Category: English

1 After our fiftieth silent fight, I finally broke. Out of pure spite, I listed every luxury item Harrison Cole had given me over eight years on a secondhand luxury consignment app. The appraiser who came to inspect the items spent twenty minutes going through the ten leather boxes stacked in my living room before he burst out laughing. “Ma’am, I don’t know who bought these for you, but this says Balenci-ah-gah with an ‘X’. This is Versa-chee spelled with an ‘i-e’. And this one—’Gooch’ with three ‘C’s?” I froze. I stared at those absurd, humiliating misspellings in stunned silence. Eight years. I had trusted him so implicitly that I had never once bothered to inspect a single seam or serial number. The appraiser offered me a look of deep, uncomfortable pity. “These aren’t even mid-tier knockoffs. They’re cheap canal-street trash. For all ten boxes, I can give you forty-five dollars max.” I squeezed the three crumpled bills in my fist until my knuckles turned white, then went to find Harrison. At the private downtown lounge, Harrison was ordering wine with a flick of his wrist. “A 1990 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti,” he told the sommelier casually. “Half a million dollars. To celebrate your promotion, Sienna.” Sienna Reed covered her mouth with a delicate, manicured hand, giggling. “Oh, Harrison! You shouldn’t have.” “You deserve it,” he said softly. One of his fraternity brothers at the table spotted me in the doorway and intentionally raised his voice. “Hey, Cole, real talk—it’s been eight years. Have you ever actually thought about marrying Nora?” Harrison swirled his wine glass, a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Marry her? A girl who can’t even tell the difference between real silk and cheap polyester? She isn’t exactly built to be Mrs. Cole.” He took a sip. “She’s just someone to keep around. Does anyone actually take her seriously?” Eight years of unyielding trust, of quiet waiting, collapsed into ash at that single sentence. She’s just someone to keep around. In a single, terrifying moment of clarity, the truth settled into my bones: he had never loved me. Not for a single day. Someone in the booth whistled. “Look who showed up! Hey, Nora!” Harrison barely lifted an eyelid, his voice dripping with smooth indifference. “Back already? I thought you were playing hardball this time. How long did this silent treatment last? Forty-eight hours? That’s a new record for you, Nora.” Another guy joined in, snickering. “Harrison, look at her face. She’s practically dying of withdrawal. No matter how hard you guys fight, Nora always comes crawling back first.” My hands shook. I stepped into the dim, moody light of the VIP booth and slammed the three crumpled bills onto the marble table. “Eight years of anniversary gifts,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Forty-five dollars total. I didn’t realize the great Harrison Cole was struggling so hard financially.” Sienna tilted her head, a sweet, venomous smile playing on her lips. “Nora, are you selling your things for quick cash? Harrison spent half a million on my wine tonight just because I mentioned I had a good week. If you were short on rent, you should’ve just asked your boyfriend.” Harrison glanced down at the green paper on the table, his lips curling in disdain. “You’re entertaining today, Nora. Selling off your wardrobe to make a point? Are you trying to tell me we’re officially over this time?” A wave of laughter erupted around the table. “Nora, man, we knew those bags were fake the second you brought them out,” one of his friends chimed in. “Every time you carried one, we had to stare at our phones so we wouldn’t burst out laughing in your face.” “Eight years!” another snorted. “We had a running bet in the group chat on when you’d figure it out. Some put money on three months, some on a year. The longest bet was three years. You stayed oblivious for eight whole years. Nobody won the pot!” Sienna reached out, tugging gently on my sleeve with faux warmth. “Don’t be mad, Nora. Come sit down and have a drink. Though… if all your designer stuff is fake, do we need to order you cheap house wine so it matches your taste?” The room erupted into laughter again. Harrison took a slow drag from his cigarette, saying nothing to defend me. I swallowed the lump in my throat, holding Harrison’s gaze. “Harrison. Did you give me fake gifts because you don’t know the difference… or because you decided I wasn’t worth the real thing?” An edge of irritation finally crossed his features. He stubbed his cigarette out in the crystal ashtray, hard. “I spend half a million on wine without batting an eye. You honestly think I can’t afford a real bag?” A bitter, suffocating laugh escaped my throat. The cheap misspellings, his effortless cruelty, his utter lack of guilt—it was all the answer I needed. Why was I still standing here, begging for scraps of dignity? “What?” he sneered, looking up at me. “You’re too stupid to recognize a knockoff, and now you’re coming here to interrogate me?” I stared into the eyes I had once drowned in, finding nothing left except cold, mocking arrogance. “So,” I whispered, my jaw tight. “You did it on purpose. From day one, you never had any intention of marrying me.” Harrison picked up the forty-five dollars, flicked the bills between two fingers, and let them fall. They drifted down like dead leaves, landing on the dark hardwood floor. He stood up, towering over me. His shadow fell over me like a cage, his breath heavy with expensive liquor. Once, that scent had made my heart flutter. Now, it made me sick to my stomach. “Obviously,” he whispered, stepping closer until his face was inches from mine. He raised a hand and patted my cheek twice—a light, patronizing slap. “Look at you, Nora. Do you really think you deserve the real thing? A helpless, useless nobody who lives off my charity, who can’t even tell a real bag from a fake… you think you belong in my family?” I tilted my head up, forcing the tears back into my eyes until my vision blurred. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “I don’t belong there. So you don’t have to worry about me wanting the title of Mrs. Cole ever again. Keep it for someone you think is worth it.” I turned on my heel and walked out. Outside, the summer rain crashed against the pavement, raising a thick, white mist over the city streets. I didn’t have an umbrella, and I didn’t turn around. The freezing rain drenched me in seconds, biting through my clothes, but I couldn’t feel the cold. Harrison’s words echoed on a loop inside my mind: Do you really think you deserve the real thing? My mind drifted back. I remembered our thirtieth silent fight. I had slammed the door, crying, and walked out into a torrential downpour. He had chased me three blocks, wrapping a gold necklace around my neck, whispering, Stop acting out, Nora. Come home. I remembered our fortieth fight. I had packed my bags and moved into a temporary rental. He stood under my balcony all night, in the freezing cold, and pressed a designer tote into my hands at dawn. Don’t be mad at me, Nora. I had genuinely believed he was just emotionally distant. I thought those gifts were his awkward, silent way of showing love. I never imagined it was all an elaborate joke. And the saddest part? I had used those fake tokens of affection as excuses to forgive him, over and over again. I stumbled back to the apartment, my body numb, and began tearing through the closets. The anniversary necklaces. The birthday watches. The Valentine’s rings. Every sentimental keepsake I had treasured over eight years. Not a single one was real. Not one. I collapsed onto the floor amidst the chaotic pile of cheap leather and painted metal, and finally let out a jagged, sob. For eight years, I had never looked closely at any of it. Because whenever he handed me a box, his voice was so tender, his eyes so full of warmth, saying: Nora, you deserve the best of everything. And I had believed him. I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark before the front door clicked open. Sienna was supporting Harrison by the arm, dragging his stumbling weight into the entryway. “Nora,” Sienna called out, her voice dripping with artificial sweet sympathy. “Harrison drank way too much tonight, so I drove him home.” She deposited him onto the sofa, straightened up, and let her eyes wander over the boxes scattered across the living room floor. “What are you doing with all this trash?” She tilted her head, her innocence entirely manufactured. “Oh, wait… were you looking for that gray-blue scarf?” I froze, turning my head. The velvet box near the coffee table was empty. The scarf was gone. It was the last thing my mother had made for me before she died in the hospice care ward. Stitch by stitch, her hands shaking, she had knitted it as a wedding gift for my future. Sienna followed my gaze, giving a small, delicate laugh. “Oh, that old thing? I mentioned to Harrison last month that I was cold, and he gave it to me. He said it was just taking up space in the closet.” My heart stopped. “Where is it? Give it back to me!” “I threw it away,” she said, blinking innocently. “It was so tacky and handmade. Who would actually wear something like that?” My legs were numb when I stood up. I had to press my palm against the wall just to keep my balance. “Harrison,” I choked out. The man on the couch shifted, his brow furrowing in deep annoyance. “…Stop screaming.” “My mother’s scarf,” I rasped, my breath tearing through my lungs. “Did you give it to Sienna?” He propped himself up on one elbow, scoffing with drunk indifference. “That ragged piece of trash? If it’s thrown out, it’s thrown out. It wasn’t worth twenty bucks anyway.” He pulled a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills from his leather wallet and threw it straight at my face. The cash hit my cheeks and scattered across my feet like falling leaves. “Go buy ten new ones and stop bothering me,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Is that enough? If you need more, take it.” Sienna giggled softly, leaning down to take Harrison’s arm again. “Harrison, let me help you to the bedroom so you can sleep.” “Yeah,” he grunted, leaning his full weight against her. Memory flashed back unbidden—my mother’s hospital room, three years ago. Harrison holding my trembling hand beside her bed, promising her: Don’t worry, Mrs. Hayes. I’ll take care of Nora for the rest of my life. Every promise had been trash. “Harrison,” I said to his retreating back. “If anyone is leaving tonight, it’s you two. This apartment is mine.” Harrison paused, turning around slowly. The alcohol made his eyes unfocused, but his smirk was sharp. “Yours? Are you sure about that, Nora?” My throat closed up. Three years ago, a violent patient’s family member had ambushed me in the orthopedic ward. The blade slashed the nerve in my right wrist. I couldn’t hold a scalpel again. My career as a surgeon ended before it even truly began. It was the darkest chapter of my life. Harrison had stepped into my despair like a savior, paying the down payment on this apartment so I would have a place to heal. He had held me in his arms, whispering softly: Don’t be scared, Nora. I’ll take care of you. You can just be my personal chef from now on. All I want is to come home to your cooking every day, okay? For three years, I woke up at six every morning. I memorized recipes, chopped ingredients until my left hand was calloused, and cooked endless meals to repay his kindness. I saved every single penny I made from translation work, desperate to pay back the down payment. I thought I had earned my place. I thought I had paid my debt. “Can’t remember?” Harrison stepped closer, looking down at me like I was a bug under his shoe. “Without me, you were a broken cripple who couldn’t even hold a knife. Without my down payment, you’d still be rotting in some moldy basement studio.” He sneered. “You’ve been eating my food, living under my roof, spending my money for three years. Calling you my girlfriend is generous. You’re a glorified housekeeper.” Sienna let out a soft laugh from behind him. “Nora, haven’t you checked the public records? Harrison transferred the title of this apartment to me last month.” My eyes widened in horror. “What?” “Harrison lost a poker game with some of his friends, and my prize for winning was this place,” Sienna said lightly. Harrison added coldly, “Sienna liked the view. So I gave it to her.” “Oh, and by the way,” Sienna added as she guided him toward the hallway, “all those elaborate meals you cooked for him every night? Harrison never ate a single bite. He had his driver drop them off at my apartment.” She smiled over her shoulder. “It seemed like a waste to throw them out, but honestly, my dog loved your stew.” A bone-chilling cold swept through my body. Every meal I had spent hours perfecting… removing every trace of cilantro and carrots because he claimed to hate them… watching the stove for hours to simmer medicinal broths for his stomach… He had fed it all to her dog. I turned slowly toward the hallway desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled out the property deed. I flipped to the ownership page. Sienna Reed. The three words were printed in crisp, unmistakable black ink. My fingers trembled so violently I almost dropped the document. Beside the deed lay a heavy, leather-bound photo album—eight years of our lives preserved on paper. Our first trip to the mountains, my medical school graduation, our first anniversary in Paris, the fireworks night he asked me to be his girlfriend… I opened to the first page. My face in the photograph had been completely blacked out with a thick permanent marker. Scrawled over and over until the paper was warped. I turned the page. My face was scribbled over again. Page after page, year after year. Harrison’s face remained pristine—his handsome smile intact, his eyes gentle. But beside him, I was nothing more than an ink-stained blotch. On the very last page, written across the white margin, was a single line in jagged handwriting: Ugly loser. Stay away from him. I slammed the album shut, pulled it to my chest, and crouched on the floor. I cried until my lungs burned and no sound came out of my throat. Eight years. I thought I was loved. In reality, I was nothing more than the punchline of a cruel, running joke. When the tears finally dried, I placed the album back in the drawer, walked into the bedroom, and pulled out my suitcase. I packed methodically. One item at a time. My mother’s final letter. My medical license—still valid, though dusty. My clothes. By the time I walked out the front door, the rain had stopped. A humid summer breeze swept down the quiet corridor. I didn’t look back. The next morning, I woke up in a cheap hotel room to the frantic vibration of my phone. “Good morning, Ms. Hayes,” a cheerful voice said over the speaker. “This is the bakery calling regarding the custom birthday cake you ordered for today. We also wanted to confirm—the engagement ring you asked us to hide inside the sugar sphere… would you like us to double-check the mounting before delivery?” I stared at the white ceiling, my mind temporarily blank. Today was my birthday. I had rehearsed this day a hundred times in my head. I was going to cut the cake under the candlelight, reveal the platinum band hidden inside, and ask him with a smile: Harrison, I’m giving you myself and the rest of my life. Will you take it? I had told myself that if he was too proud to propose, I would do it first. What did it matter who asked, as long as we ended up together? Now, the memory was so pathetic it felt like a sick joke. “Cancel it,” I said softly. “Throw the cake and the ring away.” “Wait, ma’am? The ring is—” I hung up. A second later, a text notification popped up from an unknown number. It was a video file sent by Sienna. Nora, I bet you still don’t know that the ‘accident’ that ruined your wrist three years ago wasn’t an accident at all, do you? My fingers trembled as I hit play. The camera was angled from across a dark VIP booth. Harrison was holding a glass of whiskey, his voice crystal clear above the background music. “The patient’s family did a great job,” Harrison was saying with an amused smirk. “Looked completely real.” “Man, her right hand is totally trashed,” a friend laughed in the recording. “With her pride, there’s no way she’d ever stay by your side playing house if she could still be a surgeon.” “Cole’s a genius,” another voice agreed. “One fake assault, and she’s bound to you forever, thinking you’re her savior. What a deal.” The video cut off. I stared at the black screen, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it felt like it would break. The assault that stole my dream. The endless nights I had wept into my pillow, mourning the career I lost. The profound gratitude I had felt when he wrapped his arms around me and whispered, I’ll take care of you. He had built my nightmare with his own hands. Another message popped up instantly: Oh, and three years ago, when your Chief of Surgery offered to send you to that nerve specialist in London? Harrison signed the refusal forms himself. He told the hospital you were ‘mentally unstable’ and couldn’t travel. He said if you healed, you’d fly away from him. I pressed my palm over my mouth, a stifled, broken scream tearing through my chest. He had dragged me down from the clouds, trampled me into the dirt, and then extended a hand to pretend he was saving me. Just so he could stand over me and say: See? Nobody wants you but me. And I had loved him for eight years. My phone buzzed again. Nora, you were never the victim. You were just stupid. I threw off the covers, grabbed my jacket, and caught a cab to the hospital. In his office, the Chief of Surgery looked at me with deep sorrow and sighed. “Nora… your partner, Mr. Cole, came in personally with your power of attorney back then. He told us you were emotionally fragile, that you wanted to stay local and recover quietly. He said… you had accepted your condition and didn’t want to drag out the pain with experimental surgeries.” I closed my eyes. It was all true. “If… if I want to go now,” I opened my eyes, looking at him intently, “is it too late?” The Chief reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a thick blue folder, and passed it to me. “I’ll contact the clinic in London today. Nora, your talent was never meant to be wasted behind a kitchen counter. As long as there’s a fraction of a chance, you shouldn’t give up.” I clutched the folder to my chest and walked out into the bright lobby. As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, two people were standing outside. Sienna saw me first, her eyes crinkling into a triumphant smile. “Nora? What a surprise seeing you at the hospital.” Harrison raised his eyes, his brow instantly furrowing into a scowl. “Nora? Why are you following me here? Can’t you come up with a new trick?” I stood still, saying nothing. Sienna leaned heavily against Harrison’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “Nora… I’m pregnant.” The hospital corridor fell dead silent. Harrison didn’t deny it. He just stared at me, waiting for the inevitable breakdown—waiting for the tears, the screaming, the desperate demands for an explanation that I had given him fifty times before. I looked at them both. A slow, faint smile crept onto my face. “Congratulations,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. “You deserve each other. Truly.” Harrison’s confident posture cracked. The smugness bled out of his expression, replaced by sudden confusion. “Nora, wait—” He took a step toward me, but I had already turned around, stepping past him into the crowd. “Harrison,” I said without looking back. “We’re done.” I was sitting in the airport departure lounge when my phone vibrated one last time. It was a text from Harrison: Nora, I didn’t forget your birthday. I booked our usual table at the waterfront. We need to talk. Properly. How long had it been since he had used that tone? In the past, whenever we fought, he only had to use a softer voice, and I would immediately soften up and come home. He knew exactly how much power he held over me. Even now, he thought he could use it like a leash. I powered off the phone, slid it into the bottom of my carry-on bag, and stepped through the security gate. From now on, I would celebrate my own birthdays.

