‘Marry Me.’ After she said yes, he kept the video running for an entire month so the whole world could witness it.” “That man must love his girlfriend so much. He’s going to be the perfect husband.” As the subject of all this talk, Vanessa just curled her lips in a sardonic smile. Just one week ago, she would have reacted exactly like these strangers—believing wholeheartedly in Benedict’s love, thinking he would be a wonderful husband. She had grown up bouncing between foster homes. At the age of nine, a severe fever and medical negligence had cost her her hearing permanently. From that point on, she became the target of relentless bullying at school. Day after day of cruelty made her build high walls around her heart, sealing herself firmly inside. That was when Benedict appeared. He fell for her at first sight and pursued her with a textbook example of relentless passion. But she had seen these kinds of performances many times before. He confessed his feelings ninety-nine times, and she rejected him ninety-nine times. Until that day. They were inspecting a construction site downtown together when the scaffolding suddenly collapsed. Without a moment’s hesitation, he shielded her with his own body. A steel rebar pierced straight through his shoulder blade, yet he held his protective position, not moving an inch. When he woke up in the hospital, still extremely weak, the very first thing he did was struggle to make a single sign. “You’re safe… thank god.” It was then that she realized, just to be able to truly communicate with her, he had hired the best teacher and spent three months in intensive American Sign Language training. The walls around her heart cracked open for him in that moment. Later, the wound left a permanent, circular brown scar. Every time she saw that scar, her heart would flutter uncontrollably. For the five years they were together, he was so good to her it was beyond reproach, making her feel his sincerity with absolute certainty. Even when the elder members of the Vanderbilt family objected in every way possible, he still defied the immense pressure and proposed to her. So that she could hear Benedict say “I do” with her own ears at the wedding, and to spare him from being torn between his family and her, she had risked the possibility of dying on the operating table and flown to Switzerland for the most advanced experimental hearing restoration treatment. God must have been looking out for her. The surgery was a success. She planned to surprise Benedict on their wedding day, so she kept the fact that her hearing had returned a secret. She had fantasized about it more times than she could count—how overjoyed Benedict would be when he found out she could hear at the ceremony. But the last thing she ever expected was that on the day she returned from Europe, she would overhear Benedict on the phone with his female assistant. The two of them were flirting, completely unrestrained and explicit beyond belief. That was when Vanessa realized the truth. He had been messing around with his assistant behind her back for a long time. Their affair had been going on for an entire year, and she had been completely in the dark! A violent pain tore through her heart. She crouched down, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Benedict’s dismissive word from the private room echoed over and over in her head. “Keeping her.” Even though they were about to get married, he had absolutely no intention of ending that affair. Did Benedict think that just because she couldn’t hear, he could fool her for a lifetime? The cold winter wind sliced through the collar of her coat. The chill seeped deep into her bones, but her mind only grew clearer. She would show Benedict with hard facts that lies always get exposed in the end. And she, Vanessa Hayes, would never tolerate betrayal.

Vanessa took a deep breath, forcing down the stabbing pain in her heart, and was about to stand up and go home. A pair of large hands caught her from behind. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you wait for me? Are you not feeling well today? Let me take you to try on your wedding dress. The custom gown from Paris has arrived. Let’s go see if you like it. If not, I’ll have the designer fly here immediately to make changes.” Benedict pulled her into his arms, ruffling her hair with doting affection. “I don’t want to go. You decide on the dress.” She was going to “leave” on the day of the wedding. It made no difference to her what that dress looked like. Benedict seemed to pick up on her coldness. He signed carefully, a hint of real panic in his eyes. “Vanessa, it feels like you’re not looking forward to our wedding at all. Are you… are you having second thoughts about marrying me?” Vanessa looked at the man in front of her. There was genuine fear in his expression. She felt a powerful urge to tell him. Yes, I’m not marrying you. You’re the one who cheated. You’re the one who trampled our love into the dirt. You’re the one who destroyed all my