Category: English

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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During my lunch break, a coworker leaned over to look at the new watch my husband had given me. “Fiona, why does the screw on the back of this watch look like it’s been messed with?” My stomach dropped. I grabbed a small precision tool from my desk and carefully unscrewed the backplate. Inside was a micro-GPS tracker. My mind raced, flashing back to all the times Jared had called me lately during my shifts, always saying, “I love you, babe,” with a strange, frantic intensity. Yet when I came home, he wouldn’t let me near him. I threw the watch into my desk drawer, grabbed my car keys, and bolted out of the office. … I slammed my foot on the gas. The world blurred outside the windows as my car tore down the road. The only thing spinning in my head was the image of that tracker. I screeched to a halt in front of our apartment building, threw the car into park, and rushed through the lobby. I pressed the elevator button repeatedly, my heart hammering against my ribs. The doors slid shut, lifting me to the seventeenth floor. The moment they cracked open, I squeezed through and ran down the hallway to our door. I pounded on the wood with everything I had. “Jared! Open the door!” Silence. “Open up, Jared! I know you’re in there!” I screamed, throwing my fists against the door. After what felt like an eternity, the door finally opened a fraction of an inch. Jared stood there in his silk robe, his hair slightly disheveled, his cheeks flushed a deep, guilty pink. “Fiona? What are you doing back? Did something happen?” He gripped the doorknob, blocking the entryway. I shoved past him and stormed inside. The living room looked exactly as I had left it this morning. “Are you out of your mind, Fiona?!” Jared yelled from behind me. I ignored him and marched straight into our bedroom. I ripped the comforter off the bed. Empty. I pulled open the closet doors, then dropped to my knees to look underneath the bedframe. “What are you looking for?” he asked, trailing after me, his voice trembling. I spun around and ran into the master bathroom, ripping open the shower curtain. Nothing. “What is wrong with you? Did something go wrong at work? You’re scaring me.” Jared reached out and grabbed my arm. His hand was ice-cold. I flung his hand off. “Where is she?” Jared’s face went entirely pale. “Who? What are you talking about?” Suddenly, a muffled commotion rose from the street below. There were shouts, followed by a man’s sharp scream. “She jumped! Someone fell from the balcony! I think it was the seventeenth floor!” I froze. The seventeenth floor. Our floor. I lunged toward the bedroom window. “Don’t look!” Jared threw himself in front of me, spreading his arms to block my path. “Fiona! Please, don’t look!” His face was white, his voice cracking with sheer panic. “Get out of my way,” I said, staring him down. “I don’t want you to see it! You’ll have nightmares!” he wept, shaking his head, refusing to budge. The more he resisted, the more I needed to see. I shoved him hard against the wall. He let out a muffled grunt, his knees buckling as he slid down to the floor. I leaned out the window, looking down. On the grass below, a few neighbors had gathered, pointing up at our building. But the lawn was empty. There was no blood, no body, no ambulance. An older woman called out, “Where did she go? Weren’t she hanging from the ledge just a second ago?” Another woman replied, “You must be seeing things. There’s no one there. Let’s go inside.” The crowd slowly began to disperse. I pulled my head back in, suddenly drained of all strength. I turned around and looked at Jared, who was slumped against the wall. On his face was an unmistakable, sickening look of relief. I walked over to him. “Where is she?” He lowered his head. I knelt, grabbing his jaw, forcing his face up. “I asked you a question. Who was at that window?” Jared shudders and tries to look away. “Who? Fiona, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You pushed me… it hurts.” He whimpered, tears welling in his eyes. I leaned in close. “You weren’t afraid I’d get nightmares from a body.” “You were afraid I’d catch her.” “Do you know what your face looked like when I turned around? Relief. You were relieved she got away, relieved I didn’t catch her. Do you think I’m blind?” My voice was quiet, but every word cut like a razor. Jared looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Relief? Fiona, I’m relieved my wife isn’t losing her mind! I’m relieved our home isn’t ruined by some freak accident!” He scrambled up, pulling himself up by the wall, pointing at the messy bedroom. “Look at what you just did! Barging in, screaming, tearing the place apart! You don’t trust me?” “Is this what our marriage is to you?” His voice was high-pitched, dripping with defensive indignation. If it weren’t for the tracker sitting in my desk drawer, I might have actually believed I was the crazy one. I stood up, pulled out my phone, and brought up the photo of the tracker, holding it right in front of his face. “And what about this, Jared? Explain this to me.” The glow of the screen hit his face, and his features instantly drained of color. His lips parted, but no sound came out. I expected a confession, but instead, he burst into tears. Thick, heavy tears rolled down his cheeks. “I… I was worried about you!” he cried, his voice cracking. “You’ve been working late every single night, coming home and barely saying a word. I call you, and you don’t answer. I was terrified something would happen to you. What was I supposed to do?” “I just wanted to know you were safe! Is it a crime to love you, Fiona? Is loving my wife a mistake?” He wept, turning himself into the victim so flawlessly it made my stomach turn. I grabbed his wrist. It was freezing. “So, because you were worried about me, a woman had to dangle from our seventeenth-floor window?” “Stop it!” he screamed, ripping his hand away. “You just want to believe I did something wrong! You want to ruin us!” He stumbled back and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. “Fine! You want to play this game? I’ll call my parents. I’ll let them hear exactly how their perfect daughter-in-law is tearing their son apart over nothing!” He unlocked the phone, his thumb hovering over his contacts. My head throbed. I knew he’d do it. If his parents showed up, they’d only see a trembling, weeping son and a frantic, erratic wife. No one would believe me. I would be the villain who broke a good man’s heart. The fight drained out of me all at once. “Don’t call them.” My voice was dry, hollow. Jared stared at me, tears streaming, his finger poised over his father’s name. I closed my eyes, then opened them. “I’m sorry.” The words were like ash in my mouth. “I’ve been under too much pressure at work. I lost control. I’m sorry.” Jared’s sobbing slowed. He studied me for a few agonizing seconds, making sure I’m not mocking him, before slowly lowering the phone. He stepped closer and took my hand. “I know you’re tired, sweetie. I don’t blame you.” His hand was still cold, but his voice was a soothing, gentle purr. “Just don’t scare me like that again, okay?” I looked at his tear-stained face and nodded. “Okay.” He smiled—a soft, triumphant smile of pure relief. And I felt a deep, icy chill settle in my bones. The next morning, Jared was still asleep, resting peacefully with a faint, content smile on his lips. Yesterday felt like a fever dream. I made breakfast as usual, ate alone, and walked out the door. But the moment the front door clicked shut, I slipped into the stairwell and called my coworker Megan to take a personal day. I waited until I heard the hum of the elevator going down, then quiet as a ghost, I unlocked our front door and stepped back inside. While he was still asleep, I quickly and discreetly installed tiny cameras in a few blind spots around the apartment. For the next few days, I spent my working hours sitting in the coffee shop downstairs, my eyes glued to the live feed on my phone. On screen, he didn’t do his usual workouts or watch TV. By midday, he’d be curled up on the sofa, texting furiously. His fingers flew across the screen, his mouth curled into the goofy, lovestruck grin of a teenager in the honeymoon phase. Watching it, I felt like the air was being squeezed out of my lungs. At exactly six in the evening, I walked through the door. “Welcome home, babe,” he said, jogging over to take my bag, wrapping his arms around me. After dinner, he went to take a shower. Listening to the rushing water, I walked over to the sofa and picked up his phone. I used his passcode and opened his messages. The chat list was pristine. Aside from work channels and group chats with his buddies, the active conversation from this afternoon had been scrubbed clean. I stared at the blank screen, my blood running cold. Without a word, I slid the phone back into place. Two days later, in the dead of night, the silence finally drove me mad. I lay in bed, eyes closed, pretending to sleep, but my mind was spinning. At 1:30 AM, the mattress shifted. Jared pulled the comforter back and slipped out of bed barefoot. He padded out of the room and into the master bathroom, closing the door behind him. Soon, the faucet was running. The rush of water was loud enough to drown out a whisper. But the tiny microphone I had hidden beneath the vanity caught every single syllable, feeding it directly into the earbud in my left ear. “Hey sweetheart, I miss you too…” His voice was pitched low, thick with a sweet, cloying affection I hadn’t heard in years. “I know, but she’s like clockwork. Home every day, sitting there like a lump of wood. It’s exhausting just looking at her.” The voice on the other end mumbled something, and he let out a soft chuckle. “Alright, let’s wait until the weekend. I’ll tell her I’m going out with the guys, and then I’m all yours…” In the dark, I stuffed the corner of the comforter into my mouth to muffle my sobs. Tears soaked into the pillow. Every word felt like a physical blow to my chest. So that’s what I was to him. A boring piece of wood he had to tolerate. The weekend arrived. The city was alive with couples holding hands, enjoying the spring air. Jared spent the morning preening in front of the mirror. He wore a brand-new designer shirt I’ve never seen before and groomed his hair to perfection. As he headed for the door, he grabbed a sleek, brand-new leather bag. “Babe,” he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my cheek, “I’m heading out with the guys. Might be a bit late tonight.” I looked at his handsome, sculpted face, feeling nothing but a wave of nausea. “Sure,” I forced a smile. “Have fun.” His eyes crinkled with delight. “Thanks, babe!” The moment he stepped out of the building, I pulled my baseball cap low and followed him down. I slipped into my car, parked across the street. He didn’t head for the subway. Instead, he lingered on the curb, checking his phone. Within minutes, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up beside him. The door swung open, and he slid into the passenger seat. Before the car even pulls away, the woman in the driver’s seat leaned over, cupping his face, and kissed him deeply. I turned the key in the ignition and followed them. The Mercedes bypassed the city center, heading straight for the scenic, upscale suburbs of the north valley. My hands were steady on the steering wheel. Eventually, the car pulled into the grand driveway of the Whispering Pines Resort & Spa. Jared got out, and the woman followed, looping her arm through his. They laughed, sharing some private joke as they strolled into the gilded lobby. I killed the engine, pulled the key, and sat in the quiet of my car. The afternoon sun was blindingly bright. I pulled down the sun visor and retrieved my phone. First, I called my father. “Dad, it’s me.” “Fiona! Sweetheart, why are you calling at this hour? Aren’t you working?” “I took a few days off. I wanted to surprise Jared with a little getaway. We’re actually up at the Whispering Pines Resort—it’s beautiful here. I booked a private dining room for dinner. Why don’t you and Mom drive up and join us? Let’s have a family dinner.” My dad sounded thrilled. “Oh, that sounds wonderful, sweetie. Your mother and I will get ready right away.” “Perfect. I’ll text you the reservation details.” As soon as I hung up, I dialed my mother-in-law’s number. It rings a few times before she picked up. “Hello? Fiona?” Her voice was sharp, energetic. “Hi, Helen. Are you and Arthur home?” “Yes, we’re just watching some TV. Is everything alright?” “Everything’s great. Jared and I are out celebrating, and I booked a gorgeous private room at a restaurant up in the valley. I realized we haven’t all sat down for a nice meal in ages. I’d love it if you and Arthur could join us.” “Oh? Jared is with you? That boy didn’t say a word about a trip.” “I wanted it to be a surprise. Can you make it? It’s not far—the Whispering Pines Resort.” “Of course we can make it. We’ll get ready and head out now.” “Great. The room is called the Summit Suite. Just ask the host when you arrive.” “We’ll see you soon, dear.” I slid my phone back into my pocket, pushed the car door open, and stepped out into the warm breeze. Entering the lobby, the receptionist greeted me with a polished, professional smile. “Welcome, how can I help you today?” “I have a reservation for the Summit Suite. Fiona Albright.” She tapped on her screen. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Albright. The room is ready for you in our second-floor dining hall.” “Thank you.” I walked toward the elevators. I remembered exactly where the Mercedes parked, and I knew exactly which direction they went. I stood in the quiet, carpeted hallway of the resort, waiting for my family. Waiting for his parents. My parents arrived first. “Fiona, have you been waiting long?” My mom hugged me, pulling back to look at my face. “You look a little thin, sweetie. Are you sleeping?” “Just busy with the quarterly budget, Mom,” I smiled. “Dad, let’s head up to the room first.” A few minutes later, Arthur and Helen arrived. Arthur spotted me immediately. “Fiona! Where’s Jared? I thought you were surprising him.” “He’s upstairs freshening up. You know how he is—has to make sure every hair is in place before he dines.” Helen chuckled. “Naturally. It’s so sweet of you to plan this, Fiona.” I took Arthur’s arm. “We’re family. It’s the least I can do. Let’s go have some tea in the suite, and then I’ll go grab him.” The Summit Suite was beautiful, featuring massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a serene pine forest. I poured tea for the four of them. Arthur took a sip, then asked, “Which room are you guys staying in? I’ll go nudge him. I’d love to see the suites here anyway.” I set the teapot down, smiling warmly. “Actually, Dad, I was thinking we could all go up together and surprise him. He’ll be absolutely thrilled to see you both.” I stood up. “Come on, let’s go.” They all rose, smiling. The five of us walked out of the private dining room and stepped back into the elevator. On the ride up, Arthur was still singing my praises. “Fiona is one in a million. Jared is a lucky man to have a wife who cares this much about family.” My parents beamed with pride. The elevator chimes, opening on the sixth floor. The corridor was long, lined with plush, sound-dampening carpets that swallowed the sound of our footsteps. Helen whispered, “Which room is it?” “Just down here,” I said, pointing toward the end of the hall. We stopped outside Room 608. I turned around, putting a finger to my lips with a playful grin. “Shh. Big surprise.” They all quieted down, their faces bright with anticipation. I raised my hand and knocked three times. Firm, but polite. Nothing. I knocked again, harder this time. A few seconds passed, and then my husband’s voice drifted through the door. “Who is it?” Behind me, the smiles on four faces began to stiffen. The door swung open to reveal the woman from the Mercedes, a plush hotel bathrobe draped loosely over her shoulders.