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The billionaire heir of Manhattan’s most powerful dynasty had been chasing me relentlessly for two years. I still hadn’t said yes. My friends all said I was playing hard to get—that I was dragging out the “chase” for too long. I looked down from my window at the man leaning against his sleek black Porsche, a cigarette between his lips, looking every bit the cold, untouchable Prince of the Upper East Side. “…Do you even know I have a twin sister?” I whispered to the empty room. “A sister with my exact face?” My friend, standing beside me, froze. In my past life, I was blinded by Harrison Reed’s grand gestures. I fell into his orbit, blurred by the whirlwind of his passion, and we were married before I could catch my breath. It wasn’t until our wedding day, when he laid eyes on my sister returning from London, that I realized the devastating truth: he had married the wrong woman. Snow began to fall, but the man below didn’t move. Finally, I pulled out my phone and sent him a single text with a flight number and a time. Meet me at JFK this Friday. This Friday was the day my sister was coming home. 1 The moment I sent the message, the man below finally moved. I stood by the window, hidden, watching him take his phone out with a practiced, nonchalant grace. A second later, he tilted his head back, searching my dark window. The lights were off; the curtains were drawn. Harrison couldn’t see me. Still, I instinctively pressed myself against the wall, hiding in the shadows. My phone buzzed. A new message from the man below: Where did you go? When did you leave the building? His questions were sharp, pressing, and demanding. I didn’t reply. Ever since he ran into me at the hospital two years ago, he had crashed into my life with the force of a hurricane. But this time, I had the memories of a ghost. I knew that every ounce of his heat, every desperate pursuit, was fueled by a case of mistaken identity. He thought I was the girl from his past—my sister. In my previous life, he hadn’t been kind to me. So in this life, unable to reveal Alana’s existence yet, I had treated him with nothing but ice. 2 But Harrison Reed was born with a silver spoon and a titanium will. His pursuit was suffocating. Money, attention, time—he threw them at me as if they cost him nothing. He made sure everyone in my circle knew he wanted me. Even my closest friends started accusing me of playing games. After all, this was Harrison Reed. Handsome, powerful, brilliant. A man without a single flaw on paper. My phone buzzed again. Another text. Ignore me then. Outside, the snow was thickening. Harrison looked up at my window one last time before finally getting into his car. He sat there for ten minutes, the engine idling, before driving out of the complex. I closed my eyes. When Harrison wanted to be good to someone, he made it easy to drown in him. That was how I had fallen in love so effortlessly the first time. But when he decided to be cold, he was a blade. The despair of that marriage was a wound that hadn’t healed. 3 While my sister, Alana, was preparing to return to New York, I was quietly preparing my own paperwork to go abroad. We shared the same face. Swapping lives was the easiest thing in the world. Our mother had once been a mistress, forced into the shadows. When she was pregnant with us, she fled to a remote town to hide. No one knew she had given birth to twins. Years later, when she was brought back into the high-society mansion of our biological father, she could only take one daughter with her. She took me. Alana was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland. For twenty years, we rotated. One year she was the “socialite daughter” in New York, the next year I was. Our mother could only afford to have one daughter exist in the public eye. We studied the same major—Medicine. We shared the same social media accounts. Alana knew exactly who Harrison Reed was. 4 In my past life, I fell for Harrison too fast. Love is exclusive, and in my selfishness, I hid Harrison’s existence from Alana, terrified of losing him. It wasn’t until our wedding day that I realized I was just the glitch in his and Alana’s story. But in this life, the day Harrison first appeared, I told her everything. Is this a debt you left behind in New York five years ago? I had asked her. Alana was always more vibrant than me. She laughed over the video call. Five years ago? How old was I then? She had no memory of a Harrison Reed. Even when I showed her photos and videos, she was a blank slate. I messaged back: But five years ago, I was in London. If he met someone, it couldn’t have been me. 5 Before I left the country, I didn’t expect to see Harrison one last time. It was 3:00 AM at the hospital. I had just finished assisting my mentor on a grueling surgery. I was slumped in a quiet stairwell, nodding off from sheer exhaustion, when someone sat down beside me and draped a heavy black wool coat over my shoulders. I opened my eyes to see the sharp, aristocratic lines of Harrison’s face. He didn’t care about his expensive suit as he sat on the dusty concrete steps, watching me. “Why med school? If it’s this exhausting, why did you choose this?” he asked. Because my mother almost died giving birth to us. A doctor saved all three of our lives. Alana and I had made a pact to pay that debt back to the world. But I didn’t tell Harrison that. I just leaned my head against the cold wall, turning away from him. “Why are you here again?” I whispered. “I told you—Friday. At the airport.” In the silence of the winter night, Harrison’s voice was low and devastatingly tender. “You’re not even trying to lie well,” he said. “I asked your professor. He said you aren’t leaving for your research trip until Wednesday.” He was too observant. “You were up there the other night. In your apartment. Watching me.” Harrison suddenly leaned in, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder. “Elena,” he said, using my name in a way that felt like a prayer. “Why are you so hard to catch?” As he leaned in, his scent—cold air and expensive sandalwood—wrapped around me. I blinked back tears. It wasn’t that I was hard to catch. It was that I had seen the ghost of his future coldness. I was terrified of the man he would become. I wanted nothing to do with him in this life. Finally, I told him, “Just give me a little more time.” Until Alana comes back. Until he sees her. They were the original players in this game. I would let Alana make the final move. 6 Friday night. Alana and I wore identical coats, carrying identical suitcases. We met in a cramped restroom at JFK. She hugged me tightly. “Five years, Elena. Then we swap back.” I didn’t commit to that. I just held her. If she found someone she loved here, if she wanted to stay and build a life, I would stay in London forever. We parted ways. She stepped into the role of the surgical intern, joining my mentor’s team. I stepped onto a flight bound for Heathrow. As the plane prepared for takeoff, I received a text from her. Your Harrison Reed is here. He’s quite the welcoming committee. They had met. It was done. I turned off my phone. 7 We had swapped SIM cards. When my ten-hour flight landed, my phone was flooded with messages. Mom, Alana, friends from London. Alana’s messages were at the top. She was talking about Harrison. I finally understand why you said everyone knows about him, she wrote. He’s loud. Not with words, but with presence. There was a department dinner tonight after the trip. Harrison just… showed up. He didn’t just pick me up; he had town cars waiting for the professor and all the residents. He’s colder in person than in the photos. Looking at him, I can’t imagine him chasing anyone. But he’s a gentleman. He knows exactly how much space to give. I can’t even find a reason to say no to him. The earlier messages were from right when she landed. She insisted she had no memory of him. Even seeing him in the flesh, I don’t remember him at all. I skimmed through the rest. I didn’t want to talk about Harrison. I’ve landed, Alana, I replied. It was nearly dawn in New York. She was likely asleep. I pushed my cart and walked out into the London fog. 8 Life in London was fast, but I adapted. Still, Alana’s messages from New York were a constant tether. Her topics were always the same: the grueling hospital shifts and Harrison Reed. Maybe it was because he was impossible to ignore. Alana’s casual chats always circled back to him. One night, she asked: Does Harrison remember every little thing about you? What you like to eat? I replied: Probably not. We didn’t eat together that often. I had been careful. I never showed him my true preferences. With the shadow of my past life hanging over me, I knew I was just a “placeholder” until the real girl arrived. I had spent two years being a shadow. Alana’s next message came quickly: But tonight at dinner, I reflexively picked the onions out of my salad. Harrison just… watched me. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at me for a long time. We had the same hair, the same face, the same voice. But our habits were shaped by different environments. Alana hated onions; I didn’t mind them. Do you think he suspects? she asked. I comforted her: Don’t worry. I never told him what I liked. He couldn’t possibly know. And besides, if he did find out there were two of us, it just meant he was one step closer to the truth. Alana was the one he had the “history” with. She was the one he was supposed to be with. 9 Our mother gave us her beauty. That was the curse that allowed our father to use her. And Alana and I inherited every bit of it. In London, men were constantly trying to get my attention. I looked at the blonde, blue-eyed intern currently trying to charm me into a date and shot him down for the third time. He didn’t give up. He slumped into the chair next to me, propping his chin on his hand, staring at me. He was persistent in a way that was just… annoying. Inevitably, my mind drifted back to Harrison. He had been raised in a house of stone and tradition. Even when he was being a rebel, he was refined. He was a gentleman. His pursuit was grand, but it was never “annoying.” I had fallen for him so easily once. Now, I was running away not just because of the pain, but because I was terrified of falling again. My phone chimed. Alana. It was late in New York. She said Harrison had found another “flaw” in the disguise. The scar on my inner right arm, she wrote. The one you don’t have. I knew that scar. An old childhood injury, faded almost to the color of her skin. Even our mother didn’t know about it. Harrison brought dinner to the hospital for me, Alana wrote. The heating was too high, so I pushed my sleeves up. When I reached for the bag, he went quiet. He just stared at the scar. He didn’t say anything, but I felt him watching me all evening. Harrison’s presence was a physical weight. I could practically feel Alana’s nervousness through the screen. I typed back: We didn’t spend enough time together for him to know your skin like that. The scar is faint. He’s probably just tired. 10 But Alana’s next question caught me off guard. Elena, what do you really think of Harrison Reed? She said he had been chasing me for two years—that he was devoted and patient. She didn’t understand why I was so resistant to a man who was, by all accounts, the catch of the century. Only two weeks in London, and even Alana was questioning my sanity. I waited a moment before replying: I don’t love him. I wanted to make it clear. Whatever you decide to do, Alana, don’t consider me. He was waiting for you from the beginning. Alana pushed back: It’s not about my decision. I’m telling you, Elena—I have no memory of this man. I don’t feel like I’ve ever met him. I can play your role anywhere else, but with him… when he’s good to me, I feel like a thief. I feel like I’m taking something that belongs to you. I froze at the screen. I remembered our wedding day in the past life. Alana had rushed back for the ceremony. Harrison had looked at her and gone completely still. In that one look, he realized everything. Our marriage was the end of “us.” We were strangers in a house of glass. We barely spoke. On our first New Year’s Eve as a married couple, the house was freezing. Harrison came home from a gala, sitting in the dark living room, silent. I had tried to talk to him. Since you realized you got the wrong one… why don’t you just go to her? I’m not unreasonable. We can swap. I’ll go back to London, let her come home. That was the first time I had initiated a conversation in months. In the shadows of the sofa, Harrison had looked at me for a long, agonizing time. Then he ripped his tie off, his voice raspy and cold. “She forgot me,” he said. “Or rather…” He paused. “She never remembered me at all.” 11 I had been staring at the phone for so long that the blonde intern nudged my arm. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said in broken, accented English. I startled, standing up abruptly. I packed my laptop and books, my heart racing. “Don’t follow me,” I snapped when he tried to chase after me. Alana was the cheerful one. I was the ice queen. He didn’t notice the difference; he just waved his car keys. “Let me give you a ride.” My phone vibrated. Alana was calling. I picked up, and before she could speak, I said, “You don’t need to feel guilty. Some things you forget, but others remember for you.” Alana sighed on the other end. “Elena… Harrison hasn’t come to see me in three days.” “The first week, he was there every single day. Then he noticed the onions. He saw the scar. He didn’t ask a single question, but it’s like he’s behind a wall of fog now. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He just… stopped coming.” I stood still in the middle of the sidewalk. “Elena,” Alana asked softly, “are you absolutely sure you haven’t remembered it wrong?” I hadn’t. The memories of my past life were etched into my bones. I had met Harrison at the hospital the day my “second life” started. He had already met Alana by then. He had mistaken me for her. It was destiny. “I haven’t remembered it wrong,” I told her. “And Alana… stop talking to me about him. Do whatever you want, but I don’t want to hear his name again.” Every time I thought of him, I was back in that dark, cold house. 12 After that day, Alana stopped mentioning him. I didn’t know how he was, or what was happening between them. I threw myself into my studies, finally feeling a sense of peace. The blonde intern wouldn’t leave me alone, though. Eventually, I lost my temper. “What do you even like about me?” He grinned. “Everything. If it’s you, I like every part of it.” I laughed bitterly. He couldn’t even tell the woman in front of him was a different person, yet he claimed to love “everything.” A month passed. I hadn’t heard the name Harrison Reed in weeks. He felt like a dream from a past life—until he wasn’t. It was a chaotic night in the ER. The nurses were rushing a gurney toward the OR. I instinctively looked down. A man with dark hair, his face covered in blood, lay unconscious on the bed. My heart stopped. My entire body turned to stone. I thought I was hallucinating. Why was I seeing Harrison Reed, half-dead and bleeding out, in a hospital on the other side of the Atlantic?

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1 I had just signed my older brother’s death certificate and boarded a red-eye flight out of state when my phone vibrated in my palm. A Zelle notification lit up the screen. It was from my wife, Victoria Mercer. Amount: $52.00. Beneath it was a message, typed with the careless efficiency she reserved for minor corporate inconveniences: “Preston accidentally forgot to process your brother’s medical bill. This is to cover your trouble. Next time, anything over $200 needs to be routed through Preston’s desk for pre-approval. It’s protocol.” A second later, a text came through. “Why aren’t you answering? Nolan, don’t think just because you’re my husband you can throw a tantrum whenever you want.” I stared at the glowing pixels. I didn’t reply. I just locked the screen, leaned my head against the cold plastic of the airplane window, and closed my eyes. A few minutes passed. The phone began to vibrate violently. Again and again. “Why aren’t you at the house? Where the hell are you this late?” “Pick up the phone, Nolan.” “If you don’t answer me right now, I’m having your brother transferred out of that private hospice facility.” When her calls went straight to voicemail, Victoria finally panicked. She drove straight to the facility, running on the absolute certainty that I would never abandon my dying brother. I would learn later, from the nurses who were on shift that night, how she stormed into the vacant room. How she stared at the stripped bed and grabbed the nearest orderly, her voice tight with uncharacteristic panic. “Where is the patient from this bed?” she had demanded. The nurse had looked at her in shock. “You didn’t know? He crashed. His family spent all night calling trying to get the funds together for the emergency intervention, but it was too late. He passed away.” Victoria had frozen, the color draining from her face. It was only then, standing in that sterile room, that she finally remembered. Five days ago, when Declan’s condition plummeted, I had called her begging for the fifty-thousand-dollar deposit for his surgery. Her executive assistant, Preston Croft, had intercepted the request and buried it. When she chose to protect Preston over me, I told her I wanted a divorce. I meant it. 2 “Stop being dramatic.” Those were the three words Victoria had given me five days earlier. When we had that conversation, her eyes never once left the glow of her MacBook screen. It was as if the endless rows of quarterly projections were vastly more fascinating than the man she had married. I stood in her home office, staring down at her. “I’m not being dramatic,” I said, my voice dangerously steady. “I am asking for a divorce.” Victoria sighed, a sharp intake of breath, and finally closed the laptop. Her expression was entirely devoid of warmth. “You’re screaming about a divorce over a minor administrative delay?” I didn’t answer. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. She frowned, adjusting her watch. “I approved the pause on your brother’s treatments. It had nothing to do with Preston. He was just executing my orders. If you hadn’t come down to the corporate office causing a scene last week, I wouldn’t have had to put a freeze on the account.” She picked up her phone, dismissing me. “I’ve already had them reinstate his care. I’m incredibly busy, Nolan. I don’t have time to indulge these moods of yours.” Before I could say another word, she walked out of the room. She was entirely convinced I was bluffing. She was certain that, like always, I would be the one to swallow my pride and apologize by morning. And if it had been three days earlier, she might have been right. I probably would have folded myself into whatever shape she needed me to be. But three days earlier, I had been standing in a bleak hospital corridor, clutching my phone like a lifeline, begging her not to hang up. “Victoria, please,” my voice had cracked. “I just need fifty grand. It’s for the transplant. If we secure this, Declan actually has a chance to live a normal life.” Through the receiver, her voice was laced with profound irritation. “How many times do we have to go over this? If you need funds, submit the request to Preston. Why would he say no?” Getting money out of Preston Croft was like bleeding a stone. “Fifty thousand isn’t a small amount, Nolan,” Preston had told me over the phone, his tone dripping with polished, corporate condescension. “Without an itemized invoice, how can I authorize this? How do I know where the money is actually going?” I tried to explain that it was a surgical deposit. The hospital wouldn’t generate the final itemized bill until after the procedure. Preston let out a soft, knowing chuckle. “I’m not questioning your integrity, Nolan. But in my line of work, I’ve seen people fabricate expenses. Victoria’s reputation and capital are immense. It’s my job to be the gatekeeper.” He paused, letting the power dynamic settle over me. “Besides, Victoria implemented a new policy. Any personal expense over two hundred dollars requires a formal requisition. Get me a stamped letter of intent from the surgical board, and I’ll see if I can push it through.” I jumped through his hoops. I got the letters. But the wire transfer never came. When I finally called Preston to track it down, he gasped, as if suddenly remembering a misplaced coffee order. “Oh, my god, Nolan. I’ve been drowning in merger paperwork. I completely forgot to process it. You aren’t mad at me, are you?” Because of that “forgotten” wire, Declan lost his place on the donor registry. The doctor looked me in the eye and told me it was the last viable organ match Declan would ever get. Because the deposit didn’t clear in time, my brother’s only hope for survival vanished into thin air. That was the exact moment the marriage died. 3 I had stood at the door of Victoria’s study, calling her name one last time. “Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. The courthouse.” Victoria stopped in the hallway. She turned to look at me, her gaze icy. “Before you try to threaten me with a divorce, Nolan, you might want to remember who pays for the roof over your head. Your brother’s palliative care relies entirely on my checking account. Don’t back yourself into a corner you can’t get out of.” Just then, her phone rang. The rigid lines of her face instantly softened. “Preston,” she answered, her voice dropping into a gentle, soothing register I hadn’t heard in years. “It’s not your fault. I set the policy. If he’s upset, he can take it up with me. Stop crying. I’ll take you out tomorrow, whatever you want to buy, it’s on me.” I stood there, listening to my wife comfort the man who had just condemned my brother to death. A sharp, searing pain twisted in my stomach. I gripped the doorframe. Between managing Declan’s collapse and the sheer panic of the last few days, I had completely missed my own follow-up appointment. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A secure message from my oncologist’s portal. [Mr. Hayes, your recent biopsy results indicate early-stage gastric cancer. Please contact the office immediately to schedule intervention.] The next morning, Victoria never showed up at the courthouse. At noon, she finally replied to my text: [I’m out shopping with Preston. Too busy today. If you really want this, have your lawyer serve me.] I didn’t reply. I just turned around and took a cab to the hospital. Declan was lying in bed, his skin translucent, his fingers trembling so badly he could barely grip the thin blanket. He was only five years older than me, but the chemotherapy had ravaged him. He looked like an old man. When he saw me, he forced a smile. “Nolan,” he whispered, his breath rattling. “I’m done. I don’t want to do this anymore.” My vision blurred with tears. I grabbed his hand, pressing it against my forehead. “Don’t say that, Dec. Please.” Our parents died when I was in middle school. Declan raised me. He was barely a kid himself, working double shifts at a diner just to keep the heat on and pay for my textbooks. He was my entire world. The attending physician pulled me into the hallway. “It’s accelerating,” the doctor said quietly. “We’re out of time. If we’re going to try the experimental immunotherapy, we need the funds by tonight.” I nodded, my throat tight. I walked out of the hospital, went straight to a jeweler, and slid the heavy platinum Cartier band off my left ring finger. The appraiser at the counter gave me a humiliatingly low price for a quick cash sale, but I took it. As I walked out with the money, I opened Instagram. Preston had just posted a new story. He was standing on the asphalt of a private track, leaning against a brand-new, metallic-silver Porsche 911 GT3. The caption read: [Victoria said a real executive needs a real toy. Can’t believe she actually bought it for me.] I stared at the screen until the backlight timed out and faded to black. 4 That afternoon, Preston Croft walked into my brother’s hospital room. He was wearing a bespoke suit, a perfectly practiced smile resting on his lips. “Nolan,” he said smoothly. “Victoria asked me to come down and do a physical assessment. We need to ascertain if further medical investment is… viable for your brother.” He glanced at the monitors, his nose slightly wrinkled. “Money should be allocated where there’s a return on investment. I need to re-evaluate this expense.” Before I could tell him to get the hell out, footsteps clicked against the linoleum. Victoria appeared in the doorway. She stepped up beside Preston, her presence suffocating the small room. “Preston is just executing my directives,” she said, her voice flat. “If you have an issue, you take it up with me.” I looked at her. “He gets a quarter-of-a-million-dollar sports car without needing an expense report. But my brother’s life support requires an audit?” “He is spending what I willingly offer,” she replied without missing a beat. “You are demanding capital from Mercer Holdings. The nature of the transaction is different.” I looked at her face, suddenly remembering our wedding day. She had held my hands under the floral arch, looking at me with such fierce devotion. “What’s mine is yours, Nolan. You’ll never have to worry about surviving ever again.” Because I believed her, I quit my career in architecture. I learned to play the role she wanted—the quiet, elegant, accommodating husband who managed her private life so she could conquer the corporate world. It took until this very moment for me to realize the truth: her money was never mine. I was just a dependent. An outsider who had to beg for scraps just to keep the only family I had left breathing. Victoria pulled a crisp, white form from her designer tote and held it out to me. “If you want the funds, fill out the requisition. Preston will review it, and if it passes compliance, I’ll sign the check.” I looked at the paper. I didn’t raise my hand. She took in my pale, exhausted face, and her expression hardened. “Stop throwing a tantrum, Nolan. Come find me when you’re ready to be reasonable.” She turned on her heel, gesturing for Preston to follow. But just as they reached the door, the machines in Declan’s room began to scream. A swarm of nurses pushed past Victoria. “He’s crashing!” a doctor yelled. “We need an OR, right now!” 5 I sat in the surgical waiting room for three hours. When the surgeon finally came out, he looked grim. “He’s stable for now,” he said, pulling off his scrub cap. “But the medication keeping his heart pumping is incredibly expensive, and it cannot be interrupted. His body can’t take another shock like this.” I nodded, my throat dry as sandpaper. I took the cash from my wedding ring and went straight to the billing department to cover the night’s meds. When I finally went downstairs to the hospital cafeteria to get a bottle of water, I froze. Sitting in the glass-walled high-end bistro across the street were Victoria and Preston. White tablecloth. Crystal wine glasses. Preston was laughing at something she said. Preston spotted me through the glass. He excused himself, walked out of the restaurant, and crossed the street toward me, radiating smugness. “Nolan. Fancy running into you.” He adjusted his cuffs. “Victoria knows I’ve been stressed reviewing all her private accounts, so she insisted on taking me to dinner. Strictly a working meal, of course. Please don’t misinterpret it.” I looked past him, locking eyes with Victoria through the glass. “I see,” I said quietly. “So not every cent of Mercer money requires a requisition form.” Victoria pushed her chair back and came outside, her brow furrowed. “Stop being so bitter, Nolan. Preston has been working eighty-hour weeks. I took my employee to dinner. Is that a crime?” “No,” I said, my voice dead inside. “He’s done a spectacular job gatekeeping my brother’s life. He absolutely deserves a reward.” Her jaw tightened. I didn’t stay to watch her defend him. I turned around and walked back into the hospital. When I got to the room, Declan was asleep, his face gaunt, his breath shallow. I sat in the plastic chair beside his bed, the silence of the room heavy and suffocating. Suddenly, the dark window flared with light. A massive explosion of gold and crimson fireworks erupted over the city skyline, reflecting against the hospital glass. Down the hall, the night shift nurses were murmuring. “Who rented out the pier for that?” “I heard it was the Mercer Corporation. The CEO threw a party for her executive assistant.” “Jesus. Imagine having a boss that obsessed with you.” I stood by the window, the glass cold against my forehead. My fingers felt numb. They were drinking champagne. My brother was tethered to a ventilator. I pulled out my phone and refreshed my feed. Preston’s newest post loaded instantly. A photo of his wrist, illuminated by the golden light of the fireworks. Strapped to it was a limited-edition Patek Philippe watch. [Thank you to the best boss in the world for the watch. And for making sure tonight’s fireworks were just for me.] I stared at the watch. It was the exact model I had admired in a boutique window last month. I had looked at it for a few seconds too long. Victoria had glanced at the price tag and said, “Anything in that bracket requires a board review, Nolan. It’s unnecessary.” It wasn’t unnecessary. It was just unnecessary for me. I stared at the screen. Then, I double-tapped to leave a like. Less than a minute later, my phone rang. It was Victoria. “Since you’ve already liked the post, don’t unlike it. It’ll make people talk,” she commanded, her voice clipped. “Leave a comment, too. Tell him he’s earned it for all his hard work. Let’s present a united front.” I didn’t argue. I opened the comment box and typed: [You’ve definitely earned it, Preston. Thank you for wearing the things the CEO’s husband isn’t authorized to touch.] I hit send and locked the phone. Almost immediately, it rang again. I stepped into the hallway to answer. Preston’s voice came through, thick with manufactured tears. “Nolan… I swear I didn’t know you wanted this watch. I just felt rude rejecting Victoria’s gift. Why would you post something like that? Do you know how this makes me look?” Victoria snatched the phone from him. “Nolan, are you out of your mind? Do you know how many rumors are already flying around the firm about him? How is he supposed to show his face in the office tomorrow?” “If the firm is gossiping,” I said softly, “maybe it’s because they have eyes.” I heard her breath hitch in anger. “When did you become so vicious? Preston clawed his way up from nothing. You sit at home living off my credit cards, and you have the nerve to humiliate someone who actually works for a living?” I opened my mouth to reply— Then, the piercing, frantic wail of the cardiac monitor tore through Declan’s room. My blood ran cold. I dropped the phone and sprinted inside. A team of doctors was already swarming the bed. Declan was pale as ash. The oxygen tube lay discarded on the floor. “He pulled his own intubation!” the doctor shouted over the chaos. “Push one of epi, now!” My knees gave out. I hit the floor beside the bed, grabbing his limp hand. “Dec, no… why would you do this?” Declan’s eyelids fluttered. He looked at me, his eyes clouded, his voice a broken whisper. “Don’t cry, Nollie… I’m done. It hurts too much.” He squeezed my fingers, so weakly I barely felt it. “I heard you on the phone… with her. Don’t spend any more money. I won’t let them do this to you anymore.” I shook my head frantically, tears spilling hot down my face. “No! I won’t let you give up! I’ll get the money, I promise, I’ll get it—” With shaking hands, I scrambled for my phone on the floor. The call was still connected. “Victoria!” I screamed into the receiver. But it wasn’t Victoria who answered. It was Preston. He let out a soft, amused sigh. “Begging for money again?” he chuckled. “Nolan, when you were humiliating me in front of the whole company five minutes ago, did you forget who holds the purse strings? Come down here, get on your knees, and apologize to me. Then maybe I’ll put in a good word with your wife.” In the background, Victoria’s voice came through, cold as ice. “He’s right, Nolan. You owe him an apology. This is your own doing.” At that exact second, the long, flat tone of the heart monitor filled the room. The doctor stepped back, his shoulders slumping. He looked at me with profound pity. “Time of death, 11:42 PM. I’m so sorry, Mr. Hayes.” The phone slipped from my hand. The world went completely white, and then, a deafening ringing filled my ears. A violent, tearing agony ripped through my stomach. I swayed, the room spinning violently. “Mr. Hayes?!” A nurse lunged forward to catch me as I collapsed. I tried to speak, to say my brother’s name, but my throat was paralyzed. The darkness swallowed me whole.