anticipation for this marriage. And now, you have the nerve to ask me that? But she wasn’t ready to lay her cards on the table just yet. Inside the high-end bridal boutique on Madison Avenue, the moment Vanessa and Benedict walked in, a sales associate pulled back the velvet curtain, revealing the wedding gown that had been waiting for her. “Ms. Hayes, the custom Zuhair Murad gown Mr. Vanderbilt ordered for you from Paris has arrived. Please, have a look and let us know if there’s anything that needs altering.” As soon as the associate finished speaking, the ASL interpreter standing by stepped forward and translated the words into sign language. Watching this, the other associates murmured among themselves, their voices brimming with envy. “Mr. Vanderbilt is so incredibly thoughtful. He even brought a sign language interpreter.” “That’s not all. Look at the main diamond on the bodice. That’s the ‘Heart of Dawn’ that Mr. Vanderbilt won at a Sotheby’s auction. He specifically instructed the designer to set it right over the heart of the dress.” “I also heard he paid a fortune to buy out the designer’s entire schedule for the year, just so he could focus solely on designing this one dress for Ms. Hayes.” The admiration in their voices made the corners of Benedict’s mouth curl up slightly. He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Vanessa’s waist. “Baby, do you like it?” Right over the heart of the dress was a pink diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg. The train stretched a full five yards, encrusted with countless smaller diamonds. Under the spotlights, the entire gown shimmered with a dizzying brilliance. Vanessa reached out and gently touched the skirt. There was no denying it. This dress suited her taste perfectly. When they were dating, she had mentioned countless times that her favorite color was pink and that her dream wedding dress was a glamorous gown with a long train. Benedict had carefully filed away every one of those details, and the result was this nearly perfect creation before her eyes. But it was a pity. No matter how beautiful the dress, no matter how dazzling the diamond, it couldn’t fill the crack in her heart. “Vanessa, look at the very center of the diamond. It’s engraved with ‘B & V forever.’” “Diamonds are forever. I had the initials of our names engraved there to show that my love for you is also eternal.” Vanessa’s gaze instinctively moved to the diamond. Right in the center, there was indeed a tiny line of letters engraved. She turned around to face him, looking straight into his eyes, which were overflowing with love. Her heart trembled slightly, and she asked in a low voice. “Is your love for me really eternal?” Benedict signed back urgently, as if afraid that a split-second delay might cause her to misunderstand. “I, Benedict Vanderbilt, will love Vanessa Hayes forever. In this life—no, for all eternity. I will never betray her. If I break this vow, may I lose my reputation and everything I own.” Such passionate words of devotion, yet they couldn’t warm a heart that had already gone completely cold. He had already broken his vow, and yet he was still performing for her. Wasn’t he tired? Vanessa looked away, unwilling to face his hypocritical face any longer. Benedict looked like he wanted to say something more, but his phone suddenly rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and his expression flickered. He strode a few paces away, away from anyone who might overhear, and took the call. When he came back, an apologetic look had settled on his face. “Sweetheart, something urgent just came up at the company. An emergency acquisition. I have to go back right away. You go ahead and try on the dress. Just tell the associates if you need anything changed. I’ll have my driver take you home when you’re done.” After finishing his signing, he didn’t even take the time to give her a hug like he usually did. He just hurried into his car, leaving her with nothing but a view of his back as he sped away. After Benedict left, the associates erupted in excited whispers. “Oh my god, that confession Mr. Vanderbilt just made was so touching. I’m practically in tears.” “He’s rushing off to handle a business deal worth tens of millions, but he still didn’t forget to carefully remind his fiancée about everything. What an incredible, perfect man.” Vanessa’s heart was filled with nothing but bitter irony. Benedict never used to leave her alone because of work. And besides, when he came back from taking that call, there was an unmistakable flash of desire in his eyes. How could it possibly be work? It was likely a booty call with his little mistress, Sabrina. Vanessa’s mouth twisted in a humorless smile as she turned and walked toward the exit. An associate hurried to stop her. “Ms. Hayes, you haven’t tried on the dress yet.” Vanessa shook her head calmly. “There’s no need to try it on.” On the day of the wedding, a bride’s “body” would be the only thing showing up. This dress was completely useless.