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My name is Olivia. Back when I was studying in Boston, I fell hard for a guy named Luke. He had these striking, crystal-blue eyes and a sharp jawline framed by effortlessly messy blonde hair. He looked like he had stepped straight off a high-end fashion catalog, and I was completely, foolishly captivated. We had been married for just three months when I finally saw the darkness lurking beneath his polished exterior. It was a quiet weekend morning. We had just finished tangled in the sheets, and I was lying across his chest, my skin still flushed, feeling a lazy, post-coital warmth. “Olivia, Trey invited us to a couples’ retreat this weekend,” Luke said. His voice was entirely casual, but there was a flicker of eager anticipation in his eyes. I shifted slightly, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. “Are you sure you want to take me to that kind of party, Luke?” My tone was laced with quiet resentment. I knew exactly what he meant by a “party.” To Luke, it was never just about drinks and music; it was about swapping. He was a man who lived on the edge of cheap thrills. In our short three months of marriage, he had already pushed me into roleplaying as a nurse, a secretary, a schoolgirl… but apparently, those private fantasies were no longer enough to satisfy him. He chuckled, tracing a finger down my spine. “Come on, babe. Where’s your sense of adventure? Besides, Trey is built like a freight train. You’d probably enjoy him. Especially his…” He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air like a dare. “And you’re okay with that?” I asked, testing him, my heart aching under the weight of my own words. “You won’t get jealous hearing me scream under your best friend?” “Jealous?” Luke smiled, a sly, wicked curve of his lips. “Of course not. Because I’ll be putting twice as much energy into tearing his wife apart.” ——– 1 The weekend arrived in a blur of silent anxiety. To prepare for the party, Luke hadn’t touched me in days. He claimed he was “saving his ammunition” for the main event. “Well, look at you. You actually showered and styled your hair this early,” I remarked, watching him stand in front of the bathroom mirror. Even though I had ultimately agreed to go, I had absolutely no intention of participating in their sick game. But seeing Luke so meticulously groom himself for another woman made a bitter taste rise in my throat. He flushed slightly, smoothing down his collar. “Just trying to make sure I don’t embarrass you, babe.” “Right.” I turned away, letting out a sharp, cold breath. I went to the closet and deliberately pulled out a set of black lace lingerie, pairing it with a deep-V plum silk slip dress and sheer black stockings. It was elegant, sophisticated, and undeniably provocative. When I looked in the mirror, my chest was partially exposed, the pale skin of my collarbone contrasting sharply with the rich fabric. I looked beautiful, and more importantly, I looked untouchable. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that dress before,” Luke said, his eyes darkening as they swept over me. “I bought it specifically for today,” I said, offering him a cool, triumphant smile. I wanted him to see what he was so willing to throw away. I wanted him to realize that no matter how alluring another man’s wife might seem, she couldn’t compare to what he already had. “God, you look incredible. That purple is insane.” Luke stepped closer, his hands sliding around my waist as he lifted me onto the edge of the dresser. “We have some time. Let’s do a quick round.” “Oh? What about saving your ammo?” I patted his cheek, my voice dripping with quiet mockery. “You wouldn’t want to get outshined by your buddy, would you?” I expected him to brush it off, to choose me over the fantasy. But my words hit a nerve. Luke froze, his hands dropping from my hips. “Right. Right, you’re absolutely of course. Can’t let the team down.” My heart sank into a dark, hollow space. He actually stopped. Before the silence could stretch too thin, his phone vibrated on the counter. “They’re downstairs,” Luke said, checking the screen. “Trey and Tasha are waiting.” 2 “Let’s go,” Luke urged, grabbing his keys. “Okay,” I murmured, checking my lipstick one last time before following him down the elevator. The moment we stepped out of the building, I felt a heavy, burning gaze lock onto me. Standing by a sleek black SUV was Trey. He was tall, heavily built, with a raw, athletic frame and a magnetic intensity that made the air feel thick. When his eyes swept over my body, a sudden, nervous heat flushed through my skin. Even though I had resolved not to participate, knowing he was the man Luke had chosen for me sent a strange, involuntary shiver down my spine. Trey didn’t look away when he caught me watching him. Instead, he flashed a slow, predatory grin, his teeth white against his dark skin. “You look beautiful, Olivia.” My cheeks burned, and I struggled to find my voice. Fortunately, Luke chimed in, saving me from having to answer. “Babe, you ride shotgun,” Luke said, already opening the back door and sliding in. I hesitated, looking at Trey, who was holding the passenger door open for me. As soon as I buckled my seatbelt, a sharp, dripping voice cut through the quiet of the car from the backseat. “Is that really all you have to show off, sweetie? I expected more.” I glanced in the rearview mirror. Tasha, Trey’s wife, was sitting next to Luke, her posture rigid as she pointedly adjusted her own low-cut top. I had purposely gone braless beneath the silk dress to see if Luke would show even a shred of possessiveness. He hadn’t. But Trey had certainly noticed when I leaned in to buckle up, and Tasha’s sharp tongue was born out of pure jealousy. “I don’t see any issue with it, Tasha,” I said smoothly, looking back at her. “We’re all here to have a good time, aren’t we? Might as well put on a show.” “Don’t go easy on the exhibitionist, Trey,” Tasha snapped, her eyes narrowing as she targeted her husband. “Show her how we do things.” Trey let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his eyes darting toward me with a quiet amusement. “Consider it done, baby.” “And don’t you worry, Tasha,” Luke chimed in, his hand sliding onto her knee in the rearview mirror. “I’ll make sure to handle you so thoroughly she’ll be the one begging for a turn.” “Thanks, sweetie,” Tasha purred, leaning into his touch. I turned back to the road, my face frozen in a polite mask, though my chest felt tight enough to burst. Luke actually believed he was playing the game, completely blind to the hollow ache he was leaving in his wake. For a long stretch, the car was dead silent. I figured the tension would hold until we reached the secluded cabin in the Berkshires, but it was my husband who shattered the peace. An abrupt, breathless gasp echoed from the backseat. I adjusted the rearview mirror and caught Tasha quickly dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a tissue. Next to her, Luke was smugly zipping up his jeans, a look of pure, satisfied arrogance on his face. “Couldn’t even wait thirty minutes, Luke?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “How was she? Better than me?” Luke’s face flushed red in the mirror. He coughed, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Uh, she was great. Really great.” Tasha glared at him, clearly unsatisfied with the diplomatic answer. “Actually,” Luke quickly added, trying to smooth things over, “you’re both incredible. No comparison.” Tasha rolled her eyes. “I haven’t even brought out my best moves yet, Olivia. Just wait until we get to the cabin. We’ll see who keeps their man interested.” “I’m not worried,” I replied, staring straight ahead. 3 “That’s my girl,” Trey said, letting out a booming laugh as he gripped the steering wheel. “Don’t worry, Olivia. You’ve got this in the bag,” Luke added, though his gaze remained glued to Tasha’s collarbone. “If you two are so confident, why wait?” Trey suggested, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he looked between the rearview mirror and me. “We could pull over right now.” “Let’s do it,” Luke agreed instantly. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I cut in, my voice sharp. “The car is cramped and dusty. Wait until we get to the house.” I wasn’t trying to build anticipation; I was desperately trying to buy myself time. The casual degradation of the entire setup was beginning to suffocate me. “Olivia’s right,” Trey said, sensing my shift in mood. “Let’s wait till we have actual beds. We’re only twenty minutes away anyway.” The rest of the drive was heavy with unspoken hostility. What was supposed to be a weekend retreat had warped into a bitter, hyper-sexualized competition. And as I watched the trees blur past the window, a cold realization settled deep in my bones: Luke was entirely gone. There was no saving this marriage. When we finally pulled up to the secluded, modern cabin, the air was crisp. The moment the engine cut, Luke was out of the car. “Trey, let’s head upstairs and settle this.” “Hell yeah,” Trey replied, his eyes locked on me as he stretched his arms. “Tasha, go with Luke.” “My pleasure,” Tasha said, offering me a parting, victorious smirk as she wrapped her arm around Luke’s. “Shall we, Olivia?” Trey asked, reaching out to take my hand. “Lead the way,” I said, letting him lead me toward the cabin doors. We walked into the beautifully decorated living room and immediately split into separate wings of the house. No sooner had Trey closed our bedroom door than the thin cabin walls began to vibrate with the loud, performative moans of Tasha from across the hall. “Don’t let me down, Trey,” I murmured, stepping close and wrapping my arms around his neck. I had to play the part perfectly if I wanted to survive the night. “I won’t,” Trey whispered, his eyes dark with sudden hunger. 4 He leaned down, his hands sliding to my hips, but I gently pressed a palm against his chest to stop him. “Here,” I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out a cold bottle of water I had prepared. “Hydrate first. We have a long night ahead of us.” Unsuspecting, he took the bottle and guzzled down half of it in one go. Within ten minutes, the heavy sedative I’d dissolved in the water took effect. Trey’s eyelids fluttered, his speech slurred, and he collapsed onto the plush mattress, fast asleep. For the next two hours, I sat quietly in an armchair by the window, watching the shadows lengthen across the forest floor while the agonizing sounds from the other room slowly faded to a halt. Once the house went quiet, I got to work. I carefully undressed Trey, leaving him in his boxers, and ruffled his hair. Then, I unzipped my dress, messed up my hair, and lightly shook his shoulder until his eyes blinked open. He looked around, completely disoriented. “What… what happened?” “You got a little too excited, handsome,” I whispered, putting on a tired, breathless smile. “You passed out right after we started. I had to finish things on my own.” A flush of deep embarrassment crawled up his neck. He rubbed his large head, looking utterly mortified. “Olivia, I… I’m sorry. This has never happened to me before. Please don’t tell Luke.” “Of course I won’t,” I said, gently stroking his chest. “But you should probably head to the guest bathroom and clean up before he comes in. It might be awkward.” He nodded quickly, grabbing his clothes and scrambling out of the room. A few minutes later, the bedroom door swung open and Luke walked in, wearing nothing but a loosely tied robe. He looked thoroughly spent and incredibly pleased with himself. “Your friend’s wife is something else,” Luke boasted, leaning against the doorframe. “Incredible stamina.” “She has an insurance policy on that body of hers,” Trey’s voice called out as he walked back into the room, having successfully put his clothes back on. He gave Luke a knowing, masculine nod, then looked at me with a lingering, greedy hunger. “But Olivia… man, she’s something special. Totally worth the wait.” “Told you,” Luke smirked, slapping Trey on the back. “Let’s take a breather. We can go for round two tonight.” “Sounds good,” Trey agreed, though he quickly excused himself to go find Tasha. Once the door clicked shut, the smile fell from my face. I looked at Luke, allowing a look of intense physical distress to wash over my features. “Luke, we need to go home,” I said, my voice trembling. “I think Trey was too rough. I think I’m bleeding.” Luke frowned, his expression hardening with annoyance rather than concern. “Come on, Olivia. We just got here. Don’t ruin the weekend.” He stepped closer, a dark, unsettling smile spreading across his face. “Besides, it’s not really up to you to decide when we leave anymore.” He raised his hand and clapped twice. “Come on in, boys.”