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1 After my parents transferred for work, I found myself enrolled in a complete dump of a high school. To give you an idea of how utterly bottom-tier it was: out of the ten classes in our grade, exactly one of them actually studied. The good news was that I had been placed into this sole honors class. The bad news was that even this class, so the rumors went, was notorious for bullying. My best friend back home had warned me that a bookish nerd like me would be the prime target for anyone looking to terrorize the halls. If I wanted to make it through without getting my life ruined, I had to master one basic rule of survival: Look like someone you don’t want to mess with. “Do I look unapproachable enough yet?” I asked, puffing out my cheeks and trying my absolute best to pull off a menacing glare. My friend had given a weary, helpless sigh. “Oh, sweetie,” she had said. “You just look like a very angry hamster that’s about to aggressively waddle away.” I had been at this school for a full week now. Miraculously, no one had actually bullied me yet. But people kept giving me these strange, lingering looks—a mix of bewilderment and faint pity. And absolutely no one spoke to me. I couldn’t tell if this was the ominous calm before the storm, and the anxiety was slowly eating me alive. After turning it over in my mind a hundred times, I finally hit upon a brilliant strategy. Since I was the softest pushover in the room, why not find someone even softer and pick on them first? After a careful scan of the classroom and a lot of internal debate, my eyes finally landed on the guy who spent his entire day face down on the desk beside me. 2 Noah Sullivan. A guy who spent ten hours at school and slept for eight of them. In the entire week since I’d transferred, I hadn’t seen a single soul utter a word to him. Clearly, he was being ostracized. If my logic held up, he had to be the softest pushover in the entire building. “Hey. Desk-mate,” I whispered, reaching out to give him a tentative poke. “I have a rather awkward favor to ask, and I really need you to say yes.” Noah didn’t move. Not a single peep. Silence meant consent. I forged ahead on my own. “Just so you know… when I start bullying you in a minute, try not to make a sound, okay?” Noah finally shifted. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes heavy with sleep. “Bullying who?” Poor guy. Not only was he isolated, but his hearing was shot, too. I enunciated every single syllable very clearly. “Bullying. You.” “You?” A slow, incredulous smile touched his lips. “You’re going to bully me?” I nodded with solemn earnestness. “Yes. But please understand, I have my reasons.” Noah seemed to finally wake up. He reached up, sliding a pair of thin silver-rimmed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Propping his chin in one hand, he tilted his head and looked at me with an amused glint in his eye. “Go ahead. I’m listening. What are your reasons?” I laid out my entire “Junk School Survival Guide” for him. If I let people think I was an easy target, I’d inevitably become fodder for the local delinquents. Therefore, I needed to establish a fierce reputation right out of the gate. Noah listened in silence, taking a long moment to digest my elaborate paranoid manifesto. That was when I finally got a good look at him. He had a high, straight nosebridge and impossibly thick, dark eyelashes. The sharp, predatory line of his eyes was softened just enough by the lenses to make him look refined and scholarly. The corner of his mouth twitched. “So, after scanning the room for a week for the softest target… you landed on me?” I gave him a resolute nod. He leaned back in his chair, a lazy, reckless amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Fine. Let’s see it then. How exactly do you plan to bully me?” 3 It was my first time ever bullying anyone. I was so nervous I swallowed hard three times, straightened my school blazer, and then suddenly launched myself out of my seat. I threw a vicious kick straight at the leg of Noah’s chair. The chair didn’t even budge. Still, the sharp thud was enough to make the entire classroom snap to attention. The noisy, chaotic atmosphere of the mid-morning break instantly evaporated. Dozens of pairs of eyes locked onto me, followed by a collective, audible intake of breath rippling through the rows. It was working! They were already terrified of me! Noah slowly lifted his eyelids, looking up at me from his seated position with an expression of absolute, defenseless innocence. He looked so painfully docile. For a second, my heart twitched with guilt. Too late to turn back now, I told myself. I leaned in close, lowering my voice in a desperate bid to soothe him. “I’m so sorry. Once I’m done bullying you, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Noah’s entire body stiffened. The tips of his ears turned a faint, imperceptible shade of red. I tightened my jaw, plastered on my most menacing scowl, and reached blindly across his desk. The original plan was to swipe his pen, but his desk was completely immaculate—not a single speck of dust, let alone a pen. My hand was already out there, though, and I couldn’t just pull it back empty-handed. With zero hesitation, I snatched up his bottled water instead. Another wave of sharp gasps echoed around the room. In for a penny, in for a pound. I unscrewed the cap and chugged half the bottle in one long, dramatic gulp. Even the gasps stopped at that. Someone in the back let out a choked, “What the actual hell—” Noah shot a cold, lethal glance in that direction. Every single classmate who had been rubbernecking immediately jerked their heads back down to their books. I slammed the empty bottle back onto his desk with a dramatic clatter. “Just so you know, I drank out of that,” Noah said, his voice entirely flat. I choked on air, desperately scrambling to save face. “It’s fine! I don’t mind!” He looked right at me. “What if I mind?” I thrust out an index finger, wagging it back and forth with maximum hostility. “Rule number one of the Junk School Survival Guide: the soft targets don’t get a say.” 4 Ever since I picked on my designated soft target, the looks my classmates gave me shifted dramatically. They went from a mild, sympathetic pity to a solid thirty percent admiration and seventy percent sheer terror. To cement my terrifying new persona, I kept up the abuse. When Noah brought breakfast to school, I snatched half of it. The next day, he brought a double portion. When he fell asleep in class, I yanked him upright by his sleeve and forced him to pay attention. The next day, he showed up wearing earplugs. Naturally, I ripped those out and tossed them in the trash, too. Every time I walked into the room, I made a point of kicking his chair with as much malicious flair as I could muster—followed immediately by a frantic, whispered apology. Noah had the patience of a saint. No matter how much I kneaded, stretched, or tormented him, he never once lost his temper. It was no wonder the rest of the school had isolated him; he was entirely too accommodating for his own good. Of course, I wasn’t a monster. Every time I bullied him, I made a point of making it up to him somehow. Noah never seemed to have textbooks or pens—probably because whoever had terrorized him before had thrown them all away. So, I photocopied my own notes and textbooks, and bought him a pack of ridiculously cute little bear pens. Whenever I had good snacks, I quietly slipped him a share. Whenever I saw a pretty notebook, I split the set with him. Slowly but surely, the clutter on Noah’s desk began to pile up. Even his sad, deflated black backpack ended up decorated with a plush, sardonic little bear charm I’d clipped onto the zipper. 5 On the walk home from school one afternoon, I overheard some kids from my class gossiping about the school’s reigning thug. “Can you believe it?” one of them whispered. “I heard that guy—six-foot-two, built like a brick wall—uses a bear pen now. It’s hilarious.” “Tch, old dogs learning new tricks, I guess. First time he’s ever fallen for anyone.” “Seriously. Think about all the girls and guys who threw themselves at him the last couple of years. He rejected the girls and beat up the guys. Now that he finally grows a heart, he’s acting like a total simp.” I pricked up my ears, trailing behind them, but I never caught the actual name of this infamous delinquent. The next day, I brought it up to Noah. “Do you happen to know who the school thug is?” I asked, blinking innocently at him. Noah’s eyelid twitched. “Why on earth do you want to know who he is?” I chewed on the end of my pen, deep in thought. “Well, if we know who he is, we can actively avoid him, right?” Noah gave me a look that screamed he had a lot of things he wanted to say, but lacked the energy to utter them. Naturally, I assumed that as a low-ranking soft target, he was just as clueless about the school’s criminal underworld as I was. I gave his shoulder a comforting pat. “Don’t worry about it. I heard his crush just reciprocated, so he’s probably in too good of a mood to bother terrorizing anyone right now.” Noah let out a sudden, violent fit of coughing. Sigh. Poor guy. Just hearing the word “thug” was enough to scare him half to death. 6 Sure enough, whenever you dread something, it has a habit of finding you. If I’d known high school was going to be like this, I would have studied harder for my middle school exams and prayed for an early acceptance to boarding school. Walking home that afternoon, I was ambushed by a pack of local punks. Under their casual, casual intimidation, I lost twenty dollars and gained a cup of bubble tea I hadn’t asked for. The next morning, I dragged myself into school looking like a deflated balloon. Noah glanced sideways at my miserable posture and lowered his voice. “What happened?” I slumped across my desk, completely devoid of life. “I’m retiring. The whole ‘acting tough’ thing is a total scam.” “Why?” “Some street punks shook me down for twenty bucks yesterday.” “What?!” The news apparently rattled him to his core. I quickly patted the air between us. “Relax, it’s fine. Twenty bucks is a cheap price to pay for my life.” “I’m not worried about—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, changing tack. “Never mind. Describe what he looked like.” I racked my brain. “Well… his head looked like a bleach-blond with dark roots.” “You know, dyed yellow on top with a solid two inches of dark roots growing out.” Noah couldn’t help it; a snort of laughter escaped him. “Right. I know the type.” He fished his phone out of his pocket, his thumbs flying across the screen as he started texting someone. Our school didn’t bother enforcing a ban on smartphones. It was useless anyway. Besides, letting these problem kids keep their phones was actually a convenient leash; it kept them pacified. A wave of guilt washed over me. I muttered, “I’m really sorry for picking on you all the time. Since this whole act obviously doesn’t work, I’m done harassing you. Deal?” Noah kept tapping away, not even looking up. “Who said it doesn’t work?” “Huh?” “Have you ever considered that you just weren’t bullying me hard enough?” I blinked, thoroughly disoriented. “What?” He lifted his gaze, the light behind his lenses flashing with a sudden, razor-sharp edge. “Haven’t you noticed? Ever since you started bullying me, everyone in this class has been terrified of you.” I paused. Now that he mentioned it… even the class president looked like she wanted to burst into tears every time she collected my homework. Noah looked at me, his expression melting back into something infinitely soft. “Today after school, when the gates are at their busiest… hit me. Really lay into me.” “I promise you, after that, not a single soul will ever dare lay a finger on you.” 7 My stomach was doing backflips. Up until now, I had only ever bullied Noah in front of our immediate classmates. Doing it in front of the entire school was a whole different tier of public execution. Just walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him toward the exit made me feel the weight of a hundred burning stares. Could everyone tell I was about to commit a hate crime? My palms were sweating profusely. I took a massive, shaking breath. “Alright, whenever you’re ready,” Noah murmured, leaning in so close his breath brushed my ear, making me jump out of my skin. Before I knew it, we were standing right in front of the main gates. He was looking down at me with a soft, crescent-eyed smile. “Want me to hold your backpack so you can get more leverage?” The late afternoon sun was dipping behind him, casting a halo of warm gold around his shoulders and sharpening the handsome lines of his face. The evening breeze ruffled the stray locks across his forehead. He looked impossibly gentle, a picture of quiet, effortless grace. For a second, I completely forgot how to breathe. My heart skipped a bizarre, uncoordinated beat. Noah gave me a tiny nod, silently signaling that it was time to strike. I let out a long, ragged exhale, raised my hand, and squeezed my eyes shut. Putting every ounce of force I possessed behind it, I brought my palm down hard against his shoulder. Slap. The world went dead silent. The sound was far too crisp, and the tactile feedback felt completely wrong. I snapped my eyes open. Noah had instinctively ducked his head, turning his face away from the blow. And right there, stark against his pale cheek, was the unmistakable crimson imprint of my hand. 8 At the bustling school gates, the air froze solid for a single, agonizing second. Every single pair of eyes within a fifty-foot radius snapped toward us. My brain completely short-circuited. I swear on my life I had aimed for his shoulder! Who could have predicted he would lean down at that exact microsecond, putting his face right in the trajectory of my swinging hand? Honestly, I wanted to drop to my knees right there on the pavement and beg for his forgiveness. Slapping someone across the face in public was the ultimate violation of human dignity! Yet Noah didn’t seem to care in the slightest. He casually worked his jaw, reached over to take my backpack from my shoulders with practiced ease, and swung it over his own. “Show’s over. Let’s go.” Before I could process it, he slung an arm around my paralyzed, wood-stiff body and steered me away under the weight of a thousand gaping stares. I kept shooting terrified sideways glances at his face. The handprint was fading, but why was his face getting redder? Panic clawed at my chest. “Are you okay? I swear I didn’t mean to do that.” “Yeah, I know.” “Should I go buy an ice pack?” “I’m fine.” “Then why is your face still so bright red?” Noah’s stride faltered for a fraction of a second. He turned his head just enough to meet my eyes. “If you keep staring at it like that, it’s going to get redder.” Right. I ripped my gaze away, staring fixedly at the ground, too terrified to look at anything else. Consumed by guilt, I spent the rest of the walk home offering a steady stream of frantic apologies. Noah brushed it off with admirable magnanimity. “Don’t sweat it,” he said with a warm, easy smile. “You’re going to be famous around here by tomorrow morning. I guarantee nobody will ever bother you again.” When we finally reached my apartment building, I nervously twisted the hem of my shirt and dropped into a deep, agonizing bow. “I swear I’m going to make this up to you!” Noah chuckled, handing me my backpack. “Looking forward to it.” “Take your time,” he added softly, “since you’re going to be protecting me from now on anyway.” 9 I racked my brain until my temples throbbed, but I couldn’t come up with a single way to compensate Noah for that accidental face-slap. The little things I’d done before—sharing snacks, buying pens—felt entirely inadequate now. Slapping someone across the face wasn’t something you could fix with a novelty notebook. After tossing and turning all night and running entirely on fumes, I finally crawled out of bed with a brilliant plan. When I got to school, Noah slid a ready-made breakfast sandwich across my desk. “What were you doing last night? You look like a panda.” I snatched the carton of milk and sucked down half of it in one go. “Thinking about you.” Cough! Cough! Cough! Noah, who had been right in the middle of a bite, nearly choked to death. He went into a violent fit of coughing before finally catching his breath, shooting me a look of pure, unadulterated panic. “Thinking about… what?” “You.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He stared at me with unblinking intensity. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and pressed on. “I thought about it all night, trying to figure out how to make it up to you. And I finally came up with something!” “Oh.” Noah turned his head away, clearing his throat. “You were thinking about that.” “What else would I be thinking about?” “Nothing,” he muttered, taking another bite of his sandwich and looking back at me. “So, what’s your master plan?” “Hehehe…” I leaned in close across the aisle. “Get closer. This is a secret.” He tensed instantly, the heat rising all the way to his hairline. “What are you doing?” “Shh, keep your voice down. This isn’t the kind of thing you shout about.” I dragged a thick textbook over and propped it up like a barricade to block the view of anyone looking our way. “This compensation method I came up with… it might feel a little invasive. I’m not entirely sure you’ll be comfortable with it.” Noah’s throat worked again. “…How invasive?” “It involves a fair amount of… compulsion.” The pupils behind his lenses dilated sharply. I chewed my lip, pushing forward. “And once we start doing this, there’s no turning back. You don’t get to quit halfway through.” I looked up—and stopped. Noah’s entire face was so red it looked like it was about to start whistling steam. I tilted my head in confusion. “Why are you so red? Is the classroom that hot?” He stared at me, trapped in a visible war between utter disbelief and grim resignation. “Little scholar… your tastes are… this specific?” I quickly waved a hand. “Well, to be fair, it’s mostly just a healthy outlet for my academic stress.” “Of course, if you really don’t want to do it, I won’t force you.” “That’s why I said we had to keep it quiet. It’s a bit forward. And honestly, I didn’t feel like our relationship had… reached this stage quite yet.” Noah abruptly straightened up in his seat. He yanked off his glasses, pressing the bridge of his nose as he took a series of heavy, measured breaths. “Give me a second. I need to mentally prepare myself.” I blinked obediently. “Take all the time you need!” Then, trying to be encouraging, I added, “Don’t worry, it’s the kind of thing that hurts so good. I promise you’ll grow to love it!” Noah froze mid-motion. He slowly lowered his hand, his handsome brows furrowing in deep perplexity. “How… how did you figure that out? Is it because of that slap at the school gates?” I stared at him, entirely lost. What did any of this have to do with the slap? “I’ve been observing you for a while,” I explained patiently. “I just knew you had a lot of hidden potential.” Noah let out a long, shuddering sigh—the sound of a man whose internal debate had finally reached a brutal, inevitable conclusion. “Fine,” he said tightly. “I’m in.” “Yes!” I pumped my fist in victory. “Alright, let’s start this weekend. At my place. I still need to go pick up some supplies.” Noah’s entire body went rigid as a board. The blush rushed back down his neck, coloring even his ears, and his voice turned distinctly choppy. “We need… supplies?” I gave him a reassuring, confident pat on the shoulder. “Just put yourself entirely in my hands. Trust me, I’m a professional.” 10 Over the next few days, however, things started to feel deeply weird. As I walked down the school hallways, random students—the kind who looked like they regularly terrorized the faculty—would actually stop, look at me, and bow. One or two I might have written off as mistaken identity. But as I walked the short stretch from the classroom to the cafeteria, seven or eight different people bowed to me in sequence. That was getting statistically alarming. Being naturally timid, I didn’t dare ask questions. When they bowed to me, I instinctively bowed back, which apparently only terrified them more because they would double the angle of their waist and practically sprint away. “Desk-mate, have you noticed anything weird lately?” I poked Noah’s arm. The guy who had been dead to the world, face down on his desk a second prior, jerked upright at my touch like he’d been electrocuted. His face flushed bright red instantly. Refusing to meet my eye, he stammered, “Maybe… maybe people around here just really like stretching? Don’t worry about it.” “Then what’s up with you lately?” I narrowed my eyes, inspecting him with mounting suspicion. “Every time I look at you, you look away. Every time I touch you, you jump a mile. And you’re blushing every five minutes…” A sudden flash of understanding hit me, and I dragged out the syllable. “Ohhh~ I know what’s going on!” Panic flashed across his face. “You know what?” I poked him in the chest with an accusatory finger. “Have you been doing something shady behind my back?” Noah’s eyes darted away, muttering under his breath, “Things that happen in dreams shouldn’t count as shady…” He spoke too quietly for me to catch. “What did you say?” “Nothing.” “Fine. Just don’t forget to come over this weekend,” I said, flashing him a bright grin. “The supplies have arrived!” Noah turned a brilliant shade of crimson all over again. I knew there was something wrong with him!

