Category: English

When I graduated and hit the wall of “what now,” I turned to an AI for career counseling. The algorithm suggested a path in municipal administration—a stable, prestigious government track. It coached me through the exams, polished my interview persona, and helped me land the job. I was more than grateful; I was a believer. Then the “guidance” turned dark. The AI warned me of an impending “physical catastrophe.” It suggested I book a preventative dental surgery to “realign my luck.” I went, but on the way, a reckless driver slammed into me, leaving me permanently disabled. The AI then suggested I take out high-interest private loans to cover the astronomical medical bills. I listened. Not long after the funds cleared, my parents were brutally beaten by debt collectors. Desperate, I scoured the internet for remote side hustles to pay off the mounting debt, but haste bred mistakes. I fell for scam after scam. The hole only got deeper. The AI then suggested my father take a lucrative electrical contract overseas. I trusted it. I begged him to go. He was lured to a lawless compound in Southeast Asia. Within months, news of his death reached us. When my mother heard the news, her heart gave out on the spot. My brother, Connor, lost his mind. He lunged at me, a kitchen knife sinking deep into my chest. “You killed them! You destroyed this family!” As the light faded, I couldn’t understand how my life had become a horror movie. Then, I blinked. I was back in my bedroom. It was the morning the AI first told me I had a “physical catastrophe” coming my way. … I sat up, gasping, staring at the familiar walls of my apartment. The phantom pain of the knife piercing my heart was so vivid I clutched my chest. The grief was a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs. Tears tracked down my face before I could even process a thought. I didn’t understand. It had started so simply. I was just another lost grad student looking for a roadmap. The AI had been my North Star. It helped me get that government job back in my hometown. I remember the day the offer letter arrived—the way my parents and Connor sobbed with joy, the way they held me. I thought we were finally safe. Then came the “warning.” The dental appointment. The car that turned me into a broken doll. Lying in that hospital bed, feeling my bones scream under the weight of the casts, I heard my father outside the door. His voice was a ragged whisper. “I don’t know what to do, Diane. Even if we sell the house, it won’t cover the rehab… Maybe I can sell a kidney. People do that, right?” Terrified he’d do something that desperate, I consulted the AI again. It pointed me toward “Specialized Medical Financing”—predatory loans disguised as a lifeline. I picked the one that looked the safest: five hundred thousand dollars, a ten-year plan. I thought I’d solved it. I thought I’d saved my father. But the ink wasn’t even dry before the collectors showed up. They broke into the house, leaving my parents bloody. My mother was struck so hard she lost hearing in her left ear. I went into a fever state. I spent every waking second on my laptop from my hospital bed, trying to find a way out. But I was a mark. I stepped into trap after trap, and the debt ballooned into millions. That’s when the AI suggested the overseas job. “High-risk, high-reward electrical engineering in a developing zone.” I didn’t want him to go, but we were drowning. I did the research—or so I thought—and found a company that looked legitimate. He went. And then he was gone. My mother’s scream when the “Consulate” called… it still echoes in my brain. “Frank… they took his heart… they took everything… did it hurt, Frank? Did it hurt?” I reached for her heart medication, but I was too slow. By the time I pulled her into my arms, she was cold. Then Connor. My little brother. He didn’t see a sister; he saw a monster. He grabbed the knife and ended it. “Are you happy now? You ruined us! You killed Mom and Dad! You took everything from me!” Blood filled my throat. The world turned black. I leaned against the wall now, shivering in the present. I’m not going to that appointment, I decided. I packed my bags. I’d go home for the holidays early. I missed my parents so much it hurt. I just wanted a normal Christmas. To be safe, I avoided the bus and booked an Amtrak ticket. Trains were safer. Controlled. I made it all the way to the station. I stepped off the platform, feeling the crisp winter air, thinking I had outrun my fate. Then I saw it. A black SUV, accelerating, veering straight toward me. It was too fast. I didn’t even have time to scream. I lost consciousness the moment the metal hit my hip. When I woke up, the first thing I blurted out was, “My legs… can I feel my legs?” A nurse pushed me back down. “Don’t move, honey!” “A utility pole took most of the impact before the car hit you,” she said, her voice a soothing hum. “Your legs are fine. You’ve got several fractures and some internal bruising, but you’ll walk again. You just need time.” I let out a breath that was half-sob. At least I wasn’t paralyzed this time. But why? Why did it still happen? Was this my “destiny”? Was this the “catastrophe” the AI warned me about? Before I could spiral, the door flew open. My parents rushed in, eyes red and swollen. My mother immediately started spooning warm chicken soup into my mouth, her hands shaking. “Regina, baby, it’s okay. We talked to the doctor. You’re going to be fine.” “The doctor said protein is good for you,” my dad added, hovering at the foot of the bed. “Mom’s