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The day the oncologist confirmed my father’s cancer was terminal, I found a folded piece of notebook paper tucked beneath his pillow. It was a bucket list, written in his shaky, fading print. The very first line read: See Mark get married. I spent the next three weeks meticulously planning a proposal. I wanted it to be beautiful, a quiet promise of a future that would give my father some peace. I asked Sylvia to meet me at the coast, intending to ask her to be my wife. But I waited. From the pale light of afternoon until the freezing, pitch-black dark of midnight, she never showed up. Instead, she sent a flurry of brief voice notes, her tone dripping with impatience. “Mark, seriously? How low can you and your father go? Faking a terminal illness just to guilt me into a wedding? It’s pathetic.” “I never said I wouldn’t marry you. But I absolutely despise emotional blackmail. As a lesson, let’s push the wedding back another two years.” “Oh, and that beachside couple’s photoshoot package you booked? I gave the slot to Troy. He’s young and loves trying new things, and it’s not like you’ll be using it anytime soon anyway.” When the final message played, the friends who had gathered to help me set up the lights stared at the ground, their silence heavy with pity. In their eyes, I was nothing but a fool standing in the dark. Later that night, Sylvia’s executive assistant, Troy, posted a new update on Instagram. It was a beautifully curated nine-photo grid. In the center, Sylvia wore a flowing white gown, a radiant, soft smile on her face as she leaned back into his chest. So that was why she couldn’t make it. She was too busy playing the bride for someone else. I didn’t reply to her messages. I didn’t leave a comment on the post. Instead, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “The family alliance you proposed last month,” I said, my voice hollow in the empty room. “I accept.” … The next morning, the office lobby was buzzing when I arrived. A small crowd of employees had gathered around Troy’s desk, giggling and whispering. “Troy, come on, spill! How did you end up doing a bridal shoot with the CEO? Are you two finally official?” “Man, Mark must be losing his mind right now. I bet he’s seething in his office, haha…” Troy offered them a delicate, performative blush, looking down at his desk. “No, guys, don’t say that. Sylvia just didn’t want the booking to go to waste, so she stepped in to keep me company. But… even the photographer said we had amazing chemistry.” The HR director, Judith, cleared her throat loudly. The group finally noticed me standing by the glass doors. The laughter evaporated instantly, and they scurried back to their cubicles. Sylvia and I had been childhood sweethearts. We had spent ten years building this marketing agency from a two-room apartment into a multi-million-dollar firm. Everyone in the industry assumed our marriage was a foregone conclusion. But reality had just delivered a quiet, devastating blow. Troy looked up, offering a sheepish, fragile smile. “Mark, they were just teasing. Please don’t take it personally. And thank you so much for giving up the shoot. That beach was absolutely breathtaking. I would have never found such a hidden gem if Sylvia hadn’t taken me there.” Looking at his smug, youthful face, my chest tightened. It wasn’t about how difficult that specific photographer was to book. It was about the beach itself. That cove was our secret place. It was where Sylvia had first told me she loved me, where we had promised, years ago, that we would one day take our wedding photos. Now, she had handed that memory to a boy she had known for six months, dismissive of the history we shared. I reached past Troy, picked up the weekly attendance log from Judith’s hands, and looked at it calmly. “You don’t need to thank me,” I said, my voice steady. “Because you’re fired.” Troy’s eyes went wide, his boyish innocence instantly melting into panic. “What? On what grounds?” “On the grounds that you were late three times last month, left early four times, and this week, you went entirely AWOL for seven days without filing a single PTO request. That is a material breach of your employment contract. You have zero professional discipline.” I turned to Judith. “Draft the termination papers. I’ll sign off.” Before Judith could step away, a manicured hand reached out, snatched the attendance log from my grip, and tore it in half. Troy’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Sylvia…” Sylvia stood there, her jaw set, her eyes cold as she glared at me. “Mark, have you forgotten who actually runs this company? You don’t get to decide who stays and who goes. Know your place, and stop overstepping.” I froze, staring at her as if she were a stranger. This was the first time in ten years Sylvia had ever publicly humiliated me. She was beautiful, sharp, and incredibly successful. In the past, whenever male interns had tried to flirt with her, she had shut them down without a second thought. “I have a partner,” she would say, her voice icy. “And I won’t tolerate anything that makes him uncomfortable. Pack your things.” When did the boundaries change? When did I become the one who had to “know his place”? Was it when Troy confessed his feelings to her, got rejected, but kept showing up at her office with home-cooked lunches anyway? Was it when she rehired him as her personal assistant, claiming she “just wanted to keep things professional”? Or was it when she took the multi-million-dollar account I had spent eight months nurturing and handed it to Troy on a silver platter, just to “help him build his resume”? When I had argued with her about it, she had called me domineering, accusing me of stifling new talent. But none of that mattered anymore. I slowly unclipped my security badge and placed it gently on the mahogany desk. “You’re right, Sylvia. This isn’t my place anymore.” I met her gaze, feeling a strange, weightless clarity. “I’m leaving the firm. And we’re done.” Ignoring Troy’s poorly concealed smirk, I kept my eyes on her. “I expect my equity to be liquidated and transferred to my account by the end of the week. I’m getting married at the end of the month, and weddings aren’t cheap.” Without waiting to see the shock register in her eyes, I turned and walked out. After picking up a small sugar-free cake, I drove straight to the hospital. Today was my father’s sixty-fifth birthday. When I told him the wedding was still happening, his pale face lit up, though a quiet shadow of disappointment lingered in his eyes. “Sylvia is just busy, I know,” he murmured, trying to comfort me, his voice barely a whisper. “I just haven’t seen her in so long. I miss her. But knowing you’ll have someone to walk beside you… that’s all I need to rest easy.” When my mother walked out on us years ago, my father had raised me alone in a cramped, drafty apartment. Sylvia had lived down the street. Her stepmother and father neglected her, often leaving her without dinner. My father was the one who welcomed her into our home, fed her, and helped her with her homework. Later, when she fell seriously ill, her parents refused to pay for her treatment, sold their house overnight, and disappeared. It was my father who emptied his modest savings to pay for her surgeries and kept her in school. He always told me that seeing Sylvia healthy made him feel like he had saved a daughter. In return, Sylvia had studied relentlessly, worked herself to the bone to build the agency, and sworn she would be our shield against the world. But over the last year, her visits to the hospital had dwindled to nothing. She missed his birthdays, always sending a text about a last-minute merger or a late-night client dinner. My father insisted on going to the mall nearby to buy a gold bracelet. He wanted to give it to the bride himself, a traditional family welcoming gift. The doctors had warned me that his heart was weak and he shouldn’t overexert himself, but I couldn’t bear to deny him this last piece of joy. I hadn’t told him that the bride’s name had changed, but it didn’t matter. The gesture remained. By the time we bought the jewelry, my father’s face was alarmingly pale. I helped him to a bench near the fountain, gave him some water, and stepped away to the restroom. But when I came back, my heart stopped. My father was sitting on the polished tile floor, holding his cheek. A middle-aged man in an expensive-looking, flashy designer jacket was hovering over him, screaming. “Are you blind, old man? If you don’t need those eyes, I’ll gouge them out for you!” the man roared, dusting off his sleeve. “This is a limited-edition jacket my daughter-in-law bought me! You spilled water all over it! You’re paying for this—fifty thousand dollars, right now!” My father looked up, his voice trembling. “I didn’t… you were taking a selfie and walking backward. You bumped into me…” “Bullshit! You think you can lie your way out of this? I’ll beat some sense into you!” I sprinted across the atrium, throwing my shoulder into the man and shoving him back. When I saw the bright red handprint blooming on my father’s pale cheek, a cold, blinding fury took over. The man stumbled, startled by the sheer venom in my eyes. He took a step back, blustering. “What do you think you’re doing? My son and his boss are right upstairs! You touch me, and they’ll ruin you!” I didn’t say a word. I raised my hand, ready to strike back. But before my swing could land, my wrist was grabbed in a tight, suffocating grip. The older man gasped in relief. “Son! Thank god you’re here!” I turned my head and met Sylvia’s dark, furious eyes. “Mark, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. The older man immediately pointed a finger at me, whining to Troy. “Troy, this piece of garbage’s father ruined my jacket and refused to pay! Then this kid tried to attack me! Call security and have them thrown in jail!” I wrenched my wrist out of Sylvia’s grip and let out a cold laugh. “No wonder he’s so bold. He’s got the great CEO Sylvia backing him up.” I glared at Troy’s father. “Fortunately for you, there are cameras all over this mall. Let’s pull the footage and see who actually caused the collision. But I promise you, if the tape shows what I think it does, I am filing charges for assault and extortion.” That cheap jacket was worth five hundred dollars at best. Sylvia finally noticed my father sitting on the floor, his hand still cradling his swollen face. She frowned, turning to Troy’s dad. “Frank, why did you lay hands on him? We could have just talked.” Frank, realizing there were security cameras nearby, began to fidget. “I… I didn’t know they knew you, Sylvia. Fine, whatever, forget the jacket. Troy, tell her to let it go.” Troy, seeing his father’s guilt, quickly stepped in front of me, his expression turning into one of theatrical remorse. “Mark, I am so, so sorry. My dad was just so excited about the birthday gift Sylvia gave him, he got protective. Please don’t hold it against him.” He looked up at Sylvia, his eyes glistening with tears. “It’s my fault. I’ll make it up to you.” Sylvia softened instantly. She looked at me, her voice exasperated. “Alright, Troy’s apologized. Let’s drop it. Take your father to the clinic upstairs, and send the bill to my assistant.” Beside me, my father’s eyes had gone completely dim, the light of hope entirely extinguished. The absurdity of the situation made me laugh out loud. “Sylvia, do you actually hear the words coming out of your mouth? Since when does an apology erase an assault?” I looked at Troy. “I’ll give you two options. Either I call the police right now, or I slap your father back.” Troy went pale, taking a dramatic step back. “Mark, I know you’re bitter about Sylvia and me, but you can’t humiliate my family like this. He’s an elder! If you hate me so much, fine—I’ll punish myself!” He raised his hand as if to slap his own face, making sure to do it slowly enough for his father to grab his wrist. It was a pathetic, theatrical display. But Sylvia bought it. Before I could even react, Sylvia grabbed my hand, pulled me forward, and forced my palm against her own cheek with a sickening, hollow crack. The sound echoed through the mall corridor. The onlookers gasped. I stumbled from the force of her pull, staring at her in utter disbelief. Sylvia let go of my wrist, her eyes like chips of dry ice. “You’ve always been like this, Mark. Selfish. Obsessed with winning, no matter who you have to humiliate to do it.” She glanced at my father’s shopping bag, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Terminal cancer? And he still has the energy to go luxury shopping? I knew it was a lie. This whole breakup, the wedding—it’s just a pathetic attempt to force my hand.” She grabbed Troy’s hand, turning her back on us. “I despise this manipulative side of you.” Behind me, my father’s breathing became ragged, his chest heaving as he stared at the woman he had raised like a daughter. In her, he saw the exact same cruelty as the wife who had abandoned him decades ago. With a soft groan, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the cold tile floor. Because of the severe emotional stress, my father fell into a deep coma. That night, my phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number. “Mark, I’m boarding my flight back to the States tonight to finalize our wedding. I’m so happy you’re finally marrying me. I want to formally introduce you to the family. Do you mind?” Before I could type a reply, the heavy wooden door of the VIP hospital suite was kicked open. Troy strode in, flanked by three burly men in black suits. He looked around the spacious, private room with a critical, approving nod. “Not bad. The VIP wing really does have the best views.” He pointed at my father’s bed. “Get this old man out of here. My dad is having chest pains and needs this room immediately.” My father loved quiet. I had pulled every favor I had to secure this specific, peaceful room for his final days. I stood up slowly, my voice deadly quiet. “There is a patient in this bed. Get the hell out.” Troy blinked, playing innocent. “Oh, didn’t Sylvia tell you? Your little stunt at the mall gave my dad a panic attack. Sylvia wanted him to have the best care possible, so she told me to take this suite. Don’t be difficult, Mark.” The three men moved toward the bed. The private nurse tried to block them, but was easily pushed aside. By the time Sylvia arrived, a small crowd of doctors and nurses had gathered in the hallway. I was standing in front of my father’s bed, my hair disheveled, my shirt torn at the collar from the scuffle. Sylvia’s eyes caught the dark bruise forming on my forearm where one of the men had grabbed me. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face. “I told you to ask them to leave politely,” she snapped at Troy’s guards. “Get out.” She turned to me, her voice softening slightly, though her tone remained condescending. “Mark, Troy’s dad is genuinely ill. Frankly, he’s being incredibly generous by not filing charges against you for the mall incident. Stop being so stubborn.” She glanced at my father’s motionless body. “Are you seriously still making him play dead just to win an argument? Get him up. We’re going home.” The sheer, venomous ignorance of her words made a laugh tear from my throat. I reached over to the bedside table, grabbed the thick stack of my father’s medical records and biopsy results, and hurled them directly at her face. “Play dead? Open your eyes and read the damn charts, Sylvia!” I screamed, my voice cracking with a lifetime of repressed rage. “He has stage-four lung cancer! Are you blind to the IV lines, or do you just choose not to see them?!” Sylvia flinched as the papers scattered around her feet. She instinctively bent down to pick them up. But Troy stepped forward, his leather boot stomping directly onto the medical report. He glared at me. “Don’t let him trick you, Sylvia. My friend is a makeup artist for film sets. They can easily fake pale skin and put on fake IVs. This whole report is probably photoshopped. They’re just trying to guilt you into giving up your company shares!” He sneered, leaning over my comatose father. “I’m not going to let them keep lying to you. Let’s see how long he can keep up this act.” Troy reached out his hand, his fingers clawing toward my father’s neck. I didn’t think. I grabbed the silver paring knife from the fruit basket on the table and pressed the blade directly against Troy’s throat. “Touch him,” I whispered, my voice flat, “and I will open your throat.” Troy froze, his face draining of color. I looked past him, locking eyes with Sylvia. “My father gave up his life savings to save you. He raised you for ten years and never asked for a single dime in return. And you? You sleep with your assistant, ignore his birthday, let his trash family beat him in public, and now you want to throw him out of his deathbed.” My grip on the knife tightened. “I built that company with you. I worked eighty-hour weeks, drank myself into stomach ulcers to secure our first twenty clients, and built our reputation from nothing. Now you want to claim my shares are ‘charity’? Who is the real parasite here, Sylvia? Me, or you?” The murmurs from the hospital staff in the hallway grew louder. “Jesus, so she’s the one they raised? How can someone be so heartless?” “The son helped her build everything, and now she’s bringing her side piece to kick a dying old man out of his room? Unbelievable.” Sylvia’s face burned a deep, humiliated red. With Troy trembling under my knife, she finally succumbed to the pressure. “Mark, you’ve lost your mind!” she hissed, her voice trembling. “Let Troy go. I’ll have the finance department liquidate your shares and wire the money tomorrow morning!” I pulled the knife back. She grabbed Troy and practically fled down the corridor. I sat back down by my father’s bed, listening to the steady, rhythmic beep of the monitor. The silence of the room settled around us like a heavy shroud. I pulled out my phone and replied to the text message from the heiress, Isla. “I don’t mind. But I choose the venue.” The transfer cleared the next afternoon. Within forty-eight hours, I registered a boutique consulting firm. When word got out that I had left Sylvia’s agency, five of our senior account directors—people I had personally mentored and protected for years—quietly handed in their resignations and walked over to my new office. My departure seemed to throw Sylvia into a frantic, public spiral of retaliation. She immediately promoted Troy to Vice President and began parading him to high-society events, posting endless photos of them together. More petty still, Troy began undercutting every single client pitch my new boutique firm made. No matter how small the contract, Troy would swoop in and offer to do the work at half the price. Compared to my fledgling startup, clients naturally preferred the security of a larger, established agency. In the eyes of the local business community, I was a fallen star, destined to drown in Sylvia’s shadow. My lead strategist, Henry, walked into my office one afternoon, looking exhausted. “Mark, I can handle losing the small accounts. But the Summit Enterprises contract… you spent over a year laying the groundwork for that deal. It’s a hundred-million-dollar account. To watch them slide in and steal it at the finish line… it’s sickening.” I looked up from my laptop, offering a small, calm smile. “Don’t worry, Henry. Let them have it.” Sometimes, the most dangerous thing you can do to an enemy is let them have exactly what they want. By paying out my equity, Sylvia had drained almost all of her firm’s liquid cash. She was desperately counting on the Summit Enterprises deposit to keep her operations afloat. Two weeks later, the business world was rocked by the return of Isla, the sole heiress to the prestigious East Coast Commerce Association. To celebrate her return and her impending marriage, her family hosted a private, black-tie gala at the Ritz-Carlton. Rumor had it that her mysterious, low-profile groom was the sole heir of Summit Enterprises itself. When I arrived at the hotel entrance in a custom, charcoal-grey tuxedo, I ran straight into Sylvia and Troy. Troy was draped over Sylvia’s arm, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Mark? What are you doing here?” “The same thing you are, I assume,” I replied smoothly. Troy laughed, a sharp, patronizing sound. “Hardly. The heir of Summit Enterprises personally sent us an VIP invitation to finalize our contract tonight. Once we sign this deal, Sylvia’s agency will be untouchable. But you? You don’t even have a ticket, do you?” He gasped, mocking surprise. “Or is your little startup doing so poorly that you’re trying to sneak in to find a wealthy sugar mommy? Wow, Mark. I knew you were desperate, but this is a new low.” A year ago, Troy wouldn’t have dared look me in the eye. Now, he spoke to me as if I were dirt beneath his shoe. Sylvia looked at me, her expression a mix of irritation and a strange, lingering discomfort. “Mark, stop this. The guests tonight are the elite of the city. If you cause a scene and get thrown out, I won’t help you. Just go home.” Troy tugged at Sylvia’s sleeve, his voice turning into a sweet, whiny purr. “Sylvia, look at Mark’s tuxedo. It’s a limited-edition piece. I tried to buy it last week but they said it was reserved. Since he can’t even get through the door, why don’t you make him give it to me? It would look so much better on me for the photos tonight.” Sylvia hesitated, then looked at me, her voice softening into that old, manipulative warmth she used to use when she wanted me to work overtime. “Mark, let’s not make things ugly. This contract is life or death for my company. Give the suit to Troy and go wait for me at my apartment. I promise you, once the papers are signed tonight, we can get married.” She took a step closer. “We can hire a new VP, and you can stay home. I’ll give you a monthly allowance. Isn’t that easier than killing yourself trying to compete with me?” I looked at her, feeling absolutely nothing. No anger, no grief. Just a profound sense of pity. “Sylvia,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You really are incredibly arrogant. Why do you get to have a career, while I’m expected to sit at home, playing the obedient housekeeper who ignores your affairs for a monthly stipend?” Sylvia’s face hardened. “If you’re going to be difficult, don’t blame me for being harsh.” She signaled the two burly security guards standing near the entrance. They took a step toward me, their shadows falling over my chest. A few local executives who were waiting in line, eager to curry favor with Sylvia, began to chuckle. “I always knew Mark had a pretty face, but who knew he was this desperate?” one whispered. “Hey, Mark, if Sylvia’s throwing you out, strip down right here. If you look good enough, maybe I’ll hire you as my personal driver, haha…” I watched Sylvia stand by, completely indifferent to their mockery. I remembered a rainy night seven years ago, when a group of local thugs had cornered me in an alley. Sylvia had charged in with a loose brick, her own head bleeding as she threw herself over me. “Mark, you and your dad are my family,” she had screamed through her tears. “I will never let anyone hurt you as long as I live.” The girl who said those words was dead. The woman standing before me was just a stranger wearing her skin. I heard familiar, crisp footsteps echoing behind me. I let a small smile touch my lips. “I could give him the suit,” I said, looking directly at Troy. “But I’m afraid it wouldn’t do you any good. Because if I leave, this contract won’t be signed. In fact, this entire gala won’t even happen.” I turned around to face the woman walking toward us, my smile widening. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “461692”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