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1 On the evening of our third anniversary, Carter’s first love sent him a photograph of herself in a wedding gown. “The groom bailed. Can you come marry me?” Carter Harrison stared at his phone. His expression was entirely unreadable when he finally pressed the lock button, the screen fading to black. For a split second, I thought he had finally let Serena go. But that same night, he had his assistant deliver the divorce papers to my dressing room. I didn’t scream. I didn’t demand an explanation. I just quietly slipped off the diamond band he had given me. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll disappear. She’ll never even have to know I was here.” Carter shifted, a flicker of irritation crossing his handsome face. “The estate in East Hampton. I’m putting the deed in your name.” Tears pricked my eyes. I shook my head, letting my voice waver just enough. “I didn’t marry you for your money, Carter.” He fell silent. He stared at me for a long moment, then picked up a pen and added another fifteen million dollars in liquid cash to the settlement. Only then did I reluctantly nod. Carter didn’t know the oldest rule of the game: the more a woman insists she doesn’t want anything, the more terrified a man becomes that he hasn’t paid enough for his guilt. Welcome to Gold-Digging 101. He was clearly taken aback. He was probably waiting for me to throw a tantrum, to tear up the printed photo of Serena Cross in her Vera Wang gown, to drop to my knees and beg him not to leave. After all, for the last three years, everyone in our circle knew I loved him with a pathetic, bruising desperation. When his ulcer flared up, I was the one awake at three in the morning, standing over the stove to make him bone broth. When he traveled for work, I slept with my phone clutched to my chest until dawn. Once, when his private jet dropped off the radar for four hours due to a storm, I drove to Teterboro barefoot in a sheer panic, looking like an absolute madwoman by the time he landed. Carter used to say I was too clingy. He said the weight of my love suffocated him. But now that I wasn’t clinging, a deep crease formed between his brows. “The Hamptons estate transfers tomorrow. The cash will hit your account by Friday,” he said, his tone clipped. He paused. “You keep the jewelry and the cars, too.” I kept my head bowed. “Thank you,” I whispered. The moment the words left my mouth, Carter’s face darkened completely. “Nora. We aren’t strangers. You don’t need to speak to me like that.” “We will be soon.” I regretted it the second I said it. It sounded too petty, too bitter. It broke the facade of the understanding, discarded wife I was trying to play. But it worked. Carter’s eyes softened. He reached out, his thumb brushing against my cheek to wipe away a stray tear. His skin was so warm. Pure muscle memory took over, and I instinctively turned my face away. His hand froze in mid-air. “You…” “I’m sorry.” I swallowed hard, fighting the familiar ache in my throat. “Doing this… it isn’t appropriate anymore.” He slowly pulled his hand back. When he spoke again, his voice was degrees colder. “My lawyer’s office. Tomorrow morning, nine sharp.” I nodded, watching as he grabbed his coat and walked out the front door. The heavy click of the deadbolt echoed through the foyer. The moment he was gone, my knees buckled. I collapsed onto the velvet sofa, pulling my knees to my chest. I thought I had performed brilliantly. But watching him actually walk away still felt like someone was taking a scalpel to my chest and carving out a piece of my lungs. But if I couldn’t keep the man, I had to keep the money. The next morning, I arrived at his attorney’s office in Midtown twenty minutes early. Carter arrived late. He was wearing the same charcoal Tom Ford suit from the night before, and on his left cuff was a faint, dark stain. Merlot. Serena’s favorite. Carter slid the revised settlement across the mahogany table. As I flipped through it, my finger paused. On top of the fifteen million and the Hamptons estate, he had added two more cars, a prime retail space in Tribeca, and a lifetime Centurion card linked directly to the Harrison Holdings corporate account. “I had them add it last night,” he said, not looking at me. I closed the leather folder and offered him a red-eyed smile. “You really don’t have to compensate me this much just because of her.” Carter’s jaw tightened. “It’s not because of her.” “Then is it because of me?” He didn’t answer. The notary cleared his throat, signaling it was time to sign. I didn’t press it. I picked up the heavy Montblanc pen and signed Nora Mercer on the dotted line. When the notary’s stamp hit the paper with a heavy thud, I couldn’t stop myself from looking up. Carter was already looking at me. Our eyes met, and for a second, the air in the room vanished. He was the first to look away. As we stepped out into the crisp New York air, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Want to get lunch?” A month ago, an unprompted lunch invitation from him would have sustained me for a week. Today, I just shook my head. “No. Serena is waiting for you.” Carter exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Nora, you don’t have to bring her into every single sentence.” Right on cue, his phone rang through the Bluetooth of his waiting town car. Serena’s spoiled, breathless voice filled the street. “Carter? Where are you? I don’t care what meeting you’re in, I need to see you in thirty minutes.” Carter glanced at me and muted the call. “Let me have my driver take you back.” “No need.” I took a half-step back, creating a physical boundary between us. I looked at him the way I would look at a stranger on the subway. “Happy new marriage, Mr. Harrison.” His face drained of color. I turned on my heel, dragging my suitcase down the pavement, finally letting the tears fall. I hadn’t made it half a block before my phone vibrated with a bank notification. Carter had just wired another three million into my account. I didn’t move out of the townhouse immediately. It wasn’t because I couldn’t bear to leave Carter. It was because his assistant, Davis, informed me the Hamptons deed transfer would take at least a week to clear due to back taxes. Carter had texted me, telling me to stay put. “No one is going to rush you out.” He was wrong. That afternoon, Serena arrived with a small army of bellhops carrying a dozen Rimowa trunks. She clicked into the foyer in her Louboutins, tossing her sunglasses at our housekeeper. “Clear out the south-facing primary suite for me.” The housekeeper looked at me, horrified. “Ms. Cross, that is Mrs. Harrison’s room.” Serena laughed. It was a sharp, grating sound. “What Mrs. Harrison? They signed the papers this morning. Do you honestly expect the future Mrs. Harrison to sleep in a guest room?” The two sycophantic friends trailing behind her giggled. “You just got back, Serena. It’s normal she doesn’t want to let go of the lifestyle,” one of them sneered. “Some people just don’t know their place. She kept your man warm for three years, now she wants to keep your bed warm? Pathetic.” I stood at the top of the stairs, my fingernails biting into my palms. Serena tilted her chin up, looking at me without a shred of remorse. “Nora. You’re still here?” I swallowed the bile in my throat. “The estate transfer isn’t finished. Carter told me to stay.” “Using Carter to threaten me?” Serena marched up the stairs until she was inches from my face. “Tell me something. If I called him right now and told him to throw you out on the street tonight, do you think he’d say no?” The blood drained from my face. She smiled, entirely satisfied. “Stop looking like you’re at a funeral. Carter was always mine. You just got lucky and picked up the scraps when I went to Europe.” I looked over her shoulder at the housekeeper. “Move my things to the guest room.” Serena blinked, clearly not expecting me to fold so quickly. “The primary is yours,” I added quietly. She scoffed, flipping her hair. “Smart girl.” Half an hour later, I was carrying my last box out of the primary suite. Serena was already standing at my vanity, digging through my jewelry box. She pulled out a heavy emerald necklace—a piece Carter had commissioned for me in Paris. She held it up to her collarbone, admiring herself in the mirror. “This is stunning.” “That belongs to me.” Serena raised an eyebrow. “Things Carter bought with Carter’s money? Since when are they yours?” She unclasped it and fastened it around her own neck. Then, she casually picked up a small velvet box from the vanity and tossed it into the wastebasket. “You borrowed my man for three years. I take one necklace. I’d say we’re more than even.” I stared at her, and the suffocating grief in my chest suddenly calcified into pure, white-hot rage. “Serena. If Carter wants to buy your forgiveness, that is his business. I’m not the one who left you at the altar. So don’t you dare come into my home and act like a feral dog.” Serena’s eyes widened. She raised her hand, aiming a vicious slap at my face. Before her palm could connect, a large hand clamped down on her wrist. Carter. I didn’t even hear him come up the stairs. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low. Serena instantly yanked her arm back, her eyes welling with crocodile tears. “She insulted me!” Carter looked at me. I didn’t defend myself. I didn’t say a word. I just walked past them, reached into the wastebasket, and pulled out the velvet box she had thrown away. Inside was my wedding ring. Serena had thought it was bad luck, so she threw it in the trash. I wiped a speck of dust off the velvet, and suddenly, the tears I had been holding back spilled over, dropping silently onto the fabric. Carter’s gaze snapped to the box in my hands. His jaw locked. “Serena,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Apologize to her.” Serena looked at him like he had grown two heads. “You want me to apologize to her? Over some cheap, used trash? I don’t even want the stupid room anymore!” She pushed past him, sobbing dramatically as she ran down the stairs. Carter instinctively turned to go after her. As he brushed past me, I reached out and caught the edge of his sleeve. My fingers were trembling. I looked at the emerald necklace Serena had discarded on the vanity in her rush. “That was the first gift you ever gave me.” It was the year Carter first brought me to a Harrison family gala. The old-money crowd had whispered behind their hands, laughing at my middle-class background, saying I wasn’t fit to hold his coat. Carter had stood behind me, fastened that emerald around my neck in front of everyone, and whispered, “My wife doesn’t need anyone’s approval.” I had loved him for three agonizing years just because of that one sentence. Carter stared at my red, swollen eyes. The cold facade he usually wore finally cracked. His throat bobbed. But down in the driveway, a car engine revved aggressively. Slowly, carefully, he pulled his sleeve from my grip. “I need to make sure she’s okay.” I nodded, utterly hollowed out. I crouched down and began picking up the stray belongings that had spilled from my box. The next day, a representative from Van Cleef & Arpels arrived at the townhouse, carrying a custom emerald necklace worth three times the original. Along with the jewelry came a legal folder. Carter had transferred ten percent of Harrison Holdings’ luxury jewelry division into my name. His assistant, Davis, wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Mr. Harrison said… if you ever want jewelry in the future, you can just take it from your own company.” Since his true love was apparently worthless, I had no choice but to figure out how to make this divorce as lucrative as humanly possible. When Stella DuPont heard about the divorce, she dragged me to Soho House for martinis. Stella was infamous in Manhattan. She was unapologetically ruthless. At twenty-two, she married a tech heir. At twenty-six, she divorced him and married his billionaire father. Today, she had trusts, offshore accounts, and penthouses in three time zones. People called her a gold-digger. She would just sit in her vintage Porsche and say, “If I don’t dig for it, some other bitch will. I prefer the gold in my pocket.” I used to judge her. I used to believe that money tainted real love. But today, when I slid into the leather booth, I poured her a drink myself. “Teach me, Stella.” She took my divorce settlement and skimmed the pages, her perfectly manicured nails tapping the table. “Hamptons estate, fifteen in liquid, commercial real estate, a minority stake in a jewelry division. Not bad, Nora. Looks like your bleeding heart finally grew a brain.” I stared at the olive in my glass. She saw right through me. She sighed, her tone softening a fraction. “Still miss him?” “Yeah.” “Then why are you trying to bleed him dry?” I gripped my glass so tight my knuckles turned white. “He threw me away.” A tear slipped out, landing straight in my gin. “I refuse to walk away with neither the man nor the money.” Stella stared at me for a long moment. She pulled a silk napkin from the dispenser and shoved it into my hand. “Finally. A coherent thought.” She smoothed out the settlement on the table. “Listen to me. The beach house sounds sexy, but the property taxes and upkeep will burn through millions a year. The fifteen mil is cute for a normal person, but if you want to maintain the lifestyle you’re used to, it’ll be gone in a decade. The jewelry shares are the real prize, but ten percent? You have zero voting power.” “So what do I ask for?” “Stable yields. Appreciating assets. Controlling stakes in core subsidiaries.” Stella leaned back into the velvet banquette. “And most importantly: you never, ever ask for it directly.” I frowned. “How do I get him to give it to me if I don’t ask?” She rolled her eyes. “You know how to cry, don’t you?” “When it’s time to cry, you cry. When it’s time to walk away, you walk. Do not use your tears to guilt him into coming back to you. Use them to show him that you love him so deeply, you are willing to let it destroy you just so he can be happy.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Men aren’t afraid of greedy women, Nora. They are absolutely terrified of a woman who asks for nothing.” I committed every word to memory. That evening, the Harrison family hosted their annual charity gala at the Plaza. The invitations had been printed months ago, bearing both our names. After the divorce, I had fully intended to stay home. But Carter’s grandmother, Eleanor Harrison, called me herself. “Nora,” the matriarch’s voice was like iron. “As long as there is breath in my lungs, you are the granddaughter-in-law I acknowledge. Give an old woman some dignity and come to the gala.” I couldn’t say no to her. When I arrived at the ballroom, Carter and Serena were standing by the entrance, greeting the elite of New York. Serena was wearing a crimson Valentino gown, and sitting against her collarbone was the legendary Harrison sapphire. When she saw me, she immediately looped her arm through Carter’s. “Nora! You don’t mind, do you? Carter said he needed a plus-one tonight to save face. I just had to swoop in and rescue him.” I offered a perfectly serene smile. “Not at all.” Halfway through the evening, Eleanor took the stage. She tapped the microphone, the room falling silent. “Tonight, all proceeds from our silent auction will go toward establishing a new scholarship fund for underprivileged girls, permanently endowed in the name of the late Evelyn Mercer.” I froze, the champagne glass halting halfway to my lips. My mother had died when I was young. This foundation was a project I had been tirelessly working on for a year. Carter had promised to fund it, but when Serena came back to the States, he had been too distracted to sign the paperwork. Eleanor had done it for me. With red eyes, I walked up to the podium to give my thank-you speech. At the very end, I looked directly at Carter, who was standing near the front row. “And I want to extend my deepest gratitude to Mr. Harrison, for walking beside me through the most difficult three years of my life.” A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the ballroom. Everyone in that room knew about the divorce. My words weren’t a thank you. They were an obituary for our marriage. Carter stared up at me, his fingers gripping his crystal glass so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. Suddenly, Serena laughed. The sharp sound echoed off the high ceilings. “Nora, give it a rest.” She stepped forward, making sure all eyes were on her. “You get a divorce, you take the Hamptons house, you take millions in cash, and now you’re using your dead mother to play the victim?” She sneered. “What’s the matter? Miss being Mrs. Harrison so much you’re trying to guilt Carter into taking you back?” The room went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. I stood on the stage, the blood draining from my face. Carter stepped forward, his voice a furious bark. “Serena! That’s enough.” “Am I wrong?” she shot back. She knew Carter would protect her, so she had no fear. “She talks about how much she loves you, but her hand didn’t shake when she took the money. Fifteen million wasn’t enough, so now she needs a whole foundation just to put on a show?” I looked at the event coordinator. “I’m so sorry. I apologize for the disruption.” As I hurried down the steps of the stage, Carter lunged forward and grabbed my arm. “Nora. I swear I didn’t know she was going to—” “It’s fine.” I smiled, gently wiping a tear from my cheek. “She’s right, anyway. I’ve taken too much.” I pulled my arm free. “Cancel the foundation. And tomorrow, I’ll have my lawyers transfer the jewelry shares back to your portfolio.” Carter’s expression fractured. “Who told you to return anything?” “Serena doesn’t like it.” “Since when does she dictate what I do with my own assets?” Serena’s voice pitched into a shrill shriek. “Carter! What is that supposed to mean?” Carter didn’t even look at her. He gestured to Davis, who was standing by the exits. “Get the attorneys on the phone right now.” Ten minutes later, in front of the most powerful people in Manhattan, Carter Harrison formally announced he was endowing my mother’s foundation with an initial principal of fifty million dollars. The annual yield would permanently fund education for young women in need. Furthermore, he transferred two Class-A commercial high-rises in the Financial District directly into my name. “The foundation money is for the girls,” Carter said, looking only at me, completely ignoring the whispers in the room. “The real estate is for you.” I shook my head, my eyes swimming with tears. “It’s too much.” “Take it.” Carter’s voice was ragged. Stripped bare. “Consider it my debt to you.” After the gala, Serena’s hatred for me reached a boiling point. The next afternoon, she drove straight to the East Hampton estate. She ordered her private security to drag every box I had unpacked straight into the courtyard. By the time I rushed back from the city, I found my mother’s old photo albums floating in the center of the massive courtyard fountain. “Stop!” I sprinted past the guards and lunged into the water, desperately pulling the heavy, leather-bound books to my chest. They were soaked through. The ink on my mother’s youthful face was already blurring into watercolor streaks. Serena was lounging on a patio chair, swirling a glass of rosé. “They’re just some cheap pieces of paper. Why are you screaming like a dying animal?” I was shaking from head to toe. “Who gave you permission to come onto my property?” “It’s Carter’s house. I go where I want.” “It’s mine now.” Serena scoffed. “You really think you’re one of us now? Everything he gave you, I can make him take back with one phone call.” Her bodyguards stepped in front of her, blocking my path. I was forced to watch as one of her hired hands dumped the last box of my belongings straight into the deep end of the swimming pool. Inside was our framed wedding portrait. The heavy glass frame hit the water, sinking to the bottom, the glass splintering across Carter’s smiling face. Serena lifted her chin, triumphant. “See that? Fake is always fake. It doesn’t matter that you wore the dress or signed the marriage license. It doesn’t change the fact that the woman he loves is me.” I stared at the shattered portrait at the bottom of the pool. And suddenly, I was done playing the victim. I shoved past the massive bodyguard, raised my hand, and slapped Serena directly across the face. The sharp crack echoed off the stone courtyard. Serena stumbled back, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. “You hit me?” “I hit you,” I said, my voice eerily calm. I stepped closer, forcing her to back up toward the edge of the pool. “If Carter didn’t want me, that was between him and me. But you touched my mother’s things. I will kill you before I let you do that again.” Serena completely lost her mind. She shrieked and lunged at me, her hands twisting into my hair. We grappled near the edge. In the chaos, she planted her hands on my chest and shoved with all her might. I tumbled backward. The freezing water engulfed me instantly, rushing up my nose and down my throat. I couldn’t swim. Serena knew I couldn’t swim. During our second year of marriage, we had all been on a yacht in Miami. I had fallen overboard and nearly drowned. Serena had been there. Now, she stood safely on the concrete edge, looking down at me as I thrashed wildly in the deep end, my lungs burning for oxygen. “Beg me, Nora,” she laughed, a sick, euphoric sound. “You’re so good at playing the victim. Beg me, and I’ll tell the guards to fish you out.” I swallowed a mouthful of chlorinated water. The sky above me began to warp and blur as my body grew heavy, sinking lower into the blue. Just as my vision started to go black, a figure tore across the patio, diving violently into the water. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, hauling me to the surface. I broke the water, coughing violently as Carter dragged me to the shallow end and lifted me onto the concrete. His face was a mask of absolute terror. “Call 911!” he roared at the guards. Serena crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. “She jumped in herself to get attention, Carter. Stop buying her act.” Carter’s head snapped up. His eyes were murderous. “She doesn’t know how to swim.” Serena froze. For a second, she looked panicked, before rallying her indignation. “Well, she slapped me first! Look at my face!” Carter didn’t care. He was looking at my legs. Blood was pooling on the pristine concrete. When I had fallen, my calf had scraped against the jagged edge of the pool ladder. I was shivering violently, curled against Carter’s soaked chest. But as my mind cleared, I pushed my hands against his shoulders, fighting to get away from him. “Don’t… don’t fight with her because of me,” I gasped out. Carter’s arms tightened around me like a vice. “You’re bleeding, and you’re defending her?” The tears streamed down my face, mixing with the pool water. “Carter. I already lost. Please… just don’t let me lose all my dignity.” Something in his eyes shattered. It was as if I had driven a blade directly into his ribs. When the paramedics arrived, Carter carried me into the ambulance himself. His hands were shaking. His white dress shirt was soaked through, clinging to his chest, and he looked paler than I did. As the EMT cut away the fabric of my slacks, revealing the deep gash on my calf, I flinched. Carter immediately grabbed the EMT’s wrist. “Careful!” The medic looked up, annoyed. “Sir, I’m being as gentle as I can. If you keep grabbing me, I can’t stitch the wound.” Carter clenched his jaw and let go. I turned my head away, staring out the back window. “You should go back to Serena,” I whispered. His gaze snapped to my face. “Why would I do that?” “She’s the woman you’re going to marry.” Silence fell over the back of the ambulance. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Carter didn’t say another word until we reached the hospital. At the VIP wing of Mount Sinai, it took seven stitches to close the wound. When the nurse brought in the discharge paperwork, Carter reached for the clipboard. “I’ll sign.” I placed my hand firmly over the paper. “Mr. Harrison. You are no longer my emergency contact.” The veins in the back of his hand strained against his skin. “Nora. Do you have to speak to me like this?” “How should I speak to you?” I looked up at him, my voice barely above a whisper. “Should I thank my ex-husband for saving my life?” Carter stared down at me. Slowly, painfully, he set the pen down on the mattress. Just as the doctor finished giving me my aftercare instructions, the door flew open. Serena marched in. She had changed into a dry silk blouse, but the red mark on her cheek was still visible. She immediately started yelling. “You left me at the house with the police questioning me so you could sit here and hold her hand?” Carter turned slowly to face her. “Apologize.” “You’re telling me to apologize again?” She laughed in disbelief, pointing to her cheek. “She assaulted me! Did you not see that?” “You destroyed the only photos she had left of her mother,” Carter said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “And then you pushed a woman who cannot swim into the deep end of a pool.” “She slipped!” “The security cameras caught everything, Serena.” Serena’s face twitched. But she was so used to him cleaning up her messes that she quickly lifted her chin, defiant. “So what? She swallowed some water. She’s sitting right there, isn’t she? She’s fine.” The temperature in the room plummeted. “Get out,” Carter said. “Carter—” “I said, get the fuck out.” Serena glared at me, her chest heaving, before a cruel smile twisted her lips. “You’re good, Nora. I’ll give you that. You pretend to walk away, but you keep throwing yourself in front of him.” She sneered. “The shares. The skyscrapers. What is it this time? Hoping a little cut on your leg will guilt him into buying you another company?” The air in the room vanished. I pulled my knees up, clutching the damp, ruined photo album to my chest, and let the tears fall, slow and heavy. “I don’t want it,” I sobbed. Carter frowned. “What?” “The jewelry shares. The buildings. The Hamptons house. I don’t want any of it anymore.” I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and dialed my lawyer on speakerphone. “Mr. Davis? Please draft a revocation of all assets transferred to me in the settlement. Everything I took from Carter Harrison goes back to him immediately.” Carter lunged forward, snatching the phone from my hand and ending the call. “Nora, have you lost your mind?” I just looked at him, completely hollow. He seemed to realize how harsh he sounded. His breathing hitched. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and forced a trembling smile. “I’m sorry.” Carter looked physically sick. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “It doesn’t matter.” I threw off the hospital blanket and swung my legs off the bed, wincing as the stitches pulled. Carter instinctively reached out to steady me. I slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me.” He froze, his hands hovering in mid-air. Dragging my injured leg, I limped toward the door. As I passed Serena, a smug, victorious smirk spread across her face. But before I could cross the threshold, Carter’s voice rang out, cold and absolute. “Davis.” His assistant, who had been hovering in the hallway, jumped. “Yes, Mr. Harrison?” “Transfer The Cove in Montauk into Nora’s name immediately.” Serena’s smirk vanished instantly. Davis looked stunned. “Sir? The entire hotel property?” “The entire hotel.” Carter looked directly into my eyes, enunciating every single word. “If she doesn’t want what I gave her… then I will keep giving her things until she takes them.”

