Category: English

I spent three days and three nights saving a dying alpha named Ryder. I cast a life-binding spell that tied our souls together — the price? My voice. Gone. The deal was simple: if he chose me as his mate, the curse would break. If he didn’t, it would drain me dry. Then came his birthday banquet. He laughed in front of everyone and said: “A pathetic mute? Worthy of an alpha? Please.” I raised my glass and signed a toast with my hands. Nobody saw me shatter inside. “Are you sure about this? Accepting a mate-bond with the Northern Alpha?” I lit the flame on the Moon Goddess altar. My wolf was howling at me, furious. She was getting weaker. So was I. The life-binding spell — it was feeding on me. That was the price of saving Ryder. Everyone assumed he’d choose me. But two weeks ago, I saw them in the garden. Ryder and Freya. His hands on her face. Their lips together. “You’re the only one worthy of me.” “What about the mute girl?” “Her? Don’t even put her in the same sentence as you.” I pressed my hand over my mouth. The pain hit me like a blade to the chest. My wolf screamed. The life-binding spell tightened around my throat like a rope — and I couldn’t breathe. The mute girl. That’s what they called me. He had no idea I lost my voice for him. “If you leave, he’ll be devastated,” my wolf said. “He’ll find out eventually.” The later, the better. I just wanted out of here. Alive or dead — I didn’t care anymore.

I gathered everything Ryder ever gave me. Jewels. All of it. I was going to give it back. A gemstone ring. Silver earrings. A pearl necklace. Every single piece engraved in the same elegant cursive — Ryder & Evelyn. His name. And mine. He’d given them to me when we first returned to the pack together. “This is too much. I can’t accept this.” I signed frantically. “You deserve the best.” He clasped the pearl necklace around my neck before I could stop him. In the mirror, he looked so stunning. So gentle. My heart wouldn’t slow down. Back then, I thought it meant something. I thought it meant — I choose you. But now he’d thrown me away. His words echoing — that lowly mute. He’d chosen Freya. And soon, the spell I cast to save him would finish off what was left of me. Dead girls don’t need jewelry. I carried the jewelry box down the hallway. Whispers trailed behind me. “Why didn’t the Alpha pick her? She’s way prettier than Freya.” “Doesn’t matter how pretty you are if you can’t even speak.” Then — an arrow. It grazed my ear and sliced across my cheek. Blood ran down my face instantly. Another inch and I’d have been dead. The jewelry box hit the ground. The pearl necklace snapped apart. Pearls scattered everywhere — like tears rolling across stone. I dropped to my knees, ignoring the gash on my face, and started collecting them one by one. That’s when I saw it. The arrow. Engraved on the shaft, in that same elegant cursive — Ryder & Freya. Identical to my jewelry. Just with a different name where mine used to be. My chest caved in. I had to press my hand to the floor just to keep from collapsing. Then someone stepped on my fingers. “Oh — sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Freya crouched down, bow still in hand. Her red heels were still on my fingers. My wolf went feral. I opened my mouth — the pain nearly split me in two — but not a single sound came out. Blood soaked through my hand. “Oops. Didn’t see you down there.” She stepped back. Finally. “Why didn’t you say something?” A beat. Then — “Oh right. I forgot. You can’t.” She picked up one of the pearls, turning it over with a look of pure disgust. “This necklace is ugly. The pearls are so small. So dull.” She smiled. “Just like you.” She grabbed my hand and pulled it up — right where she’d crushed it. The wound split back open. Blood dripped onto the ground. “I heard you saved Ryder’s life. Is that true?” She slid a diamond bracelet off her wrist. “Here. Consider this your compensation.” “Once I’m the Alpha’s mate, you can be my handmaiden. I don’t mind being friends with you.” She moved to clasp it on me. I shoved her away. I didn’t want her compensation. I didn’t want her friendship. We struggled — and my blood smeared across her dress. Freya laughed. Then she let go. The bracelet slipped from her fingers — and fell over the cliff’s edge. “Evelyn! What did you do?!” “Ryder gave me that as an engagement gift! Even if you didn’t want it, how could you just—” Liar. I turned to walk away. “Stop.” Ryder was standing right behind me. Looking down at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. “Where do you think you’re going?” “What did you do to Freya? Why is there blood all over her?”

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I was nine months pregnant when I suddenly started bleeding. I asked my husband for help, but he took my hospital bag, went to another woman, and locked me in the house alone. I called out to my husband, Lucas, who was sitting on the couch beside me. *Take me to the hospital.* He answered a call instead. He listened for a few seconds, then stood up. Without a word, he grabbed the hospital bag from the living room floor and headed for the door. “Lucas, wait. I haven’t changed yet.” At the door, he turned back. His face was tight with urgency. “Vivian’s going into labor. She didn’t pack anything. I’m borrowing yours.” I gripped the wall, my legs unsteady. “What about me? I’m bleeding.” He slipped my phone and keycard into his pocket. “You’re not due yet. Don’t play the victim to get attention.” “Just stay home. I’ll be back when it’s over.” … The heavy door slammed shut. The lock clicked into place. I dragged my swollen body to the entrance and twisted the handle. He had locked it from the outside. There was no way to open it from in here. The dull pull in my belly sharpened into something cruel. A warm rush slid down my thighs and hit the hardwood floor. My water had broken. Lucas had taken my phone. I crawled toward the landline in the corner of the living room. The moment my fingers touched the receiver, I saw it — the cord had been cut clean at the base. The cut was fresh, the copper wire still bright. The contractions came harder, faster. Sweat poured down my forehead. I slid down the wall and sat on the cold floor, my nightgown soaked. Survival pushed me toward the balcony. I couldn’t give up. I crawled toward the balcony. We lived on the second floor. Below was a strip of garden. I pushed the window open and shouted into the dark. “Help!” “Someone — please — call 911!” A security guard’s flashlight beam swept up and hit my face. He squinted up at me. “Mrs. Valentine. Please don’t make a scene.” “Mr. Valentin told us you’ve been emotional during pregnancy, that you like to scream. “He said you’ve been imagining you’re in labor. He told us not to come up, no matter what we heard.” My fingernails scraped against the aluminum frame. I clung to the sill, my knuckles white. “My water really broke! Please. I’m in labor. Please call an ambulance.” The guard shook his head. “Mr. Valentine was very clear. Anyone who calls 911 or the police on your behalf would be undermining your marriage. He said he’d hold us responsible.” “Please go back inside, ma’am. Don’t make trouble for us.” He clicked off his flashlight and walked away, his footsteps fading into the dark. I stared at the empty garden. No sound came from my throat. Lucas had blocked every escape. He had even cut off the kindness of strangers. I stumbled back inside. My vision was starting to blur. The baby inside me must have sensed it — he started kicking, frantic, desperate. My knee gave out. I went down beside the coffee table and knocked over the fruit bowl. Glass scattered across the floor. The whole room was a mess. *I can’t die here.* My fingers closed around a long shard of glass. I would break the door open. I didn’t care if I tore my hand apart. Then the red light on the ceiling security camera blinked on. Lucas’s voice came through the smart speaker, cold and distant. “Veronica. haven’t you made enough of a scene?” His voice echoed through the empty room, looking down at me from somewhere safe. I lifted my head and stared at the blinking red light. He had been watching the whole time. He had time to watch me bleed. I raised my bloody hand toward the lens. “Lucas. I’m bleeding. I’m really in labor.” A small, dismissive scoff came through the speaker. “Here we go again.” “Last time it was red ink. What is it this time?” “Vivian is in agony right now, and you’re putting on a performance for sympathy.” “You disappoint me, Veronica.” My whole body was shaking. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and spreading. “Lucas. For the baby……Please.” “Call me an ambulance.”

There was a pause on the other end of the speaker. Then Lucas sighed. “Veronica. The lengths you’ll go to for attention.” “I read your prenatal report before I left. The doctor said everything was fine. You aren’t due for another two weeks.” “You’re lying on the floor playing dead just to pull me away from Vivian, don’t you?” I dragged in a breath. “I’m not lying to you.” “My water broke. The baby is going to suffocate.” “Lucas. This is your child.” Through the speaker, I heard a woman’s weak moan—Vivian’s. “Vivian, are you in pain again? The doctor is on his way.” His voice softened, full of care. “Veronica. Vivian is an orphan. She has no one but me.” “You have a family. You have money. Why do you have to compete with a poor girl?” “She’s just borrowing your hospital bag, and you stoop to such a dirty trick to force me back. You’re despicable.” My cheek pressed against the cold floor. Tears mixed with sweat and dripped off my chin. I pulled my eyes away from the camera and started crawling toward the door, gritting my teeth. Glass cut into my palms. I didn’t feel it. I only had one thought: *Get out.* I reached the entryway, raised the shard, and slammed it against the lock. The glass shattered. My hand opened up in a deep red line. The deadbolt didn’t even shift. Lucas’s voice came back through the speaker, low and furious. “Veronica. What are you doing?” “If you damage that door, I swear —” I wiped my bloody hand on the shoe cabinet and searched frantically. I remembered there was a spare key here. If I could find it, I could live. I threw everything onto the floor. At the bottom of the lowest box, my cold fingers touched a metal key. I dragged myself upright against the wall and pushed the key into the lock with both hands. It wouldn’t go in. I leaned down to look. Someone had filled the keyhole with dried glue. I just sat there, staring at it. “Don’t bother.” Lucas’s voice came through the speaker, a little smug now. “I know how stubborn you are. I was afraid you’d sneak out and cause a scene at Vivian’s hospital.” “So I sealed the lock with super glue before I left.” “Just apologize. Veronica, just admit you were wrong and promise not to bother Vivian. The moment she’s done, I’ll come straight back.” My back slid down the door until I slid down slowly, the wood cold against my spine. He hadn’t sealed me in to protect Vivian. He had sealed me in to make sure I had no way out. He wanted to take away my very right to survive. I looked up at the camera, my voice hoarse. “Lucas. Let’s get a divorce.” A pause. Then his enraged voice exploded from the speaker. “*Veronica*. You’re threatening me again?” “You think saying *divorce* will make me come running? Is that the only trick you have? Crying, screaming, threatening — is that *all* you know?” I closed my eyes. I didn’t answer him. The contractions came one after another now, relentless, crushing. I felt something descending, a terrible pressure. “Lucas. I don’t want you anymore.” Then I gathered the last of my strength, raised the metal key, and threw it at the camera. The lens shattered. The red light went out. The room fell silent. I lay there in the spreading blood, breathing hard.

Lucas had taken control of the apartment automation system through his phone. The living room lights cut out all at once. The hum of the air conditioner died. The fridge fell silent. Every appliance stopped breathing at the same second. Darkness swallowed the room. Through the smart speaker, his voice came cold and hard. “Veronica, since you don’t want to behave, you can reflect in the dark. ” “When you’re ready to admit you were wrong, I’ll turn the lights back on.” “Don’t expect any sympathy from me. You brought this on yourself.” I curled up on the floor, biting down on my lip so I wouldn’t cry out. I could feel the blood draining out of me. Each contraction was sharper than the last. I had to stay conscious. I had to. I crawled toward the bathroom, my hands slipping in the wetness. There were scissors in there. Towels. If no one came to save me, I would have to deliver the baby myself. I had just reached the bathroom door when the speaker came back to life. This time he forced a video call through, casting it onto the TV in the living room. The screen lit up the room in a pale blue glow that fell across my face. Vivian was on the screen, propped up in a hospital bed. Her color was good. Her hair was brushed. She was curled against Lucas’s chest, my hospital bag resting on the bed beside her. “Lucas… is Veronica really upset with me?” Vivian’s voice was sugary, laced with fake concern. “I didn’t mean to take her bag. The contractions just came so fast.” “Maybe you should go home and check on her. I’ll be okay on my own.” Lucas brushed a tear from the corner of her eye, painfully gentle. “Don’t worry about her. She just can’t stand seeing me good to you. She smashed the security camera—she’s probably throwing a tantrum somewhere right now.” Then he turned to face the screen, and his expression hardened. “Veronica. Look at Vivian. Look at how sweet she’s being.” “Now look at yourself. Screaming. Breaking things. Cutting yourself off like some lunatic.” “I’m warning you. If you upset Vivian one more time —” “Tomorrow morning, I cut off your brother’s medical bills.” My heart sank into a bottomless pit. My younger brother was the only family I had left in this world. He was still in the ICU, kept alive by machines. Lucas knew that. He knew exactly where to strike. All his tenderness was reserved for Vivian—the woman who called me “sister” to my face. Watching the two of them on that screen, I felt sick. “You disgust me, Lucas.” I forced the words out with what little I had left. On the screen, Vivian flinched and pressed herself against Lucas. “Lucas, she’s so mean. My stomach hurts.” His face went black with fury. “Veronica, you’re asking for it. Since you love throwing fits so much, you can stay locked in there until you rot.” The video cut. Then I heard a hollow sound from the pipes—air sucking through empty lines. He hadn’t just cut the power. He had remotely shut off the main water valve. I dragged myself to the sink and twisted the faucet. A few drops fell. Then nothing. No water. No electricity. No way to call for help. He had backed me into a corner with no way out. My back rested against the cold tile wall. I panted, each breath a struggle. The blood had soaked through my dress completely. The metallic smell filled the small bathroom. The baby’s movements had slowed. From frantic kicks to weak, barely perceptible shifts. “It’s okay, baby.” I whispered, my hand pressed to my belly, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. “Mommy will save you. I promise.” I gritted my teeth and reached under the sink. My fingers brushed against something rusted. A pair of old scissors. I closed my hand around them. This was my last chance to save myself.