During the Christmas celebration, my sworn enemy kidnapped my husband and son. The thugs placed two tons of TNT explosives underneath them and brazenly broadcast it on the giant screen in Times Square downtown. “Everyone in the police department says Captain Sarah is the backbone of the bomb disposal unit, saving countless lives!” “Well, today I’m going to test her. Cut the red wire and your husband dies. Cut the blue wire and your son dies. Which will our expert choose?” Every citizen understood this was a death trap. No matter which wire I cut, I would become a criminal for all eternity. Amid the terrified screams of tens of thousands of spectators, I casually typed a comment in the live chat. “Human fireworks must be beautiful. Make sure to record it for me!” 0 On the giant screen in Times Square, my husband James’s face and my son Bobby’s face were magnified to the extreme. Beneath them sat barrels of explosives, connected to two prominent red and blue wires. A woman wearing a clown mask spoke, her voice processed to sound sharp and piercing. The live chat comments refreshed like a waterfall. “This is insane! This has to be a movie promotion! Pulling this kind of stunt on Christmas?” “Look at the hostages’ expressions! They’re not acting! Their mouths are taped shut, they’ve cried themselves dry!” “I looked it up. Captain Sarah is Sarah from the Municipal Police Bomb Squad! Her family’s been kidnapped?” My father-in-law Richard grabbed my arm, his nails digging into my flesh. “Sarah! You’re usually so capable, aren’t you? Why aren’t you saying anything now!” I pulled his hand away and calmly adjusted my sleeves. “Richard, why are you panicking? They didn’t ask for money, just want me to make a choice. This is obviously a trap.” “A trap? What trap is more important than your husband and son’s lives! Is your heart made of stone?” His chest heaved violently with anger. “If you make one wrong move, your life is over! Do you understand?” My mother-in-law Laura rushed over, about to slap me across the face. “You jinx! It’s because of you that our family is being targeted for revenge!” “If anything happens to my son, I’ll kill you!” I dodged to the side, my eyes showing not a ripple of emotion. “So according to you both, I should choose my son, right?” My words were like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing their fury. The old couple exchanged glances. Neither dared to respond. On screen, the clown woman’s voice rang out again, tinged with mocking laughter. “Captain Sarah, it seems your family understands how to choose better than you do!” “Stop wasting time. Hurry up and tell the entire city—do you love your husband or your son more?” The tone of the live chat began to shift. “Holy crap, this kidnapper really knows how to torture someone psychologically!” “Yeah, Captain Sarah is a hero who’s saved so many people. Now she has to personally decide her family’s fate. This is too cruel!” “I believe in Captain Sarah! She’ll definitely find a way!” The clown woman seemed enraged by the comments. She ripped the tape off my husband’s mouth. Immediately, James’s hoarse crying voice came through the screen. “Sarah! Don’t worry about me! Save Bobby! He’s our only son!” His face was streaked with tears, his eyes filled with the radiant glow of “noble” paternal love. The citizens watching the live broadcast were all moved. My father-in-law Richard was even more tearful, almost ready to kneel. “Sarah, did you hear that! James is telling you to save Bobby! Hurry and tell the kidnapper!” “Tell them? Tell them what?” I lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled smoke rings. “Richard, your son has already made peace with it. He’s willing to sacrifice himself for his grandson.” “We… shouldn’t let his noble intentions go to waste, should we?” 0

The clown woman seemed quite satisfied with my husband’s “heroic” performance. She gave a close-up shot of the detonation device. It was a device linked to the citywide Christmas fireworks show controller. “Captain Sarah, do you see it clearly? Tonight’s midnight bells will be the death knell for your family!” “Countdown—less than twenty minutes remaining.” She paused, then burst into maniacal laughter. “Oh, right, I forgot to tell you. This detonator is dual-function.” “Not only can the controller trigger it, but I’ve also installed a voice-activated receiver in the chandelier in your living room.” “As soon as you say the three words ‘I choose’ followed by the name of the person you want to save, the other one will explode instantly!” I glanced up at the ornate crystal chandelier overhead and let out a soft sigh. Then I turned my gaze to my mother-in-law behind me. “Laura, you heard that. It’s not that I don’t want to save them—the kidnapper isn’t giving me any chance.” “One is my husband, one is my son. They’re both precious to me. Tell me, how can I choose?” My mother-in-law Laura’s face turned red then white. Her lips trembled, unable to speak. Just as I was about to say more, the door was violently burst open and a group of SWAT officers rushed in. Leading them was my deputy, Lieutenant Davis. He looked grave as he quickly walked up to me. “Captain Sarah, this is urgent. We can’t locate the kidnapper in such a short time, and we can’t disable the connection to the city’s fireworks system.” He glanced at me and lowered his voice. “The higher-ups have given strict orders. We must ensure civilian safety and can’t cause mass panic, so…” Before he could finish, my father-in-law rushed forward excitedly. “You heard that! Your colleague is telling you to choose! What are you waiting for! Do you want to get the whole city killed?” I crushed out my cigarette and slowly stood up. “Lieutenant Davis, everyone, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. I won’t make any choice!” “The hostages’ fate should be decided by us police officers, not by criminals!” As my words fell, the entire room went silent. Everyone looked at me like I was insane. My mother-in-law’s eyes rolled back and she collapsed straight down, fortunately caught by a nearby officer. “Sarah! You evil woman!” My father-in-law pointed at my nose, his voice trembling. “That’s your family! How can you… how can you just watch them die? Do you have any humanity left?” Lieutenant Davis couldn’t help but try to persuade me. “Captain Sarah, we know this is difficult. But given the current situation, saving one is better than losing both.” “Yes, Captain Sarah, no matter who you choose, we’ll understand. The citizens will understand too.” Facing everyone’s “well-meaning advice,” I laughed coldly. “Easy for you to say.” “If it were you today, wife or child, which would you choose?” I swept my gaze across everyone present. They all lowered their heads, not daring to meet my eyes. “I’ve been a cop for ten years and defused more bombs than you’ve eaten meals!” “My duty is to save lives, not to judge who deserves to live!” “Today is no different!” After hearing my words, my father-in-law completely exploded, raising his fist to strike me. But just as his fist was about to hit my nose, Lieutenant Davis’s radio suddenly crackled. “Lieutenant Davis! We’ve located the kidnapper!” Davis immediately led his team out. I didn’t move, just quietly watched the screen. On screen, the clown woman lost patience seeing I wasn’t responding. A stun baton appeared in her hand, its blue electric arc crackling ominously in the dim background. “Captain Sarah, it seems I need to give you a taste of consequences before you’ll make a choice!” With that, she viciously jabbed the stun baton into my husband James’s side. James let out an inhuman scream, his body convulsing violently as he curled into a ball. The citizens watching the broadcast gasped in horror. In the corner, my son Bobby burst into wailing tears. The clown woman, wearing her mask, spoke in a distorted, crazed voice. “Captain Sarah, you should have received the remote control, right?” “Oh wait, I forgot—there’s no remote this time!” “Fifteen minutes until the fireworks show. Starting now, every minute that passes, your husband gets to enjoy another round of electrotherapy!” “Until you speak up!” 0

Watching my husband’s agonized state on screen, my mother-in-law, who had been silent until now, suddenly rushed in front of me. “Sarah! Just choose! Do you want to watch him get electrocuted to death?” I looked at her calmly and spoke softly. “Laura, instead of begging me here, why don’t you make a phone call and ask?” As I spoke, I slowly raised both hands in a phone gesture. “Ask if your son is really in that much pain right now.” My mother-in-law froze, clearly not understanding what I meant. “You… what do you mean? Are you cursing your husband to death?” I smiled. “My husband studied finance. He couldn’t hurt a fly. But look at that man on screen—he’s been electrocuted for so long and can still scream with such vigor. Don’t you find that strange?” “Also, on the back of his neck—there doesn’t seem to be that mole we’re all familiar with.” My words stunned everyone. Even my mother-in-law, who had just regained consciousness, stopped crying and stared fixedly at the screen. Some of the younger officers were already breaking into cold sweats. My father-in-law stood frozen in place, not daring to move. Seeing this, one of the officers left behind snatched the tablet from my hands, trying to zoom in on the image. “Captain Sarah, this is a matter of life and death. How can you be so reckless?” I looked at my husband still “wailing in agony” on screen, the corner of my mouth involuntarily curving upward. “Reckless?” “Either way, one of them has to die. Does it really matter to me which one?” The officer was speechless on the spot, his brow furrowed. “Captain Sarah, but they’re your family. Don’t you care at all?” I grinned and smiled at him slightly. “Why should I care?” “If my husband dies, I can claim half the assets. If my child dies, I can have another one. But if I actually speak those words, wouldn’t I become an accessory to murder?” The tech department called in. Lieutenant Davis’s voice was extremely anxious. “Sarah! The hospital network was tampered with. The signal source is fake! We can’t find them!” Everyone’s last shred of hope was extinguished. The clown woman on screen, seeing I remained unmoved, flew into a complete rage. She threw down the stun baton and grabbed a metal bucket from behind, pouring the yellow liquid all over my husband. The strong smell of gasoline seemed to seep through the screen, permeating the entire living room. “Sarah! I’m giving you one last minute! If you still don’t choose, I’ll light him up like a torch!” The clown woman pulled out a lighter. The pale blue flame danced in front of the camera. The number of viewers in the live stream reached an unprecedented peak at that moment. The flood of comments nearly caused the video to lag. “This is insane! This kidnapper has completely lost it!” “What is Captain Sarah waiting for? If she doesn’t choose, everyone will die!” “You don’t understand—there’s no way to choose! Choosing makes her a murderer! Captain Sarah is in an impossible position!” The clown woman also screamed at the screen. “Sarah, I’m counting to three. If you don’t speak up, prepare to collect his body!” “Three!” “Two!” I took a deep breath and, under everyone’s shocked gazes, picked up my phone. The call was answered almost instantly. My voice, through the speakerphone, clearly carried throughout the entire room and through the broadcast to the whole city. “Captain Sarah, say your choice loudly! Let everyone see who you love most!” On the other end, the clown woman’s voice was filled with perverse excitement. “No, no, no. I think you’ve misunderstood.” I chuckled softly and said slowly, word by word. “I’m calling to tell you something.” “Those two people you kidnapped have nothing to do with me. If you want to burn them, burn them. If you want to blow them up, go ahead. Be my guest.” The clown woman completely froze. She hadn’t expected this answer from me. A moment later, she let out a shrill shriek, lit the lighter, and threw it viciously toward my husband. With a thunderous “boom,” the screen was instantly engulfed in flames. The entire room fell deathly silent. “Ahhhhh—!” My mother-in-law let out a heart-wrenching scream and fainted on the spot. “Sarah!” “You murderer! You killed my son! I’ll have your life!” My father-in-law grabbed the ashtray from the coffee table, his face contorted, and charged at me. The scene instantly spiraled out of control. And I, as the instigator of all this, sat calmly on the sofa. “Richard, the dead can’t come back to life. Please accept my condolences.” The first to react were the officers present. They quickly rushed forward and pinned my raging father-in-law to the ground. “Sarah, you refused to save them! Why did you deliberately provoke the kidnapper! You killed my son!” My father-in-law, his eyes bloodshot, roared at me. I dusted off my clothes and stood up. “At least I didn’t kill him. The law can’t touch me.” “This is already the best outcome!” Perhaps my cold-blooded attitude completely enraged everyone. Even the officers who had just been restraining my father-in-law now looked at me with eyes full of anger and contempt. “What kind of bomb disposal expert are you? You’re just a cold-blooded murderer!” “Captain Sarah, we really misjudged you! You don’t deserve to be a cop!” In an instant, I became the target of everyone’s criticism. I looked up at the clock on the wall and slowly spoke. “Alright, enough. Stop arguing. You can all do whatever you want.” “I’m taking my son to dinner at Hot Pot Palace.”