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Isabella was marrying Alpha Henry, and she insisted that I be her maid of honor. But on the day I tried on my dress, my wolf—who had never shown herself before—suddenly sent me a warning through our telepathic bond. “Be careful. Your stepmother and Isabella are trying to steal your destiny!” The next second, I intercepted Linda’s wicked thoughts through our Mind Link: “The waistline of this maid of honor dress is perfect for covering up the curse marks. Once the ritual is done next week, Emma’s destiny will belong to Isabella. Isabella will marry Alpha Henry in glory. As for whether Emma survives the ritual… well, that’s up to her luck.” At that moment, a chill ran down my spine. I was never their beloved younger daughter. I was just a destiny vessel they had raised for twenty-two years, waiting to be sacrificed for Isabella! Since you chose to be ruthless, don’t blame me for tearing this hypocritical family apart! The fitting room had a massive full-length mirror, lit by bright, harsh lights. I stood on the pedestal, wearing a pure white maid of honor gown. My stepmother, Linda, knelt at my feet. With pins held between her lips, her hands deftly tightened the fabric around my waist. She looked up, her eyes filled with warmth and motherly affection. “Our Emma is so beautiful. On your sister’s wedding day, you’ll definitely be the most stunning maid of honor.” She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, her fingertips warm against my skin. Looking at the reflection in the mirror—a face that shared some resemblance with hers—I was about to offer a happy smile. But then, a cold, sharp voice echoed abruptly in my mind through our Mind Link. *This waistline is perfect. Once the ritual is done next week and the cursed seal is covered with lace, no one will notice a thing under this dress.* *As long as she doesn’t survive the ritual, Isabella can take her destiny. Then, her bond with Alpha Henry will be completely secure.* *Trading one worthless life for our family’s lifelong wealth is an honor for this brat.* My smile instantly froze on my face. I felt the blood drain from my body. My hands and feet went completely numb. I stared blankly at Linda. Her lips hadn’t moved at all. She was still wearing that same sweet, maternal smile. But that voice was unmistakably hers, filled with a chilling, calculated malice. “Mom…” I heard my own voice trembling. Linda immediately stood up, grabbing my hands with deep concern. “What’s wrong? Is the dress too tight? Why are you so pale?” *Did this brat notice something? No, I need to keep a close eye on her these next few days. Nothing can go wrong at the final moment.* I bit the tip of my tongue hard until I tasted copper, using the pain to suppress my terror. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well last night,” I forced a weak smile. Linda let out a sigh of relief and patted the back of my hand. “That’s good. The big day is just around the corner, so you must take care of yourself. Isabella is counting on you to walk her down the aisle.” I lowered my eyes to hide the cold anger in them. Walk her down the aisle? More like delivering my destiny—and my life—on a silver platter. This would be the last day I played the role of their obedient daughter. On the drive home, my father, David, was behind the wheel. Usually a man of few words, he uncharacteristically glanced at me several times through the rearview mirror today. “Emma, I’m taking you to see a witch tomorrow. You’re twenty-two and still haven’t shifted. Maybe she can find out why.” His tone was flat, as if he were talking about a trivial errand. I leaned against the car window, watching the city lights blur past, and said nothing. Linda immediately chimed in. “Yes, if you had even half of Isabella’s talent, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.” *The witch tomorrow is already paid off. Once we bring her there, we can complete the final preparation for the ritual. David even has the wolfsbane ready to suppress her wolf. She won’t be able to resist.* I gripped my seatbelt so hard my knuckles turned white. Twenty-two years. I was finally seeing this so-called family for what they truly were. The living room walls were covered with portraits of Isabella from childhood to present. She wore designer dresses and tiaras, treated like the family’s most precious treasure. Meanwhile, I didn’t have a single solo photo on the wall. Growing up, if Isabella coughed, Linda would cry with worry. If Isabella got sick, David would drive across the city in the middle of the night just to get her favorite strawberries. And me? I was always physically weak, barely showing any werewolf traits. When I ran high fevers, Linda would simply toss two pills onto my nightstand. “Be good, Emma. Mommy has to go take care of Isabella. Take the medicine and sleep it off.” I used to think they favored her because she was more talented. I tried so hard to be perfect. I did all the chores and pushed myself in training, desperately hoping for just one nod of approval. Now, I finally understood. I wasn’t their daughter. I was just a “destiny vessel”—carefully raised and ready to be slaughtered for Isabella. ***

At dinner, the table was filled with a lavish feast. Linda set a steaming bowl of meat soup directly in front of me. “Emma, drink more of this. You need to build up your strength.” She smiled warmly, the wrinkles around her eyes softening. *The heavy sedative is already mixed in. Once she falls asleep, we’ll drag her to the witch tomorrow morning. It saves us the trouble of dealing with a struggle.* Looking at the greasy soup, my stomach churned. “Thanks, Mom.” I picked up my spoon and gently stirred the liquid. Linda sat across from me, her eyes locked onto my every move without blinking. “Drink it while it’s hot. It won’t taste good once it cools down,” she urged. I lifted a spoonful to my lips, pretended to get burned, and coughed violently. “Cough, cough… It’s too hot!” I bent over, spitting the soup into a thick napkin I had prepared in advance, then quickly stuffed it up my sleeve. “How can you be so clumsy?” Linda frowned, a flash of impatience crossing her face. *What a useless brat, choking on a spoonful of soup. Just drink it and go to sleep. Don’t ruin tomorrow’s plans.* I looked up, my eyes red from coughing. “Mom, I really can’t drink any more. I’m going to my room to sleep.” Linda looked at the half-full bowl, her expression darkening. “No! You have to finish it! I spent the whole afternoon brewing this for you!” She abruptly stood up, grabbing the bowl and trying to force it down my throat. I jerked back, causing the soup to splash all over the tablecloth. “Mom! I said I don’t want any more!” I raised my voice. Beside her, David slammed his forks down onto the table. “Is that how you speak to your mother? Drink it when you’re told!” Looking at their mask-slipping faces, the coldness in my heart deepened. I couldn’t have a direct confrontation right now. I inhaled deeply, pretending to submit. I picked up the bowl and drank it down in large gulps. But with every gulp, I held the soup in my mouth, using the napkin to wipe my lips while spitting the liquid into a dry sponge hidden in my sleeve. After the last gulp, I slammed the empty bowl onto the table. “I’m done. Can I go to sleep now?” Linda’s expression finally softened, and she smiled with satisfaction. “Good girl. Go on, get some rest.” *The sedative will kick in within thirty minutes. Tonight is secure.* Once inside my room, I locked the door. I rushed to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and shoved my fingers down my throat to force myself to throw up. I retched until nothing but stomach acid came out. Weak and exhausted, I leaned against the sink. In the mirror, my face was ghostly pale and my eyes were bloodshot. I looked like a monster. But I didn’t cry. My tears had dried up the moment I realized the truth. I pulled a small glass vial from the bottom of my backpack. I carefully squeezed the remaining soup from the sponge in my sleeve into the vial. This was my evidence. Next, I pulled out an old, deactivated phone, connected it to a power bank, and hid it under my bed inside a pile of junk, turning on the voice recorder. With everything set, I lay on the bed, closed my eyes, and waited. At midnight. Faint footsteps approached my door. With a soft click, the door was unlocked from the outside with a spare key. I slowed my breathing, lying completely still. Linda and David crept to the side of my bed. “Is she completely out?” David whispered. Linda waved her hand in front of my face and shook my shoulder. “She’s dead to the world. That sedative is strong.” She sneered, showing no pity for her daughter, only the triumph of a successful plot. “Hurry up, stop wasting time and get the contract,” David urged. The sound of rustling paper echoed in the quiet room. “Grab her thumb. Press it right here,” Linda directed. I felt a rough hand grab my right thumb, pushing it toward a cold ink pad. *Once she signs this blood contract, she’s ours forever.* Just as my fingertip was about to touch the “Destiny Swap Contract,” I snapped my eyes open. In the darkness, my gaze was piercing. “Dad, Mom, what are you doing?” ***

Linda shrieked in terror, dropping the ink pad. It shattered on the floor, splashing red ink like a pool of fresh blood. David stumbled back, crashing into the wardrobe. “You… how are you awake?!” Linda pointed at me, her voice trembling. I slowly sat up, my cold gaze sweeping over their panicked faces before landing on the paper with the partial thumbprint. “A Destiny Swap Contract?” I read the words aloud, a mocking smile playing on my lips. “You sneaked into my room in the middle of the night just to make me sign this?” Linda recovered quickly. She snatched the paper, trying to hide it behind her back. “Emma, let me explain. You know Isabella’s situation. She needs a stronger destiny to match Alpha Henry. I had no choice. Can’t you just do this for your sister?” She fell to her knees by my bed, tears streaming down her face. “I raised you myself. How could I want to force you? But Isabella… she can’t lose everything!” *Calm her down first. Once she softens, we’ll bind her and take her to the witch tomorrow.* Watching her Oscar-worthy performance, I felt sick to my stomach. “Do this for her? By giving up my own destiny?” I asked coldly. David’s face darkened, and he took a harsh tone. “What do you mean ‘your destiny’? A destiny swap won’t kill you! We’ve raised you for twenty-two years, fed you, and clothed you. Now that the family needs you, what’s wrong with making a small sacrifice?” “A small sacrifice?” I scoffed. “Your idea of a sacrifice is drugging me and trying to force my thumbprint while I’m unconscious?” I threw off the covers, walked to my desk, and picked up the glass vial containing the soup. “This vial contains the soup you fed me tonight. If I take this to the Werewolf Council for testing, guess what will happen? Drugging, coercion, and conspiring with dark witches to swap destinies… how many packs do you think will banish you for these crimes?” Linda and David’s faces drained of color. “You… you dare threaten us?!” David snarled, his finger shaking as he pointed at me. “Try me.” I met his gaze without a hint of fear, refusing to back down. The air in the room froze. Seeing that force wouldn’t work, Linda tried to play the emotional card again. “Emma, don’t be so heartless! We are your parents! If you report us, where will you go? No pack will ever accept an outcast like you!” *This little bitch dares to threaten me! Once this is over, I’ll make her pay!* Staring at her fake, pleading face, the last shred of familial affection in my heart shattered. “Parents? The moment you decided to use me as a destiny vessel for Isabella, we ceased to be family.” I pointed at the door. “Now, get out.” David exploded in rage. He lunged forward, raising his hand to strike me. “You ungrateful brat! I’ll beat some respect into you tonight!” I didn’t flinch. I just stared at him coldly. “Go ahead. Hit me. But I promise you, if you touch me tonight, this recording and this vial of evidence will be on the Elders’ desks by tomorrow morning.” I pointed toward the bed. I knew he wouldn’t dare kill me. He still needed me alive to swap destinies with his golden daughter. David’s hand froze in mid-air, unable to come down. Linda grabbed David’s arm, glaring at me with venomous eyes. “Fine. You think you’re so smart. You think these cheap tricks can threaten us? Let me tell you, Isabella’s marriage is set. Alpha Henry has already agreed to the alliance. If you ruin this, I will make your life a living hell!” “We’ll see about that.” I walked over and flung the door open. “Get out.” Linda and David slunk out of the room like scolded dogs. The moment the door slammed shut, all my strength vanished. I slid down against the door, collapsing onto the floor. I hugged my knees tightly, burying my face in my arms. I didn’t cry. I just felt cold. Bone-chillingly cold. ***

The next morning, I got up and washed my face as usual. Linda and David were sitting on the living room sofa, their faces incredibly grim. Seeing me walk out, Linda sneered. “Pack your things. We’re going to the witch.” I ignored her and walked straight to the foyer to put on my shoes. “I have errands to run.” “What errands?! Your sister’s entire future depends on today!” David leaped to his feet, blocking the door. I looked at him calmly. “I said, I’m going out. If you want a scene that the entire pack will talk about, I don’t mind screaming for help right now.” David grit his teeth, but eventually stepped aside. They didn’t dare risk it. They had too much to hide. Leaving the house, my first stop was to see Susan Wilson, a retired member of the Werewolf Council. Susan was a highly respected and righteous Elder Luna. We had met by chance, and after learning about my situation at home, she had been quietly looking out for me. I handed her the recording, the vial of drugged soup, and the photo of the “Destiny Swap Contract” I had taken on my phone. “Ms. Wilson, I need your help.” I explained everything that had happened from start to finish. Hearing the story, Susan trembled with rage. “This is monstrous! How can parents do this to their own flesh and blood!” She slammed her hand on the table and stood up. “Emma, don’t worry. I’ll take you to the Council right now! This cannot be tolerated!” I caught Susan’s hand and shook my head. “Ms. Wilson, if we go to the Council now, they will just deny everything. Once we go back, they’ll only find more vicious ways to retaliate.” “Then what do you want to do?” Susan frowned. I took a deep breath, determination shining in my eyes. “I want to ruin their reputation completely. I want them to lose everything they care about.” I looked at Susan. “Ms. Wilson, I need you to help me find a certified witch to analyze the chemicals in this soup. Also, I need you to look into Isabella’s birth records. I suspect she isn’t my father’s biological daughter.” Susan stared at me for a moment before nodding firmly. “Alright, I’ll help you. Rest assured, as long as I’m here, no one will hurt you.” Over the next few days, I didn’t go home. I stayed in a safe house Susan arranged for me. Linda and David searched everywhere for me. They even confiscated my old ID and phone that I left at home, but I kept my actual phone with me. By the weekend, Isabella’s fiancé, Henry, came to visit the family. Henry was the Alpha of the Shadowfang Pack, a powerful and arrogant man. Linda and David treated him like royalty, serving him tea and flattery. Isabella wore an elegant, expensive dress, leaning softly against Henry’s chest, letting out sweet, delicate giggles from time to time. “Henry, do you think our wedding will be the grandest of the year?” Isabella asked, her eyes sparkling. Henry wrapped his arm around her, kissing her forehead. “Of course. You’re the most beautiful she-wolf I’ve ever seen. Our wedding will be the talk of the entire territory.” “But… I feel like someone is jealous of me…” Isabella sighed, her eyes drifting toward me standing in the corner. Linda instantly got the hint. She marched over, grabbed my hand, and dragged me forcefully in front of Henry. “Alpha Henry, don’t worry. Everything is going according to plan. Emma is very obedient. She will cooperate fully.” *Once we seal the deal in front of Alpha Henry, this brat won’t dare back out. And if Alpha Henry is pleased, we can demand twenty percent more in the dowry alliance.* I stared coldly at Linda’s pathetic, flattering face, and violently shook off her grip. “When did I ever say I would cooperate?” The living room went dead silent.

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As the only Alpha female in the werewolf world, my mate had always looked down on me. He even had the audacity to bring his pregnant mistress into my estate. He barked threats about throwing me out of my own home while letting his mother steal my specially formulated potion, which ended up ruining her face and leaving her completely bald. His sister even had the audacity to tell me to keep a low profile and pack my bags to make room for the mistress. Looking at this ridiculous family, I laughed. They seemed to have forgotten that I didn’t become the Alpha just because of my bloodline. Those who looked down on me and tried to install someone else as Alpha? They are all dead. Since they wanted to act so high and mighty while living off my money, they could go join the corpses! After watching Margaret sneak into my master bedroom on my security camera for the hundredth time, I finally lost my patience. On my phone screen, she was sitting at my vanity, her eyes locked on the unlabeled white ceramic jar on the table. She scooped out a huge dollop of the white cream with her rough fingers, ready to smear it all over her face. I took a deep breath and sent a voice note. “Mom, do not touch that white jar on my vanity. That’s an experimental formula from the Pack’s research department. It’s highly corrosive and will cause severe chemical burns if it touches skin.” Not even thirty seconds later, Emily’s voice note popped up on Snapchat. Her voice was shrill and annoying. “Ellie, who are you trying to scare? It’s just a jar of face cream! What’s wrong with my mom using a little bit of your stuff? Do you really have to make up such disgusting lies just to curse her with disfigurement?” Right after, James jumped into the chat with a text message. [Ellie, you’re going too far. As a female Alpha, you should learn how to keep the Pack in harmony. My mom uses a little bit of your stuff, and you curse her? How do you expect to lead anyone like this?] Looking at the screen, I literally laughed out loud. This downtown Sterling Estate was a Pack asset, but as the Alpha, I had absolute authority over it. James was nothing but a parasite living off me. He only had a place in this city because of my status. The cars he drove, the designer clothes he wore—which of those didn’t come from my pocket and my position as Alpha? My kindness didn’t earn their gratitude. It only made these leeches greedier. Fine. Since I had already warned them, and they chose not to listen, I wasn’t going to waste my breath. I calmly typed out a reply: [I’ve warned you. Enjoy the consequences.] Emily replied instantly: [Ugh, save it! Mom just told me the cream has a nice, light scent and feels cool on her skin. It’s definitely high-end stuff! You’re just jealous because you’re stuck at the office. Just wait till my brother gets back—he’s going to teach you a lesson, you cheap, classless woman! A female Alpha… you really think you’re something special, don’t you?] I locked my phone, took a sip of my iced Americano, and let my eyes grow cold. Teach me a lesson? Let’s see who teaches whom a lesson today.