When she returned to the apartment on Park Avenue, her phone chimed with a notification. Vanessa tapped the screen. It was an iMessage from an unknown number. A photo. In the picture, Benedict was shirtless, his back facing the camera. Sabrina was wearing a strapless, fishtail-style wedding dress. The floor-length skirt had been pushed all the way up to her waist, her two smooth, slender legs wrapped tightly around Benedict’s toned waist. The pose was ambiguous to the extreme. Immediately after, another message came. A video. Sabrina’s face was flushed. She hooked her arms around Benedict’s neck, her voice breathy and broken, laced with post-coital laziness. “Benedict… my dress just arrived from Paris today, and you’ve already wrinkled it.” Benedict chuckled and leaned close to Sabrina’s ear. His voice was low and hoarse with lust. “You wanted this dress so I could see you in it, right?” “I already fulfilled your request—I had Vanessa’s wedding dress designer make you one, too. Tonight, shouldn’t you be fulfilling mine?” Sabrina let out a soft, coy gasp. The video cut off abruptly. As if that wasn’t enough, the sender added another text message. “Oops, almost forgot Ms. Hayes can’t hear. What a shame. I’ll make sure to add subtitles for her next time ;)” Vanessa’s knuckles went white as she gripped the phone.Tears streamed down her face, splashing onto the cold marble floor. She had never known that a human heart could be split in two. Having the same top-tier designer create wedding dresses for two different women—Benedict, is this what you call love? This kind of love was something she simply couldn’t bear. Something she didn’t even want. She forced down the searing pain in her chest and lifted a hand to wipe away her tears. The engagement ring on her ring finger flashed into her vision. Vanessa stared at it for a long moment. Then, without a second thought, she pulled it off and dropped it down the kitchen garbage disposal. This was the ring Benedict had personally visited Tiffany’s head designer to help design and learn from. After the design was complete, he had flown to Antwerp to pick the center diamond himself, and had completed the final setting under the guidance of a master craftsman. He had been personally involved in every step. When he proposed, he said that only a ring made by his own hands was worthy of their love. He told her that whenever she touched it, she would feel his heartbeat and his promise. But now, his love had gone bad. This ring had naturally lost its original meaning, too. It wasn’t until late at night that Benedict came back. Vanessa felt the mattress on his side of the bed dip. A mixed scent of “Jasmine Noir” perfume and post-coital musk wafted from him. The image of the two bodies tangled together in that video instantly flooded her mind. She couldn’t control it. She bolted up and rushed to the bathroom, retching. Seeing her so miserable, Benedict was frantic. He immediately tried to call the family doctor. “Sweetheart, did you eat something bad at dinner? Let me call Dr. Evans right away!” Vanessa, red-eyed, pressed her hand down on his to stop him. She mouthed the words. “I’m fine. I just… thought of some pictures and a video that made me sick.” Benedict crouched down beside her, patting her back with a pained, worried expression on his face. “Don’t look at those kinds of messes anymore. Seeing you like this breaks my heart.” As if afraid his signing wasn’t enough to convey his heartache, he took her hand and pressed it against his own chest, letting her feel his heart pounding fiercely. Vanessa’s gaze drifted downward instinctively. Her eyes immediately caught the distinct red marks peeking out from the open collar of his shirt. She was hit by another uncontrollable wave of nausea, gagging again. What kind of mental fortitude did Benedict possess, to be able to come to her covered in another woman’s marks and put on such a deeply affectionate act? Seeing this, Benedict grew even more anxious. “Who sent you those photos and videos? Who did this to my Vanessa? If I find out, I’ll make sure they pay!” A bitter smile touched Vanessa’s lips. Benedict, the person who did this to me is you. She didn’t want to look at that hypocritical face anymore. She pushed him out of the bedroom and locked the door. “Tonight, I want to sleep alone.” Benedict’s worried calls kept coming from outside the door. But she acted as if she hadn’t heard a thing, got straight into bed, and lay down. Benedict’s flippant words from the video kept echoing in her mind. After she got together with Benedict, he had promised to give her a kind of devotion unmatched anywhere in New York. Back then, she thought he was the knight who had rescued her from a world of gray silence. But now she could see the truth. He was the devil dragging her into an even deeper hell. He had given her a love carved into her very bones, and then delivered a killing blow straight to her soul. Vanessa closed her eyes. A tear slipped silently from the corner. If she could do it all over again, she would rather have never met Benedict Vanderbilt. The next morning, Vanessa opened the bedroom door to find Benedict leaning against the doorframe. There was a slightly wronged look on his face. “Sweetheart, why did you shut me out? Was it because I left you alone at the bridal shop yesterday? Are you mad at me? I swear, I really did have an emergency acquisition to deal with. Please, can you forgive me?” An emergency acquisition? Rushing off to sleep with Sabrina—to him, that probably did qualify as an “urgent project.” Vanessa didn’t expose his lie. She only had eight days left before she left. He would find out soon enough that she had known everything all along. She shook her head. “I’m not mad. Work is important. I understand.” Her calm, even tone made Benedict’s heart lurch with sudden anxiety. He immediately refuted her. “No! Of course my Vanessa is the most important thing! I will never leave you alone again.” After signing, he pulled her forcefully into his arms, as if wanting to fuse her into his very bones so they’d never be separated again. Vanessa didn’t respond. Never again? There would never be an “again” for them.