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The very first time my husband was supposed to pick up our daughter from school, I got a call from the South District precinct. Instead of being safely in his car, our six-year-old had been found wandering alone in a torrential downpour at a busy intersection. A kind delivery driver had spotted her shivering in the middle of traffic and brought her in. I frantically begged my boss for the afternoon off and rushed to the station. There she was—soaked to the bone, clutching a paper cup of warm water with her tiny, trembling hands. My chest burning with rage, I called Rob. Straight to voicemail. The dozens of texts I’d sent him sat in a silent, unanswered thread. Then, a notification popped up at the top of my screen. It was an Instagram update from my sister-in-law, Heather. “Thank you to the best uncle in the world for spending the day with Toby! He says you’re his favorite person ever~” The attached photo showed Rob holding his seven-year-old nephew, Toby. Both of them were beaming under a shower of confetti, a massive two-tiered superhero cake sitting on the table in front of them. Rob looked at him with an expression of pure, fatherly devotion. I stared at the screen, my hand slowly falling to my side, swallowed by a cold, hollow sensation. Seven years of marriage, and nearly every weekend of it had been spent at Heather’s house. Susie’s birthdays, her first day of kindergarten, parent-teacher conferences—he had missed them all. I remembered the night I’d confronted him, my eyes raw and stinging. “Who is actually your family, Rob?” He had only sighed, wearing that exhausting look of martyrdom. “My brother died too young, Lauren. Heather isn’t independent like you. If I don’t step up and help, how are they supposed to survive?” I wiped a stray tear from my cheek, double-tapped the post to leave a like, and typed a simple comment: Indeed. Quite a milestone. Celebrating Susie’s safe return. And celebrating my final decision to take him for everything he was worth. … “Susie’s mom, you can just sign right here.” The young officer pushed the registration form toward me, pointing to the blank line in the bottom right corner. My hand was still shaking as I took the pen. I took a deep breath and signed my name. “It was pouring out there, and there’s absolutely no shelter at that intersection,” the officer said, placing a fresh cup of warm water on the desk. “If that delivery driver hadn’t spotted her wandering through the traffic… honestly, it could have been tragic. You parents need to be more careful. How could you leave a child that young waiting at the school gates for so long?” I kept my head down, offering no excuses. I turned and walked toward the bench where my daughter was sitting. Susie was six. She sat in her oversized school uniform, completely drenched, her dark hair plastered against her pale cheeks. She held the paper cup with both hands, the rising steam misting her quiet, watchful eyes. She wasn’t crying. Most kids her age would have been hysterical, screaming for their mothers the moment they realized they were lost. But Susie just sat there, terrifyingly still, like an object that had grown accustomed to being forgotten. I knelt in front of her, wrapping a dry towel around her small shoulders. “Susie, baby. I’m so sorry. Mommy’s here.” She looked up at me, her face flat and unreadable. “Don’t be mad at Daddy, Mommy.” A sharp pain pierced my chest. “Daddy didn’t mean to miss it. He told me he had a really important meeting he couldn’t escape.” An important meeting. The image of Heather’s post flashed in my mind. Rob wearing a pointed birthday hat, holding Toby in his lap, playing the perfect father for someone else’s child. “Let’s go home,” I whispered, lifting her into my arms. She felt as light as paper, her wet clothes dripping onto the tiled floor. By the time we stepped out of the precinct, the torrential rain had slowed to a steady, rhythmic drizzle. The rideshare I’d called was waiting at the curb. The driver opened the door, glancing at us with a sympathetic frown. “Oh, poor kid. She’s absolutely soaked. Where’s her dad? Couldn’t he drive out to get her in this weather?” I settled Susie onto the back seat. “She doesn’t have a dad anymore.” The driver blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t ask another question, silently turning the heater up to its maximum setting. We got home just after nine. I ran a hot bath for Susie and made her some ginger tea. She drank it without a word of complaint, then climbed into bed and pulled the covers to her chin. “Mommy, can I go to school tomorrow?” “Of course, sweetie.” “Will you be the one to pick me up?” “Mommy will always pick you up. Every single day.” She closed her eyes and drifted off quickly, her breathing heavy and ragged. I touched her forehead; it felt hot and dry. I retrieved a cooling patch from the medicine cabinet and gently pressed it to her brow. Then I walked out to the living room, sat on the sofa, and waited. The clock on the wall ticked away the hours. At ten past midnight, the front door lock clicked. The door swung open, and Rob stepped into the foyer, bringing with him the sharp smell of alcohol and the cold draft from the hallway. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his car keys onto the entryway table, and loosened his tie. In his hand, he held a sleek, glossy paper bag from an expensive boutique toy store. “You’re still up?” he asked, walking toward the kitchen. I stared at the logo on the bag. “Just got back a little while ago.” “Overtime?” He poured himself a glass of water. “I went to get Susie.” His hand paused for a fraction of a second before he finished pouring. “Right. Yeah. I got so slammed at work today, I couldn’t slip away.” “Busy celebrating Toby’s birthday?” He turned around, his glass in hand, his brow furrowing. “Did you look at Heather’s social media again?” “Am I not allowed to?” “Lauren, do you have to be so incredibly sensitive about everything? It was Toby’s seventh birthday. He was crying for his uncle.” He took a sip of water, his voice dripping with defensive justification. “My brother died so young. Toby has grown up without a father. As his uncle, it’s my responsibility to step up. What is so wrong with that?” “Rob, Susie was waiting for you in a storm today.” “I sent a message to her teacher saying I’d be late! And besides, you went and got her anyway, didn’t you?” He set his glass down, walking over to sit in the armchair opposite me. “You spoil her too much. What’s the big deal if she had to wait in the school office for a bit? It’s not like she’d disappear.” She had vanished. She had been lost in the middle of a flooded intersection in the dark. But I didn’t say it. I knew that if I did, he would only accuse me of exaggerating to pick a fight. “Why was your phone off?” “My battery died.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and tapped the black screen. “It was chaotic at Heather’s place. I didn’t notice the battery percentage.” “I called you forty-five times.” “I told you, my phone was dead! Lauren, are you interrogating me right now?” He rubbed his temples, his patience clearly wearing thin. “I worked a full shift today, and then I had to go deal with a kid’s birthday party. I’m exhausted. Can you please show some understanding for once?” He viewed playing father to his nephew as a noble sacrifice. He viewed my silence as a lack of empathy. I stood up, walked to the foyer, and picked up the paper bag from the table. I peeked inside. It was a massive, limited-edition Lego collector’s set. “What is this?” “A gift for Toby. I grabbed the wrong bag when I left—I accidentally left my spare tie over there, so I have to run back tomorrow morning anyway.” He glanced at the bag dismissively. “Just put it somewhere safe so Susie doesn’t mess with it. That set was incredibly hard to find.” Susie’s seventh birthday was next week. Last month, she had stood in front of a toy store window, staring at a simple stuffed bear, asking if her daddy could buy it for her. Rob had told her that a basic toy wasn’t worth that kind of money and that we should wait for a Black Friday sale. That bear was thirty dollars. This Lego set was easily four hundred. “I see,” I said, folding the top of the bag and placing it on the highest shelf of the entryway closet. “Go to bed. Aren’t you supposed to take Susie to school tomorrow?” He yawned, walking toward the master bedroom. “Actually, I can’t do it tomorrow. Heather said Toby ate too much cake and has an upset stomach. I need to go check on him first thing in the morning.” He stopped at the bedroom door and looked back. “You’ll have to take Susie. She’s old enough to handle a little independence anyway.” I watched his back disappear into the bedroom. The house fell silent, save for the relentless ticking of the clock. “Okay,” I whispered to the empty room. At six the next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of labored, shallow breathing. Susie’s face was flushed a deep, burning crimson. The cooling patch on her forehead was dry and warm. I slipped a thermometer under her arm. 102.5 degrees. The cold rain from the day before had finally taken its toll. I immediately got up, filled a basin with lukewarm water, and began wiping her down to bring the fever down. Rob was still fast asleep in the master bedroom. I walked over and pushed the door open. “Rob, Susie has a dangerously high fever. I need to take her to the hospital.” He rolled over, pulling the duvet over his shoulder without opening his eyes. “Just give her some Tylenol. There’s some in the cabinet.” “It’s 102.5. The medicine isn’t touching it. It’s pouring outside—can you please drive us to the pediatric clinic?” He finally opened his eyes, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair. “I told you, I have to go to Heather’s to check on Toby. He’s sick, and Heather can’t handle it alone.” Toby had a mild stomach ache from overeating. Susie was burning up, on the verge of febrile seizures. But on his scales, the former would always outweigh the latter. “Toby has a stomach ache. Susie’s fever is spiking,” I said, my voice deadpan. “Lauren, do you really have to turn everything into a competition?” Rob sat up, throwing the blankets aside. “Heather is a single mother. She has no one to turn to, no one to help her make decisions. You, on the other hand—you’re incredibly capable. What is so hard about taking a kid to the clinic by yourself?” He walked into the master bathroom and turned on his electric toothbrush. Over the loud hum, his muffled voice drifted out. “Just call an Uber. I’ll reimburse you for the ride, okay?” I stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t even look at me, completely unbothered. “Okay.” I closed the bedroom door. I dressed Susie in warm clothes and wrapped her in a thick fleece blanket. The rideshare I called was waiting in the apartment building’s parking garage. “The pediatric emergency room, please,” I told the driver as I climbed into the back seat. “As fast as you can.” The emergency room was a chaotic sea of crying children and exhausted parents. I stood in line to register, in line to see the triage nurse, in line to get her blood drawn. Susie was delirious, her small, limp body draped over my shoulder like a broken doll. When the needle pierced her tiny arm, she flinched but didn’t make a sound. The doctor reviewed the lab results with a frown. “Acute suppurative tonsillitis, complicated by severe exposure to the cold. We need to start her on IV antibiotics immediately. She’ll likely need to come back for the next three days.” I went to the pharmacy counter to collect the medication. The infusion room was packed; there were no empty cots, only rows of cold plastic chairs. I found a corner seat and pulled Susie into my lap. The nurse came over and started the IV. I watched the clear, cold fluid drip slowly into her tiny veins. At ten in the morning, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Rob: How’s Susie? Did the fever break? Using one hand, I typed back: On an IV. Severe infection. The status indicator showed “typing” for a long time before a brief message came through: Thanks for handling it. Toby is doing better, but Heather is still anxious, so she wants me to drive them to get some probiotics. I’ll head over to the hospital as soon as I’m done and take you guys out for lunch. I stared at the screen, closed the app, and slipped the phone back into my pocket. At noon, the first IV bag was nearly empty. I pressed the call button for the nurse to swap it out. My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call from Rob. “Hey, Lauren.” In the background, I could hear the distinct, noisy hum of a bustling shopping mall. “Where are you?” I asked. “I’m over at the Galleria. The thing is… Heather said Toby’s feeling a bit better and wants some light sushi. Since she didn’t drive, I need to drop them off.” “So you’re not coming to the hospital.” “I’ll come this afternoon. Just take her home when she’s done. I’ll buy some groceries later and cook us all dinner.” He paused, perhaps feeling a rare prick of conscience. “Don’t be mad, okay? My brother only left this one child behind. I can’t just leave a widow and her son stranded in the cold.” I watched the medicine drip steadily through the plastic tube. “Okay.” “Wait, really? You’re fine with that?” He sounded genuinely surprised by my lack of resistance. “Go ahead.” I hung up. At two-thirty in the afternoon, the three bags of medication were finally finished. Susie’s temperature had dropped to 100.4. She was still warm, but she looked a little more presentable. “Mommy, I want to sleep in my own bed.” “Okay, baby. Let’s go home.” The nurse pulled the needle out, leaving a small, dark bruise on the back of Susie’s hand. I pressed a cotton ball to the tiny wound and carried her out. As we crossed the lobby, I ran straight into a senior colleague from my office, Rachel. Rachel was holding a bag of prescription medicine. She stopped, startled to see me. “Lauren? I thought you took a personal day. What are you doing here?” “My daughter has a severe infection. We just finished her IV.” Rachel leaned in, gently stroking Susie’s hair. “Oh, sweetie, look how pale she is. Where’s your husband? Didn’t he come with you?” I shook my head. “He’s busy.” Rachel sighed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Men are so useless. Honestly, on my way here, I could swear I saw your husband’s SUV parked right outside that massive toy store opposite the Galleria.” Rachel was a straight shooter, notorious in our office for knowing everyone’s business. “I saw him walking out with this massive bag. He had a woman with him, and a little boy. Is that… family?” I pressed down harder on the cotton ball in my hand. “It’s his sister-in-law and nephew.” “Oh, got it. I saw him buying that kid toys and thought maybe you had another child I didn’t know about. Anyway, go get some rest.” She waved and walked away. I tossed the bloody cotton ball into a nearby trash can. He wasn’t just driving them to get sushi. He was buying Toby that limited-edition Lego set. He had promised to come to the clinic at noon, but instead, he spent his afternoon wandering through a toy store with another woman’s child. I carried Susie through the hospital doors. The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a gray, heavy sky. “Mommy,” Susie whispered against my shoulder. “When is Daddy coming home?”