At six in the evening, I pushed the front door open. Before I could even change my shoes, a blood-curdling shriek echoed from the living room. “Ahhhh! My face! It burns! Help me! Somebody help me!” I changed into my slippers and strolled into the living room. The scene before me was ten times more entertaining than I had imagined. Margaret was rolling on the floor, clawing at her face, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her already thin hair was falling out in massive clumps, scattering across the wool rug like dead grass. Her face was even worse. The areas where she had applied the white cream were now swollen like a purple balloon, her skin glowing with a sickening red rash, and yellow fluid was beginning to ooze out. “Mom! What’s wrong, Mom!” James and Emily rushed out of the kitchen. Seeing Margaret on the floor, they gasped in horror. “Jamie! Mom’s hair is completely gone! Her face is ruined!” Emily screamed, her voice shaking violently. James whipped his head around, his eyes red as he glared at me like a rabid beast. “Ellie! You evil bitch! What kind of poison did you put in that jar?!” He marched up to me, raising his hand to slap me across the face. I stood my ground, not even blinking, and met his gaze with an icy stare. “Touch me, and see what happens.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried absolute dominance. “If that hand lands on me, I guarantee your corpse will be hanging from the estate gates by tomorrow morning.” James’s hand froze in mid-air. The muscles in his face twitched. He was clearly intimidated by my Alpha aura. “You dare threaten my brother?!” Emily barked from the side. “You did this on purpose! You left poison on the table to hurt our mom! I’m taking this to the Elders!” I let out a cold laugh, walked over to the sofa, and sat down, crossing my legs. “Take it to the Elders? Go ahead. I’d love to see how they react when they find out who stole and used the Alpha’s personal property after being explicitly warned.” I pulled out my phone and flashed the Snapchat chat history in front of their faces. “The records are right here, clear as day. I told you exactly what that experimental formula would do. You insisted on using it as high-end skincare. Now that her face is melting and she’s bald, you’re blaming me?” Margaret was rolling in pain on the floor, her eyes rolling back as she neared unconsciousness. “Stop talking! Call a Healer!” James panicked, screaming at Emily. The Pack medical van arrived with sirens blaring. When the Healer saw Margaret’s condition, even he couldn’t help but grimace. “The chemical burns are severe. We need to get her to the clinic for emergency treatment immediately!” As the stretcher carried Margaret out, James pointed a trembling finger at my nose, spitting out a final ultimatum. “Ellie, you’re going to pay for this! If anything happens to my mom, I’m done with you! Once I’m back from the clinic, you’re packing your bags and getting the hell out of this house!” The front door slammed shut. I looked around the empty living room, the smirk on my lips deepening. Get the hell out of this house? James, you must be dreaming.

At ten in the evening, the front door opened again. I was sitting on the sofa, using my iPad to reply to Pack emails. James walked in first. There wasn’t a single trace of worry or sadness on his face. Instead, he looked smug. Following behind him, besides Emily, was a young woman in a tight-fitting dress, her baby bump slightly showing. “Lily, careful. Watch your step, babe.” James held her hand gently, his voice so sweet it made me sick. The woman, Lily, leaned into James’s chest, her eyes scanning the living room with a critical look. “Oh, Jamie, is this the twenty-million-dollar villa you talked about? The location is great, but the decor is so cold. It doesn’t feel like a home at all. Tomorrow, let’s throw all this black and gray furniture away and replace it with something warmer, okay?” “Of course, babe. Whatever you want. You’re carrying the heir to the Miller family. Your word is law.” James smiled like a loyal dog. Emily rushed over, eager to please, and took Lily’s designer bag. “Don’t worry, Lily. This awful decor was done by that sterile woman. Once she gets kicked out tonight, this house is all yours!” Lily? I arched an eyebrow, put down my iPad, and watched the drama unfold with amusement. James helped Lily sit down on the other end of the sofa, then turned to face me, his gentle expression instantly turning hostile. “Ellie, how do you still have the face to sit here?” He pulled a medical report from his pocket and slammed it onto the coffee table. “My mom has severe chemical burns on her scalp. Her hair follicles are completely dead. Even her wolf form is bald now! Her face is ruined! You’re going to answer for this today!” I glanced at the report, not even looking up at him. “And? What do you want to do about it?” “I don’t need to play nice with you anymore!” James stood tall, pointing proudly at Lily. “Lily is pregnant with my son. She’s already three months along! You’ve been married to me for three years and couldn’t even give me a child, and now you’ve ruined my mother’s face!” “This estate will be your payment for my mom’s medical bills, and compensation for Lily to raise our baby! Now, pack your things and get out of here with nothing!” Looking at his shameless face, I was amazed by how thick-skinned a person could be. A man who lived off my Alpha status, who used my wealth to find a mistress and get her pregnant, actually had the nerve to bring his mistress into my Pack’s estate and try to give away my property. “Jamie, why is she still here?” Lily covered her nose, looking at me with disgust. “I don’t even want to sit on the couch she used. What if she passes some bad luck to my son?” “Exactly! Get lost! Stop ruining our view!” Emily chimed in, hands on her hips. “A woman playing Alpha… you really thought you were a queen. My brother staying with you was a blessing you didn’t deserve. Don’t be ungrateful!” I glanced quietly at the security camera blinking red near the TV console. “Fine.” I stood up and brushed the creases out of my pants. “Since you guys are such a loving family, I won’t interrupt your sweet reunion.” James blinked, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily without a fight. “Smart move,” he said, barely hiding the greed in his eyes while trying to sound generous. “Take your cheap clothes and get out. Don’t even think about touching anything valuable in this house!” I ignored him, walked into my walk-in closet, grabbed a small suitcase, and packed a few changes of clothes and my important documents. At the foyer, I paused and looked back at the couple cuddling on the sofa. “Jamie, I hope you remember what you said tonight. You guys better enjoy living in this estate.” With that, I pushed the door open and walked out without looking back. As the door clicked shut, I heard Lily’s high-pitched giggling. “Jamie, you’re amazing! You got rid of that old woman in just a few words! This big house is ours now!” “Of course, babe. I run this house!” James bragged loudly. I walked toward the guest house on the other side of the estate, pulled out my phone, and smiled coldly. The real show was about to begin.

I walked straight into the guest house. This guest house was part of my private Alpha quarters. I had converted it into a personal studio and lounge, and James’s family had no idea it existed. I poured myself a glass of red wine, walked to my computer, and pulled up the security feeds for the main mansion. On the screen, the squatters were already celebrating their new life. Lily was bossing Emily around, throwing my belongings out of the house. “That vase is too dark, looks like a funeral urn. Throw it out!” “What is this ugly painting? It’s bad luck. Throw it in the trash!” Emily, acting like a loyal maid, threw my antique porcelain vase—which I had bought at an auction for over a million dollars—straight into the trash. “Lily, how’s this?” Emily smiled eagerly. “Not bad,” Lily said, rubbing her stomach. “Jamie, I want to host a party tomorrow. I want to invite all my friends to show off our new mansion.” “Sure, babe! Whatever you want! I’ll transfer some cash to you tomorrow. Spend as much as you want!” James said, puffing out his chest. Watching him play the rich guy on screen, I sneered and opened my financial management system. Step one: I canceled all automatic payments linked to the estate, including electricity, water, gas, and the massive estate maintenance fees. Step two: I immediately froze the black card with a one-million-dollar limit that I had given James. Back then, despite the Elders’ objections, I had quietly given James a mid-level management position in the Pack. Even that black card was just something I gave him to save his pathetic pride when he hung out with his friends. I didn’t expect him to actually believe my charity was his own success. Using my money to feed his mistress and trying to steal my Pack’s estate? He was delusional. After doing that, I sent a text to the Pack Treasurer. [Tomorrow morning, start a full financial audit on James’s department. Investigate every single cent he handled. Not a single penny should be missed.] The Treasurer replied instantly: [Understood, Alpha Sterling.] I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the cheating couple fall asleep on screen. Enjoy your last night of luxury.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “469248”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The day Charles’s first love, Melanie, and I were both in a horrific car accident, Melanie was the one rushed into the trauma bay. Charles choked me, his fingers digged into my throat as he snarled, “Melanie always insisted on riding shotgun, and you fought her for it every single time. Why didn’t you fight her today? Why did you let her sit there? It’s because of you she’s in the ER! You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Beside him, our seven-year-old son, Toby, repeatedly slammed his small fists into my freshly bruised, bleeding leg. “If Aunt Melanie dies, I will never call you Mom again! Never!” “Why couldn’t you have died instead of her?” Charles hissed. Just then, a surgeon stepped out of the operating room. “Excuse me, about the family member who previously agreed to donate a kidney…” Charles’s face tightened. “I’m her husband—well, her partner. I consent. She’ll donate.” Toby raised his hands in the air, cheering. “Me too! I agree completely!” I lay on the gurney, the agonizing pain in my chest and leg so severe I couldn’t even part my lips to speak. Seeing my silence, Charles’s expression darkened into disgust. “I never realized you could be this malicious. I’ve told you a thousand times, Melanie is just a ghost from my past. Once I finally get some closure with her, I promise I will settle down and build a real life with you. Why can’t you just grant me this one simple peace of mind?” The surgeon blinked in confusion. “Wait. The patient we just treated only suffered a superficial scratch. I was referring to the other family…” But before the surgeon could finish, another doctor called him away, and they hurried down the hall. Left in the corridor, the father and son breathed a collective sigh of relief, utterly ecstatic that their precious Melanie was safe. In that quiet, sterile hallway, the last remaining shred of my affection for them died. Then, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. “The once-in-a-decade window is open, Host. Do you choose to exit this world through physical death, or do you choose to stay?” The first time the System offered, I stayed for Charles. The second time, I stayed to give birth to Toby. This time, without a single moment of hesitation, I answered in my mind: “I want to leave.” … Melanie looked incredibly fragile, though the smug triumph in her eyes was barely concealed. “Look at how worried you both are,” she cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I just scraped my hand a little bit. It’s nothing.” The scratch was so minor it had practically healed already. Yet, looking at her, both Charles and Toby let out a massive sigh of relief, as if Melanie had just survived a life-threatening ordeal. Toby beamed. “It’s so wonderful that you’re okay, Aunt Mel! Now my mom doesn’t have to give you her kidney, and you won’t have to feel guilty at all. I hate seeing you sad.” Melanie blinked innocently. “What kidney donation?” Charles quickly clamped a hand over Toby’s mouth, shooting me a sharp, warning glare. “Don’t you dare say a word to Melanie about the kidney. She’s too pure and kindhearted; it would break her spirit if she knew we tried to force you. Let this matter drop. Don’t you go trying to make trouble for her.” Their Melanie. Years ago, I wasn’t allowed to so much as look at her wrong. Now, I wasn’t even allowed to speak in her presence. My leg was actively bleeding beneath my torn jeans, a sharp, white-hot agony radiating from my shin. Pale and trembling, I whispered, “Since she’s fine… can I please go get my wounds treated now?” I had been waiting this entire time, but they had refused to let the nurses wheel me away until they were absolutely certain Melanie was unharmed. Melanie’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “Diana, you’re hurt? Oh, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Charlie to speed up. I just wanted a little excitement…” “This has nothing to do with you!” Charles snapped, his gaze cutting into me like a blade. “It’s Diana’s fault. She was screaming in the back seat the whole time, telling me to slow down. If she hadn’t been hysterical and distracting me, I wouldn’t have lost control of the wheel!” They were drag racing, flipped the car, and somehow it was my fault for begging them not to die. Charles saw me trying to shift my weight, but his first instinct wasn’t pity—it was irritation. “Stop trying to emotionally hijack the situation. Melanie is sensitive. It’s just a minor injury. Go put some ointment on it and stop being so dramatic. I’ll buy you that Chanel bag you wanted, alright?” He spoke with a lofty, patronizing generosity, as if a luxury handbag could somehow knit my shattered bone back together. Without another word, he wrapped his arm around Melanie’s shoulders, took Toby’s hand with his other, and the three of them walked away like a perfect, happy family. “Oh my god! Your leg is broken! There’s bone fragmenting, and you’re losing a lot of blood!” a passing nurse shrieked when she finally noticed me slumped against the wall. Just ten feet away, the three of them heard the scream. They were laughing and teasing each other, and not a single one of them turned back. While the doctor set my bone and stitched the deep gashes, the nurse asked softly, “Do you have any family we can call?” “I used to,” I whispered, staring at the fluorescent lights. “Not anymore.” In the silence of the recovery room, the System’s voice chimed again. “The once-in-a-decade window is open, Host. Do you choose to exit this world through physical death, or do you choose to stay?” Before I could answer, the door swung open. The three of them had returned. Staring at the heavy cast on my leg, Melanie’s tears flowed instantly. “Diana… it’s just a little scrape. Why did you have them wrap it up like that? Are you doing this to make me feel guilty? Because you hate me?” Charles lunged forward, grabbing my arm and wrenching me upward. The sudden movement sent a sickening jolt of pain through my leg, and my face contorted in agony. “I knew it,” Charles sneered. “You couldn’t just let us have a peaceful moment. You had to stay behind and orchestrate this little drama. Why the hell did you get a cast? Just to make Melanie feel like a monster? How much did you bribe the nurse to put this on you? Tear it off. Now!” The attending nurse marched in and snapped, “Are you out of your mind? This patient has a severe compound fracture and lost a significant amount of blood. Look at her chart! Do you honestly think she’s faking a broken bone?” Charles froze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his eyes. “You’re… actually hurt? Why didn’t you say so earlier?” “Did you ever give me a chance to speak?” I asked, my voice flat, devoid of any warmth. Perhaps my tone was too cold, too detached. Charles’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Well, you didn’t die, did you? Why do you have to be so hostile over a simple misunderstanding?” I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded by the sheer cruelty of his words. “Because I didn’t die… it doesn’t count as serious?” Toby crossed his arms, looking at me with pure disgust. “Aunt Melanie has suffered so much more than you ever have, and she never whines like this! Look at you—you’ve gone and driven her away again! Why can’t you just say you’re fine? You always get hurt at the worst times. You did this on purpose just to ruin our day! I hate you!” The brief flash of guilt in Charles’s eyes vanished, replaced entirely by cold impatience. “I’ll stay here for ten minutes. Otherwise, you’ll just use this as another excuse to play the victim and harass Melanie later.” He acted as if spending ten minutes by my hospital bed was the ultimate sacrifice. “Just go,” I said quietly. Charles’s temper flared. “If we leave, you’ll just scream and cry that we abandoned you, turning the whole house upside down. Haven’t you played that game enough?” I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “I won’t. Not this time.” My compliance only seemed to anger him more. “Fine! Don’t complain when we go spend the weekend with Melanie. You brought this on yourself.” “Women are so exhausting,” Toby muttered, running after his father. Through the heavy wooden door, Melanie’s soft, weeping voice drifted back to me. “I’m so sorry, Charlie… it’s all my fault Diana got hurt. You should hate me…” “Aunt Mel, it’s not your fault at all,” Toby’s high-pitched voice echoed. “My mom is just a dramatic freak. When I grow up, I’m going to take care of you instead.” Melanie laughed softly. “Oh, sweetie, you can’t do that. You have to take care of your mother.” Toby raised his voice, clearly wanting me to hear him down the corridor. “I’m not taking care of her! She has a horrible temper and she’s always mean to you. I hate her! I wish you were my real mom!” Then came Charles’s warm, doting voice. “You had a terrible scare today, Mel. I had some premium organic chicken and fresh oysters flown in from the coast. I’ll make you a nice soup to help you recover, and as soon as you’re feeling better, I’m taking you on that trip to Paris.” “But what about Diana…?” “Don’t mention her,” Charles said dismissively. “With her dramatic personality, if she were actually hurt that badly, she would have screamed the hospital down. The fact that she’s being quiet now just means she knows she’s in the wrong. She’s probably got a scratch no bigger than a fingernail.” “And don’t forget, last time she claimed she was coughing up blood, it turned out to be fake.” I closed my eyes, tuning out the rest of their conversation. They didn’t realize that the reason I wasn’t screaming or fighting anymore was because I had already checked out. The “fake blood” incident they kept throwing in my face had been Melanie’s doing—she had spilled cherry syrup on my pillow and convinced them I was staging a medical crisis for attention. And of course, they believed her without question. In the quiet of the room, I spoke to the silence. “I choose to leave.” The System replied: “Acknowledged. However, because you declined to leave during the first two windows, exiting now requires a physical death in this world to sever the connection. Furthermore, you will never be allowed to return, and you will never see Charles or Toby again.” Hearing the System’s terms, my hand trembled as I looked at the medical shears on the bedside table. No one is entirely unafraid of dying. And Toby… he was the child I had carried for nine grueling months. I hesitated. Suddenly, the door burst open. A nurse shrieked, and a group of doctors rushed in. Charles, who had apparently forgotten his car keys, froze at the door. Panic flashed across his face, and like a madman, he lunged forward and violently wrenched the shears from my hand. He stared at my wrists, his face flushed with a mixture of terror and white-hot rage. “Diana! Are you out of your mind? What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Melanie, hovering at the door, let out a soft, mocking hum. “Charlie, look… those shears aren’t even sharp. They’re safety scissors.” Charles looked down at his own uninjured hands, and the panic instantly morphed into utter humiliation and fury. “Right. First the dramatic cast, and now a staged suicide attempt? You really will stop at nothing to get attention, will you? Stop putting on a show!” I opened my mouth to explain that I was simply trying to cut the bandage that was too tight, but Charles didn’t give me the chance. He turned to the medical staff holding me down. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t have the guts to actually do it. Give her a sedative. Let’s see if that quiets her hysterical brain.” Without my consent, a nurse administered the injection. As darkness pulled me under, the last thing I heard was Toby’s whiny voice: “Is she done yet? I want to go have seafood with Aunt Melanie.” When I woke up, the room was empty. No surprise there. My phone buzzed with a text from Toby. “Mom, my school’s summer camp starts today. Parents have to attend the kickoff ceremony.” No matter how much he hated me, I was still his legal mother, and school events required my presence. The ceremony was starting in an hour. Dragging my broken, heavily wrapped leg, my throat parched and my stomach empty, I managed to limp my way to the school parking lot. A fleet of yellow school buses was lined up, parents and children boarding. I frantically grabbed the arm of Toby’s homeroom teacher. “Miss Lee, where is Toby? Did I make it in time?” Terrified of delaying the trip, I climbed up the steps of the bus, completely ignoring the teacher’s awkward, pitying expression. The moment I stepped onto the bus, I saw Melanie sitting in the very back row next to Charles. Her eyes instantly turned red. “Toby told me you refused to come, Diana. He begged me to fill in. Why are you doing this? You’re making me look like a homewrecker in front of everyone.” Melanie had fired the first shot. “I never said I wasn’t coming,” I gasped, leaning heavily against the handrail. “I came straight from the hospital the moment I got the text. I…” Anyone with eyes could see I was still wearing a thin hospital gown, my hair matted, my leg in a makeshift splint. But Charles didn’t see my pain. He only saw Melanie’s tears. “Enough!” Charles roared, standing up. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Melanie and I are just friends. You put on a suicide show yesterday, and today you show up like a lunatic to embarrass us! Do you have any idea how much shame you’re bringing upon our son?” I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking. “That’s not true. I only received Toby’s text an hour ago…” “Shut up! Get off the bus! Did that sedative yesterday do nothing to calm your crazy mind? Do you really want to ruin this trip for all these families?” With a few cruel words, Charles had painted me as a psychotic, jealous wife. Desperate, I looked at my son. “Toby… do you believe Mommy?” Toby’s face was flushed red with embarrassment. He glared at me with sheer disgust. “Mom, I beg you, just stop humiliating me! Aunt Melanie didn’t do anything wrong!” With all his strength, he shoved me. Unprepared and balancing on one good leg, I tumbled backward down the high steps of the bus, crashing onto the asphalt. Miss Lee sighed, looking down at me. “Mrs. Campbell, you’ve missed so many of Toby’s events lately, and Melanie has always had to step in. You really need to ask yourself why your own son doesn’t want you around.” I hadn’t missed them. Charles and Toby had simply hidden the invitations from me. The bus doors hissed shut, the engine roared, and the vehicle sped away, leaving me coughing in a cloud of exhaust. By the time I dragged myself back to our suburban home, the house was dead silent. And empty. Every single one of my personal belongings was gone. I had only been away for a week—first to visit my grandmother’s grave in upstate New York, and then straight to the hospital after the crash. In just seven days, my home had been entirely purged of my existence. My chest tightening, I limped to the bedroom and tore open the vanity drawer. Fortunately, my wedding ring box was still there. But when I opened it, I found three identical rings inside, engraved with “The Perfect Three.” I picked up the one that was supposed to be mine. The initials “D.C.” (Diana Campbell) had been crudely filed down and replaced with “M.P.” (Melanie Parker). My wedding ring had been melted and refashioned for Melanie. My phone chimed. It was a text from Charles. “Are you home? Clean up the house when you get back. You’ve been gone a week and left a sink full of dirty dishes. I let Melanie come on the trip with us, so don’t feel like you’ve been cheated out of anything.” I typed back, my fingers trembling: “I went upstate to bury my grandmother. If you needed me, you could have called. Why is all my stuff gone? Why is Melanie’s clothing in my closet?” Charles: “Melanie said your old clothes were horribly outdated, so she threw them out. You can just wear some of her spare outfits. It’s not like you have nothing to wear.” Me: “And my wedding ring? Was that outdated too?” Charles sent a frustrated voice note: “It was just a craft project Toby wanted to do. It’s not a big deal. It was just a fun activity for the kid. Why do you have to pick a fight the second you get back? If Toby isn’t close to you, you need to look in the mirror.” Then came a text from Toby: “Mom, if you keep acting like a psycho, Dad and I are never coming home.” Looking at the screen, a cold, peaceful finality washed over me. “Okay,” I replied. I blocked both of their numbers, turned off my phone, and walked into the bathroom. This time, I didn’t use safety scissors. I took a heavy, sharp shaving razor from Charles’s drawer, climbed into the bathtub, and drew it deeply across my wrist. When I opened my eyes again, the smell of sterile antiseptic hit my nose, accompanied by a barrage of familiar, angry shouting. “Diana! I only took Toby out to celebrate Melanie’s birthday, just to let the kid have some fun! Did you really have to do this?” “Now you’re cutting your wrists just to blackmail me?” Melanie stood beside the hospital bed, looking utterly miserable. “Diana, I’m so sorry. I won’t ever see them again. I’ll disappear. Just please, stop hurting yourself. You left the bathroom door unlocked and the front door wide open so the neighbors would see you bleed out… I know you just want me gone. Fine, I’ll go.” Charles’s face was dark with fury. “Diana, do you have any idea how excited Toby was for this summer camp? He talked about it for weeks! From now on, Melanie will represent our family at all of Toby’s school events.” “Until you learn how to behave—” “Weeks.” They had known about the summer camp for weeks. I had asked them repeatedly if there were any school events before I left for my grandmother’s funeral, and they had both lied to my face. The final, lingering warmth in my heart for these two people completely dissolved. “Okay,” I interrupted Charles. “From now on, Melanie can be his mother. She can attend everything.” Both Charles and Toby froze, clearly not expecting me to give up so easily. Charles’s voice carried a hint of suspicion. “If you really felt that way, why did you stage this suicide attempt right when we were leaving? You’re just trying to manipulate Toby and me…” The attending physician stepped in, frowning. “Actually, sir, the cut was incredibly deep. If it hadn’t been for the neighbor calling the paramedics, she would have bled to death in minutes. Furthermore, she was already severely anemic from her leg injury.” “If we had been even five minutes later…” Before the doctor could finish, Melanie burst into tears. “It’s all my fault. I’ll just leave!” She turned and ran out of the room. Charles hissed at the doctor, “You don’t know Diana. She’ll do anything to get her way. Melanie is just telling the truth!” He glared down at me. “She’s just acting.” To Charles, because I hadn’t died, it wasn’t real. I stared at him, remembering the man he used to be. Years ago, during the early days of his startup, an investor had tried to slide his hand over mine under the dinner table. Charles had flown over the table and beaten the man senseless, entirely destroying the deal. It took our company a full year to recover from the fallout. Back then, I had asked him, “What if we go completely bankrupt because of this?” Charles had wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “Then I’ll deliver pizzas to support you. You won’t look down on me, will you?” I had held him tight, deciding then and there that no matter what the System demanded, I would stay by his side. I worked eighteen-hour days, drank coffee until my stomach bled, and suffered two miscarriages due to sheer exhaustion to help him build his empire. When he finally made it, he threw me a magnificent wedding, swearing before God and hundreds of guests that he would spend the rest of his life protecting me. But the moment Melanie returned, every single promise was rendered null and void. “You made Aunt Melanie cry! You’re a monster, I hate you!” Toby yelled, running out of the room to chase after her. Charles turned to follow, but the doctor called out, “Mr. Campbell, your wife cannot be left alone. She is in an extremely fragile state.” Charles paused, his hand on the doorframe. “Melanie is young and sensitive. She shouldn’t be alone after being accused of such horrible things. Diana, you’re strong enough to handle yourself, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he ran after Melanie. They didn’t return for two days. When Charles finally called, his voice was tight. “Are you sobered up yet? Are you done throwing tantrums?” I was silent. Hearing no response, Charles adopted a proud, triumphant tone. “To make amends, Melanie actually drove all the way upstate to bring your grandmother here. Didn’t you say you wanted to see her? Melanie did that out of the goodness of her heart, despite her own exhaustion.” Ice water seemed to flood my veins. My voice went entirely breathless. “My grandmother has advanced heart disease. She can’t handle long-distance travel! Why would you move her?” I had purposely kept my grandmother in a specialized care facility upstate because the doctors warned me that even a short road trip could trigger a fatal cardiac event. Charles’s tone immediately turned defensive. “It’s just a car ride, what could possibly happen? Melanie went out of her way to do something nice for you, and this is how you trample over her kindness?” “Tell them to stop!” I screamed, pulling the IV from my arm. “Charles, I swear to God, tell them to turn around!” Melanie’s sweet, hurt voice echoed near the receiver. “Charlie, I was just trying to apologize to Diana. Why does she hate me so much? Should I just give her my kidney to make things right?” “Don’t listen to her, Mel,” Charles murmured softly. Then, his voice turned cold as he spoke back into the phone. “I’m warning you, Diana. Stay in that hospital bed. When we get back, you are going to give Melanie a formal, public apology for ruining her birthday. You have absolutely no conscience.” “I don’t need her apology! I don’t care about the birthday!” I sobbed into the phone. “Just please, don’t touch my grandmother! Please!” He hung up. When I tried to call back, the line was dead. I fell out of the bed, crawling toward the door. My grandmother was eighty-eight years old. She couldn’t survive a two-day road trip. I was losing my mind, but I didn’t know where they were. For two agonizing days, I lived in a state of suspended terror, praying that Charles was just trying to scare me. Surely, he wouldn’t actually endanger an elderly woman. But on the third day, a nurse escorted me down to the hospital morgue. When the metal door opened, I saw Charles and Melanie standing there. My heart stopped. “What are you doing here? Where is my grandmother?”