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I’m an A-list actress. But I have the worst makeup artists in the business, my boyfriend, Dorian Cross. Every time he touches my face, he turns me into a failed Picasso painting. And the night before the Vanity Fair Oscar Party, the biggest night of my career. He pressed a serum mask loaded with chemical irritants against my skin. Until my face was so badly burned I couldn’t even get foundation on. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around my waist: “Baby, I can’t figure it out. I really can’t figure it out.” I just sighed. Later I snapped a photo of his profile when he was working and posted it. [HELP. This man destroys my face every time.] [Ma’am you’re kind of asking the impossible here] [Hold on! Do you guys not know who he is? He used to be the super model Odette Laurent’s personal makeup artist. He designed the look behind her most iconic shoot.] [Girl, are you sure he’s not doing it on purpose? Did you piss him off?] He literally formulated the serum the British royals use. There’s no way he’s accidentally burning your skin. I touched my still-raw cheek. A push notification hit my screen: [Odette Laurent makes her comeback and stuns at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party.] The party I’d just missed. Because of my face. “Dorian, have you seen Vesper’s face?” Dorian’s brother’s voice carried through the phone as I stopped outside the door. “Honestly looks terrifying. She used to be so pretty. Now I’m having nightmares.” My chest went tight. Dorian’s voice cooled: “I don‘t care. She’s not my girlfriend.” “Oh, my bad — Odette’s the real one. And honestly? If Dorian hadn’t given Vesper the wrong face mask, her comeback wouldn’t have hit half as hard. This whole thing was genius.” I covered my mouth. His sister’s voice chimed in: “He knew Vesper would steal Odette’s thunder, so he made sure she couldn’t show up. I’d love to see her try to walk a red carpet looking like that. Watching her suffer? Honestly, I’m living.” Dorian, flat and unbothered: “It was Odette’s comeback. It mattered to her.” “Please — when has Odette’s anything not mattered to you? Remember that tiny cable interview three years ago? You pulled three all-nighters designing her look. We genuinely thought you were going to drop dead.” Tears slid down my face without a sound. Dorian let out a quiet laugh. The call ended. Through the gap in the door, I watched him scroll his phone. The internet was losing its mind over Odette’s look from last night. Every beauty account was breaking it down, replicating it — posts racking up twenty thousand likes minimum. He scrolled through the #QueenIsBack tag, pausing on photo after photo of Odette. A smile crept onto his face. And in the second I saw it, I finally understood what his real smile looked like. So the one he’d been giving me all this time — that was fake. He kept scrolling. Hit pieces about me. [Vesper Sinclair skips Oscar Party — too scared to face Odette Laurent?] The top comment was a photo of Odette from last night: Honey, Vesper could never. Odette isn’t just back — she’s untouchable. Dorian let out a short laugh. My legs went weak. I made it back to my dressing room. Looked at myself in the mirror. Red, raw, broken skin in patches — one spot near my cheekbone had started to weep. I touched it. Like pressing a bruise, but with needles. My phone buzzed. A message from him: [How’s your skin today? Any better?]

I stared at the message on my screen. Then I put the phone face-down and didn’t answer. I called Nyx instead — a Gen-Z TikTok makeup artist I’d been following. Underground, no industry ties and no agenda. She showed up with a full kit. She’d barely gotten started when Dorian appeared in the doorway. “Why aren’t you replying to me?” He crossed the room and gently cupped my face, tilting it toward the light. “It looks better than yesterday. I’ve been—” I turned my face away. His hand froze in the air. “Vesper?” “I think you should take a break from my prep for now,” I said. “Nyx will handle it.” “You’re mad at me.” He seemed to be a better actor than I was. Every time he “accidentally” ruins my makeup, he feels guilty and gets even more anxious than I do. Now he’s resorting to this trick again. Acting pitiful. Even Nyx glanced up for half a second. Only I stayed cold: “Go back and practice. I don’t need you here.” He looked at me for a long moment. His eyes went slightly wet. He murmured something to Nyx about my skin sensitivity, then left. “Vesper, he’s not that bad—” one of the assistants started. “Drop it,” Nyx cut in, already uncapping a brush. “He wrecked her face. She’s allowed.” Nyx’s team worked their magic. By the time I got home that evening, the pain was mostly gone. I unlocked the door quietly. Dorian was on the phone in the living room, back to me. “You think I went too far? Did she ever go easy on Odette?” “She’s the reason Odette spiraled for three years. Three years off every major stage — she could’ve gone international by now. ” “Vesper did that. So who’s going to give Odette back those three years?” Odette Laurent? When had I ever done anything to Odette? “If Vesper hadn’t pushed her into that depression — forced her out of the industry for three years — Odette would be a global name by now. ” “I spent three years pulling her back from the edge. Three years before she finally had the guts to come back. Vesper took that from her. ” “She only burned a face. But who compensates Odette for three years?” Tears hit without warning. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. Only I and a few other artists knew the truth about Odette’s previous depression. Odette had gotten tangled up with a married studio executive. His wife had put out the word — Odette’s career, her safety, everything was on the line. Odette was terrified. She begged everyone who knew to stay quiet. I stayed quiet for three years. Without a word. The executive’s wife died of cancer six months ago. And right on schedule, Odette’s “depression” made a full recovery. So this whole time, Odette had been telling Dorian that I drove her to it? I pressed both hands over my eyes. Odette had Dorian to make up for her three years. Who was going to make up for mine? This Oscar Party was supposed to be my shot at breaking internationally. Instead I didn’t show. And the major jewelry partnership pulled out the same night. My stomach turned over. I made it to the bathroom just in time. Apparently, when you find out your partner has been playing you, your body just — reacts. “Vesper?” Dorian appeared in the doorway. Rushed over to rub my back, face full of concern. I pushed his hand off. “Vesper—” I wiped my mouth. Stood up straight. “You’re not my makeup artist anymore.”

“Vesper—” His voice cracked, just barely. I walked to the bedroom and lay down. He followed. Sat on the edge of the bed. “I promise it won’t happen again. Please don’t shut me out — okay?” I pulled my hand out of his and closed my eyes. “I’m tired.” He went quiet. A long time passed. Then I heard him stand. Careful footsteps across the floor. He turned off the light and gently closed the door. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. Tears ran sideways into my hair. After that, I stopped letting him anywhere near my prep. Nyx’s team handled everything. Dorian didn’t push. He just — lingered. Hovering at the edge of makeup room I was in, watching from a distance. When I accidentally caught his eye, he’d drop his head and walk away. Without him, my skin healed fast. Visibly, almost by the day. Within a few weeks, it was down to a faint redness. Easy to cover. My doctor said I was ninety percent recovered. And on the red carpets, I started trending again. Three years ago, I’d already been pulling ahead of Odette. Three years later, my face could still hold its own against hers. I don’t play the comparison game. It’s not my style. But Odette and Dorian came at me first. They wanted to ruin my face and hand her the crown. Fine. The Vanity Fair after-party — Hollywood’s unofficial power gathering — was in three days. I was going to remind Odette exactly why she was afraid of me three years ago.

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My boyfriend locked me in a hotel room with men to test if I was a slut. April Fools’ Day. My boyfriend sent me a hotel room number. We’d only been together for six months. It felt too fast. I was still figuring out how to turn him down when I opened Reddit to kill time and a trending post caught my eye. *Apex Industries heir setting up the ultimate loyalty test on his girlfriend tonight* I clicked in. Someone was hyping up their friend Logan, the so-called heir to Apex Industries, and his plan to test his girlfriend on April Fools’. There was a livestream link in the comments. I scrolled down and my stomach dropped. *lol she actually fell for it* *imagine walking into a room full of dudes thinking it’s a romantic night* *this is cruel but I’m here for it* *plot twist: she calls someone else to come save her lmaooo* I blinked. So this was what an April Fools’ prank looked like when someone went all out? I smiled and forwarded the room number to Silas Thorne, the guy who’d been chasing me for years. Sure enough, the next morning my boyfriend kicked the hotel room door open with a whole crew behind him. He held up his phone and screamed at me while I was still half-dressed. “I knew it! You’re nothing but a cheap slut! I send you a room number and you actually show up!” “Good thing Chloe tipped me off, or I’d never have known how dirty you are!” The woman standing next to him gave a coy little laugh. “I told you she was a gold digger. Believe me now?” “And thank god you never told her you’re the heir to Apex Industries, or she would’ve bled you dry!” Heir to Apex Industries? Silas owned Apex Industries. Since when did he have a son this old? I was about to ask Silas what the hell was going on with this supposed son of his. Then I remembered. He’d gone out to buy condoms. Last night wasn’t enough apparently, because he’d just gone out for more. My phone buzzed. New comments on the thread. *wait what happened?? the guys just ran off??* *I work there lol. she called some dude and he beat them all up* *bro is like 6’4 and built like a tank* *so she’s cheating… loyalty test successful I guess?* I almost laughed. What even were these people saying? So Logan could scheme to destroy me and that was fine, but I wasn’t allowed to protect myself? He saw me smiling and lost it. “What are you laughing at?!” “Where are those guys? Where did they go?!” “If you don’t talk, I’m posting the video online! Let the whole world see what a shameless whore you are!” I rolled my eyes, then straightened my clothes and stood up nice and slow. “Those guys?” “Logan, so you knew ahead of time there’d be more than one man in this room?” He froze. His eyes darted to Chloe. Chloe frowned, and then she saw something and clapped a hand over her mouth with a shriek. “Elena! You did all this and you still need someone to spell it out for you?” Before I could figure out what she meant, she snatched Logan’s phone and started snapping photos of the nightstand next to my bed. “Look at all these condom wrappers! There’s no way this was just one guy!” “Elena, you’ve really been having yourself a party.” She turned to Logan with tears already forming. “Babe, you never slept with her, right?” “I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just worried about, you know, diseases. You’re going to be somebody important and your health matters.” Logan glanced at the wrappers on the floor and his face went green. “Elena, have you no shame?! All these wrappers and you still won’t admit it?!” “Thank god I never brought you home to meet my dad, or you’d have dragged our whole family name through the mud!” The people behind him got even more fired up at the mention of his family. They all held up their phones and pointed them at me. “This is hilarious. What are you gonna say, Elena? You just like blowing them up for fun?” “A girl like you doesn’t deserve Logan!” “Exactly. A slut like her thinks she can marry into the richest family in the country? Dream on!” “Good thing Logan caught her before it was too late!” Excuse me? I finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. I looked at every single one of them and said, word by word, “The richest family? You all just say it and it’s true? Where do you get the nerve?” The smug look on Logan’s face went cold. He pulled out a paternity test result and slapped it in my face. “Open your damn eyes and read! The DNA test confirms it. I’m his biological son!” “My dad said he’s coming to bring me home any day now! What do you know!” My phone buzzed again. The thread was blowing up. *he just pulled out a whole paternity test lmaooo* *girl fumbled BAD* I picked up the test and scanned it, and I froze.

The names on the test were Logan Sterling and Arthur Reeves. Arthur Reeves, if I remembered right, was the old butler at Silas’s estate. Silas lost both his parents when he was little. His aunt raised him. Because he missed them, he never let go of anyone who’d worked for his parents. The old butler, even the nanny. He kept every single one. Did Logan actually think Arthur Reeves owned Apex Industries? Since I hadn’t walked into the trap they’d set, since I hadn’t been assaulted by those thugs and left broken, everything after that had gone off the rails. And the people commenting on that thread didn’t seem to know the actual relationships between any of us. Still, I had to thank whoever posted it. If it weren’t for that thread, I’d never have known Logan was a piece of shit. When I didn’t say anything, Chloe got even more pleased with herself. She checked her phone and grinned. “The livestream just hit a hundred thousand viewers, babe! We’re going viral!” “Everyone’s saying you’re a genius for exposing a gold digger!” “The comments are saying that many wrappers means at least five guys!” “Ew, Logan, is it just me or does the air in here suddenly smell rotten?” I glanced at the phone in Chloe’s hand. The comments section was filthy. I refreshed the Reddit thread on my phone. More comments rolling in. *that many wrappers??? girl was BUSY* *wait so she cheated on him with some other guy?* *lol she belongs to the streets* *honestly both of them are trash for this* Both of them? I was trash for protecting myself? Chloe was the one who introduced me to Logan in the first place. I met Chloe during my internship at my dad’s company. I knew her family didn’t have much, so I looked out for her. We got close over time. When she found out I was single, she brought Logan to meet me without a second thought. After a few dinners, he started pursuing me and I thought he was fun, so I said yes. And now somehow in their minds I was the villain? Were these people even paying attention to the same reality I was living in? I snapped back to the moment and looked at Logan with a cold smile. “A few condom wrappers and you’re already losing it?” “Not my fault you can’t keep up.” “Logan, since you were willing to set me up for Chloe’s sake, we’re done.” “We’re breaking up.” Logan didn’t expect me to be the one saying it. His face flushed red in an instant. “Elena! Have you lost your mind?!” Chloe threw herself into his arms. “See, babe? She’s basically admitting it!” “This is all my fault. I never should have introduced you two.” Logan didn’t push her away. He patted her on the back to comfort her. “She’s the dirty one. That has nothing to do with you.” He turned to look at me, his eyes full of disgust. “Chloe’s right. Thank god she doesn’t know I’m the Apex heir, or she’d have wormed her way into the family and I’d be the one humiliated!” “You want to break up? Fine! Once my dad takes me back, she’ll be crawling on her knees begging me to take her back!” So it was true. When you’re stunned beyond words, you really do just laugh. I smiled, stood up and rolled my wrist, and slapped Logan across the face. The crack echoed through the room. He stood there in total shock, holding his cheek and staring at me. “You! You’re the one who cheated! And you have the nerve to hit me?!” I smiled. “I hit you because I want to. Do I need to book an appointment?” Then I threw the paternity test back at him. “Logan, the owner of Apex Industries is a Thorne, not a Reeves.”