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I found a beggar and spent all my savings treating his injuries and funding his business. A year later, he became the city’s newest billionaire. Everyone envied my eye for talent, waiting for me to marry into wealth. But instead, he got down on one knee before my sister, claiming he’d loved the wrong person and only now realized she was his true love. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I just smiled and nodded. My whole family thought I’d accepted my fate. But no one knew—I was born with the gift of reading fortune. I’d seen long ago that Ethan carried the rarest golden koi luck. One year of preparation, all to claim that fortune for myself. Marrying into wealth? Please. I was going to become the wealth myself! I was born with the ability to see everyone’s fortune. Ordinary people were surrounded by a faint white glow. A-list celebrities on TV shows radiated brilliant red. Those plagued by misfortune, destined for bankruptcy or sudden death, were wrapped in thick, impenetrable black. Only me—when I looked in the mirror, my fortune was completely transparent. A void. I spent my childhood poring through mysticism texts and seeking out reclusive masters. Finally, a blind fortune teller told me the truth. I had an empty fate. Short life, thin destiny. Only one solution existed. Steal someone else’s fortune and make it my own. But I searched for years and never found a fortune worth taking. Until one day, in the trash-filled alley of the old district, I saw a blinding golden light. Getting closer, I realized the light came from a filthy beggar. He was skeletal, his wounds infected and crawling with maggots. But that golden fortune was solid as crystal, swimming around him like koi fish. The legendary Nine-Turn Golden Koi Fortune—a once-in-a-century phenomenon! This fortune promised unimaginable wealth and the power to defy fate itself, turning disaster into blessing. My heart pounded like I’d fallen in love at first sight. I extended my trembling hand toward him. “Come with me.” The moment I got home, my sister Tiana’s shriek shattered the silence. “She brought home a disgusting beggar!” Mom rushed out of the kitchen, pinching her nose and pointing at me accusingly. “Where did you pick up this vagrant? He reeks and looks half-dead! Get him out of here right now!” Dad sat on the couch, his face dark with anger. “Have you lost your mind? Do you want the whole neighborhood laughing at us?” But I didn’t hear them. I was born without family bonds. I was born at 4:44 AM, and even my cry was weak as a kitten’s mewl. When the nurse handed me to Mom, she pushed me away in disgust. Dad stood beside her with only one comment: “This child is unlucky.” Later, Tiana was born—adorable, affectionate, everything they’d hoped for. From then on, all the warmth and attention in the house went to her. I became invisible in my own family. When I had a fever so high I lost consciousness, they told neighbors I was just lazy and sleeping in. When asked about my favorite food, they said “leftovers.” Even though I was older than Tiana, I had to wear her hand-me-downs… I felt nothing about their favoritism. No hurt, no hope. Just indifference. I didn’t care whether they loved me or not. My heart was never here. This Nine-Turn Golden Koi Fortune was what I truly wanted. It wasn’t ordinary good luck—it was heaven-defying fortune that could rewrite fate itself and control destiny. With it in my grasp, I’d have absolute power over my own life. Soaring ninety thousand miles high, vast sky and endless sea, free from all constraints. Once I obtained it, everything I wanted would be within reach. So I said, word by word: “I want him.”

Everyone said I’d gone crazy. I’d brought home a beggar, spent a fortune on private doctors and imported antibiotics, and even enrolled him in the most elite financial trading courses. When Tiana saw the bandaged figure seriously studying “Security Analysis,” she burst out laughing. “Serena, has this beggar scrambled your brains? Does he even know what ‘finance’ means?” Mom chimed in, shooting me a disgusted look. “What’s so special about this beggar? You’re just throwing money down the drain!” I didn’t even look up. “My money. I’ll throw it wherever I want.” And it was true—all the money I’d saved over the years from reading fortunes and feng shui was flowing like water toward him. I even bought an expensive tourmaline ring at auction and gave it to him. Everyone thought I was man-crazy. Bewitched by a beggar. Only I knew—once he survived this final trial, Ethan would soar. And I would use his fortune to defy heaven itself. Resilient and enduring, Ethan—continuing fortune. “Ethan, don’t disappoint me.” He didn’t disappoint me. In three months, Ethan completed all the finance courses. I gave him startup capital to register Ethan Capital. By the fifth month, he attacked the stock market, precisely shorting overinflated green energy stocks. One week, two hundred million profit. He became famous overnight. By the seventh month, he moved to commodity futures. I helped him predict policy shifts. Another eight hundred million. In just one year, Ethan Capital grew from a tiny office into a financial empire. Ethan himself made headlines as the city’s newest billionaire—mysterious and low-profile. And I, as general manager, stayed by his side the entire time. The day came quickly. Ethan’s injuries healed completely. He removed the bandages from his face. When he was invited to the Annual Outstanding Entrepreneur Awards, the entire financial world went wild. Major media outlets swarmed: “One Year to Billionaire Status! Mysterious Rising Star Ethan’s First Public Appearance!” Amid massive anticipation, Ethan stepped onto the stage. He stood against the light—eyes like stars, tall and striking. For a moment, the entire venue fell silent. Then thunderous applause erupted. Ethan’s acceptance speech contained only one name: Serena. The tourmaline ring on his left hand gleamed under the spotlight. Now he’d created a matching couple’s ring and personally placed it on my ring finger. Then he announced our wedding date: one month away. The media exploded. Camera flashes went off like fireworks. “Breaking news! The man who became a billionaire in one year—his first public appearance is a proposal!” “Oh my god, such a handsome, devoted billionaire—he’s straight out of a romance novel!” “Marrying him would be a dream come true!” I looked at Ethan up close—his sharp nose and thin lips. Less than a month until the fortune transfer array would be complete. Once I obtained that top-tier golden koi fortune, I’d soar to the top. At that point, Ethan would be marrying into my wealth. I could certainly afford to keep him. But no one noticed that Tiana was there that day, working as an intern reporter. She stared at the man on stage, lips parted, hands pressed over her heart, as if the surrounding noise didn’t exist. Only her pounding heartbeat remained. She murmured like she was dreaming: “My… Prince Charming has actually appeared…”

That evening, I returned home after signing contracts at the company. My bedroom door was slightly ajar. Looking inside, I saw Ethan sitting at the desk—and Tiana wearing my nightgown. The next second, Tiana threw her arms around Ethan from behind. Her face was flushed, eyes sparkling like a startled deer. Ethan turned around and saw it wasn’t me—but he didn’t immediately push Tiana away. As the two of them gazed at each other with obvious chemistry, I kicked the door open. Tiana jumped back like a frightened deer, clutching her hands to her chest. “Serena! You scared me. Why are you always so rough?” I said flatly: “Why are you in my room wearing my nightgown?” She lowered her head shyly, twisting the hem. “All my nightgowns were in the wash. Mom said I could borrow yours. You don’t mind, right?” “Actually, this nightgown is a bit tight on you anyway. It fits me perfectly.” “And I think it looks better on me than on you.” How shameless. I sneered. “Get out.” Tiana’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. She bit her lower lip. “Why are you so mean to me, Serena? We’re sisters. Can’t I even come in your room? Do you hate me? Is that why you’re always attacking me?” Then she looked on the verge of tears, casting a helpless glance at Ethan. I looked at Ethan too. He frowned, thinking for a moment before saying: “Tiana is pure and kind-hearted. She doesn’t have any bad intentions.” “Besides, you’re her sister. You shouldn’t be so harsh with her.” Tiana quickly covered Ethan’s mouth with her small hand. “Don’t scold Serena because of me. I don’t want you two fighting over me. You two need to stay happy together.” With that, she wiped her tears with her little hands and ran out with her head down. I heard her soft crying from the living room. “I never imagined… my ideal Prince Charming… would actually be living in our house. Isn’t that fate? But he belongs to Serena…” And my parents’ comforting voices. “Neither of you is married yet… how does he ‘belong’ to your sister?” “Girls need to be bold… pursue true love.” Looking at Ethan’s slightly dazed expression, I knew. He was starting to change. A few days later, I arrived at the company in the morning. HR specifically handed me a new hire form. Tiana. Position: Chairman’s Special Assistant. I, the general manager, hadn’t been informed at all. When I walked to Ethan’s office, I heard Tiana’s sweet voice inside. “Ethan, you’re so good to me, giving me such a high salary. Won’t Serena be upset when she finds out?” Through the crack in the door, I saw Tiana leaning across the desk to adjust Ethan’s tie. Ethan looked down at her, his eyes showing a hint of affection. “Your sister, she…” Ethan paused. “She’s too calculating. Don’t tell her.” Tiana’s eyes lit up, shimmering with emotion. “What about me? Everything I’m thinking, I only tell you.” Watching Ethan’s obvious interest, I just wanted to warn him. Ethan, don’t be stupid. In the following days, Tiana spent every day by his side at work, gazing at him adoringly. At home, laughter echoed from the kitchen as they cooked together. “If Ethan marries Serena, then Ethan and I will become family too.” “But I’ll probably be alone forever…” Tiana sounded cheerful, but her voice carried loneliness. Ethan paused, then said indulgently: “Silly Tiana. Even if I don’t marry her… can’t we still be family?” Two weeks until the wedding.

At the dinner table, Mom beamed. “Oh my! This is our little Tiana’s first time cooking. Remember when she was little? She said she’d only cook for her future husband.” Dad laughed too. “Our Tiana always had strong opinions. She said whoever ate her cooking would be hers.” Tiana looked like she wanted to crawl under the table with embarrassment. Ethan’s eyes warmed with affection. The change was obvious not just to me, but to everyone. Rumors spread quickly. “I thought Ethan really loved Serena. Turns out he got hooked by someone else so easily.” “Looks like we’re getting a new Mrs. Ethan.” But no matter what people said, I remained unmoved. Seeing this, people started new rumors: “Serena’s such a doormat. Ethan and her sister are practically making out in front of her.” “Well, Ethan is a billionaire. If I were her, I wouldn’t want to break up either.” One week before the wedding, I finally closed a difficult client I’d been working on for three months. Holding the cross-border strategic cooperation agreement worth billions, I walked into Ethan’s top-floor office. But before Ethan could pick up his pen to sign, Tiana rushed in like a startled deer. She clutched his sleeve, voice tearful. “I just saw that man… he looked so fierce, his eyes were so scary…” Ethan immediately put down the pen to comfort her gently. Tiana pressed against him, sneaking a glance at me while saying softly: “Working with someone that vicious will only cause trouble. He’ll definitely take advantage of us later.” I thought Ethan would at least show a moment of rationality. After all, this wasn’t just a billion-dollar deal—it was key to the company’s overseas expansion. But he actually tore up the contract and said three words: “Deal’s off.” I thought I’d misheard. “What did you say?” “I said, cooperation cancelled. We’re not signing.” Ethan looked down at the world arrogantly. “Tiana doesn’t like it. I trust her instincts.” I laughed in anger. I didn’t care about his romance, but this concerned the company’s core interests. “Ethan, wake up! This isn’t playing house—this is the company’s strategic layout! Do you know how much damage offending this client will cause?” Ethan shot to his feet, pressure dropping around him. He looked at me furiously: “Serena, what gives you the right to yell at me? Do you act like a woman at all? You’re nothing like Tiana—she’s gentle and sweet.” “I’m telling you—one week from now at the wedding, Tiana will be the bride. You’re out!” Tiana looked up from his embrace sharply. “Ethan, do you really mean it?” Ethan looked down, voice tender and intimate: “Yes, really.” “I mistakenly loved Serena. She’s cold and calculating. But then you appeared, like a little deer running into my life, and I finally realized—” “The one I love is you.” I stood there, watching this perfect couple before me. I didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene, didn’t question them. I just slowly, slowly smiled.