Maybe it was a guilty conscience. For the next few days, Benedict didn’t leave her side for a moment. He handled company business from home while double-checking the final details with the wedding planner. That changed when a charity gala was held at the Met. Benedict, as one of the main sponsors, had no choice but to attend. He insisted that Vanessa come with him. Before she could even refuse, he had already summoned his personal styling team to their door. It wasn’t until they arrived at the gala that Vanessa discovered Sabrina was also there. She was wearing a tight, deep-V Tom Ford gown that left little of her perfect figure to the imagination. Holding a glass of champagne, she walked up to them with a polished smile. “Mr. Vanderbilt. Ms. Hayes.” Vanessa studied the woman before her. Sabrina was poised and completely at ease, acting as if she and the woman who had sent those taunting messages last night were two entirely different people. Oscar-worthy acting, just like Benedict. Vanessa had clearly seen the flicker in Benedict’s eyes when they landed on Sabrina, the subtle roll of his Adam’s apple. Yet he kept a firm grip on her hand, only giving Sabrina a cold, impersonal nod—the perfect picture of a boss. As soon as people at the gala spotted Benedict, they flocked over with champagne glasses to network. A few wives of finance tycoons tried to chat with Vanessa. But she maintained her role as someone with no hearing, giving no reaction to any of the conversation around her. Benedict smiled and explained on her behalf to everyone. Then, worried she might be bored, he personally went to the refreshment table and selected her favorite macarons, placing a glass of sparkling water by her hand. The wives gushed with praise. “Benedict is truly the perfect gentleman.” “We’ve long heard that his devotion to his fiancée is on another level. Seeing it firsthand today, the rumors don’t do it justice.” Vanessa kept her eyes lowered. Her long lashes concealed the mockery in her gaze. Just as everyone was chatting, Benedict’s phone buzzed. He checked it, and his expression shifted slightly. With an apologetic tone, he said to the group, “Excuse me, everyone, there’s an urgent work matter I need to handle.” He didn’t forget to sign to Vanessa. “Sweetheart, something urgent came up. Sit here and wait for me. I’ll be right back.” Almost subconsciously, Vanessa swept her eyes across the ballroom. Sabrina was gone, too. A moment later, her own phone buzzed. Sabrina had sent her a message. It was a screenshot of a chat. In the screenshot, Sabrina had sent a photo of her bare back. The zipper of her gown was pulled all the way down, leaving everything to the imagination. Below the picture was the message. “Benedict, I can’t zip up my dress. Could you come help me?” Benedict had only replied with two short words. “Your location.” Immediately after, Sabrina sent another text. “He couldn’t even wait. Just took me in a private lounge on the third floor. There were waitstaff passing right outside in the hallway. So thrilling. He took me twice. My legs are so weak I can barely walk. It’s a feeling you could never give him.” “Oh, and we didn’t use protection. And it’s not the first time. He said if it happens, it happens, and I can keep it. For all I know, his future heir might already be inside me.” Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut, pressing hard against her chest to try and ease the tearing pain. He was so desperate he couldn’t even wait a few hours? Her phone buzzed again. She thought it was another round of provocation from Sabrina. Instead, it was an encrypted email from the special effects studio. “Ms. Hayes, your new identity has been prepared. We have booked you a flight to London departing at six p.m., five days from now. Please confirm once more whether to proceed with the final plan.” Vanessa opened her camera, aimed it at her own face, and recorded a short video. “I can confirm I’m leaving.” The words had barely left her mouth when a panicked voice sounded behind her. “Leaving? Vanessa, you’re leaving?”