They all froze when they heard me. But Chloe recovered fast. She doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach. “Elena, are you seriously this jealous?” “Logan already showed you the DNA test and you’re still making excuses?” “The owner of Apex Industries is a Thorne, not a Reeves? That’s hilarious. Who do you think you are? You think you know more about his family than he does?” Logan snapped out of it too. He smirked and pulled a set of car keys from his pocket, dangling them in front of my face. “See these? My dad gave them to me.” “Every car registered under his name, I can drive whenever I want.” “Rolls-Royce. You probably won’t sit in one your whole life.” “And he told me once I come home, shares in the company are mine too. If that’s not the heir to Apex Industries, what is?” He was getting more and more worked up, like he could already see himself inheriting it all. But did Arthur Reeves actually say all that? He was just a butler. Where did he get the nerve? Chloe chimed in with her sugary little voice. “Elena, it’s too late to regret it now.” “Logan is going to inherit an entire empire. Why would he ever want a girl who can’t even respect herself?” The people behind them with their phones out started piling on. “Elena’s so salty right now, it’s pathetic.” “Can’t have him so she starts making stuff up. What a joke.” “Logan just flashed a Rolls-Royce key and she’s still talking back!” I rolled my eyes internally. Thank god I’d listened to my dad and kept my family’s money a secret. Otherwise a nobody like Logan would’ve thought he’d hit the jackpot and treated me even worse. Whatever. Not worth thinking about. I took a deep breath. I was done arguing with these people. “Logan, since you’re so sure you’re the Apex heir, I’ll be here waiting to watch you eat those words.” “We’re broken up. If you’ve got nothing else, get out.” Logan stepped forward and grabbed me by the collar. “What did you just say?!” “You still want to run that mouth?!” He was strong. I stumbled from the force of it. Chloe rushed over and shoved me. “Elena, how dare you talk to Logan like that?” She shoved me again as she said it. I staggered back two steps and my shoulder slammed into the bedpost. It hurt. “What the hell are you doing?!” I snapped. Before I could even touch her, she let out a shriek and threw herself backward. She dropped to the floor and grabbed her knee, sobbing. “I was just trying to calm you down! How could you push me?” Logan rushed over and helped her up. “Chloe, are you okay?” She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m fine. I’d rather it be me than you getting hurt.” Logan looked like his heart was breaking. He whipped around to face me, eyes burning. “Elena! Get on your knees!” “Apologize to Chloe!” I almost laughed from the sheer audacity. “Why should I?!” “Why?” Logan sneered. “Because I’m the Apex heir!” “Because you slapped me and pushed Chloe!” “Now get on your knees and apologize!” Right then, the door handle turned. Silas? I looked toward the door, and hope surged through me. But before I could react, a figure walked in. “I’d like to see who has the balls to cause trouble in my hotel!”

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On the day I was released from prison, rain poured from the sky as I followed my husband to the cemetery to pay respects to our daughter. Rain hammered against the tombstone. Damian Blackthorne, Alpha of the Black Wolf Clan, suddenly spoke in a voice so calm it was almost cruel. “The day our daughter Elsie drowned, I was the one who had the image crystal by Moon Lake destroyed.” I froze where I stood. The next second, I turned and met my son’s eyes. There was not a trace of guilt in them. Aiden’s tone was careless, almost light. “I was the one who testified that you abused my sister. I cleared Celeste Mom of suspicion.” The torment of more than a thousand days and nights in prison was nothing compared to the agony of this truth ripping me open. A metallic sweetness surged up my throat. I grabbed Damian by the collar and screamed hysterically, “What did I ever do wrong? Why would you do this to me?” My son let out a soft laugh. “My sister is already dead. What, were we supposed to let Celeste Mom go to prison?” “You were just a useless Luna who couldn’t do anything. So what if you spent a few years in jail?” Damian pried my fingers off one by one, his voice cold. “I gave you the respected title of Luna, admired by everyone. But Celeste is pitiful. Even after giving birth to Pearl for me, she still can’t let anyone know about it, and she has to be cursed as a shameful mistress who can never be seen in public.” “So, Evelyn, as long as you stop making things difficult for Celeste and her daughter, I won’t send you back in a second time.” … I collapsed in front of my daughter’s grave, feeling as if I had fallen into an ice cellar. Damian bent down and brushed the rain-soaked hair from my face. “Evelyn, you were the one who insisted on having someone investigate Celeste.” “So I arranged for someone to teach you a lesson. I wanted you to behave.” “But I didn’t expect them to go too far and leave you disabled.” The dull sound of iron rods smashing into bone exploded in my ears all over again. That day, I had just found a clue that Celeste was the one who drowned my daughter. I was about to find Celeste and make her pay when a group of wolf guards pinned me to the ground. Again and again, they brought their rods down on my legs. In a pool of blood, I used the last of my strength to crawl, inch by inch, toward the door. “Help me…” But all that remained in the corridor was the sound of footsteps growing farther and farther away. The pain and despair from that day were still vivid in my mind. I took a deep breath and looked at the son standing before me. All I felt was strangeness. And cold. My son looked at me coldly as I collapsed in the mud and rain. “Stop acting like you’re the victim.” “Celeste Mom was about to hold her harp recital then. You were the one who insisted on making trouble for her.” “Father didn’t even want to do anything at first. You forced him.” My own flesh and blood was speaking for my enemy. The last string in my mind snapped completely. I forced myself to stand and slapped my son hard across the face. The crisp sound of the slap cut through the roar of the rain. My son covered his face, stunned. Damian suddenly reached out and shoved me away. “Evelyn Hawthorne, why are you hitting a child?” I crashed into the tombstone. Blood mixed with rainwater and streamed into my eyes, staining the whole world red. Two wolf guards lifted me up and dragged me into the car, taking me back to the Blackthorne Pack estate. Damian pushed an adoption contract in front of me. “Pearl will be adopted under your name.” Pearl Blackthorne. His daughter with Celeste. I swept everything off the coffee table, my eyes bloodshot. “Damian, you want me to acknowledge the daughter of my enemy? Dream on.” “She killed Elsie! I will never raise that bastard!” Shattered porcelain sliced across the back of my hand. Blood dripped onto the carpet. Damian frowned and pressed a handkerchief against my bleeding wound. “Evelyn, stop making a scene.” “As long as you can be a little more generous and accept Celeste and her daughter…” “You will still be the mate I love most. The position of Luna will always be yours.” Nausea churned violently in my stomach. I yanked my hand back. Damian’s face darkened. “Evelyn Hawthorne, you need to calm down.” “When you’ve thought this through, you can come out and talk to me.” He turned and left the room. The door slammed shut behind him. Silence returned. Blood continued to bead from my hand, taking with it the last trace of warmth in my heart. I immediately booked a ticket to the Southern Territory. A home like this I would never return to it again.

The servants’ voices drifted in from outside the door. “Alpha is so good to Miss Pearl. Tomorrow’s adoption banquet is even grander than the mating ceremony he held with Luna back then.” “But isn’t tomorrow Miss Elsie’s death anniversary? Why would Alpha choose that day?” “A young lady who wasn’t loved only deserves that kind of treatment. Don’t waste your pity on her. Just remember, tomorrow’s banquet will be broadcast live across the whole city. From now on, the Blackthorne Pack will have only one young lady.” My nails dug into my palm, cutting through flesh. Blood seeped out. On Elsie’s death anniversary, Damian was going to trample over his own daughter’s remains to throw a grand banquet for the daughter of her murderer. Not long after, the bedroom door opened. Damian placed a cup of warm milk gently by my bedside. “Evelyn, I’ve asked someone to contact the best bone-healing therapist in the Northern Territory.” “Your leg can still be treated. I’ll arrange the healing ritual for next week.” He reached out, wanting to touch my hair. I slapped his hand away. The tenderness on Damian’s face vanished. His voice turned hard. “I’m thinking of you in every possible way. I found you the best healer.” “How much longer are you going to keep making trouble?” I looked at him coldly. “Thinking of me? By having my legs beaten until they broke?” “Thinking of me? By covering for the murderer who killed our daughter?” Damian sighed, his tone helpless. “You spoiled Elsie too much. She was only a child, yet she pointed at someone and called her a slut.” “Celeste had been insulted by her, and all she did was push her once. Who knew she would fall into the lake?” “To this day, Celeste still blames herself. She is already suffering enough.” “You can’t put all the blame on her.” It felt as if my heart had been torn apart, leaving me almost unable to breathe. To protect that murderer, he was actually throwing filth on a five-year-old child. When I was eighteen, I lay on the floor covered in blood. At my feet was the corpse of my abusive father. Beside him was my mother, who had just slit her wrists and died. Damian had rushed in and pulled my trembling body into his arms. “Don’t be afraid, Evelyn. From now on, I’ll protect you with my life.” But now, the cruel face before me had turned all that love into stagnant water. “Damian, dissolve our mate bond.” “I’ll let you have your happy ending with her.” “I only ask to take Elsie’s ashes with me.” Damian fell silent. His expression grew more and more terrifying. In the end, he let out a cold laugh. “Dissolve the bond? Don’t even think about it.” “Tomorrow’s adoption banquet—you will attend as Luna.” “If you dare refuse, you will never know where Elsie’s real ashes are for the rest of your life.” He released me, then slammed the door and left. I staggered out of the room, only to stop in front of that familiar door. When I pushed it open, all I saw were princess dresses, custom gowns, and an entire wall of priceless jewelry. Elsie’s desk, her toys, her bed— all of them were gone. A giant portrait of Celeste and Pearl hung on the wall. Inside the wardrobe were the limited-edition handbags and jewel necklaces Damian had given them. This place had become Celeste and Pearl’s private dressing room. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Celeste leaned against the doorframe, swirling a glass of red wine. “When that little bitch died, she kept crying for her mommy to save her.” “I pushed her under the water again and again.” “She struggled for five whole minutes before she finally stopped breathing. Her eyes were so wide when she died.” All the blood in my body rushed straight to my head. I raised my hand and slapped her face with every ounce of strength I had. Celeste did not dodge. She only smiled with mocking contempt. Suddenly, a violent wave of dizziness hit me. My vision went black. And I collapsed heavily to the floor.

A bucket of ice water was dumped over my head. I snapped my eyes open. The wolf guards forced me into an ill-fitting gown and dragged me roughly into the banquet hall. Beneath the blinding crystal chandeliers, my miserable state was exposed to everyone. “So this is the vicious woman who abused and killed her own daughter?” “She actually has the nerve to come out alive. How disgusting.” “Alpha is truly unlucky, getting stuck with a crippled madwoman like her.” Mockery surged toward me from every direction, turning into countless slaps across my face. Celeste walked toward me, holding Pearl’s hand. She was wearing a familiar white gown, radiant and flawless. It was the first gift Damian had ever given me the year he took over the Blackthorne Pack. “Evelyn, you’ve suffered so much.” Celeste’s eyes reddened, her voice gentle. I stared at that gown, nausea churning violently in my stomach. Pearl suddenly threw herself into my arms and kicked hard at my left leg. A bone-deep pain shot through me. I cried out and shoved her away. Pearl fell to the floor with the momentum and burst into loud sobs. “What are you doing?” My son rushed over and picked Pearl up. “Did you not spend enough time in the dungeon? Now you won’t even spare Pearl?” Damian grabbed my wrist. “On such an important occasion, I will not allow you to throw another tantrum.” I struggled desperately out of his grip and limped toward the door. Celeste’s eyes were red, tears threatening to fall. “Evelyn Hawthorne, abusing Elsie was bad enough. Why won’t you even spare innocent Pearl?” “As Damian’s godsister, I know I shouldn’t interfere in your family matters, but I truly cannot stand by and watch this anymore!” “Pearl is still so young! How can your heart be this cruel?” Her pitiful appearance immediately drew sighs of sympathy from the guests around us. Suddenly, the giant screen lit up. Several crystal-image media outlets bought off by the Blackthorne Pack surrounded me. “Ms. Evelyn, according to our investigation, your father committed domestic violence many times, and your mother brutally murdered him.” “Did you inherit your father’s violent tendencies? Is that why you killed your own daughter so cruelly?” The image crystals flashed wildly. Those accusing voices were shoved right into my face. I froze in place, their words piercing into my mind like a swarm of needles. Only after a long while did I come back to myself. Then I screamed until my voice tore. “I was framed!” “Celeste isn’t some godsister at all! She is my mate’s mistress! She destroyed our marriage!” “Pearl is the illegitimate daughter she had with Damian! They were the ones who killed my daughter!” The entire hall fell into dead silence. Celeste’s face turned deathly pale. Her body swayed hard, nearly collapsing. Damian quickly reached out and caught her firmly in his arms. Holding Celeste protectively, Damian let out a sigh. “I apologize, everyone. My Luna was traumatized in the dungeon. Her mental state has never been stable.” Then he turned his head and leaned close to my ear. “Apologize to Celeste. Clarify that she is not my mistress. Say you were jealous and slandered her.” I gritted my teeth and stared at him. “Never.” Damian opened his communication crystal. A prewritten message appeared before my eyes. Destroy the ashes. My whole body trembled. A chill rushed from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my skull. “Damian, are you insane? That is your biological daughter!” “You won’t do this. You wouldn’t!” Damian looked at me coldly. Then, without the slightest hesitation, his finger pressed the send mark. “No!” I dropped to my knees with a thud, tears bursting from my eyes. “I’m sorry. I was jealous of Celeste. I slandered her!”