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My husband’s first love—the girl he’d put on a pedestal for a decade—killed my father in a drunk-driving accident. And my husband, one of the city’s top defense attorneys, tried to force me to take the fall. He slipped the confession in front of me, his tone so flat and indifferent it made my blood run cold. “It’s a first offense for a relative, Marina. They’ll go easy on you. Besides, Cassandra’s parents are old; they need her to support them in their golden years. She can’t go to prison. Your dad is already dead. You don’t have anyone left to take care of anyway. Just think of it as a final act of charity to help your dad’s soul rest in peace.” Sickened and furious, I refused on the spot, determined to fight for justice. But on the way to the courthouse, someone ambushed me from behind. A blunt, agonizing force struck the back of my skull. The world went black. Just before I lost consciousness, my husband’s icy voice whispered in my ear: “You just had to appeal, didn’t you? Let’s see how you make it to the courtroom from the heart of Death Valley.” 1 I forced my eyes open. Nothing but endless, shimmering heat waves and cracked desert earth. The midday sun beat down mercilessly, baking my skin until it felt ready to split. In the distance, a black SUV sat idling. Its windows were rolled halfway down, a thin mist of air conditioning escaping into the blistering dry air. Inside sat my husband, Daniel, and his assistant—his first love—Cassandra. Daniel leaned back against the leather seat, his eyes devoid of any warmth as he looked at me. “You brought this on yourself, Marina. This is the price you pay for refusing to let it go.” Cassandra sat beside him, her fingers tracing the hem of his tailored suit sleeve. A smirk of quiet triumph played on her lips. “Thank you, Daniel. If it weren’t for you, I’d be in a cell right now.” My throat was a dry, scraping wasteland. Every breath felt like swallowing shards of broken glass. Pushing myself up against the scorching gravel, my voice came out as a raspy whisper. “Water… please, give me water…” Daniel frowned, a momentary flicker of hesitation crossing his face. I stared at him, my body trembling with a mix of heat and pure betrayal. “Daniel… where is your conscience?” “Have you forgotten? Without my dad, you would be absolutely nothing!” Daniel had been an orphan, raised on the charity of a small town. My dad, Robert, had paid for his high school, his college, even the prep courses for his bar exam. When we married, my dad treated him like his own flesh and blood. Yet here he was, sitting next to the monster who ran my father down, watching me struggle for survival in a wasteland. His eyes wavered for a second, but then he looked at Cassandra, and his expression hardened. “Your father lived a full life, Marina. Cassandra is still young.” “He was old anyway. Why waste resources keeping an old man alive? Cassandra did you a favor by saving you the cost of eldercare. You should be thanking her.” Thanking her? Thank the drunk driver who slaughtered my father? Looking at this stranger who wore my husband’s face, I shook with a rage so violent that a copper taste rose in my throat. Seeing me on the verge of collapse, he paused, his hand drifting toward the water bottle in the cup holder. But Cassandra caught his hand, her voice sweet and pleading. “Oh, Daniel, water won’t quench her thirst. I brought something special for her.” She reached into the console and pulled out a plastic bottle with a long cord tied around its neck. Leaning out the window, she tossed it onto the dirt a few yards away from me, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Want a drink? Come and get it.” The SUV slowly began to roll forward. Survival instinct overrode my pride. All I could see was that bottle. I crawled forward on my hands and knees, then scrambled to my feet, throwing myself into a desperate run. The hot gravel tore into my shoes, burning the soles of my feet, but I couldn’t care. I was getting closer. My fingers stretched out, almost touching the plastic. Then, the car accelerated. The cord snapped tight, dragging the bottle away instantly. I lunged and hit the dirt hard, coughing up a mouthful of dust. Behind me, the low roar of the engine sounded like mocking laughter. Again and again. I ran. The car drifted ahead. The primal urge to survive kept me moving, chasing that single bottle of liquid. My mind began to slip; my vision blurred into a hazy mix of yellow and red. I was a machine now, moving only on raw instinct. Daniel watched my desperate, humiliating scramble, and something in his face finally cracked. He reached over and grabbed Cassandra’s arm, his voice low. “Stop. That’s enough.” The SUV ground to a halt. The bottle lay right at my feet. I threw myself onto it, clutching it to my chest. I twisted the cap off and, without a second thought, tilted my head back and drank. A foul, burning stench hit my nose. It was urine. I froze. My stomach violently convulsed. I collapsed, retching dryly, vomiting up what little strength I had left. Stomach acid and dirt tore through my throat. Cassandra leaned her head out of the window, clicking her tongue in disgust. “Ugh, what a waste. We give you a drink, and you’re still so picky.” “Some people just don’t know how to be grateful.” I forced my head up, my eyes bloodshot, staring daggers at Daniel. “This… this is piss!” Daniel flinched, turning a sharp, questioning look toward Cassandra. Cassandra immediately softened, her face twisting into a mask of hurt innocence. “It’s sweet tea, Daniel! She’s just lying because she wants you to hate me. You know how she is.” 2 I pushed against the burning dirt, my voice hoarse and desperate. “Daniel, she’s lying!” “Don’t you remember? When you had acute appendicitis, my dad carried you on his back to the hospital in the middle of a storm!” “He sold his only motorcycle just to pay for your surgery! Have you forgotten everything?” His pupils dilated slightly, his jaw clenching tight. The memory struck a nerve. His hand moved toward the door handle, ready to step out. Cassandra’s expression darkened, a flash of pure malice crossing her eyes. But before he could open the door, Daniel’s phone buzzed loudly. He answered it. Within seconds, his face drained of color, turning a furious, ugly red. “What? Security footage? How did she get it?” He slammed the phone down and turned back to me, his eyes burning with hatred. “You manipulative bitch, Marina!” “You secretly submitted the traffic footage to the court? You’re trying to ruin Cassandra’s life!” I stared back, my mind spinning. “No! I didn’t! I couldn’t have!” I had never even seen the security footage, let alone sent it to a judge. But he wasn’t listening. His rage was absolute. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Cassandra’s fleeting smirk before she instantly melted into tears. She grabbed Daniel’s arm, her voice trembling. “Daniel, what are we going to do?” “I can’t go to prison! I just got my acceptance letter from Harvard Law!” “We promised we’d make it to the top together. It can’t end like this!” She bit her lip, tears streaming down her face, looking small and fragile. “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have had those drinks. Daniel, our dream… I think I have to break my promise to you.” Her tears broke through his remaining defenses. Daniel’s gaze softened as he looked at her, then hardened into steel when he turned back to me. He patted her hand gently. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, no one is ruining your life.” “I already have my people intercepting the footage.” I collapsed onto the burning sand, my body completely drained of strength. The world was spinning, waves of heat rolling over me in suffocating layers. “It wasn’t me… I swear…” Daniel threw the car door open. His leather shoes crunched against the dry gravel, step by heavy step, until he stood over me. He looked down at me, his eyes colder than the desert night. “Stubborn to the end.” Before the words fully registered, his hand swung down. Slap! A sharp, stinging pain flared across my left cheek. Before I could gasp, his hand swung back. Slap! The force of the blow snapped my head to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Since you’re so eager to ruin your own life, don’t blame me for being heartless.” He stood up, adjusted his designer suit jacket, and turned away without a backward glance. “Come on, Cassandra. We need to catch our flight. We have to be back in the city by tomorrow morning.” Cassandra gave me one last contemptuous sneer before scurrying into the passenger seat. The engine roared, and the SUV sped away, leaving a thick plume of dust that swallowed the horizon. Inside the car, Daniel watched the barren landscape fly past, a faint flicker of unease finally crossing his mind. “Cassandra, you made the arrangements, right?” “Someone is coming to drop off supplies? Water, food?” “Her family was good to me once. I wanted to teach her a lesson, but I don’t want her dead.” Cassandra nodded quickly, offering a sweet, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Daniel. Everything is handled.” “Water, protein bars, a portable fan—she’ll have everything she needs. She won’t starve.” “It’s just a little tough love so she doesn’t try to cross us again.” Daniel relaxed back into his seat, letting the worry fade. Meanwhile, back in the desert, as soon as the black SUV vanished beyond the horizon, another cloud of dust rose in the distance. A battered, rusty pickup truck roared toward me, stopping with a screech of brakes. 3 The doors swung open, and four burly men stepped out, their faces twisted into ugly grins. Before I could even speak, a heavy boot slammed into my ribs. Pain exploded through my body. I curled into a tight ball on the dirt, helpless against the rain of blows. “Think you’re smart, bitch? Trying to mess with Miss Cassandra?” “Here’s the ‘supplies’ she wanted us to deliver. Enjoy!” They cursed and laughed, kicking me repeatedly in the chest and back. One of them grabbed my ankle, violently ripping off my shoes and tossing them far into the brush. My bare soles touched the white-hot gravel. The searing heat immediately blistered my flesh, an agonizing pain that shot straight to my spine. I shook violently, sweat and dirt pasting my hair to my face. The leader spat on the ground and ground his heel into the back of my hand. “Did you know? Mr. Daniel is Miss Cassandra’s man now. She’s pregnant with his baby.” “And you, clueless idiot, didn’t have a damn clue.” My eyes flew open. My body went rigid. “What… what did you say?” “Hard of hearing?” The man pressed harder, grinding my knuckles into the dirt with a brutal laugh. “This is what happens when you cross people who own this town.” “Consider this a lesson for your next life. Mind your own business.” Another kick sent my head spinning. Blood dripped from my mouth, and my consciousness began to drift into a dark, welcoming void. The last thread of hope I held for Daniel shattered into dust. My feet burned like they were on fire, my ribs felt shattered, and blood dried sticky against the dirt on my skin. I don’t know how much time passed. But then, the distant hum of another engine broke the silence. A clear, youthful voice pierced the quiet: “Hey! I think someone’s out there!” I struggled to lift my heavy eyelids. A van was pulling up, a camera rig mounted on its roof—some travel vloggers. The van stopped, and a few people jumped out, a camera lens pointing directly at my face. “Guys, we just found someone in the middle of the desert. She looks like she’s barely breathing. Let’s get her some help!” The host knelt down, gently pulling me up. An assistant handed over a cold bottle of water, the camera zooming in close. “Slow down, don’t choke. Oh, you poor thing.” I drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing the fire in my throat, pulling my mind back from the edge. The feeling of returning to life filled me with hope. I was going to live. But then, the chat overlay on their livestream screen began to scroll at lightning speed. Wait, she looks familiar. Holy crap, is that Marina Ross? Oh my god! It is! The woman wanted for running over her own father and fleeing the state! The host’s face went pale. He quickly pulled up a news alert on his phone, comparing the mugshot to my swollen face. “Holy shit, it is her. The whole internet is calling her the monster who killed her dad!” The comment section exploded: What a piece of trash! Don’t save her! She tried to hide in the desert to escape justice. Let her burn! Hey host, don’t be soft. I’ll donate a thousand dollars if you slap her! Donation alerts started flashing across the screen. The host’s eyes lit up. He turned and delivered a stinging slap to my cheek. “That’s for the donation, guys!” The assistant joined in, laughing as she shoved me back down. “Thanks for the support! Today we’re doing some street justice on a patricide monster!” My head spun from the blows, completely defenseless, listening to the host cheerfully thank his viewers for the money. Suddenly, the assistant covered the microphone and whispered into the host’s ear. The host’s smile vanished. He glanced at me, a cruel, mocking look returning to his face. “Well, well. Seems you’ve pissed off some very powerful people.” “A guy named Mr. Hardy just offered a massive bounty for your exact coordinates. Looks like your clock just ran out.” He gestured to the assistant. “Send him the GPS pins. Let’s get out of here before things get messy.” “Hardy…” Hearing that name, my dimming eyes sparked with a sudden, desperate light. My fingers twitched, trying to claw at his sleeve. But the pain dragged me under, and the world went dark once more. Fearing they’d get tangled in a crime scene, the vloggers packed up and sped away. But I knew. I was safe. It didn’t take long. A deep, heavy thrumming vibrated through the desert air. Three sleek black helicopters swept over the horizon, landing in perfect formation, kicking up a storm of dust and gravel. The cabin door slid open. A man in a tailored, sharp charcoal suit stepped out onto the desert floor. 4 Meanwhile, on a first-class flight back home, Daniel and Cassandra sat side-by-side, sipping champagne. Daniel flipped through a legal brief, a cold smile touching his lips. “I’ve made sure the paper trail points entirely to her. Drunk driving, vehicular manslaughter, fleeing the jurisdiction.” “By the time the court signs off, she won’t have a choice but to plead guilty.” Cassandra leaned against his shoulder, her eyes full of devotion. “Daniel, thank God for you. I don’t know what I would have done.” Daniel squeezed her hand gently. “I told you, I’ll protect you. We made a promise when we were kids, and I won’t let anything destroy our future.” But as he spoke, his brow furrowed slightly. “Though… I don’t know why, but I have this nagging feeling…” Cassandra’s eyes flickered with a brief, nervous tension. She quickly smoothed it over, resting her chin on his chest. “Don’t worry so much, honey. The drop-off crew handled the supplies. She’s got food, she’s got water. She’s fine.” Daniel paused, then nodded. “Once the dust settles, we’ll arrange to bring her back.” “When the baby is born, we’ll let her raise it as her own. It’ll keep her from completely losing her mind.” Cassandra leaned up to press a soft kiss against his cheek, smiling warmly. “I know you’re too kind-hearted to let her suffer too much. I’ll take care of it when the time comes.” As she spoke, her phone buzzed with a trending notification. It was a live-stream thumbnail showing a battered woman face-down in the desert dirt. Her eyes narrowed, a flash of pure venom crossing her face. Without a word, she swiped the notification away and locked the screen. She kept her voice sweet, gently rubbing Daniel’s back. “Don’t think about it anymore. Let’s focus on the hearing tomorrow.” Daniel didn’t notice the change in her demeanor. He simply closed his eyes and mumbled a quiet agreement. Two days later, the courtroom was packed to the brim. The story had become a media sensation, and reporters crowded the gallery. Daniel and Cassandra sat at the plaintiff’s table. The judge banged his gavel, his voice echoing through the quiet room. “Is the defendant, Marina Ross, present?” The courtroom remained silent. No one stood. Daniel, dressed in a sharp, professional black suit, stood up with practiced calm. He looked toward the bench, his voice steady and commanding. “Your Honor, we have undeniable evidence that although the vehicle in question was registered under Cassandra’s name, it was borrowed by Marina Ross on the night of the incident.” His logic was flawless, each word hitting the room like a hammer. “Mrs. Ross has a documented history of alcohol abuse. That night, she drove under the influence, resulting in the tragic death of her own father, Robert Ross. To evade justice, she destroyed the vehicle’s dashcam and fled the state.” He opened a leather-bound folder, presenting it to the court. “Given her flight from prosecution, the evidence of vehicular manslaughter, and her attempts to frame an innocent party, we ask for the maximum sentence.” He bowed slightly and returned to his seat, the perfect picture of an upright, objective officer of the law. Beside him, Cassandra played the role of the grieving, innocent victim, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. The judge nodded, looking over the sentencing documents. “Based on the prosecution’s complete chain of custody and the defendant’s failure to appear, this court finds—” Before he could finish. Bang! The heavy double doors of the courtroom burst open.