Vanessa instinctively wanted to turn around but immediately remembered that her “deaf” status hadn’t been exposed yet. She forced herself to freeze. Benedict rushed around to face her, his eyes wild with genuine terror. “Sweetheart, you’re leaving me? Our wedding is right around the corner. Where are you going?” Seeing her absolute lack of reaction, Benedict snapped back to his senses and quickly repeated himself in sign language. Vanessa’s expression remained perfectly calm. “It’s a friend of mine. She’s leaving New York.” Benedict studied her face intently. Only after confirming that her expression was cool and she showed no signs of lying did he let out a long breath of relief. “Oh, thank god. Vanessa, do you have any idea how close my heart came to stopping just now? I honestly can’t even imagine how I would go on living if you ever left me.” Benedict held her tightly in his arms, his face etched with lingering fear. Listening to this deeply moving declaration, Vanessa’s heart was utterly unmoved. If you’re so terrified of me leaving, then why did you betray me? Was it because you thought I couldn’t hear, so you felt invincible? What a pity. I hate to disappoint you. The fear in Benedict’s heart hadn’t yet subsided when he wrapped his arm around her waist, ready to leave the gala. “Sweetheart, let’s go home. From this moment on, I won’t let you out of my sight for a single second.” “What about your assistant?” “She wasn’t feeling well. She already left early.” Hearing the lie roll so smoothly off his tongue, Vanessa felt nothing but biting sarcasm. Just as they reached the VIP parking area of the underground garage, Vanessa spotted Sabrina in a struggle with a man. The man had one hand clamped around Sabrina’s wrist, refusing to let her leave. His other hand was about to slide up her waist. Sabrina yanked herself free and whipped a hard slap across his face. Enraged, the man grabbed a champagne bottle from a nearby service cart and smashed it toward her. In that split-second, all Vanessa felt was the arm around her waist suddenly vanish. Benedict lunged forward and shielded Sabrina tightly in his arms. The bottle smashed hard against his shoulder. Sharp glass shredded through the expensive suit fabric and into his skin. Bright red blood instantly soaked into his white dress shirt. Benedict’s face darkened with a terrifying fury. First, he quickly checked that Sabrina in his arms was unharmed. Then he grabbed the man by the collar and slammed his fist into his face, punch after brutal punch. “Who the hell gave you the nerve to touch my woman! You’re dead!” As soon as the man got a clear look at Benedict’s face, he was so terrified he started begging for mercy and didn’t dare fight back. Off to the side, a shard of flying glass had cut a thin streak of blood across Vanessa’s cheek. But she felt nothing. She just stood there, silent and still, watching the enraged man. The scene before her eyes slowly merged with a memory. Five years ago, not long after she and Benedict had started dating, they had attended a similar gala. That was the first time she had appeared in public as Benedict Vanderbilt’s girlfriend. His reputation as a “devoted knight” hadn’t yet taken root in everyone’s mind. When people realized she couldn’t hear, she saw the contempt and mockery in their eyes with perfect clarity. After Benedict was pulled aside by a business partner to talk shop, a few men with bad intentions surrounded her. They all assumed she was nothing more than a temporary plaything for Benedict. Even though she couldn’t hear the words coming out of their mouths, she could read the taunting, lecherous intent written all over their faces. She wanted to call for help but was terrified of causing trouble for Benedict. All she could do was warn them off with her eyes, again and again. The only response she got was even deeper ridicule from the men. Just as one man’s hand was about to touch her cheek, Benedict drop-kicked the man several feet away. Then, his eyes blazing red with rage, he pinned the man to the ground and beat him bloody. Afterward, he ordered his assistants to use every means possible to bankrupt these men’s family businesses on Wall Street. From that point on, everyone knew the rule. Vanessa Hayes was Benedict Vanderbilt’s forbidden territory. No one was allowed to touch her. Now, the exact same scene was playing out. Except the woman he was shielding in his arms wasn’t her anymore.

On the way to the private hospital, Benedict finally noticed the cut on Vanessa’s cheek. After beating that man, he had been busy comforting the trembling Sabrina ever since. Once they arrived at the hospital, he completely ignored his own bleeding shoulder and insisted the doctor treat the wound on Vanessa’s face first. “The wedding is right around the corner. There can’t be a single flaw on my Vanessa’s face!” After saying that, he turned to her and signed, his eyes flooding with guilt. “Baby, this is all my fault. I only protected her just now because Sabrina is my subordinate. It was my duty as her employer. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” Vanessa didn’t answer. She just signaled to the doctor to ignore her wound and focus on treating Benedict’s shoulder. It wasn’t like she was even going to show up at that wedding. Whether there was a scar on her face or not didn’t matter. Benedict, however, took this as a sign that she was worried about him. Pure emotion swelled in his expression. The doctor cut away the custom-made dress shirt, soaked through with blood, exposing the ghastly wound underneath. Only then did Vanessa notice that the location of the wound was exactly the same spot as the scar left by the piercing rebar from that accident five years ago. Now, the circular scar that had witnessed the very beginning of their love was covered by a fresh new wound. There wasn’t a trace of it left to see. For a moment, she felt dazed. It seemed even God was sending a sign—their relationship was already a thing of the past. After leaving the hospital, Sabrina wrapped her arms around herself, trembling, and choked out the words to Benedict. “Benedict… tonight… can I stay at your place?” Seeing Sabrina in such a rare state of vulnerability, Benedict’s heart softened a little. He carefully watched Vanessa’s expression as he tentatively signed to her. “Sweetheart, my assistant Sabrina was really shaken up tonight. Would it be alright if she stayed at our place for one night? Just in the guest room.” As if terrified she might misunderstand, he hurriedly added. “I don’t mean anything else by it. As her boss, it’s just my responsibility to make sure an employee’s emotional state is stable.” Watching his anxious expression, Vanessa’s nails dug