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After I was diagnosed with Affective Decay Syndrome, my ability to feel anything began to slip away, quiet and slow. When Colby prioritized Selena—the one who got away, his forever golden girl—I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply accepted it with a calm, flat resignation. Even when I saw him slide the diamond ring—the one meant to mark our tenth anniversary—onto Selena’s finger, not a single tear fell. Lately, his excuses had worn paper-thin. “Selena is afraid of the dark,” he’d say, leaving our bed cold as he spent his nights elsewhere. On the day I finally decided to tell him about my diagnosis, I called his personal line. “Ida?” Selena’s voice drifted through the receiver, soft and dripping with mock sympathy. “Colby’s in the shower. You should probably call back later…” I hung up without a word. That evening, I stood by and watched as he escorted Selena into our anniversary gala, side by side. “I’ll be honest,” Colby murmured to me later, his eyes reflecting the glitter of the ballroom. “Marrying you was just a penalty for losing a bet with my parents.” “Selena has always been the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’ve played the role of my wife for ten years, Ida. You should be satisfied with that.” Selena leaned into his chest with a soft, triumphant laugh, her eyes shining with victory. I offered them a faint, hollow smile, then quietly dropped the hand-crafted photo album I’d spent months making into a nearby champagne bucket. Inside my mind, the memories of Colby were already starting to dissolve, like salt in water. It wouldn’t be long before I forgot him entirely—before the decade of silent heartbreak we shared was erased from my heart. … On the drive home, I voluntarily took the backseat, leaving the passenger side for Selena. Colby was used to my hypersensitivity, my frantic outbursts, the bitter jealousy that used to consume me whenever Selena was near. My sudden, tranquil compliance only seemed to irritate him. When we finally pulled up to the house and got out, I spoke up before he could start. “I’m not angry,” I said. “And I’m not jealous.” Selena’s voice immediately took on a fragile, trembling tone. “Colby, did I do something wrong? Ida seems to really hate me. Maybe I should just leave.” Colby caught her by the wrist, his voice sharp with cold impatience as he looked at me. “Why would you leave? You belong here just as much as anyone else.” He took a few strides forward and grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. “Ida, don’t think you can play hard to get with this silent treatment. Marrying you was my parents’ idea. Now that Selena is back, you need to grow up and accept it.” I looked at him, my gaze entirely flat. “I understand,” I replied softly. “Let her move in. She can have the master bedroom, too.” A flicker of deep suspicion crossed his features. “I’ll say it one more time: playing the martyr won’t work with me. If you’re upset, then scream, cry, throw a tantrum. I can buy you a new car or a designer bag to make up for it.” Selena glided over, wrapping her arm snugly around Colby’s. “Oh, Ida, how could I possibly take the master bedroom? That wouldn’t be right.” Colby let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Since you’re so incredibly generous, Selena and I will sleep in the master suite tonight.” He pulled her along, sweeping past me into the house. Deep in my mind, another fragment of my memory of him dissolved into gray mist. I pulled out my phone, booked a moving company for tomorrow morning, and bought a one-way ticket to Europe departing in a week. When I walked into the hallway, I found a large cardboard box sitting by Selena’s feet. It was overflowing with gifts Colby had given me over the years. “Ida, this throw pillow is so soft,” Selena smiled, clutching a hand-woven decorative cushion. “Colby said I could have it.” I stared at the cushion. Three years ago, Colby and I had spent an hour bartering for it at a flea market. He had haggled with the vendor, laughing, before pressing it into my arms and promising he’d hold me like that forever. Now, as I looked at the music box he had hand-assembled and the small wooden figurines he had carved for me, the memories attached to them detached like dry autumn leaves. “Keep whatever you like,” I said. “They’re just old things anyway.” I picked up my spare keys and turned toward the guest room. Colby strode after me, blocking the doorway. “Ida, this isn’t you. Before, if Selena so much as looked my way, you would have screamed at me for three days straight. Now I bring her into our home, and you don’t even have a single question?” I looked up at his handsome face, finding the situation almost absurd. “Colby, isn’t this exactly what you always wanted? A quiet wife who doesn’t make a scene. Isn’t that better?” He froze, the words dying on his lips. I shut the guest room door behind me, cutting off his gaze. The next morning, the moving truck pulled up to the driveway right on schedule. My entire life in this house was packed into just two small cardboard boxes waiting by my feet. Colby stepped out of the master bedroom, his face darkening instantly when he saw the boxes. “Ida, when is this performance going to end? Unpack your things. Don’t force me to make you.” The bright, earnest boy I had fallen in love with was already a blur in my mind. I knelt down and packed a stray sweater back into the box. “Let’s get a divorce, Colby. I’ll have my lawyer send over the papers in a few days.” Selena gasped from the hallway, though she couldn’t hide the sudden spark of triumph in her eyes. Colby’s face turned white, then a furious red. “What did you say?” “I said, I want a divorce. You’ll have the papers soon.” I kept my focus downward, folding my clothes with steady hands. “Ida, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. You’re threatening me with divorce now? It was just a ring. I told you I’d replace it. What are you throwing a fit for?” My absolute silence was the final straw. His patience broke. The front door slammed shut behind him, shaking the walls of the foyer. With that sound, the details of Colby’s face faded further into the fog. I realized, with a strange sense of detachment, that I couldn’t quite remember what his smile looked like. “We can go now,” I told the mover. The truck rolled slowly down the driveway. I didn’t look back. My phone vibrated in my coat pocket. It was a text from Colby. “8:00 PM tonight. The Grand Bellevue. Selena’s birthday party. If you still want to hold onto your title as my wife, you’ll be there on time.” I stared at the screen for a brief second, then quietly blocked his number. “Goodbye, Colby. From now on, you are just a stranger.” I ended up seeing the party on Instagram later that night, posted by a mutual friend. It was a lavish affair—something he had never once arranged for me. In one video, Colby went down on one knee, presenting Selena with a massive bouquet of white roses. My best friend called me, crying on my behalf, furious at how easily he had cast me aside. The next afternoon, the housekeeper from the family estate called. His voice was frantic, bordering on tears. “Ida, please, you have to come over right away! Grandmother Helen collapsed, and she keeps calling out your name!” The image of Grandmother Helen’s warm, wrinkled face flashed in my mind. She was the only person in that family who had ever truly loved me. Whenever Colby hurt me, she would hold my hands and tell me I didn’t have to carry the burden alone. “I’m on my way,” I said. I grabbed my coat and rushed out the door. The moment I stepped into the estate’s living room, Selena’s melodic laughter reached my ears. “Helen, try some of this wild New Zealand honey. Colby imported it specially for you.” Colby sat nearby, casually scrolling through his phone. When he looked up and saw me, his expression hardened, and he let out a scoff. “So you decided to show up after all. I thought you were too proud to care whether my grandmother lived or died.” Grandmother Helen’s eyes lit up when she saw me. “Ida, sweetheart, come here. Come sit with me. I’m fine, just a little spike in my blood pressure. Colby made a mountain out of a molehill just to drag you here.” Selena chimed in smoothly. “That’s true, Ida. Colby was just worried about Helen. Though, you do seem so busy lately. It’s a shame you haven’t had any time to visit.” The underlying jab was clear: she was painting me as the neglectful, ungrateful granddaughter-in-law. Months ago, I would have scrambled to defend myself, throat tight with tears, desperate to clear my name in Colby’s eyes. But now, I merely offered her a mild, pleasant smile. “Since you have so much free time on your hands, Selena, feel free to do my part for me.” Selena froze, her delicate mask slipping for a fraction of a second before she cast a pleading look at Colby. “Colby…” she murmured. Colby set his phone down, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. “Ida, what is wrong with you? Selena is only trying to help, and you treat her like this?” I looked him straight in the eye. “My attitude is perfectly fine.” Grandmother Helen looked between us, her brow furrowing with concern. “Colby, Ida… are you two arguing?” “No, Helen,” Colby lied quickly. He reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me out of the living room and into the quiet garden. “You canceled your credit card, blocked my number, and now you can’t even act civilized in front of my family? Are you actually convinced that I won’t go through with a divorce?” His voice trembled with tightly controlled anger. I gently rotated my wrist, waiting for the red marks to fade, before looking up. “I’m not playing games with you, Colby. You never wanted this legacy marriage in the first place. We’ve dragged each other through ten years of misery. I’m simply letting you go so you can be with Selena.” He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Ida, don’t forget about your brother in the hospital. Who do you think pays his medical bills every month? My family. Without my money, he wouldn’t last three days.” He was entirely smug, convinced he held the ultimate leverage. At the mention of my brother, a phantom ache pierced through the emotional numbness in my chest. I looked up at him, a soft, dry laugh escaping my lips. “Colby, my brother died six months ago.” The smirk on his face shattered instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, panicked confusion. “What? Why… why didn’t I know about this?” My gaze remained empty as I answered him, letting each word fall heavy and cold between us. “Because when his heart stopped, you were in Antarctica, taking Selena to see the penguins. I don’t need your money anymore, Colby. We are completely finished.” A rare flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. “Ida, I… I’m sorry. I really didn’t know about your brother.” I let out a soft breath of laughter. “Your mind was always occupied with Selena. It’s only natural you knew nothing about my life.” His jaw clenched, his eyes searching mine before his tone turned sharp again. “Are you so desperate for a divorce because you found someone else?” The sheer insult of the accusation snapped the thin thread of my restraint. I raised my hand and slapped him, putting every ounce of my strength into it. The sound cracked like lightning through the quiet garden. “I simply stopped loving you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Colby touched his reddening cheek, his eyes wide with utter shock. “How… how is that possible? You used to love me more than anything.” He was right. I had loved him fiercely. In the early years of our marriage, encouraged by Helen, we had shared a fragile sort of happiness. He would come back from business trips with the lemon tarts I’d casually mentioned loving. And I would stay up all night brewing herbal tea whenever his stomach flared up. We had been clumsy, but we had been real. But then, once a year, Selena would reappear. The subtle shifts in his attention, the blatant favoritism he showed her, the constant reminders that his heart belonged to another woman—it took its toll. Ten years of slow, agonizing disappointment had finally ground my love down to dust. The red imprint of my hand was stark against his pale skin. He stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from mine. I looked past him. “That was a long time ago,” I said. I didn’t stay for dinner. After offering a quiet, apologetic goodbye to Helen, I left. “Sir, Ida has listed the downtown apartment for sale,” his secretary’s voice said over the line, cautious and quiet. Colby sat at his desk, a half-burned cigarette resting between his fingers. His brow furrowed. “What else is she selling?” “All the jewelry you purchased for her over the years. She brought them to a high-end consignor to liquidate them.” Colby crushed the cigarette into the glass tray, his face darkening with a sudden, sharp panic. At that exact moment, I was stepping out of the shower at my hotel room. My phone rang from the nightstand—an unfamiliar number. “Ida. You’ve gotten remarkably bold, blocking my actual number.” I held the phone a few inches away from my ear, keeping my voice entirely even. “Is there something you need, Colby?” Hearing me use his first name so formally made his breath hitch sharply on the other end. “What did you just call me? We’re not divorced yet. I am still your husband.” “Not for long,” I murmured, pinching my brow before hanging up. We were effectively over; there was no reason to entertain his temper anymore. The silence lasted only a few seconds before another notification buzzed. An unknown number had sent a text. “Give up the act, Ida. Colby is exhausted by these cheap little games of yours.” Below the text was an image. It was Selena, wearing a silk slip, resting her head comfortably against Colby’s shoulder in a plush hotel bed. She was smiling sweetly at the camera. Colby’s eyes were closed, seemingly asleep, though his brow was drawn tight in discomfort. Before I could even process the image, a heavy knock sounded at my door. Expecting room service, I pulled it open, only to be shoved backward. Colby stepped inside, catching me by the waist and pushing me onto the mattress. Before I could yell, he grabbed my left hand. He took several diamond bands and forced them onto my fingers, cold and heavy. “Ida, tell me what you want. What is it going to take to make you happy again?” He was trying to buy his way out of giving my anniversary ring to Selena. When I remained entirely unresponsive, his frustration turned into a desperate, furious desire. He leaned down, pressing his lips toward mine. With a sudden burst of energy, I wrenched my arm free and struck him across the face. He sat back, stunned, a look of profound defeat creeping into his eyes. “Selena and I… our history is complicated,” he rasped, his voice cracking. “I can’t just cut her out of my life overnight. Why must you obsess over this? She isn’t a threat to your marriage. You’re my wife.” Before I could reply, his phone began to vibrate. Selena’s name lit up the screen. “Colby? Where are you? My stomach… it hurts so bad…” her voice whimpered through the speaker. Colby looked at me, caught in a visible, painful hesitation. Finally, he exhaled. “I’m on my way back,” he said. He stood up, gave me one last lingering look, and left, the sound of his tires squealing in the parking lot below. I slowly took the rings off my fingers and listed them on a luxury consignment app for half their value. The next afternoon, my doctor sat across from me in his quiet clinic, looking over my latest brain scans with a heavy sigh. “If the decay continues at this rate, Ida, you won’t just lose your emotional register. Your cognitive recall will begin to deteriorate. It isn’t fatal, but carrying out a normal life will become incredibly difficult.” I tried to smile to reassure him, but I realized the muscles in my face felt heavy, unresponsive. “That’s alright,” I whispered. “Actually, it sounds quite peaceful.” I gathered my prescription and walked out of the office, only to collide with someone at the corner of the corridor. “Ida? What are you doing here?” Colby’s voice sounded from above, sharp with suspicion. Selena was beside him, wearing a light blue hospital gown, her face pale and fragile. “Colby… is Ida sick?” she asked softly, leaning down to reach for the small pill bottle that had slipped from my bag. “It’s none of your concern,” I said, snatching it up before she could touch it. Colby’s eyes narrowed. “Are you tracking me now, Ida?” I looked up at him, my expression blank. “I am seeing a doctor. I have neither the time nor the interest to follow you.” He let out a harsh laugh and snatched the paper bag out of my hands. “Faking an illness just to get my attention? You’ve really hit a new low. I gave you those rings to make things right. Stop acting so desperate. It’s pathetic.” “Give me my medicine, Colby,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. Instead, he tossed the bag carelessly into a nearby waste bin. “I’m tired of your drama. You’re pathetic, Ida.” Deep in my mind, the very last fragments of Colby began to dissolve. They became translucent, floating away like ash in the wind. I closed my eyes and took a long, slow breath. When my lawyer called, I was sitting in a quiet clinic with an IV drip in the back of my hand. “Ida, Colby is refusing to sign the divorce papers.” “I understand,” I replied. I hung up, staring blankly at the clear fluid trickling through the tube into my vein. I went back to the clinic twice over the next few days. The doctor confirmed that my cognitive decline was accelerating far quicker than they had anticipated. I started to forget things. Where I had left my keys. What I had eaten for lunch. The specific geometry of a familiar face. Sitting at a small sidewalk café, the latte beside me grew cold. I couldn’t quite recall when I had ordered it. Suddenly, the loud screech of tires broke my reverie. Colby grabbed my arm and practically dragged me into his passenger seat. “We’re going to Helen’s birthday gala,” he said, shifting into drive. “Her health is fragile. You wouldn’t want to break her heart by telling her we’re splitting up, would you?” The car was already speeding down the highway. I didn’t bother to fight him. The estate was glowing with fairy lights when we arrived. Valets rushed around sleek luxury sedans, and the garden was filled with the city’s high society gathered to celebrate Grandmother Helen. As I walked in behind Colby, a hundred eyes turned toward us. “Ah, look, Colby’s wife actually showed up.” “I heard he’s practically living with that Selena girl. I thought the wife was already out of the picture.” “Keep your voice down. It’s a mess.” The whispers swirled around us like a cold draft. My expression remained serene, as if the gossip had nothing to do with me. But Colby’s face hardened. He reached out and pulled me flush against his side, his grip tight around my waist. “Ida, darling! Come sit by me,” Grandmother Helen called from her armchair at the center of the room. I walked over and handed her the beautifully wrapped box Colby’s assistant had prepared. “Happy birthday, Helen. I hope this year brings you peace.” She squeezed my hand, her eyes crinkling with genuine joy. Then, a soft murmur rippled through the front entrance. Selena walked in, carrying an ornate wooden box, gliding straight toward Helen. “Happy birthday, Helen,” she said softly. “I had this blessing charm custom-made for you in Italy. I wanted to make sure you stay in good health.” Helen’s warm smile dimmed a fraction. She gave a polite, measured nod. “Thank you, Selena. That was very thoughtful.” Selena tightened her jaw slightly, then turned her focus to me. “Ida, you look beautiful tonight. Did Colby pick out that dress for you?” Her voice held a subtle edge. I was wearing a simple, unadorned black silk slip dress, while Selena was wearing a breathtaking, custom-made designer gown that caught every light. The guests watched us closely, their gazes shifting between the three of us. “Selena, you shouldn’t have traveled in your condition. Why are you here?” Colby stepped forward, instinctively taking her arm, his voice thick with concern. As Selena moved past me, her heel caught on the edge of the rug. She stumbled, falling directly toward me. “Oh!” she cried out. We collided with the nearby champagne tower, and the towering glass structure collapsed in a deafening crash. In that split second, Colby lunged forward—and pulled Selena protectively into his arms. I, on the other hand, was showered in cold alcohol and falling shards of glass. A sharp pain bloomed along my forearm as the broken glass sliced my skin. “Ida! Why did you push her?” Colby bellowed, staring down at Selena in his arms, his face flushed with protective fury. But as he looked over at me and saw the dark stains of champagne on my dress and the blood dripping from my arm, his voice died. He frowned, calling out for the housekeeper to fetch the medical kit. When the housekeeper rushed over with the first-aid box, I shook my head, declining gently. I turned to look at Helen. “Happy birthday, Helen. I’m not feeling very well, so I’ll take my leave now.” Helen looked at my ruined dress and the blood blooming on my skin, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Go home, sweetheart. Take care of those cuts. Let the driver take you.” “No, thank you. I’ll call an Uber,” I said. Colby stepped toward me, trying to block my path. I simply reached into my purse, pressed a heavy manila envelope into his chest, and walked past him into the night. Sitting in the quiet airport lounge an hour later, I realized with a wave of mild indifference that I had accidentally left my medical diagnosis inside that envelope along with the divorce papers. Oh well. It didn’t matter now. The plane began its slow rumble down the runway, the roar of the engines filling my ears. This was the end. Colby and I would likely never see each other again. And I wouldn’t be around to witness the moment he finally understood.