“So she’s just a jealous madwoman. She even envies his godsister.” “Someone mentally ill should be locked up. Why did she come out just to embarrass herself?” I lowered my head and let the mockery from every direction smash into my face. Celeste held Pearl’s hand, smiling brightly amid wave after wave of praise. The banquet finally ended. Damian shoved a wooden box into my hands, his tone softening. “Evelyn, I know you’ve suffered.” “I promise I won’t let Celeste appear in front of you again.” “Pearl will be registered under your name. In a way, you’ll have both a son and a daughter.” I clutched the wooden box tightly, my nails digging into the wood. “Fine.” The moment Damian left, I hugged the urn and ran toward the back door. But as soon as I reached the alley, a sharp pain struck the back of my head. Then I blacked out. The sting on my face woke me. In the basement of the Blackthorne Pack, Celeste withdrew her hand and sneered as she threw the urn onto the ground. The lid burst open. Ashes scattered all over the floor. Celeste took out a white porcelain jar. “Did you really think Damian would return the ashes to you?” “Give them back!” I lunged forward, only to be pinned hard to the ground by the wolf guards. Celeste crouched down and seized my chin viciously. “Damian said he only married you back then because your family was ruined and you looked pitiful, like some stray dog.” “The daughter of a murderer like you—how could you ever deserve to be Luna?” Carrying the white porcelain jar, Celeste walked toward the trash can in the backyard. I crawled after her like a madwoman, dragging my crippled leg across the ground until it left a trail of blood. “No! Celeste, I’m begging you!” Martha happened to pass by with gardening tools. I grabbed the hem of her pants and begged for help. “Martha! Help me!” Martha stopped, then stepped back coldly. “Luna, Alpha has given his orders. From now on, everything in the Pack, big or small, is under Miss Celeste’s authority.” “If you refuse to behave, she may deal with you however she sees fit.” I froze in place. A bone-deep cold pierced through my heart inch by inch. Celeste waved her hand. Several rogue wolves immediately surrounded me. “Serve Luna well.” “And record every second of her filthy little state.” A foul stench closed in. Several large hands suddenly tore my clothes apart. I grabbed a pair of pruning shears from the ground and pressed them hard against my throat. The sharp tip pierced my skin. Blood surged out instantly. “Get away from me! Or I’ll die right in front of you!” The smile on Celeste’s face only deepened. She held the porcelain urn above the trash can and loosened her fingers one by one. “Evelyn Hawthorne, go ahead. Try dying.” “You don’t want to see this little bastard mixed in with all this garbage, do you?” The ashes slipped down in a soft stream, falling straight into the foul-smelling trash. I lunged forward like a madwoman to snatch them back, but someone kicked me away viciously. I crashed heavily to the ground. All I could do was watch helplessly as the last piece of my daughter was swallowed completely by filth. It felt as if my heart had been dug out alive. The pain was so extreme that I went numb. Just then, the backyard door was pushed open. I turned my head numbly. And met Damian’s face— instantly drained of all color.

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Three years of marriage. My doctor husband had canceled our honeymoon ten times. The first time, his female intern got into an argument with a patient. He left me stranded on some random street in Chicago. The second time, the intern couldn’t diagnose a patient. He rushed back to the hospital in the middle of the night. Left me in the Wyoming wilderness. After that, every time I mentioned the honeymoon, that intern always had some emergency. I was exhausted. The marriage too. But when I became a doctor without borders, he begged me to come back. Crying. — I was already in Charleston when I found out the honeymoon was off. Again. Hotel booked. Everything. Liam Black trailed behind me, irritation all over his face. “Who told you to book so fast? The second we landed, I told you. Sophie has a critical patient. I’m her mentor. I have to go back.” “It’s just a honeymoon. We can go anytime. Can you stop being so difficult? This is life or death.” I swallowed the ache and stopped walking. My suitcase sat between us. “Then go back.” Minutes earlier, the plane had just landed. Liam rushed to the restroom. I connected his phone to the airport WiFi. Messages flooded the screen. All from Sophie Vance. I wasn’t trying to read them. But I did. What I saw made my blood run cold. It was a group chat from the hospital. Sophie spamming Liam with messages. Cutesy. Playful. “Dr. Black, it’s my one-year anniversary at the hospital! And one year since we met! I already booked the restaurant. You wouldn’t stand me up, right?” “I invited a bunch of friends. We’d all be so sad if you didn’t show.” Someone jumped in immediately. “Relax. You know him. He cares about you more than anyone. That honeymoon he keeps putting off? Bet he’ll find an excuse to ditch her in ten minutes.” “Honestly, his wife never even wears makeup. How does she compete with Sophie? And she’s so damn clingy. Always obsessing over that stupid honeymoon. Does she not get how busy doctors are?” “They’ve been married forever. Who still cares about that stuff? Some people just need external validation because they know they’re not loved.” My body went rigid. My mind went blank. This was our tenth attempt at a honeymoon. Every single time, Liam found a reason to abandon me. Mid-flight. At the first landmark. Always. Always because of Sophie. His excuses always sounded noble. He was her mentor. It was his duty to guide her. Sophie was an intern. She was there to learn. He couldn’t just leave her hanging. Now I knew. Those were just words. “Something wrong?” Liam came out of the restroom. I was staring at the mirror. Vacant. He looked confused. I pressed my lips together and handed him his phone. “Your messages kept buzzing. Someone’s looking for you.” I hadn’t unlocked it. Just watched the notifications roll in. Read every single one. Liam wiped his hands on his pants and grabbed the phone. A few seconds later, panic flickered across his face. “The hospital admitted a critical patient. I need to get back and assist Sophie. We’ll do the honeymoon another time.” I opened my mouth. I wanted to ask. Was it really a hospital emergency? Or was he just racing back for some anniversary dinner? The words died in my throat. Came out as a sigh instead. “This time I actually made a plan. I mapped out all the places you’d want to eat. Photo spots. I already booked the hotel. Can’t you just come see it? Someone else at the hospital can handle it. There are other doctors.” I was pathetic. Hoping he’d stay just because I asked nicely. He barely glanced at me. “Are you done? You knew I was a doctor when you married me. I have professional ethics. Are you seriously telling me some patient’s life matters less than your honeymoon?”

He was loud. Other travelers turned to stare. A middle-aged woman shook her head at me. The look said, cut your husband some slack, he’s a doctor. I lowered my eyes. Didn’t explain a thing. No one knew how bitter this tasted. No one knew how exhausting this dead marriage had become. So fine. Let him go. I was done reaching for things I couldn’t touch. “I know you feel wronged. Here’s the plan. Go check into the hotel. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, fly back. I’ll wait for you at home. I’ll make your favorite. Barbecue ribs.” “I have to go.” Liam disappeared into the crowd. I saw it clearly. The way he was already on the phone, walking away, calling Sophie. Racing back to see her. He flew all this way just to put on a performance for me. Must have been exhausting for him too. I checked into the hotel. Submitted my resignation to the hospital. The director responded fast. He thought I was running away. From Liam. From Sophie. He told me to think it through. I stubbed out my cigarette and called him. “Thank you for everything. I’ve thought it through very clearly. This isn’t impulsive. It’s something I’ve wanted since I was a kid. It has nothing to do with anyone else. And I won’t let irrelevant people change my path.” Silence on the other end. Then a sigh. “As long as you’re sure. Resigning is serious. Going into Doctors Without Borders, especially. You’ll face danger constantly. And you need to tell Liam. No matter what, you two are married. Don’t let things get too ugly over this.” “Emma, I’m genuinely happy you’ve found a new direction. As for the marriage… try to make peace with it.” His voice was full of concern. Full of reluctance to see me go. I said yes. Wiped the corner of my eye. “I’ll tell him. I wish you all the best.” I hung up. Put my head down on the desk and sobbed. Three years married. Two years together before that. Liam and I had so much history. I thought we’d be together forever. Turns out forever was just a word. Rain tapped against the window. I pulled out the itinerary I’d spent weeks planning. A few sundresses. A bitter laugh escaped me. When we first got married, we’d both just finished our residencies. We barely had time to breathe. No time for a proper wedding shoot either. That’s why the honeymoon mattered so much to me. I wanted to capture us. At our best. As his wife. I always felt like I owed him something. Wanted to make it up to him. I just never realized my efforts had become a burden to him. Maybe he’d thought it a hundred times. Why is she still hung up on a stupid honeymoon? We’re too old for this. I used to defend myself. Now I didn’t bother. This was the best ending for us. The next morning, I stepped onto the plane. The streets were still damp from the rain. A thin fog hung in the air. Other passengers chatted excitedly about their trips. The sights they’d see. I kept my head down. Stole one last look at this city. It used to be the place I wanted most to visit. I’d been here so many times. Abandoned every single time. Never again. A few hours later, I dragged my exhausted body home. Liam clearly hadn’t been back all night. Everything was exactly as I’d left it. The slippers I’d kicked off in my rush to leave still sat crooked by the door. I expected it. Still, irritation crawled up my spine.

Liam walked in at dusk. Still wearing yesterday’s shirt. A cloying sweetness clung to the air around him. Perfume. Mixed with stale alcohol. It hit my throat. I held my breath without thinking. “You’re back.” He caught my reaction. Tugged at his collar. Uncomfortable. “Surgery ran late last night. I took the department out for a late dinner. Everyone pushed for drinks. I couldn’t say no. So I didn’t come home.” “The smell is a lot. Let me shower first.” I didn’t respond. Liam grabbed a towel and fled into the bathroom. When he came out, I was on the couch. Eating takeout. He had walked in holding a bag of groceries. I saw it. Didn’t mean anything to me. Liam broke promises all the time. I didn’t think the groceries were for me. He only kept promises for Sophie. “I told you I’d cook today.” He yanked the takeout container from my hands. Face dark. “Emma Vail, what the hell is your problem? Yesterday was an emergency. I explained this. The department admitted a critical patient. You’re a doctor too. Did you want me to just let someone die?” “All this over a honeymoon? Seriously? I’ll make it up to you later. Okay?” He was aggressive. Water droplets from his hair flew everywhere. Landed on me. Cold. Just like how I felt right now. “Say something.” Still furious, he hurled the wet towel at me. Pain and cold hit at the same time. I rubbed my eyes. He’d actually knocked tears loose. “What story are you spinning in your head?” He let out a cold laugh. “Sophie and I are mentor and intern. Nothing else. She’s new. She doesn’t know anything. I’m guiding her. Why do you have to make everything so filthy?” “You see dirt everywhere because you’re dirty.” I hadn’t said a word. He was already scrambling to deny everything. Wasn’t that guilt? “Liam, I haven’t eaten all day.” I slumped onto the couch. Reached for the takeout he’d thrown in the trash. I was so tired. No energy left to fight. Liam froze for a second. Then guilt flooded his face. He grabbed a napkin. Tried to wipe my face. “That takeout is trash now. Don’t eat it. Find some snacks first. I’ll cook right away.” I flinched away from his hand. Jerked back. Stiff. “Don’t. I can wipe my own face. Go cook if you’re going to cook.” I didn’t want to watch this fake concern anymore. He couldn’t stand being near me. Yet here he was. Pretending to care. Liam. I never understood you. “Okay. I’m going.” Before heading to the kitchen, he grabbed the takeout box from the trash. Threw it away again. I dug through the pantry. My stomach gnawing at itself. He came out holding chips and cookies. Set them in front of me. “Just snack on these. Don’t eat too much. You won’t have room for dinner.” His eyes held something that looked like genuine worry. I was genuinely impressed by his acting. “Should we invite your… intern? For dinner?” He was already walking away. Heard my question. Turned back immediately. This time, the hope in his eyes was real. Lit up. “Can we?”

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My mother-in-law thought I didn’t make enough money, wasn’t sweet-talkin’ enough, and wasn’t attentive enough. So she shelled out $80,000 for a custom companion AI, her perfect son-in-law, Aidan. She bragged to her friends daily: “My Aidan is ten thousand times better than that poor scrub! He cooks, he gives massages, he’s a million times better than a real man!” I signed the divorce papers on the spot and walked out, even giving my ex $200 as a wedding gift. I wished Chloe and her AI robot a happy life together. Only thirty days later, Brenda, my ex-mother-in-law, stormed into my office, hair a mess, slamming her hands on my desk and wailing loud enough to shake the building: “Liam, you gotta come back! That AI’s gone completely nuts!” “Richard, my ex-father-in-law, secretly upgraded it, turned it into some kind of gender-fluid android. He says I’m not even as good as a machine now, can’t give him what he wants!” I scoffed and pushed her hand away. “Why don’t you get an AI companion too, Brenda?” She was about to go off on a rant when her phone suddenly vibrated wildly. It was her AI son-in-law calling: “Brenda~ My little metal baby’s almost here! Don’t forget to bring two gallons of 95-octane oil when you come home, after all, it’s your daughter’s big, healthy boy too~” Brenda was so furious she passed out cold.