into her palms unconsciously. Did he actually want to brazenly bring that woman into their home? Then, a self-deprecating smile touched her lips. Forget it. She would be gone soon enough. Once she left, Sabrina would move into that apartment sooner or later anyway. Why even bother caring now? “Whatever,” she mouthed. Probably because she was there, Benedict barely spoke to Sabrina during the entire drive. Whenever Sabrina tried to talk to him, he would silence her with a look. Vanessa didn’t want to watch this two-person show any longer. She closed her eyes and rested against the soft leather seat of the Bentley. When they got home, Benedict sent Sabrina, despite the resentful look in her eyes, to the guest room on the second floor. Back in the master bedroom, Benedict retrieved the first-aid kit. He used a cotton swab soaked in iodine to gently treat the cut on her face. “Vanessa, I know you were thinking of me. But how could you tell the doctor to leave your wound untreated? If it left a scar, it would break my heart.” After finishing with the wound, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I will never let you get hurt again. Today really was just a freak accident. When I saw my employee being bullied, I just jumped in without thinking.” “I mean, an attack on my employee is a direct slap in my face. How could I stand for that? You understand, right, baby?” Benedict’s explanation sounded reasonable and well-founded. If Vanessa hadn’t already known about their relationship, and hadn’t clearly seen the possessive fury blazing in his eyes, she might have actually believed him. She offered no words of understanding. She just said she was tired and wanted to sleep. Benedict immediately moved to do what he always did. He brought her a warm glass of milk and gently patted her back, coaxing her to sleep. Late in the night, a loud clap of thunder woke Vanessa. Disoriented and half-asleep, she instinctively reached to snuggle up to the person beside her. Her arms closed around nothing but empty space. The cold touch of the sheets jolted her fully awake. She got up and went downstairs. Just as she reached the top of the staircase on the second floor, she heard a woman’s suppressed moans. She halted, forced down the bitter ache rising in her heart, and moved one step at a time toward the guest bedroom door. The guest bedroom door was wide open. In the warm yellow light of the bedside lamp, two completely bare bodies were entangled together.

Sabrina had both hands locked around the back of Benedict’s neck. Her face was flushed with the heat of arousal, and she was panting out desperate, helpless breaths. “Benedict… no more… I can’t…” Benedict buried his head against her chest, his voice thick and husky. “A man put his hands on you today. I’m going to leave my mark all over you. Don’t even think about resting until I say it’s over.” Sabrina tilted her head back, gasping for air as she spoke. “Tell me… what if Ms. Hayes saw…” Before she could finish, Benedict stopped moving. His face cold, he cut her off. “She can’t hear. She’ll never find out. You are not to bring our affairs to her.” Sabrina pouted pitifully, trailing her fingers in little circles over his solid chest. “I know… it’s just… the thought of her becoming your wife soon, while I’m nothing but a dirty secret… it makes me sad.” Seeing her act so pitiful softened something in Benedict. He pinched her cheek. “You jealous little thing. I’ve already brought you into my home. What more do you want?” “Rest assured, even after I’m married, I won’t leave you. I’ll give you whatever you want. Whatever Vanessa has, I’ll make sure you get one, too.” Only then did a smile bloom back onto Sabrina’s face. “Then I want you to stay with me until the wedding.” Benedict hesitated for a couple of seconds, but seeing the pleading, dewy look in the woman’s eyes, he agreed. “Fine.” Sabrina’s eyes lit up. She leaned in close to his ear, her breath warm and suggestive. “And… I want to devour you right now.” The look in Benedict’s eyes instantly darkened. He grabbed her by the waist, and the two of them tangled together once more. A flash of lightning from outside the window illuminated Vanessa’s pale face in the doorway. Her hand was clamped so tightly over her mouth to stop herself from sobbing that her whole body shook. Tears had long since blurred her vision. She had seen the taunting videos Sabrina sent. But the pain they caused was nothing, not even a fraction, compared to what she was witnessing with her own two eyes right now. Every moan, every single suggestive whisper, was like a poison-dipped blade, stabbing her heart into a bloody, shredded mess. The sounds from inside the room grew louder. Unable to listen for another second, Vanessa turned and fled. Back in the bedroom, she curled up on the bed, hugging herself with all her might. But she felt no warmth at all. The piercing moans echoed in her ears without end. She pressed her hands desperately against her ears, but it was useless. Barefoot, she went downstairs and ran out without looking back, disappearing into the pouring rain. Outside, thunder roared and lightning cracked. But it was as if she felt none of it. The only thing in her mind was that the luxury penthouse behind her looked like a monster with a gaping, bloodthirsty mouth. She needed to get as far away as possible. She walked numbly down the empty Fifth Avenue. The rain soaked her to the bone. She could barely keep her eyes open. In her daze, the rain seemed to stop. She looked up. It was as if she saw a younger Benedict, holding an umbrella over her. His eyes were filled with an intense, almost palpable sense of regret. “Vanessa, leave him. Leave the version of me who no longer loves you. Don’t forgive him.” Red-eyed, she looked at the man who had once loved her so sincerely. Fine. I will definitely leave him. I will never forgive. It was almost dawn by the time Vanessa returned home in a trance. She had just peeled off her wet clothes and collapsed into bed when Benedict carefully opened the bedroom door. As he always did, he gently tucked the covers in around her and pulled her tenderly into his arms. Then, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, he whispered. “Vanessa, I really do love you so much. In three days, you’ll finally be my wife. We’ll grow old together.” He spoke the words to himself, completely missing the single tear that slipped silently from Vanessa’s eye. She had read something online once. A man’s sudden tenderness is usually just guilt after cheating. She never understood what that meant before. Now, she was living it, feeling it in her bones. All she wanted now was for time to move faster. For the day she could leave to come sooner.