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During my annual checkup, the doctor found an ovarian cyst. She said it was nothing serious and suggested we monitor it at the next follow-up. But my husband disagreed. He frowned and insisted I have surgery. “Better safe than sorry. What if it gets worse? Trust me, Summer — let’s just get it taken care of. I’ll feel a lot better knowing you did.” Hard to say no to that kind of concern, so I ended up on the operating table. What I didn’t expect was that the surgeon would be my husband’s childhood sweetheart. She streamed my entire surgery without my knowledge or consent, exposing me in front of over a hundred thousand people. When I came out of anesthesia, my phone was flooded with disgusting messages from strange men. I was ready to lose it and confront Sandra about what she did — but my husband and his mother blocked me. “That was a contribution to medical education, Summer. How can you be so unreasonable? Honestly, the only reason you’d find anything wrong with it is if your own mind was in the gutter.” I lost my job. Then, in the depths of my depression, I swallowed a bottle of pills. As I lay there, I heard my mother-in-law laughing. “After being exposed like that in front of everyone, she was already damaged goods. Honestly? Good riddance. Now Sandra can finally have what’s hers.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back — the day my husband first pushed me toward surgery. This time, I said yes without hesitation. Then I turned around and went to find his mother. “Mom, you really shouldn’t keep putting it off. I went ahead and booked a surgery appointment for you.”

My mother-in-law was sprawled on the couch, legs crossed, watching TV. When she heard me, she didn’t even bother to look up. “At my age? Surgery? It’s not like it’s killing me. I’m getting by just fine.” I’d expected exactly that. I made a show of hesitating, picked up a pair of her pants from the laundry pile nearby, and let my voice trail off like I wasn’t sure how to say what came next. “It’s just… Mom, it seems like the leaking has been getting worse lately. Look — it’s only been a few days, and already so many pairs you can’t wear anymore. And the smell…” The moment she realized what I was holding — her urine-stained pants — her face went crimson. Her neck stiffened. “Summer! What exactly are you implying? Are you saying you’re too good for this? You married into this family. Doing a little laundry for your mother-in-law — isn’t that just part of the deal?” I laughed on the inside. This bladder problem of hers started when she gave birth to my husband, Ethan. By any reasonable standard, it was her son’s responsibility to look after her — what did that have to do with me, the daughter-in-law? But ever since she’d moved in with us, the apartment had carried this persistent, sour smell that never quite went away. At first, I’d felt sorry for her. She’d worked hard her whole life. So I’d helped with the laundry a few times out of kindness — and somehow that turned into my permanent job. If I didn’t do it, the dirty clothes would pile up in the hamper until the whole living room reeked. Even Ethan’s clothes and mine ended up smelling strange. I frowned slightly and leaned closer, keeping my voice low, my tone nothing but sincere. “Mom, I’m not complaining about you. I’m worried about Ethan. He’s been grumbling to me lately — saying the smell is bothering him. Have you noticed? He’s been coming home less and less.” “And Dad — I mean, why else would he rather stay out at that old property than come live here with you? I just want things to be good between you and Dad. That’s all I’m thinking about.” The moment I brought up her precious son and her husband, her whole expression shifted. She instinctively lifted her sleeve and sniffed it. Her eyes flickered. She thought about how Ethan had been citing “late nights at the office” as his excuse lately, and how her husband refused to budge from their old place no matter what she said. Her resistance crumbled — though her pride made sure her mouth held on a little longer. “Well, if you’re so sure about it, fine. But you’re paying for the surgery. And you are not to tell Ethan or his father. You hear me?” I smiled and nodded, offering a few reassuring words. Not wanting to give her time to change her mind, I headed to the hospital first thing the next morning and booked her procedure. I was just leaving with the paperwork when a nurse called out to me. “Family member? The doctor needs to go over the procedure with you.” I pushed open the exam room door. The woman sitting behind the desk looked up — and it was Sandra, Ethan’s childhood sweetheart and the woman he’d never quite let go of. She was holding the freshly printed surgical paperwork, eyebrows drawn together, looking at me with poorly concealed suspicion. “I thought you were here for a uterine fibroid. Why did you schedule a urinary incontinence procedure?”

My stomach dropped — and then quietly, I felt relieved. Thank god I’d booked everything under my own name. If I’d used my mother-in-law’s name, it would’ve been over before it started. Sandra never missed a chance to make my life difficult. I’d barely finished booking, and she’d already gotten her hands on the paperwork. I quickly lowered my eyes and put on my best uncomfortable, hard-to-admit expression, forcing the words out slowly. “Dr. Hayes, I looked into it and the fibroid really isn’t serious. But this other problem — even though it’s not dangerous, it’s been affecting my life. A lot.” I glanced up briefly, then dropped my eyes again, voice barely above a whisper. “My husband hasn’t been coming home much lately. I just want to fix this as fast as I can.” Sandra listened. The corner of her mouth twitched — just barely — and a layer of smug satisfaction settled over her face before she could smooth it away. Of course she knew exactly where Ethan had been spending his time. With her. She composed herself quickly and put on the superior, lecturing tone she liked to use with me. “According to your file, you’ve never had children. You’re young — why would you have this kind of issue?” “Honestly, it makes me wonder about your lifestyle choices. A woman should take care of herself. Otherwise, the day your husband loses interest and moves on, no one’s going to want what’s left.” I seethed on the inside. On the outside, I nodded like I was taking notes, properly chastened. She seemed to enjoy the sight of me taking it. Satisfied, she waved me off like she was doing me a favor. Right before I reached the door, she made a show of fanning the air in front of her nose, her face scrunched in exaggerated distaste. “Summer — personal hygiene before the procedure, please. You’ve only been in here a few minutes and the whole room is already…” She let the sentence hang there unfinished. The look on her face said everything she didn’t. I kept nodding and walked out. When I got home, Ethan was already at the dinner table. He looked up when I came in. The flicker of disgust in his eyes was barely disguised. Sandra had already told him something, clearly. Once everyone sat down and the food was on the table, Ethan made a production of covering his nose, his face twisted. “What is that smell? Something’s off in here — like something sour.” “Summer, are you even keeping this place clean anymore? You can’t even manage basic hygiene? Mom, aren’t you going to say something to her?” I played dumb and glanced nervously over at my mother-in-law. Her face had gone the color of a bruise. Her lips were trembling. Her eyes were glassy with humiliation — the kind that’s about to boil over into rage. There were actual tears forming. I almost had to bite the inside of my cheek. Ethan was gearing up to say more, but his mother suddenly slammed her fork down on the table with a crack that made everyone flinch. “Will you stop talking nonsense at the dinner table! I don’t smell anything! Nothing at all!” “Ethan, I know you’re tired from work, but don’t you dare bring that attitude home and take it out on us.” Ethan looked thrown. He stared at his mother, then at me, visibly confused by the sudden outburst. Under her warning glare, he backed down. He mumbled something under his breath and went quiet. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. Geez, what’s gotten into you tonight.” The rest of dinner was eaten in an atmosphere that was equal parts tense and bizarre. That night, I gathered up the pile of my mother-in-law’s clothes that needed washing and carried them to the bathroom. I’d just dropped them into the basin when footsteps sounded beyond the curtain. Ethan. He clearly had no idea I was in there. He walked straight in, pulled out his phone, and dialed. A second later, his voice came through — softer than I’d ever heard him use with me. “Hey, Sandi — do you need any help with that livestream setup?” “Don’t worry, she won’t find out. I won’t let anything get in your way.” “I know the competition for the department head position is brutal right now. Once this stream goes well and you get that promotion — your happiness is my happiness.”

Listening to him speak to Sandra with that kind of warmth — I was suddenly back there. The messages. The screenshots. The things men I’d never met thought it was fine to write to me. When I’d gone after Sandra in a blind rage, Ethan had stepped between us and turned on me instead. “That stream was a contribution to medicine. It was a noble thing. The only reason you’d have a problem with it is if you have a filthy mind.” He’d said it like he meant it. He never once thought about what came after. What I was supposed to do with my life once that footage was out in the world. He’d thrown my life away without a second thought — just to give Sandra a shortcut to a promotion. He loved her that much. Funny he didn’t volunteer himself for the table. I was furious, but I didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t know that I already knew about the stream. Not yet. That would ruin everything. I held my breath and waited for him to finish the call and leave. The voice on the other end said something. Ethan gave a low, quiet laugh, then hung up. But he didn’t leave. After a few seconds of silence, he sniffed the air and muttered to himself. “What is that? Did Summer leave something in here?” I pressed myself back — too slow. He yanked the curtain open. We stared at each other. Then his face changed. “You heard everything, didn’t you.” I knew that going quiet would only make things worse — he’d read it as guilt, and his paranoia would spiral from there. So instead, I let the anger out. “Yes. I heard all of it.” I looked straight at him. “I can’t believe you would do this, Ethan. A livestream? Of my entire surgery? Do you understand what that means? It’s a gynecological procedure. Once that’s out there — how am I supposed to face anyone? What does that do to my life?” His face darkened. He’d been so focused on making Sandra happy that he’d agreed without really thinking it through. Now, caught out and knowing it, he fell back on attack. “There’s nothing wrong with it! To a doctor, it’s just a routine procedure. Can you stop making everything dirty? This is normal medical education content.” He looked me over with contempt. “And honestly? You’re not exactly young anymore. You really think anyone’s going to be watching for the reason you’re imagining? Don’t flatter yourself.” I stared at him harder. “So being older makes it okay to humiliate me? If you’re so committed to the cause of medical science, Ethan — why don’t you get on the table? Let Sandra stream you. Go ahead.” “That’s completely different and you know it —” “Because she’s in gynecology? I know.” I cut him off. “The real reason you’re fine with this is that it’s not happening to you.” He shifted tactics, his voice turning contemptuous. “You know what your problem is? You’re jealous. You’re jealous that Sandra is accomplished and successful and doing something meaningful. So you want to drag her down. You’re being completely irrational.” “This is standard procedure. If it weren’t you, it’d be someone else. I’m giving you the chance to be part of something worthwhile — and you’re too selfish to see it. Keep this up, and I want a divorce.” The word landed. I let my face fall. I looked down. I went quiet. At that moment, his mother appeared in the doorway, drawn by the noise. “What is all this shouting? Some of us are trying to sleep.” Ethan almost turned to her — almost made it her problem — but then he remembered how she’d defended me at dinner. He swallowed whatever he’d been about to say. She was traditional. She would never understand the livestream. He couldn’t risk it. He switched to a breezy, dismissive tone. “Nothing, Mom. Just a little couple’s spat. You know how it is. Go back to bed — we’re fine.” He shot me one last hard look, then steered his still-grumbling mother out of the bathroom and closed the door behind them.

The next day, the livestream equipment Ethan had ordered for Sandra arrived at the house. I looked at the boxes stacked in the entryway and felt nothing but a cold, hollow amusement. He was still dreaming about being her hero, paving her road to the top. He had no idea that the person climbing onto that table wouldn’t be me. I thought about my mother-in-law’s face at dinner — how a few careless words about smell had nearly reduced her to tears. I sighed. A last flicker of pity moved through me. I pulled Ethan away from the equipment he was fussing with. “Ethan. I’m saying this one more time. Livestreaming a surgery without the patient’s consent is a serious violation of privacy. It’s illegal. You will ruin someone’s life.” He shook me off with barely disguised annoyance. “Privacy? What law? I’m the family member giving consent — that’s all that matters. Why are you always so dramatic?” “And can you stop projecting your own twisted thinking onto everyone else? Normal people don’t sit around imagining the worst.” While we argued, his mother wandered in. She hadn’t caught the specifics, just saw me grabbing at Ethan while he was trying to work. She dug her fingers into my arm and shrieked. “Summer! What do you know about any of this? Ethan handles his own business. Stop throwing tantrums every five minutes!” Her nails left marks on my wrist. I looked at her face — that absolute, unthinking certainty that she was right — and the last trace of hesitation left me. Some people really can’t be warned. The following morning, under Ethan’s repeated reminders to hurry up, I brought my mother-in-law to the hospital early. Ethan and Sandra were busy setting up the stream. Neither of them came by the room once to check on the patient. On my way out, I stopped by the nurses’ station with a quiet request. “My mother-in-law is a very private person. She gets embarrassed easily. Could you make sure her face is covered during the procedure? Just to keep her comfortable. Thank you.” Then I slipped out of the ward and found an empty waiting room down the hall. The stream went live. At first, it was a quiet, niche medical channel. The viewer count barely moved — until Sandra pulled back the surgical drape without warning, exposing my mother-in-law fully under the HD camera. The numbers exploded. The comment section became a blur of motion. Messages scrolled too fast to read. Crude jokes, disgusting symbols, mockery — it filled the screen in waves. And somewhere in the middle of it, Ethan’s anonymous account was in there too, leading the charge. “Holy — how is it even like that? That’s disgusting.” “Lol, clearly been through a lot. No wonder she has that problem.” “Someone tell me what this woman does for a living that would do that kind of damage.” Ethan stared at the screen. Some small, nagging unease flickered at the edge of his mind — something about what he was seeing didn’t quite match what he’d expected. But the live viewer count was going up by the thousands, and that drowned everything else out. He told himself it was the lighting. And then he went back to work stoking the comments. Behind her surgical mask, Sandra was watching the numbers climb. Her smile had gone wide. The promotion felt like a sure thing. Riding the momentum, she made her move. She turned away toward the instrument table as if to grab something — and as she turned back, her foot drifted toward the head of the table. Her hand caught the covering over my mother-in-law’s face. She pulled it away. My mother-in-law’s face, unobstructed, filled the camera. Sandra’s eyes went wide. A startled cry escaped her. The instrument in her hand clattered to the floor. At the same moment, on the other side of the screen, the grin froze on Ethan’s face. “That’s — that’s my mother.”

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