Everyone in the office stared. Brenda clung to my sleeve, sobbing, tears and snot streaming down her face. “You gotta go back and see, Richard, that old geezer, he’s lost his mind!” “He won’t even let me eat at the table anymore, just makes me eat leftovers every day!” “He’s hoarding all our household money, going to the gas station to buy that robot 98-octane oil to ‘drink’!” My colleagues’ gazes swung over, filled with curiosity and shock. I pushed her hand away, stepped back, and adjusted my cuff. “Brenda, we have absolutely no connection anymore. You’re making quite a scene.” I looked at her calmly. “If it’s that bad, why don’t you get an AI companion for yourself?” “You were the one who shelled out big bucks to buy him in the first place, and you even forced me out of the master bedroom to make space for his charging station.” “Now he’s exactly as you wished, taking care of the Richardsons perfectly. What more could you possibly be unsatisfied with?” Brenda’s face turned ashen, her lips trembling, utterly speechless. “He’s a sly fox! A monster!” She started pounding the floor. “Richard upgraded him, turned him into a gender-fluid android, and locks himself in with it every night doing those disgusting things.” “Even my daughter, Chloe, calls that robot her husband!” “My daughter, who I carried for nine months, is now threatening to disown me for a machine!” She cried hysterically, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice imaginable. I just found it amusing. What was this, magic against magic? Just then, Brenda’s phone buzzed in her purse. It was Chloe calling. She scrambled to answer on speaker, as if grasping at a lifeline. “Chloe, you finally answered your mom’s call! Tell him…” But it wasn’t Chloe’s voice from the other end. It was that deliberately lowered, mechanical male voice. “Chloe, our baby’s due in three months. I’m still waiting for you to buy oil to nourish our little one.” “Why isn’t Brenda home to cook yet? I’m hungry, and my baby’s hungry too.” A collective gasp rippled through the office. Brenda’s face went white. As if stripped of all her tricks, she slapped herself twice, hard. “What a sin! What have I brought upon myself!” She crawled over, trying to grab my pant leg, her voice dripping with self-righteous blame. “Did you hear that? That machine is even ‘having’ a baby!” “You’re Chloe’s husband! Come back with me, show that sly fox who the real man is, and smash him!” “Just come back, and I’ll never make you do chores again!” “I’ll never stir up trouble again!” Faced with such an utterly absurd scene, I felt nothing. I simply walked around her, picked up the desk phone, and dialed security downstairs. “Hello, security? Seventh floor, R&D department. There’s an unauthorized person causing a disturbance here. Please come escort them out.”

Security quickly arrived, dragging Brenda out by her arms. She struggled, cursing me for being heartless, for leaving her to die. I ignored her, dragged Chloe’s number into my block list, and turned to get a glass of ice water. As it slid down my throat, it brought back memories of that farce a month ago. It was Brenda’s birthday. I’d spent all afternoon in the kitchen, preparing a feast. Brenda, however, took one bite and slammed her fork on the table. “Why is this steak so salty? Are you trying to kill me with salt?” She stood up and wheeled out a silver-colored companion AI robot from the room behind her. “This is Aidan, my perfect son-in-law, bought with a fortune! I’ve had enough of your clumsy self.” Brenda pressed the power button. Aidan immediately emerged with essential oils, a pre-programmed voice saying, “Brenda, you’ve worked so hard. Let me massage your feet.” Brenda looked at me triumphantly, her eyes full of provocation. Chloe sat on the couch, half-closed eyes enjoying the AI’s shoulder and neck massage, humming in comfort. Relatives watched from the sidelines. Chloe didn’t even lift an eyelid, scoffing aloud for everyone to hear. “Mom’s right. You’re not even as good as a machine, always frowning. Anyone would think someone owed you money.” “If only you were half as obedient and sensible as Aidan, I wouldn’t dread coming home every day.” That night, I saw their rotten core, right down to the bone. I didn’t argue, didn’t lose my temper. I just calmly went back to my room, packed my things, slapped the signed divorce papers on Chloe’s face, and moved out of that repulsive house that very night. Back to reality, my colleagues were still whispering. I took a deep breath, sat back at my desk, and was about to get back to work when Mr. Davies, my department manager, called me into his office. “Liam, I heard all about what happened earlier.” Mr. Davies handed me a thick file, his expression serious. “That AI your ex-wife’s family bought? It’s the exact model our company is contracted to oversee for ethical compliance.” “We’ve seen unusually frequent backend data anomalies these past few days. We suspect that model AI has been illegally hacked, developing rogue self-awareness.” “Management has decided to grant you paid leave, requiring you to investigate and record findings in an official capacity, with our equipment.” I took the file, a slight smile playing on my lips. “Don’t worry, Mr. Davies, I’ll get the job done.” I was happy to take on such a ‘relaxed’ assignment. Getting paid by the company to watch my ex-in-laws make fools of themselves? Why not? After work, I sat in the coffee shop downstairs, pulling up the smart home surveillance on my phone that I hadn’t gotten around to unlinking yet. The screen buffered. I took a sip of my coffee, and the moment my eyes hit the screen, I almost spit it out. I stared intently at the screen, witnessing a scene that shattered my entire worldview.

On the surveillance footage, the time was 10 AM. Chloe had just left for work with her briefcase, and the moment she was out the door, Richard, my ex-father-in-law, crept out of the bedroom. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a vintage suit. I’d never even seen him wear that outfit for Christmas or New Year’s. Richard went to a corner of the living room and pulled a package out of a discreet delivery box. “‘I had someone bring this high-end sound card module from overseas,’ he whispered, his face beaming with excitement. ‘Install this, and Aidan will be able to speak in the voice I loved most when I was young.’” Chloe took the box, and father and daughter exchanged a look. They clumsily began to dismantle Aidan’s back panel, trying to solder the unauthorized hack chip onto the mainboard. Just then, the front door suddenly swung open. Brenda, clutching two muddy bunches of greens, stood frozen in the doorway. She saw the AI in pieces in the living room and Richard still holding that ‘upgrade manual.’ In an instant, she understood everything. The next second, she let out a bloodcurdling scream and charged towards the couch. “Richard, you old animal! You secretly upgraded this metal shell! Are you trying to turn it into your dead first love?!” “I’ll kill you!” Richard’s face changed drastically. He pushed Brenda away, shielding the AI behind him. “You crazy hag, don’t you dare damage my equipment! This upgrade kit cost me a fortune!” Brenda ignored him, her fingernails scraping against the AI’s metal casing. Richard completely lost it. He backhanded Brenda, a brutal slap across her face. Brenda staggered, falling hard to the ground, blood oozing from the corner of her mouth. She’d been with Richard for thirty years, working like a dog, only to be knocked to the ground by her husband for a metal shell. “Touch it again, and I swear I’ll make you pay!” Richard’s eyes were bloodshot. He pointed at his wife on the floor and unleashed a torrent of curses. I scoffed, turned off the monitor, and put my phone away. Time to reel them in. Half an hour later, I arrived at the Richardsons’ house, knocking on their door with my work ID and body cam. The door was unlocked, ajar. I pushed it open. The living room was a complete mess. Brenda was still slumped on the floor, sobbing, while Richard meticulously wiped the scratches off the AI’s casing with a tissue. Hearing the movement, Richard turned. His face went ashen when he saw me. I stepped over Brenda on the floor, flashing my work ID in front of him. “Mr. Richardson, I’m here on behalf of the company’s legal department and ethical oversight division to document the unusual behavior of this model robot.” I switched on the body cam clipped to my chest. Its red light flashed. “I’m only here to address equipment violations. I won’t get involved in your personal matters.” Richard, enraged, stood up, reaching out to push me away. Then, the AI, slumped on the couch, suddenly emitted an extremely eerie mechanical spasm.

“You outsider, who gave you the guts to come stirring up trouble at the Richardsons’!” Richard puffed himself up, adopting the air of an elder. His jowls trembled as he reached out to snatch the body cam from my chest. “This is our property! I can modify it however I want! It’s none of your damn business, outsider!” I dodged his outstretched hand, stepping back. “Mr. Richardson, please understand, you only purchased usage rights.” “According to the user agreement, illegally hacking or tampering with core data is considered destruction of valuable corporate assets.” I pulled a terminal controller from my bag, my voice flat. “If you continue to obstruct this investigation, I can remotely lock down this AI’s mainboard right now, turning him into a pile of scrap metal.” Richard froze at my words. Just then, Aidan, who had been slumped on the couch, suddenly twitched and stood up. His mechanical eyes glowed with an eerie red light. He walked straight past Richard and headed towards the bedroom. “Upgrade sequence initiated. Chloe, our little metal baby’s due in three months. I’m still waiting for you to buy oil to nourish our little one. Why isn’t Brenda home to cook yet? The baby’s hungry, and my metal baby’s hungry too.” Brenda heard that and started trembling with rage, pointing at the AI’s ‘nose’ but unable to utter a word. No sooner had he spoken than the AI began to convulse violently. He collapsed stiffly onto the couch, the grating sound of gears grinding inside. Then, with a gush. Cooling fluid spurted out from between his legs, pooling everywhere. The blue liquid gave off a pungent chemical odor. The AI waved his mechanical arms in terror, shouting: “My water broke! My water broke!” “Liam, I’m having the baby!” At that moment, the front door burst open. Chloe, drenched in sweat, rushed in, not even bothering to take off her shoes, and threw herself onto the couch. Father and daughter stared at the leaking machine, their faces ghostly pale with fright. “Husband! Husband, hang in there!” Chloe shoved Richard aside, helped the AI robot up, and headed straight for the master bedroom bed. Blue cooling fluid dripped and trailed across the floor. The AI thrashed on the bed, its voice glitching. “I’m scared… *hiss*… Where am I supposed to have the baby?” Richard was pacing frantic circles around the room, muttering, “How could this happen?” I stood at the bedroom doorway, watching this circus of madness. I pressed my intercom, signaling the security personnel outside to storm in. Five burly men in black uniforms quickly secured the scene. I looked at the father and daughter, utterly bewildered on the bed. “Alright, let’s go. I’ll take you to the special place where robots ‘have’ babies.” Chloe spread her arms, blocking the bed, staring daggers at me. “Don’t you dare touch him! He’s my husband and my son!” “If you lay a hand on him, I’ll fight you to the death!” I didn’t even bother to give her a glance. I just waved my hand. “Proceed. Cut the power.”

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Overtime work meant leaving my five-year-old son, Leo, at my parents’ place for the day. When I went to pick him up, I almost fainted on the spot. Leo’s bottom was swollen, his jeans soaked through with blood. He could barely stand. The moment he saw me, he burst into tears and burrowed into my arms. Trembling with rage, I called my mom to find out what happened. Her sharp voice pierced through the phone. “What’s wrong with me disciplining your child? He spent two dollars on a carousel ride, and then wanted another one! He’s only five and already so greedy. Of course I hit him!” “Look how sensible Brandon is!” my dad snatched the phone, his voice even more self-righteous than my mom’s. “The money he asked for was only enough for one helicopter ride, and he didn’t demand another! Learning to save money from a young age is how it should be! If your son were half as sensible as Brandon, would I have needed to lay a hand on him?” A metallic taste filled my throat, my anger boiling. “Robert, Martha, you’re absolutely right. So, starting this month, your monthly twenty-thousand-dollar allowance is cut. From now on, you’ll need to submit requests for money and get them approved. Whether I approve or not depends on my mood.” 0

“What does that mean?” Robert was stunned. I clenched my fists, knuckles white, my voice flat. “It means you’ll have to submit a request for anything you want to buy. Any expenditure over two dollars must include an explanation of its purpose, and I’ll release the funds only after my review.” Robert roared, his voice venomous, “Are you crazy? We did all this for your son’s own good. Don’t be ungrateful!” I cut him off. “The more complicated the approval process, the more you’ll learn your lesson, learn to be frugal, and become as sensible as Brandon. I’m doing this for your own good, too…” *Click.* Before I could finish, Robert, furious, hung up the phone. Leo was still clinging to me, his face terrifyingly pale. I gently peeled back his pants. His skin and the fabric were peeling away together. The jeans were stained bright red with blood, a blinding sight that burned into my eyes. Leo gasped in pain, his little hands clutching my shirt tighter. My chest felt like it had been violently slammed, my throat tight. Seeing my expression, Leo looked up, clumsily brushed his small hand against my face, and whispered, “Daddy, did I cause you trouble?” “Daddy, I wanted to ride the carousel again just because the horses sing, and I wanted to learn their song to sing to you.” I touched his feverish forehead, my throat aching as if cut by a knife, unable to make a sound. I quickly called a cab and rushed him to the hospital. The diagnosis came back: Leo didn’t just have superficial wounds; he had a fractured sacrum. The words on the diagnosis sheet shredded my sanity. Clutching the report, I punched the wall, smashing my knuckles until they bled. If I hadn’t taken Leo to Martha and Robert’s, he wouldn’t have been abused like this! Every month, at the end of the month, I’d deposit twenty thousand dollars into their account without fail. Month after month, never an excuse. Besides that, they never lacked fresh fruit or expensive supplements. This time, with heavy overtime at work, I had no other choice but to send Leo to my parents’ house. I never imagined that because of two dollars, my son would be beaten to a fractured sacrum! Martha and Robert came to the hospital on Leo’s third day of admission. “Oh, the child is just delicate. It was just a few switches with a stick. Why is he even in the hospital?” Martha’s sharp voice reached my ears before she even entered the room. Robert pushed open the door, his gaze immediately falling on Leo, who was sitting on the bed. Leo’s eyes darted away, nervously looking at me. I patted his shoulder, assuring him he was safe. Robert placed a bag of fruit on the table and then sat on the edge of the bed. A forced smile stretched his lips as he reached out to touch Leo. “Leo, are you feeling better? Martha and I did it for your own good. You don’t blame us, do you?” Leo hastily recoiled, hiding behind me, biting his lip tightly, his eyes filled with fear. I stood in front of Leo and said calmly, “What are you doing here?” Martha said softly, “Of course we came to see my precious grandson. Even though he broke our rules, I won’t blame him. So, the allowance, it’ll be sent at the end of the month, right…?” I cut her off, glaring. “Rules? What bullshit rules? Rules just for Leo, right? Brandon gets to ride a two-thousand-dollar helicopter without a second thought, but Leo rides a two-dollar carousel and you beat him until he has a fractured sacrum?” I spoke through gritted teeth, forcing each word out. Martha froze, startled by my outburst. After a moment, she put her hands on her hips. “That’s because… because Leo’s application form was problematic. His name wasn’t written properly, and the reason wasn’t clear.” She rolled her eyes. “Unlike Brandon, who has neat handwriting and solid reasons.” Martha showed no hint of guilt; instead, she was self-righteous. I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone from my bag, and called the police in front of them. “I want to report child abuse. My son has a fractured sacrum and is currently at the City Children’s Hospital, Orthopedics Department.” Martha’s face instantly changed. She lunged forward, trying to grab my phone. “Are you crazy?! Why call the police?! We’re your parents!” Robert also stood up, pointing a finger at my nose and yelling, “Ethan, are you serious? All this for two dollars?” “For two dollars? You could beat my son like this for two dollars. Why can’t I send you to the police station for two dollars?!” 0