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The last child in the sanctum gets pinned to a marble pillar by one of the Empusae and torn open like a ripe fig — and that’s when the men finally lose it. “My king! You swore Daphne was lying! You swore she was just jealous! You told us to hold the mountain and guard you and Lyra through the starfire!” “I come home and my newborn son doesn’t even have a body left!” Castor goes white as bleached bone. I look at the blood on the marble and something inside me cracks down the middle. Last time the Empusae came for the sanctum, my husband — Basileus of this polis, son of Ares — was up on the high temple with his little nymph, lighting a sky full of starfire for her name-day. I dragged every last one of his men home in time. I saved them with my own voice. But Lyra threw a fit over missing her rites. She slipped out past the wards alone, and the Empusae tore her apart in the dark. Castor killed every one of them and sat for a week holding what was left of her shinbone. Didn’t speak. Didn’t eat. The day I gave him a son, he hacked off my hands and my feet. Threw me into a pen of starving Empusae. Watched them eat me down to the bone. Then had the priest-healers stitch me back together. Again. And again. Until there was nothing left to stitch. “You did this to her, you jealous bitch. You wanted her dead. So I’m going to make you die slower than she did.” I open my eyes. The Moirai have cut my thread and tied it back. Same room. Same morning. The Empusae haven’t come yet. The shrieking reaches me through the trees. Far off. Not far enough. I run. Straight to the altar of the herald’s horn. My palms slam down on the bronze before I’m thinking. “Citizens — all citizens —” “The Empusae of Tartarus are at the gates. Get inside the sanctum. Now.” Screaming starts up outside before I even finish. “Move!” I grab a blade and shove people through the doors, cutting down the two Empusae that lunge in with us. An old man. Three children. A girl carrying her little brother. I push them in by the shoulders. The bronze gate slams shut. The shrieking on the other side goes muffled. People drop to the floor sobbing. A woman is whispering Hestia’s name over and over. Another one, with a baby in her arms, grabs my wrist hard enough to bruise. “Daphne — go find Castor — make him bring the men back —” I close my eyes. There’s no soft way to say it. “Castor is on the high temple. With every man of the Phalanx. He’s lighting Lyra’s starfire.” The room goes silent. Then it explodes. “He’s what?” “Starfire rites? Now? He left us here to die for that little —” Boom. Boom. Boom. The bronze gate dents inward. We don’t have time. “Maybe we don’t need them to come back.” The thought drops into my head like a coin. I look at Hera. My husband’s mother. The old Amazon under the dust. “The hearthfire. Hestia’s hearthfire on the outer wards. We light it, and they burn where they stand.” Her eyes go sharp. She pulls the message-stone from her belt. The line connects. “What. I’m busy.” He sounds annoyed. Annoyed. Hera keeps her voice flat. “Castor. The polis is being overrun. The sanctum is breaking. Light the hearthfire on the outer wards. Now.” A pause. Then he laughs. “Don’t be dramatic. The fire’s all up here for the starfire — I’m not pulling it for a few hours, you’ll ruin Lyra’s whole name-day.” A sneer. “Is Daphne next to you? Is she putting you up to this? She’s so eaten up over Lyra she’s dragging you into her little theater now?” Hera is shaking head to foot. “You stupid — you don’t even know what you’ve —” The stone goes cold under her hand. The room is dead quiet. Someone whispers, “We’re finished. We’re finished.” I stare at the dented gate. So I came back for nothing. Nothing changes. Hera grabs my arm. “I trained every one of those men myself. There’s a goat-path up the back of the temple. I’ll go up and order them home. They will not refuse me to my face.”