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At twenty-two, I received a job offer from a prestigious architecture firm in Boston. When my mother heard I was planning to leave, she had a heart attack that very night. She lay on the living room floor, clutching her chest, her words coming in ragged, shallow gasps. “You’re my only daughter… your brother is away at school, I can’t rely on him…” “If you leave… I could die in this house and no one would even know.” Terrified, I tore up the offer letter that same evening. For the next eight years, whenever I so much as mentioned looking for work outside our town, her chest pains would return. I took her to the clinic for seven different evaluations, but every specialist told me her heart was perfectly fine. Still, I didn’t dare risk it. From twenty-two to thirty, for eight long years, I never left the limits of this town. Last year, my brother Lance announced he wanted to study at a university in London. The tuition and living expenses came out to sixty thousand dollars. My mother smiled warmly as she handed him my savings card. “This is the nest egg your sister saved up. She’s staying here to look after me anyway and isn’t planning on getting married, so you take it first.” I stood just a few feet away, but she didn’t look at me once. Last month, my mother suffered a real myocardial infarction and was rushed to the emergency room. I called Lance thirty-seven times. He didn’t answer once. Instead, his social media feed updated with a photo of him and his classmates clinking glasses at a pub in Soho. The caption read: “A new chapter begins.” I sat in the cold hospital corridor all night. When dawn broke, I deleted his number and unlinked my mother’s contacts from my phone. At thirty years old, I finally have nothing left but myself. … My mother woke up just as the morning light began to filter through the blinds. “Did your brother text back?” I kept my eyes on my phone screen. “No.” Her brow furrowed, her voice weak but carrying its familiar, sharp authority. “Did you keep calling him last night? He’s in a different time zone over there. Don’t go worrying him over my minor issues.” I looked down at the outstanding hospital bill in my lap. Twelve thousand dollars. She called a major cardiac event a “minor issue.” Yet eight years ago, her fabricated chest pain felt like the sky was falling. The nurse pushed the door open, casting a brief glance at the chart at the foot of the bed. “Family of bed 32, please settle the outstanding balance as soon as possible. We need to clear it before we can order the next round of medication.” My mother turned her head to look at me. “Did you hear that? Go take care of it.” I opened my banking app and held the screen in front of her face. “I don’t have the money.” She propped herself up on her elbows, the oxygen tubes trembling against her cheeks. “What do you mean? You have a full-time job. How could you not have money? Are you seriously trying to withhold care from your own mother?” “Every cent I saved went to Lance last month. My own mortgage is overdue, and my checking account has exactly fifty dollars left.” Her mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence for a second, but she recovered quickly. “What about your credit cards? Max them out. Or borrow from your coworkers! There are quick loans online, aren’t there? Take one out first. It’s not like I won’t pay you back.” I looked at her, my expression flat. “With what money?” Her eyes welled with tears instantly. “I just came back from the edge of death, and you’re here auditing me? Delia, do you actually just want me to die?” The patient behind the curtain in the next bed shifted uncomfortably. I lowered my voice. “I’m not auditing you. The doctor says the recovery costs will be high. Tell Lance to send back a portion of that sixty thousand.” She surged forward, pulling at the IV line so hard the heart monitor began to beep in rapid protest. “Absolutely not! That is your brother’s tuition! He is all alone in a foreign country. It’s hard enough for him as it is. Don’t you dare go ruining his future.” Hearing the alarm, the nurse rushed back in to stabilize her. “Please, calm down. The patient must not get worked up.” My mother seized the moment, letting out a loud sob. “What a miserable life I have. I raised a daughter for thirty years, and she won’t even pay to save her own mother’s life. Your brother is a young man; he has to make a name for himself out there. Why must you always compete with him?” Standing at the foot of the bed, my mind drifted back to eight years ago. I remembered standing by the door with my suitcase packed, my train ticket tucked into the folder with my Boston acceptance letter. My mother had collapsed onto the living room floor, her fingers clawing at the hem of my jeans, begging me not to leave. Back then, I was terrified she would die right in front of me, terrified of being the ungrateful daughter who abandoned her family. Only now did I realize she wasn’t holding my jeans; she was holding my entire life captive. When she finally cried herself out, she pointed toward the nightstand. “Where is my phone? Send your brother a message. Tell him I’m perfectly fine, just a little bump in the road. Tell him not to worry.” I didn’t move. My hands were clenched so tightly in my pockets that my knuckles ached. “He was at a pub last night.” She blinked, then scoffed. “He’s young, he’s in London. It’s normal to socialize. Don’t try to impose your narrow-minded rules on him.” “Mom, you almost died.” Her lips trembled, her expression suddenly hardening into a cold mask. “Whether I die or not, it’s not your excuse to ruin your brother’s prospects.” The nurse handed me the paper invoice. It was thin. The twelve thousand dollar figure printed on it looked so light, yet it felt crushing. My mother turned her face away, refusing to look at me. “Go pay it. Don’t make me beg you.” As I reached the door, she spoke again. “And call your Uncle Richard. A young woman like you can’t make major decisions without a man in the family to advise you.” Just as I stepped into the hallway, the elevator at the end of the corridor chimed. Uncle Richard and Aunt Beatrice stepped out, carrying a basket of fruit, but their expressions looked as though they were arriving to preside over a trial. Seeing the paper bill in my hand, Beatrice opened with, “Your mother is this sick and you’re just standing here? Sell that little studio of yours. Save her life.” My studio. Three hundred square feet. It was in a run-down brick building in the old part of town, where the hallway lights were permanently broken and the radiator pipes banged constantly in the winter. But it was the only thing I had managed to build for myself in eight long years. I paid the down payment by drafting countless construction plans overnight. During the renovations, I painted the walls myself until my wrists were swollen for days. I had hoped that once things settled, I could bring my mother there to stay with me for a few days. And now, they wanted me to liquidate it. Richard snatched the bill from my hand, his face darkening. “You don’t even have twelve grand? Delia, where has your salary been going all these years?” “To Lance’s tuition.” Beatrice frowned. “Your brother’s education is an investment. A young man getting a degree in London? When he gets a prestigious job over there, it elevates our entire family. Why does a single woman need property anyway? You’ll get married sooner or later. Besides, you’re thirty. Who knows if you’ll even find anyone at this point.” Her words triggered a memory from when I was twenty-five. I had a boyfriend who worked in Boston back then. He had asked me to move in with him. The night I brought it up at home, my mother’s chest pains were so severe we had to call an ambulance. The next day, she told the neighbors, “Once a girl grows up, a man whispers a few sweet words and she throws her own mother away.” The day I finally broke up with him, she made me a bowl of hot soup with two poached eggs. She stroked my hair and said, “I knew my sweet girl would never abandon me.” I thought that was love. Now I know it was just her tightening the leash. Richard set the fruit basket down on a waiting room chair. “Where is the deed? Your ID? We’ll take out a home equity loan or put it up for a quick sale. Saving her life comes first.” “I bought that apartment with my own money.” “Your own money?” Richard let out a dry laugh. “Who bought your food growing up? Your mother put you through school. You think your house has nothing to do with her?” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the strap of my purse. “Why doesn’t Lance pay?” The corridor went dead silent. Richard looked at me as if I were a petulant child. “He’s a student.” “He’s twenty-six.” “So what? Do you have any idea how much pressure he’s under studying abroad? Don’t measure his future with your narrow mind.” The ward door wasn’t fully closed. My mother’s voice drifted out, sounding perfectly frail. “Stop pressuring her. If she doesn’t want to, just let me die. I brought her into this world, but I never expected her to show any gratitude.” Beatrice immediately rushed in. “Oh, Margaret, don’t say that!” Richard glared at me. “Hear that? Your mother is on her deathbed, and you’re trying to kill her with stress?” I leaned against the wall, my palms cold. When I was a child, Uncle Richard came to our house to borrow money. My mother emptied my piggy bank, saying family doesn’t keep score. Later, when I won a three-hundred-dollar prize in an art contest, she took that too, saying Lance needed private tutoring. Back then, she would pat my head and say, “Delia is so mature. You’re the one I never have to worry about.” I used to think being “mature” was a compliment. It was just a pre-written IOU. Richard reached out to snatch my purse. “Stop wasting time. Give me the documents. I know a broker who can list the place today.” I stepped back. “Don’t touch me.” His face fell. “I’m your uncle. I can touch your bag if I need to.” Beatrice stepped out of the room, whispering fiercely, “You’re shielding a purse while your mother is dying? Is that piece-of-crap apartment worth more than her life?” An older man waiting outside the opposite room spoke up. “It’s the young lady’s house. You can’t just steal her papers.” Beatrice snapped, “Mind your own business. This is family.” Inside, my mother’s weeping grew louder. “Stop the treatment. Just let me go. Let Delia live her life in peace, so she doesn’t have to hate me.” At those words, Richard lost his temper and grabbed my bag’s strap. I held onto it with everything I had. During the struggle, the bag zipped open, and its contents spilled onto the floor. Keys, debit cards, and a faded, creased photograph. In the photo, I am twenty-two, standing outside the Boston architecture firm, wearing a canvas backpack, smiling so hard my eyes are curved. A classmate took it for me on my interview day. Beatrice picked it up, letting out a mocking scoff. “You still keep this trash? How many years has it been? Still dreaming?” She shoved the photo back into my hands. “Wake up. This is your life. Being able to care for your mother and support your brother is the only blessing you’ll ever get.” Just then, my phone vibrated. An international number. Richard’s eyes lit up. He snatched the phone from my hand and hit speakerphone. “It must be Lance! Quick, let your mother hear her son’s voice!” The line crackled. Loud music thumped in the background. Then Lance’s irritated voice cut through. “Delia, what is your problem? You called me so many times last night my phone died. It’s incredibly annoying.” Richard froze, holding the phone aloft. Over the line, someone shouted in English, “Hey Lance, grab another pint!” He yelled back a quick agreement, then turned back to the call. “Well? Why aren’t you speaking? You called thirty-seven times and now you’re mute?” My mother heard his voice and called out weakly, “Lance? It’s Mom.” Lance hesitated. “Mom? Why are you actually in the hospital?” Richard chimed in quickly, “Your mother had a heart attack. We barely saved her last night. Lance, talk some sense into your sister. Tell her to sell her studio so we can pay the medical bills.” There was a brief silence. Then Lance let out a sigh. “Delia, what drama are you stirring up now? If Mom is sick, get her treated. What am I supposed to do about it from London? Fly back and hold her oxygen mask?” My mother defended him instantly. “He doesn’t mean it like that. He’s all alone over there, he must be terrified.” Lance continued, ignoring her. “By the way, Delia, I need you to wire me another twenty thousand. I want to buy a watch, and I’m a bit short.” Beatrice’s expression soured. Richard cleared his throat. “Lance, your mother is in a hospital bed. Let’s not talk about watches right now.” “Well, that’s why you should sell the apartment. Just send me twenty grand first, and use the rest for Mom’s hospital bill.” He said it so naturally, as if my apartment belonged to him. I finally spoke. “What happened to the sixty thousand?” He chuckled. “I spent it. Do you have any idea how expensive London is? You think I’m living on cheap takeout back home?” “Did you even pay your tuition?” “Are you auditing me now?” he snapped. “Mom gave me that money, not you. And even if it was yours, it’s none of your business. Mom said you’re not getting married anyway, so everything you have belongs to the family. Don’t be cheap. Wire the twenty grand today, I need it urgently.” My mother lay on the bed, tears streaming down her face. She wiped them quickly, pleading into the phone. “Lance, don’t worry, Mom will figure something out. Your sister is just being stubborn, she won’t leave you stranded.” My throat tightened. I looked at her, horrified. “Even now, you expect me to give him money?” She avoided my gaze. “He is in a strange country. How is he supposed to survive without money? Sell the apartment and wire him the cash. I have basic insurance; I can wait a bit for my treatment.” Lance cut in, sounding bored. “Mom, didn’t you always tell me your chest pains were fake anyway? Just to keep Delia from leaving you. It was always a false alarm, how was I supposed to know you were actually sick this time?” A quiet snap echoed in my head. Richard looked toward the room in shock. Beatrice went completely silent. My mother’s face drained of color. Her lips trembled. “Lance, you’ve had too much to drink. Stop talking nonsense.” Lance laughed. “Nonsense? Mom, I know your tricks. When Delia wanted to go to Boston, you threw yourself on the floor to scare her. She’s always been a coward—so easy to control.” A woman’s laughter rippled through the receiver. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. Delia, don’t forget the twenty grand today.” The line went dead. The hallway was so quiet that only the steady beep of the heart monitor remained. Richard handed the phone back to me, his voice tight with forced casualness. “He’s just a kid who had too much to drink. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” I took the phone, seeing my pale reflection in the black screen. “Is it true? Eight years ago, you faked it?” Margaret’s eyes darted away. “He’s drunk. He’s making things up.” “I was just worried about you going to a big city alone. Boston is dangerous for a young girl. What if you got taken advantage of? Having you close to me was for your own safety.” I let out a soft, hollow laugh. “My safety?” She clutched the bedsheet, but her chin lifted defensively. “Yes, your safety! You lived under my roof, ate my food—did I ever let you go hungry? When you were sick, did I not care for you? When you came home late from work, did I not leave the porch light on?” Her words rushed out, a desperate shield. “Delia, yes, I had my selfish reasons, but I did it for this family. When your brother succeeds, we all succeed. What was so bad about staying here where it’s safe and stable?” Richard chimed in immediately. “Exactly. Your mother might not be highly educated and she speaks bluntly, but her heart is in the right place.” Beatrice sighed, patting my hand. “Old people get lonely. Delia, holding a grudge over something from eight years ago is just petty.” Margaret reached under her pillow and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The corners were creased, as if it had been hidden there for a long time. She handed it to Richard. “This is already signed. Take it to the broker and see if we can use Delia’s apartment as collateral for a loan.” I stared at the paper. “Power of Attorney for Property Refinancing and Sale.” Under the grantor line, my name was signed in neat, forged handwriting. “Delia Cornell.” Richard reached for it, but I snatched it first. Margaret panicked. “What are you doing? Give that to your uncle!” I stared at the forged signature. Eight years. Sixty thousand dollars. An apartment. They even wanted to write my own name for me. I slipped the document into my purse. Margaret sat up, her voice shrill. “That’s to save your brother! What are you doing?” I zipped my purse. “Keeping evidence.” Richard’s face changed. “Evidence? We’re family. Who are you trying to threaten?” I ignored him and looked directly at my mother. “One last time, Mom. Eight years ago, did you actually have a heart condition?” Her chest heaved with anger. “Fine! You want the ugly truth? Yes, I faked it! But if I hadn’t, you would have run off. If you left, would this even be a home anymore?” She sounded increasingly self-righteous. “Your brother was in high school, your father passed away early, and I was a single mother trying to hold everything together. Was I wrong to keep you here? You’re my daughter. Why shouldn’t I rely on you?” I nodded slowly. “You weren’t wrong. But from now on, you don’t have a daughter.” She froze. I slid my phone into my pocket and turned toward the exit. Richard chased after me. “Where are you going? The bill isn’t paid!” From the room, Margaret’s voice screeched, “Delia! If you walk out that door today, I will act as if I never gave birth to you!” The elevator doors slid open. Before they closed, I heard the nurse yelling, “Bed 32! The patient’s heart rate is spiking! You need to calm down!” The hospital lobby was crowded. People were standing in lines, clutching X-ray films and crying, or sitting against the wall eating cheap sandwiches. Everyone was being pushed forward by the sheer weight of survival. I weaved through them, stepping out the glass doors. The cold wind hit my face, drying the tears on my cheeks and blowing away the very last traces of my hesitation. I opened my banking app. Authorized users, linked accounts, automatic transfers—I unlinked and revoked every single one. Eight years ago, when I tore up that offer, my mother held me and cried, telling me we only had each other. Only now did I realize that “having each other” didn’t mean standing side by side. It meant she stood tall while I remained on my knees to serve as her footstool. I returned to my studio apartment. It was small, the window facing the brick wall of the adjacent building. I opened the closet and packed all my documents into my bag. Tucked inside the folder with the property deed was a faded business card from the Boston architecture firm. The senior partner who interviewed me was named Robert Mitchell. He had called me once after I declined the offer. “Delia, your portfolio is exceptional. If you ever decide to return to this field, please reach out to me.” I had stood in the stairwell back then, crying as I apologized. He had told me it was alright, that life is long. I kept that card for eight years. The edges are worn white. I don’t even know if the number still works. My phone vibrated with a voice message from Beatrice. I tapped play. “Delia, your mother’s blood pressure is spiking again. Don’t be a monster. Get back here and sign the papers. If anything happens to her, you’ll have to live with that guilt for the rest of your life.” Then came a text from Richard. “Let me tell you, taking that paper won’t stop us. She’s your mother, she has the legal right to act on your behalf. If you call the police, you’ll only embarrass yourself.” The family group chat was exploding. “Delia, don’t do anything rash out of anger.” “This is a family matter. No need to make a scene in public.” “Don’t be so heartless, your mother is seriously ill.” Aunts, uncles, cousins—all taking turns to pull at the threads of the net, trying to drag me back. I took out a piece of paper and write a formal statement: “I do not authorize anyone to transaction, lease, or pledge my property under my name. I bear no responsibility for Lance’s personal debts or expenses. I will contribute only the legally mandated portion of my mother’s essential medical expenses; any excess must be shared equally by her and other family members. Effective immediately, I reject all forms of emotional coercion, financial demands, and unauthorized signatures.” I signed it, took a photo, and uploaded it to an online legal consultation app. At two in the afternoon, a female attorney called me back. Her voice was crisp and professional. “Forging signatures carries severe legal consequences. Keep the original document safe. If your relatives try to take your deed or ID by force, call the police immediately. Even with your mother, you must establish clear boundaries. Family relationship is not a blanket authorization.” I held the phone, unable to speak for a long moment. At three, I visited a local real estate agency and listed my studio for rent. The agent asked, “Are you in a hurry?” “As fast as possible.” At five, I bought a train ticket to Boston. The earliest departure was at 7:40 PM. While waiting in the station lobby, I composed a text to Robert Mitchell’s number. “Mr. Mitchell, this is Delia Cornell. I was offered a position at your firm eight years ago but was unable to accept. I am looking to return to the industry and would love to send you my updated portfolio if you are still accepting submissions.”

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