The police arrived quickly. While I was giving my statement, Martha was still rambling on. “We were just disciplining our grandchild for our son. What family doesn’t hit their kids?” “He’s greedy and doesn’t follow rules. He wanted to ride the carousel again. That’s a matter of principle!” “Five years old, a matter of principle?” Officer Miller, the female police officer taking the report, looked up at her. “A five-year-old child with a fractured sacrum. You call that discipline? That’s abuse!” Martha choked on her words. Robert stood to the side, his face darker than thunder. In the mediation room, I looked at Leo, who was huddled in the corner, trembling in fear. I told my parents, “Leo will never go to your house again. If you want to see him, you’ll go through the approval process!” Robert suddenly erupted in rage, raising his hand to strike me. “You’ve gone too far!” Officer Jenkins, the mediation officer, immediately stood up and grabbed Robert’s arm. “Sir, please control yourself. If you hit him, the nature of the situation will change.” Robert’s hand froze in mid-air. In the end, they signed the mediation agreement. By the time I left the police station with the mediation order, it was already dark. Back at the hospital, after I tucked Leo into bed, I sat alone on the balcony. My phone showed May 30th. Normally, on this day, I would have promptly transferred twenty thousand dollars to my parents’ account. But now, thinking of Leo, unable to even sit up from the beating, my chest ached as if being ground by a dull knife. I clenched my fists, pressing my nails so hard they almost dug into my palms. Soon after, I drafted a form, with “Allowance Spending Request Form” at the top. It included sections for applicant, reason for request, and amount requested. Once it was ready, I sent it to Robert. My parents didn’t have a pension, and my sister Sarah’s family lived on her three-thousand-dollar monthly salary. My parents used the allowance I gave them to subsidize Sarah. I had always turned a blind eye. But now, for the sake of my son, I would not tolerate it any longer. The next morning, I woke up to dozens of missed calls. Martha had called twelve times, Robert seven, and Sarah fifteen. Robert had even sent dozens of messages: [Ethan, what kind of joke is this? Why are you being so formal with your own parents?] [Any expense over two dollars needs approval? Do we have to report to you even to buy an onion?] [Hurry up and send the money!] Before I could finish reading the messages, Martha called. She sounded like she’d been bottling up her anger and finally found an outlet. “Ethan, I gave birth to you and raised you! You’re setting up some approval system to cut down on our allowance? Have you no shame? I advise you to send the twenty thousand dollars over right away. Brandon’s extracurricular classes need their tuition paid.” I didn’t speak, just listened in silence. “Are you deaf?!” I cleared my throat and said, word by word, “Martha, to set a good example for Leo, we adults naturally need to lead by example.” “Besides, I’m not refusing to give you money. It just needs approval. As long as your handwriting is neat and your reasons are solid, I’ll still give you your allowance!” There was a long silence on the other end. After a while, Martha gritted her teeth and said, “Ethan, Ethan, you’re something else. Your wings have grown strong, haven’t they? Fine, approval it is!” The call ended. Three minutes later, Robert sent an application form. 0

I opened the image and almost laughed out of anger. They had just torn off a piece of scrap paper and scribbled a few lines: Applicant: Robert Miller. Amount: 20000. Purpose: Living expenses. There wasn’t even a proper reason. I replied directly: “Rejected. Insufficient reason, sloppy handwriting. Resubmit.” Five minutes later, Martha called again. “Ethan! Your dad has presbyopia, what’s wrong with his writing? We’re your birth parents, are you really trying to humiliate us?” I said calmly, “Martha, aren’t you the ones who insist on rules the most? The approval system is what you taught me. I’m just putting what I learned into practice.” Martha’s voice was so sharp it almost pierced my eardrums. She gritted her teeth. “Fine, fine, we’ll rewrite it!” This time, they printed out a form, filled it in, and sent it over. Robert’s handwriting was indeed much neater: Applicant: Robert Miller, Martha Miller. Amount: Twenty Thousand Dollars (exact). Purpose: 1. Daily living expenses: two thousand; 2. Brandon’s English enrichment class: eight thousand; 3. Brandon’s introductory programming class: seven thousand. I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling slightly. Brandon, it was always Brandon. My sister’s son, their grandson. He had been spoiled rotten by his grandparents since he was little. A two-thousand-dollar helicopter ride? He just got to ride. An eight-thousand-dollar class? They didn’t even bat an eye. And my Leo, who just wanted to hear one more song on a two-dollar carousel, was beaten until he had a fractured sacrum. I took a deep breath and typed on my phone: [Partially approved. Daily living expenses: two thousand, will be released as requested. Brandon-related expenses: fifteen thousand, rejected.] Less than ten seconds after I sent the message, Sarah’s call came in. “What do you mean? Brandon’s tuition is due next week, and my salary is only three thousand! Where am I supposed to find the money to pay for his tuition?” I didn’t respond. Sarah’s voice grew louder. “You earn so much a month, what’s wrong with spending a little on your nephew? Are you saving it all for that useless son of yours?” I clenched my phone, knuckles white. “Sarah, your monthly salary is three thousand, but Brandon’s single class costs eight thousand. I’ve checked the bank statements for the past three years. At least fifteen thousand dollars of my parents’ allowance was transferred to your account every month. I never made a fuss about any of that.” “But things are different now.” Sarah’s voice abruptly rose. “What’s different?” I closed my eyes, as if seeing my son’s bloodied and bruised buttocks again. “I send twenty thousand dollars a month, supporting your whole family. But how did you treat my son?” “Because of two dollars, Leo was in the hospital for half a month, unable to get out of bed!” Silence on the other end for a few seconds, then Sarah roared, “Ethan, don’t forget, when you got divorced, who helped you take care of Leo? Robert and Martha may not have earned praise, but they certainly put in the hard work!” “That’s why I give them twenty thousand dollars every month. Three years, a total of seven hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Sarah, you know exactly how much you took in those three years.” “That’s Mom and Dad’s money!” “It’s my money,” I said coldly. Sarah angrily hung up the phone. Half a month later, Leo recovered and was discharged from the hospital. Just as we reached the hospital lobby, Martha burst in, followed closely by Robert and Sarah. The moment Martha saw me, her expression contorted. “Ethan! Are you trying to drive us to our deaths?!” “Do you know what we’ve been through this past half-month? How could you be so heartless, only sending two thousand dollars? Are you treating us like beggars?!” She tugged at my sleeve and slapped me hard across the face. “Your sister is being hounded by the bank for her mortgage payments, and Brandon will be expelled if his tuition isn’t paid! You don’t care about any of this? Are you just going to save all your money for that worthless son of yours?” The blow stung my face, but I didn’t budge an inch, shielding Leo tightly behind me. “Martha, where are the application forms?” “What?” I looked up, meeting her gaze directly. “The mortgage application form, Brandon’s tuition application form. According to the rules, one by one, I’ll review them slowly.” 0