Hope flickers up in me, just barely. She’s already at the side door. “Wait for me.” She’s gone. An hour. The gate splits open just enough for one long black snout to shove through the crack. Teeth close on the baby before any of us can move. The crying stops mid-breath, swallowed by wet sounds. The woman slumps down on the stone. Her eyes go dead. A shape stumbles back through the side door. It’s Hera. Everyone surges forward. “Where are the men? Are they coming?” She’s drenched red. One whole sleeve hangs empty — and so does the arm that was in it. “Block the gap. Now.” I catch her before she falls. “Castor —” she spits his name like it burns her tongue, “had men on every path. Every one. He set them to stop anyone who’d ruin her rites.” Her eyes are red and furious. The room goes quiet. My knees almost go. He planned for me. He thought past his own mother. “No. We are not just sitting here to die.” I lift my head. “If the Phalanx won’t come, we call somewhere else. Another polis. Anyone who’ll hear me.” I’m already at the message-stone, pressing my palms to it, calling the name of every polis I know — Argos, Korinth, Megara, anyone. Long silence on the other end. Then a cold voice. “I’m sorry. We can’t help you.” “An hour ago, King Castor sent word himself. He said your polis might send false omens tonight. He asked every other polis to turn a deaf ear to any cry from us until dawn.” He thought of that. He sealed every road out before he ever struck the first spark for her. Hera goes paper-white. “I am his mother. I am asking —” “Lady. The king was clear. Especially you. Unless you come and ask in person, no one is coming.” The stone goes cold. In person. Through miles of Empusae. With one arm. I grip her good shoulder. “I’m going with you.” I look at the smear of blood where the baby was. “Everyone here dies if we wait. We go, there’s a chance.” She holds my eyes, then nods once. I half-carry her up the slope. Her left arm is gone clean to the shoulder. Whatever she’s tied around it is already soaked through. She doesn’t slow down. “Over this ridge and we can see the temple lights.” Halfway up. The polis below us is a black shape with red bleeding through it. The high temple glows white-gold on the far peak. That’s when a streak of bronze comes screaming down out of the sky and slams into the rock ten paces in front of us. Stone shatters. The shockwave throws us both backward into the slope.

I push myself up. My ears are ringing. Smoke and grit everywhere. Up on the high temple, two figures in white. Castor with his arm around her waist. His voice booms down through the temple horn, twisted by the bronze. “Daphne. I knew it. You couldn’t sell me crying, so now you’re charging the mountain yourself?” His voice drops cold. “I knew you’d try something. I am not letting you ruin her night.” Another spear-streak. Closer. “Hera — make him hear you!” Hera drags herself to her knees and screams up the slope. “Castor!” A pause from the temple. Then he laughs — louder, uglier. “Daphne. You really hired an actress? You think I don’t know my own mother’s voice? My mother has both her arms. Stop. Embarrassing. Yourself.” Hera shakes. “I am your mother — you can’t even tell my voice apart —” Up there, Castor goes still for one breath. Then I see Lyra reach up and tug his sleeve. Her voice floats down through the horn, all velvet. “Castor — I knew Daphne never liked me. Let’s just call it off. I’ll go down. I’m used to being hated. Really. It’s fine. I shouldn’t even have been born —” His face hardens instantly. Of course it does. “Again,” he orders. More streaks rain down. They walk across the slope behind us, sealing the way back. The moon climbs higher. “No more time. I’ll keep his eye on me. You go. Bring help back.” Hera’s hand clamps on my shoulder, all bone and blood. “Every soul down there is waiting on you.” She shoves me off and starts dragging herself toward the temple steps. I lunge for her. “Hera — they can’t see you from up there. They will kill you.” The horn cracks again from above. “Daphne. If you want to ruin her night so badly you’ll die for it — let me help.” I look up. A bronze javelin is balanced on his shoulder. Long. Heavy. The kind they say his father Ares forged in the deep fires. It catches the moon and a thread of lightning runs down the shaft. He throws. “Daphne — down —” Hera slams into me. Her whole body covers mine. The crack of thunder splits the air open. Hot blood floods my face. My mouth. My eyes. She’s on top of me. The spear has gone clean through her back and out her chest, pinning her into the rock above my head. Her one good hand is curled tight in my hair. “Hera — Hera, no —” She doesn’t answer. Her blood is still hot on my face. Above us, through the horn, Lyra’s sweet little voice floats down. “Sister. Push her off the cliff. The blood will pull them. You’ll die too.”

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