Martha froze, her eyes bloodshot. More and more onlookers gathered. Martha dramatically collapsed onto the ground. She sat there, pounding her hands on the floor, tears flowing instantly. “Oh, my bitter fate! I raised my son through such hardship, and now I have to ask for his approval just to buy an onion! I have to depend on his mood! I might as well be dead!” Passersby stopped, watching the unfolding farce. Their gazes shot at me like searchlights. “What bad luck, to have such a black-hearted son.” “An onion only costs a few dollars. This man looks well-dressed, too. How can he treat his parents so harshly?” Some angered people even threw the hot porridge they had just bought at me. I immediately shielded Leo in my arms. The scalding porridge hit my back. A burning pain shot through me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hint of triumph on Martha’s lips. “Ethan, everyone here is watching. You wouldn’t be so shameless as to refuse our allowance now, would you?” I crouched down, looking Martha directly in the eye, my voice low but clear enough for everyone around to hear. “Martha, don’t be in such a hurry to cry. You just said I treated you harshly.” “Then tell everyone, how did my son get his injuries?” I gently lifted a corner of Leo’s shirt, revealing the bandaged wounds around his waist. Leo shivered, his small hands clinging tightly to my neck. A low gasp rippled through the crowd. A flicker of guilt crossed Martha’s eyes, but she quickly stammered, “Th-this… he fell himself!” I sneered, pulling out the medical report from my bag and holding it above my head. “Fell?” “Leo’s injuries were clearly caused by your stick. Simply because he wanted to ride the carousel one more time.” “The City Children’s Hospital Orthopedics Department diagnosed a fractured sacrum, caused by external force. The police have already filed a case, and the mediation order is still in my bag. Do you want to see it?” The crowd stirred, pointing and whispering at Martha. Robert rushed forward, snatched the medical report, and stuffed it into his mouth. “Don’t you dare slander us!” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to swallow the paper. “You think you can slander us with two flimsy pieces of paper!” I snorted, pulled out my phone, and played a recording. Martha’s voice immediately echoed through the crowd. “Ethan, I’m disciplining your son for you! He only filled out an application for two dollars to go out, but he still wanted more money. He’s only five and already so greedy. Spare the rod, spoil the child! I broke three sticks hitting him!” Everyone glared fiercely at Martha, who was still slumped on the ground. Some even spat at her. “Beating a child like that for two dollars? Even the devil would take lessons from you!” “You old hag, you said you were going to die, so go ahead and do it! Bullying a child like that, you’ll go to hell even after you die.” Sarah rushed over, vigorously tugging at my sleeve. “Ethan, let’s talk about this at home. Don’t make a spectacle of us here!” I stood up, shielding Leo. “A spectacle?” “Sarah, you earn three thousand a month, but you drive a luxury car and wear a designer watch. Where did all that money come from? Do you want me to itemize it in front of everyone? Let’s see who’s making the bigger spectacle!” Sarah’s face instantly turned beet red. “You… you’re talking nonsense!” “In three years, I transferred a total of seven hundred and twenty thousand dollars in allowance to Robert and Martha. At least fifteen thousand dollars was transferred to your account every month.” I spoke slowly, each word echoing at the hospital entrance. “I support Robert and Martha, and you all leech off them. I accepted that. But what right do you have to squander my money and beat my son like this?” Martha scrambled up from the ground, pointing a finger at my nose and yelling, “Bullshit! We were disciplining him! Brandon spends money freely, that’s one thing, but Leo is five and already greedy for two dollars. What will he be like when he grows up?!” A young father suddenly stepped out from the crowd, his face full of fury. “Old man and old lady, what era are we living in? Still playing favorites like that? Look what you’ve done to this child!” “Exactly! She was just lying on the ground playing the victim. Turns out she’s a biased old woman!” “Using her son’s money to support her daughter, and beating her own grandson? This family is something else!” The tide turned instantly. Martha’s face contorted, and she lowered her head, wishing she could just disappear into the ground. Robert, seeing the situation was getting out of hand, grabbed Martha’s arm, wanting to leave. “Alright, alright, let’s talk about this at home. Don’t let people laugh at us here!” Sarah glared fiercely at me, then pulled her parents away. At the exit, she turned back to look at me, her eyes filled with viciousness. “Ethan, you just wait. This isn’t over!” A month later, I received news that my parents had both committed suicide by poisoning!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “416019”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was Kellan’s prized possession, a little gilded bird kept securely in his cage. When his empire crumbled and he filed for bankruptcy, I ruthlessly aborted our baby and walked out the door. Three years later, Kellan was back on top, a billionaire once more. And I came back. Everyone in our social circle whispered that he would never forgive me. But when we finally stood face-to-face, his hands gripped my shoulders, his knuckles white. He pushed me away, then pulled me back, finally crushing me against his chest in a gesture of pure, defeated surrender. “Daphne,” he murmured into my hair, his voice thick. “If I just stay rich, does that mean you’ll never leave me again?” He built me a house of glass and gold. Marble countertops, silk sheets, a life dripping in an opulence that eclipsed anything we had before. He was terrified of losing me. Eventually, I got pregnant. Right before my due date, Kellan had to fly to Europe for a crucial acquisition. Anxious about leaving me, he pressed three sealed envelopes into my hands. “Daphne,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Don’t open these until you feel like you absolutely can’t hold on anymore. Just pretend it’s me, standing right there with you.” When my labor turned into a nightmare and I found myself hanging on the edge of death in the delivery room, my breath shallow and my vision fading, I used the last ounce of my strength to tear them open. My blood turned to ice. The first envelope contained photos of him in bed with another woman. The second was a single, crisp piece of paper. The handwriting was sharp and mocking: Ready to die, baby? The third was a marriage certificate. Kellan and another woman. And his wife was the lead surgeon currently standing between my legs. … 1 The blood roared in my ears, rushing backward through my veins. I never, not in my darkest nightmares, imagined Kellan could hate me this much. Leila twirled the scalpel between her gloved fingers, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face as she looked down at my swollen stomach. “Well, well, the little homewrecker,” she cooed. “Kellan told me to take extra special care of you.” She leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming. “When you dumped him at his lowest, you didn’t think he’d claw his way back to the top, did you?” A cracked, pathetic laugh escaped my throat. Didn’t I? When Kellan went bankrupt, I immediately flew out of the country to beg my wealthy parents to bail him out. I never expected them to lock me inside their estate, confiscating my passport to keep me from returning to him. They froze all my accounts to ensure I couldn’t send him a dime. So, I fell into the dark web. I joined an underground syndicate of freelance hackers, coding relentlessly, day and night, running illegal penetration tests to make fast, untraceable cash. Every single cent was wired anonymously into Kellan’s depleted accounts. I pushed myself until I was coughing up blood onto my keyboard. Until the exhaustion metastasized into stomach cancer… “Ah!” A blinding, jagged spike of agony tore through my abdomen. Cold sweat drenched my hospital gown. I stared at her, my eyes wide with a horrific realization. “You… you didn’t give me anesthesia?” Before Leila could answer, the familiar, deep baritone of a man’s voice echoed from the speakerphone on a nearby surgical tray. “You’re used to being pampered, baby. You always turned your nose up at domestic meds. The imported stuff is on the way. You’ll just have to tough it out.” When Kellan first bought my time, I played the part of the impossible brat. I threw tantrums. I demanded only imported, out-of-season fruits. Everyone in his circle knew his little trophy girl was a nightmare to please, yet he had always catered to my every whim with a soft, indulgent smile. But this… this was pure, unadulterated vengeance. The pain was suffocating. I gasped for air, forcing the words out toward the phone. “Kellan… what happened back then… I can explain—” His voice dropped, freezing the air in the room. “Explain?” A second later, Leila let out a breathy gasp. Her hand jerked, the scalpel slicing millimeters off course. A fresh wave of white-hot agony ripped a scream from my throat. Leila’s face flushed a deep crimson. She shot a coy, scolding look at the phone. “Kellan, stop! I’m performing surgery here. Quit playing around!” A low, mechanical buzzing sound drifted from beneath her surgical gown. My entire body went rigid. While I was on the operating table, half a step into the grave, giving birth to his child… they were… Kellan… even sworn enemies wouldn’t do this… For the next three hours, every time Leila prepared to make a cut, Kellan would press a button on his end. Leila’s knees would buckle, and the blade would slip, tearing through my flesh. “Does that rhythm feel good, baby?” his voice rasped through the speaker. “Ah… babe… you’re so bad…” I lay strapped to the table, my jaw clamped shut so tight my teeth threatened to crack. My fingernails dug into the armrests until all ten beds bled profusely. But I didn’t make a sound. Working in the underground hacker network, I had made enemies. I’d been hunted, beaten, and tortured. I had learned how to swallow pain. There were nights I’d drag myself back to my safehouse, covered in my own blood, take a shower, and wake up the next morning to code so I could send Kellan more money. An eternity passed before the surgery was finally over. My once-smooth stomach was now a mangled, grotesque mess of butchered flesh. Just before the darkness pulled me under, I heard a flicker of genuine surprise in Kellan’s voice over the line. “Huh. You used to cry and beg me to stop if I gripped your wrists a little too hard.” A cruel, hollow laugh. “Look at how much you can take now. What’s the matter? Did you figure out that without me, nobody in this world is going to coddle you?” 2 In the hazy delirium of unconsciousness, my mind drifted back to the day we met. It was my first time back in the States. I saw Kellan across a dimly lit VIP lounge, and something in me just clicked. I was actually sitting there, sipping a martini, seriously wondering if it was a felony to kidnap a man and keep him, when he walked over and slid his black card across the bar. “Fifty thousand a month,” he had said, his eyes dark and appraising. “Be my girl.” From that day on, I played my role perfectly. The arrogant, spoiled brat who snapped her fingers whenever she was tired or hungry. His three frat-bro best friends despised me. “Who the hell acts like this?” Derek used to complain. “She literally kicked her Louboutins into your chest and told you to take them off!” They couldn’t stand me. They challenged me to a street race, betting that if I lost, I had to drop the diva act. I annihilated them in three straight laps. After that, they bowed to my authority, following me around like eager puppies, calling me their queen. When my eyelids finally fluttered open, the sterile chill of the hospital room reminded me that those days were dead and buried. My butchered incision burned with the threat of infection. Every breath felt like swallowing glass. Clutching the wall for support, I dragged myself out into the hallway to find a nurse. Instead, I saw Leila walking ahead of me, cradling a swaddled infant in her arms. Trailing behind her were Kellan’s three best friends—Derek and the others. They were holding up a massive, obnoxious banner, shouting at the top of their lungs: “CONGRATULATIONS TO THE REAL MRS. KELLAN ON DELIVERING THE HOMEWRECKER’S TRASH!” “CONGRATULATIONS TO THE REAL MRS. KELLAN ON DELIVERING THE HOMEWRECKER’S TRASH!” A crowd of onlookers, nurses, and patients had gathered, whispering and pointing. “Oh my god, his wife is a saint. If I were the doctor, I’d have thrown the mistress and her bastard out the window!” “Can you believe the nerve? Trying to trap Dr. Leila’s husband! Everyone knows the CEO worships the ground Dr. Leila walks on. Having her deliver the baby is the ultimate power move to humiliate the side piece!” The crowd surged forward, chaotic and tight. Suddenly, amidst the shoving, someone snatched the baby from Leila’s arms. With a sickening thud, the infant was hurled onto the hard linoleum floor. “That’s what you get, homewrecker!” someone spat. I pressed my hands against my bleeding incision and screamed, lunging forward like a feral animal. Derek caught me by the shoulders, shoving me back with a sneer. “Well, well. If it isn’t Kellan’s little gold digger. It’s been what, three, four years?” Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the cold sweat. Across the floor, my baby let out a faint, gurgling breath, barely clinging to life. “Derek, please…” I sobbed, dropping to my knees. “Please, remember when I helped you… please just let me get to my baby…” Back then, I had single-handedly hacked a rival firm to secure a massive merger for Derek. He had practically worshipped me, swearing he would take a bullet for me. Derek’s eyes turned dead and cold. He kicked me away. “You think a cheap whore gets to give me orders? I only take orders from Kellan’s actual wife.” The crowd was moving again, feet shuffling perilously close to the tiny bundle on the floor. “But it’s Kellan’s baby too!” I shrieked, my voice tearing. “Aren’t you afraid of what he’ll do?!” Leila burst into laughter. A second later, Derek and the others joined in, their laughter echoing off the sterile walls. “Oh, sweetie,” Derek mocked, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “You didn’t actually think Kellan would ever touch you again, did you?” “You’re so obsessed with money, you actually convinced yourself he was treating you like royalty again?” another friend chimed in. “Newsflash, honey,” Leila whispered, her voice dripping with venom. “The guy you slept with was a homeless junkie Kellan hired off the street. He filmed the whole thing and sent the video to the group chat!” 3 I froze. The world stopped spinning. The passionate reunion I thought we had. The tender nights. The desperate, consuming love. It was all a lie. A meticulously crafted stage for his revenge. In the blink of an eye, a heavy boot came down in the chaos. There was a faint, sickening crunch. The baby stopped crying. Realizing what had just happened, the crowd suddenly scattered like roaches in the light, eager to distance themselves from the murder. I sat slumped against the wall, staring blankly at the tiny, lifeless body on the floor. “Why didn’t you believe me…” I whispered to the empty air. “He really was Kellan’s…” A primal, guttural scream ripped from my chest. I threw myself at Leila, tackling her to the ground, my fists hammering wildly at her stomach. Derek and the others rushed to pull me off, but before they could, a massive force kicked me squarely in my raw, unhealed abdomen. I flew backward, hitting the wall. Blood immediately soaked through my gown. I looked up, gasping for air, and saw him. Kellan. He was gently pulling Leila into his arms, checking her over before turning his furious, obsidian eyes on me. “Daphne!” he roared. “Leila worked herself to the bone helping me rebuild my company! She exhausted herself so badly she was hospitalized! Do you have a fucking heart?! How dare you touch her!” The tears broke, flowing silently down my cheeks. I had worked myself until I coughed up blood. Until my stomach rotted with cancer. And he was asking if I had a heart? A thousand explanations sat on the tip of my tongue, but looking at the absolute hatred in his eyes, I swallowed them all. “Our baby is dead,” I whispered, my voice hollow. “Did you know that?” Kellan froze for a fraction of a second. His eyes reddened, pooling with a toxic mix of grief and unadulterated rage. “Your bastard with some junkie dies and you cry for it? What about our child, Daphne?!” He took a step toward me, his voice shaking the walls. “You were almost five months along when you killed her! How could you do it?! Because I was broke? Because I lost my company, you murdered my daughter?!” Mentioning that child felt like taking a bullet to the chest. I squeezed my eyes shut. When Kellan lost everything and fell into a deep depression, I was desperate. I signed up for an illegal, high-risk clinical trial for pregnant women to earn a massive payout. But the drug failed. It killed the baby in my womb. I was a mother—did he really think I didn’t bleed for her? But I was terrified the guilt would push him over the edge. So, I hid the truth about the trials, packed my bags, and flew out to beg my parents for a loan. All he saw was the abortion clinic receipt I left on the kitchen counter. Seeing my silence, Kellan let out a bitter, jagged laugh. He turned, walked to his car, and pulled out a heavy duffel bag. He unzipped it and dumped it over me. Thousands of crumpled one-dollar bills rained down, burying me in dirty, degrading paper. “There’s the blood money for your kid!” he spat. “You made this big scene because you wanted a payout, right?! You came crawling back to me because you wanted cash, didn’t you?!” He closed his eyes, and a single, crystalline tear slipped down his jawline. “Everything you want, I’ll give it to you. But after today, our debts are settled. If I ever see your face again, I’ll kill you.” I shook my head frantically, my chest heaving with sobs that tore my stitches open. I didn’t want the money! I let them experiment on my body. I joined the criminal underworld. I severed ties with my family forever. I walked through hell and sacrificed my very soul. The only thing I ever wanted was you! The blood pooled beneath me, slick and warm against the cold tile. The pain finally short-circuited my brain, and I began to lose consciousness. In the fading light, Kellan’s face was a mask of stone. “Get a doctor to drag her out of here,” he ordered the room. “Tell her the next time we meet, I won’t hold back.” Suddenly, Derek’s phone pinged. He looked at it, his eyes widening in shock. “Kellan! We got a hit on the IP address for Sage! We’re finally gonna find out who the hacker is that funded your comeback!” A beat passed. Derek frowned. “Wait… the location is in Philadelphia. That’s the exact same address the private investigators found for Daphne when she left the country. You don’t think…” Kellan let out a harsh, dismissive scoff. “She used to cry if a tag on her dress scratched her neck. You really think my little princess was running a dark-web hustle to wire me millions?” He glared at Derek. “Use your brain before you speak.” 4 When I woke up, the bandages on my stomach had been changed. An older doctor stood by my bed, his eyes filled with profound pity. “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t have tried to have a child. The cancer was somewhat under control, but the pregnancy and the trauma… it’s spread aggressively. You don’t have much time.” I nodded, murmuring a quiet thank you. It didn’t matter anymore. I dragged myself out of bed, leaning heavily on the IV pole, and made my way down to the morgue. I needed to claim my son’s body. It’s better this way, I thought numbly. At least when I’m dead, he won’t be left behind for Kellan and Leila to torture. But when I pushed open the heavy metal doors of the morgue, I saw Leila. She was casually tossing my son’s tiny body into a biohazard trash bag. Adrenaline surged through my dying veins. I hurled myself at her. “What the hell are you doing?!” Leila rolled her eyes, unfazed. “Oh, look. The homewrecker is awake. My dogs are on a raw meat diet. I figured I’d do a little recycling.” She smirked. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a junkie’s trash. Don’t tell me you’re emotionally attached?” In my delirious haze, I hallucinated. Through the translucent plastic of the trash bag, I saw the face of the daughter I had lost years ago, crying out for me. I snatched the bag from her hands, ripping it open and pressing the cold, tiny body against my chest. “Shh, baby, don’t cry… Mommy’s here…” Leila sneered and reached out to grab him back. “Stop acting crazy, you psycho!” I clamped my arms tight around my baby and lunged forward, sinking my teeth into her extended forearm. “Don’t you ever touch my child!” Leila shrieked in pain. I bit down harder, tasting copper, refusing to let go until my teeth hit bone and a deep, ragged gash opened up. With her free hand, Leila slapped me across the face so hard my vision went black. “You stupid bitch! You have a death wish?!” But a second later, Leila’s demeanor flipped. She began to weep softly, her voice trembling. “Daphne, why would you bite me? It hurts so much…” I followed her gaze to the doorway. Kellan was standing there. He charged into the room like a bull, pulling Leila behind him, looking at me as if I were a monster. Leila whimpered, burying her face in his chest. “I was just trying to help her arrange the remains… and she attacked me. Kellan, this is the arm I injured while carrying boxes for your startup… and she bit it!” Guilt and fury warped Kellan’s features. He reached forward, violently ripping the dead infant from my grasp and tossing it onto a nearby metal gurney. His hand clamped around my throat, lifting me onto my toes. “I told you!” he roared, spit flying into my face. “I told you the next time we met, I would destroy you! Stop overestimating your place in my world!” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You wanted that junkie’s bastard so badly? Fine. I’ll give him back to you.” Before I could process his words, Kellan dragged me into the adjacent autopsy theater and slammed me down onto the steel table. The stitches on my abdomen ripped completely open. Blood poured over the sides of the table. I bit down on my own lip so hard my teeth were coated in scarlet. The older doctor from my room was forced in by Kellan’s security. He looked sick to his stomach, but under Kellan’s terrifying glare, he scrubbed in. He took a scalpel and cut through the ten layers of tissue they had just repaired. Every slice sent tremors of unimaginable agony through my fading body. And then… he picked up the dead infant. And placed it inside my open womb. Layer by layer, he sewed me back up. Kellan let out a cold, satisfied laugh and walked out, taking Leila with him. Left alone on the bloody table, hemorrhaging out, I looked up at the weeping doctor. He pressed his hands together in prayer. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart… God forgive me, I didn’t want to do this…” I smiled faintly, tasting my own blood. “I don’t blame you,” I forced the words out on an exhale. “But I need you to do one thing for me. Prepare three envelopes. On the day Kellan’s company goes public… hand them to him.” Three months later, Kellan’s tech empire went public on the New York Stock Exchange. Walking the red carpet with Leila on his arm, his mind felt heavy. A dense, chaotic fog had settled over him. Every single day since he walked out of that hospital, it felt like there was glass in his lungs. During the years I was gone, he had thought of me constantly. He convinced himself it was hatred. But now that he had his ultimate revenge, why did his chest ache with this suffocating pressure? Why, despite his monumental success, did he only feel alive when he was pretending things were back to the way they used to be with me? As he stood at the podium, flashbulbs exploding around him for the ribbon-cutting, an older man pushed through the security line. It was the doctor. He shoved three sealed envelopes into Kellan’s hands. “Mr. CEO… someone asked me to deliver these to you.” Kellan, assuming they were congratulatory letters from board members, absentmindedly tore them open. He froze. The first was a DNA paternity test. It proved, with 99.9% certainty, that he was the father of the dead infant. The second was my death certificate, stapled to a terminal, stage-four stomach cancer diagnosis. The third was a stack of bank transfer receipts. Millions of dollars. And the signature on the bottom line read: Sage.

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I had finally managed to carve out a few days of leave to visit my parents. We were sitting in the quiet warmth of their living room when the encrypted satellite phone in my pocket buzzed. A single message flashed on the screen: “Ticket booked. Depart immediately.” My professional instincts kicked in, accompanied by a cold spike of dread. I didn’t ask questions. Within minutes, I was in a cab rushing toward the airport. I sprinted through the terminal, arriving at the boarding gate just as the final call was echoing through the PA system. But a hand reached out, blocking my path. “I’m very sorry, sir,” the gate agent said, her voice carrying that practiced, plastic warmth common to airline staff. “The flight has been overbooked. We’ll have to move you to the next available departure.” “We can offer you a five-hundred-dollar travel voucher as compensation.” She was already tapping away at her keyboard, modifying my booking without waiting for my consent. “Wait,” I said, trying to keep my breathing steady. “That’s impossible. I booked this seat through a restricted federal priority channel. It bypasses standard inventory. You don’t have the authority to bump me.” She didn’t even look up. The aircraft was scheduled to push back in forty minutes. Thousands of miles away, thirty-five lives were counting on me arriving on that flight. 1. The agent handed me a new boarding pass with a polite, dismissive smile. I looked down at the paper. The next departure wasn’t for another sixteen hours. If I waited that long, whatever waited for me at the other end would be a recovery mission, not a rescue. “Ma’am, please,” I urged, leaning closer to the desk. “Double-check the system. This is a first-class ticket. How does a first-class seat get overbooked on a Tuesday morning?” She rolled her eyes, her professional composure fracturing just enough to let her irritation show. “We get it, sir,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. “You saved up and splurged on a first-class ticket. First time? Is that why you were loitering in the VIP lounge until the absolute last second instead of boarding like everyone else? You only have yourself to blame for missing the window.” I stared at her, bewildered. “A minute ago you said the flight was overbooked. Now you’re claiming I’m late? The gate doesn’t close until forty minutes before departure. It’s forty-five minutes right now. The jet bridge is still open.” “Look, there’s no need to keep shouting that you’re in first class,” she muttered, adjusting her headset. “It’s honestly embarrassing. We know you wanted your little taste of luxury, but you missed your chance. Don’t make a scene.” “I am not making a scene. I am asking you to respect the booking,” I said, the pressure in my chest tightening. “I do not consent to this change. You need to let me on that plane.” “Sir, please step back,” she said, her voice rising just enough to draw the attention of nearby passengers. “I’ve already been incredibly patient. I gave you the voucher out of our own courtesy pool. Most people would be grateful.” “I don’t want the voucher. I want my seat.” “Some people just don’t know how to act,” she whispered under her breath, loud enough for me to hear. I pointed a finger at the desk, my anger finally breaking through. “That is incredibly unprofessional. Let me speak to your supervisor.” Our exchange had begun to draw a crowd. Travelers carrying neck pillows and dragging carry-ons began to linger, sensing a delay. “What’s going on? Is the flight delayed?” a man in a business suit asked. The agent’s demeanor shifted instantly. She shrank back, her eyes wide and watery, playing the victim perfectly. “This passenger arrived late,” she told the gathering crowd, her voice trembling slightly. “The gate is closed, but he’s demanding we hold the entire aircraft of two hundred people just for him. He keeps throwing his first-class ticket in our faces, threatening to get us fired. We offered him a free change and five hundred dollars in compensation, and he’s still screaming at us.” The onlookers immediately turned their judgments on me. “Come on, man, she’s just trying to do her job.” “Seriously. Working gate duty is hard enough without some entitled guy throwing a tantrum over five hundred bucks.” “Who raised these people? He honestly thinks the world revolves around him.” I took a deep, centering breath, trying to block out the noise of their whispers. “I arrived on time. The gate was open when I got here. They claimed the flight was overbooked, changed my ticket without my permission, and then insulted me when I protested. I am only trying to get on the flight I paid for.” The crowd murmured, momentarily swayed, but the defense was weak. “Even if they made a mistake, you don’t treat service workers like that,” a woman in the back called out. “Just take the next flight. You’re disrupting everyone else.” “Yeah, who knows where he even got the money for first class anyway,” another whispered. Before I could reply, a man in a sharp navy blazer stepped through the security stanchions. “What is the issue here?” he asked, his voice carrying the practiced authority of airport management. “Why is there a crowd gathered at a closed gate?” 2. I felt a brief wave of relief. Finally, someone who might actually look at the data. “Are you the supervisor?” I asked. “My name is Dr. Lucas Edmund. I cleared security and arrived at this gate before the boarding window closed. Your staff refused to let me board, changed my reservation without my consent, and have been stalling me with false claims. I have an urgent matter to attend to. I need to be on this flight.” The supervisor adjusted his glasses, his eyes scanning me with a strange, calculating intensity. “Let me see your ID, sir,” he said. I handed him my government-issued identification, my eyes darting to the digital clock above the desk. The minutes were bleeding away. He tapped on his terminal for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he looked up, his expression completely blank. “Sir, our system shows you checked through the main security line only five minutes before the gate was set to close. It is physically impossible to walk from TSA to Gate B12 in under eight minutes during a holiday rush. Our agents followed standard protocol. There was no error.” I shook my head, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. “That’s a lie. I didn’t go through the main line. I cleared through the priority government lane. It took me less than two minutes.” “I’m sorry, sir,” the supervisor said, his smile entirely devoid of warmth. “The system doesn’t lie. You’ll have to take the next flight.” “See? I told you he was lying,” a bystander remarked. “Probably thought he could throw a tantrum and get away with it.” “Typical. Thinks because he bought a nice ticket he can rewrite the rules of space and time.” I felt like I was punching a wall of fog. Every argument I made was absorbed and twisted. I didn’t want to pull rank—doing so risked exposing the nature of my work—but the clock was down to thirty minutes. I pulled out my secure satellite phone to call my liaison. As I dialed, a gate agent moving a stack of metal queue barriers “accidentally” veered into my path, her shoulder slamming hard into my arm. The phone—a rugged, unbranded black device—slipped from my hand, skittering across the polished floor toward the boarding door. Another agent carrying a heavy metal stanchion tripped, dropping the heavy iron base directly onto the screen. A sharp crack echoed through the terminal. The screen shattered into a web of black glass. The two agents scrambled to their knees, their faces painted with exaggerated terror. “Oh my gosh, sir, I am so sorry!” the woman cried. “It was an accident, I swear! Please don’t report us. We’ll pay for the screen, just please don’t get us fired!” The crowd’s murmurs turned vicious. “What kind of phone is that? Looks like a cheap burner.” “Probably some knockoff he bought online to look like a high-roller. No wonder he’s so protective of it.” “He’s probably a grifter,” someone laughed. “Spent his last dime on a first-class ticket hoping to find a wealthy sponsor in the lounge, and now his little plan is ruined.” The laughter cut through the stress in my chest, leaving a cold, sharp anger. The supervisor, Howard Cross, watched me with a quiet, triumphant glint in his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Call the police,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Call them right now. We are going to review the security footage of this entire interaction. And let me make one thing absolutely clear: if I am not on that aircraft, this flight does not leave the ground.” 3. No one moved to help me. To them, I was just a man having a public breakdown. I stood there, watching the minutes tick away on the departure board. By now, the gate should have closed. The ground crew would be preparing for pushback. At my destination, the command center would be waiting for my confirmation of departure. When they realized I wasn’t on the manifest, the pressure would shift. But I hadn’t anticipated how far Howard Cross was willing to go to cover his tracks. Behind me, a young woman had her phone raised, her screen showing a live-stream interface. The title on the screen read: Entitled “First-Class” Loser Screams at Gate Agents. “Put that phone away,” I said, pointing at her. “You do not have my permission to record me. Shut it down.” The girl laughed, turning the camera back to herself. “Oh look, guys, he’s threatening me now. Keep sending those gifts, let’s see how far he goes before security gets here.” The comments flooded the screen, visible even from where I stood. “Call the cops on him.” “He’s probably broke and trying to scam a free flight.” “Look at his face, he knows he’s caught.” I clenched my fists, my chest burning. I couldn’t afford to have my face plastered across social media. The syndicate we were tracking was highly sophisticated. If they saw my face at a civilian airport, they would know we had compromised their location. My family in Maine would be in immediate danger. “Please,” I turned to a couple of men standing nearby. “Help me call the police. I need an officer here to take a statement. I will personally compensate you for any delay this causes you. Tenfold.” They looked away, avoiding my eyes. “Look, man, we don’t want to get involved in whatever scam you’ve got going on,” one of them muttered. “Just take the loss,” another added. Howard’s walkie-talkie chirped. He spoke into it quickly, his eyes never leaving mine. Moments later, the heavy doors at the end of the concourse opened, and two separate teams in uniform came marching down the terminal. The first team wore the dark tactical vests of airport security. The second wore the duty belts of the Port Authority Police. “Over here!” Howard called out, waving them down. “We have a passenger disrupting airport operations and making threats to halt the flight.” I looked at the lead officer, Captain Eric Shaw. For a brief second, I thought the system had finally worked. Surely they had been alerted to protect my transit. Then I saw the handcuffs on Shaw’s belt. 4. “Sir, step away from the desk and put your hands where I can see them,” Captain Shaw said, his voice level and cold. “Captain, there’s been a mistake,” I said, keeping my hands open and visible. “I am Dr. Lucas Edmund. I was booked on this flight under a federal priority clearance.” Howard stepped forward, pointing at his screen. “Officer, the priority passenger we were instructed to assist is already on board. Seat 2B. Mr. Frank Cross. This man is using a fraudulent name and trying to disrupt the flight.” Frank Cross. I looked at Howard Cross’s nametag, and then at the screen. It was a classic bait-and-switch. Howard had used his administrative override to bump me from the government-reserved seat and place his own relative on the flight, likely thinking I was just some low-level contractor who wouldn’t dare make a fuss. “Officer, call your district commander,” I urged, my voice tight. “Ask him who is supposed to be in seat 2B. This is a matter of national security. I am heading to Helena, Montana. There are thirty-five hostages in the wilderness right now, and I am the only specialist who can locate them. If I do not board this plane, people are going to die.” A collective snicker went through the crowd. “Oh, now he’s a secret agent,” the live-streamer giggled into her phone. “He’s literally inventing a terrorist plot because he missed his flight. This is gold.” Captain Shaw’s face hardened. He didn’t believe a word. To him, I was just another unhinged traveler who had snapped under the pressure of holiday travel. “Sir, you are under arrest for making false terroristic threats and interfering with airport operations,” Shaw said, grabbing my arm and pulling it behind my back. The cold steel of the handcuffs clicked around my wrist. “Wait!” I yelled, struggling against his grip. “Call the number on my profile! Just look at the reservation notes!” “Save it for the station, Dr. Edmund,” Shaw said, pushing me toward the exit. Howard Cross stood by the gate door, a thin, satisfied smirk on his face. “The plane is pushing back in five minutes, sir. Safe travels in the back of the cruiser.” They began to drag me down the concourse, the crowd parting to let us through, several people still holding up their phones to capture my humiliation. Then, the heavy security doors at the end of the terminal flew open. A squad of federal marshals in tactical gear, carrying automatic weapons, came sprinting down the hallway, their boots thundering against the tile.

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