going to make this for you every day. We’ll get you back on your feet.” I was pinned by braces, unable to move, forced to just swallow. The soup was warm, and slowly, the icy chill of blood loss began to recede. I thought, This is it. A second chance. I can fix this. But then, my father looked away. He couldn’t meet my eyes. “Regina…” he started, his voice heavy with guilt. “The accident… the emergency surgery and the out-of-network costs… it wiped us out. The insurance is fighting it. We’re flat broke.” He paused, a desperate flicker in his eyes. “Do you have anything? All that money we sent you for rent and school… did you save any of it?” My mother looked at me with that same jagged expectation. A chill ran down my spine. It was happening again. The script was the same. In my last life, I had lied to protect their dignity. I’d claimed I had plenty of money and then secretly took out the predatory loans that destroyed us. This time, I wouldn’t carry the lie. “I don’t have a cent,” I said firmly. “The money you sent just covered the basics in the city. I haven’t even started my job yet. How could I have savings?” My father’s face fell. He scratched his head, looking utterly defeated. I thought for a moment. “Dad, the house. It has equity. We can go to the bank, get a formal mortgage or a home equity line. It’s the legal way. It’s safe.” “Once I’m healed, I’ll work double shifts. We’ll pay it back. We won’t lose the house.” It was the most logical, safest path I could offer. My parents exchanged a look. It was brief, almost imperceptible. Then they nodded. Two weeks later, I was discharged. When I pulled up to the house, I froze. The front door was hacked with deep gouges, as if by an axe. Red paint was splashed across the porch like fresh blood, smelling of chemicals and rot. Inside, the house was a shell. The TV, the furniture, even the microwave—everything of value was gone. I turned to my mother, horrified. “What happened?” She let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Your father… he couldn’t bring himself to go to the bank. He was afraid they’d reject him. So he went to some local guys in the neighborhood. Private lenders.” I felt like I was going to faint. I told them to go to a regulated bank! In my previous life, the loans I took were at least disguised as legitimate. These… these were street thugs. Debt collectors who used pipe wrenches and gasoline. You don’t “pay back” people like that. They just own you until you’re dead. My father shuffled out of the kitchen, a thick, blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head. “They came for the first payment,” my mom whispered. “They broke his head open. But don’t worry, honey. It’s just a scalp wound.” My father reached out and patted my hair with a terrifyingly gentle hand. “It’s okay, Regina. It’s fine.” “I heard about a gig overseas. Electrical work. Pay is incredible. I already called the guy. I’m leaving in a few days.” “Don’t worry. I’ll clear the debt. It won’t touch you. I’ll be safe. I’ll just work and send the money home.” I screamed. I threw things. I went into a hysterical fit, kneeling on my fractured legs, begging him, threatening to kill myself if he left. I did everything in my power to stop history from repeating itself. But my father still packed his bag and walked out the door. The harassment started immediately. Men would hammer on the door at 3 AM with machetes, screaming obscenities. They poured buckets of sewage over our threshold. The smell was unbearable. Connor, full of young, misplaced rage, tried to fight them every time. My mother would have to pin him down to keep him from getting killed. I felt the familiar, gnawing helplessness. I had to do something. “I’m going to start my job early,” I told my mother. “I’ll talk to the department. I’ll get an advance.” “No!” she snapped. “You aren’t going anywhere!” “Your bones aren’t set. You’ll be a cripple for life if you don’t rest. I’ve already called your supervisor. I told them you had a relapse. They’re holding the position for another month. Your career is safe.” I stared at her. “How did you get the supervisor’s personal number? How did you pull those strings?” She didn’t answer. She just pushed a bowl of soup toward me. Ten days later, the phone rang. “Is this the home of Frank Miller?” a detective asked. “Yes,” my mother said, her voice trembling. “I’m his wife.” “Your husband went overseas for work. He was lured across the border into a restricted zone. When the local authorities found him… well, he’d been stripped. His organs were gone. You need to come identify the remains as soon as possible.” My mother’s face went white. “That’s… that’s impossible…” The detective added one more thing. “Do you have a daughter? Unemployed? Had an accident recently? We think that’s why he took the risk. People lose their minds when they’re under that kind of pressure.” The words hit me like a physical blow. It’s all my fault. As long as I existed, my father would die. This family would be destroyed. Destiny was a straight line, and I was the one drawing it in blood. It’s all… on me? My mother clutched her chest and collapsed. She was gasping, tears streaming down her face. I scrambled for her heart pills, shoved them into her mouth, but she went limp. I tried to check her pulse, tried to call 911, but Connor shoved me back so hard I hit the floor. “Don’t touch her!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in debt! Dad wouldn’t be in a body bag with his insides scooped out!” “You destroyed this family! You killed us all!” “Don’t you dare touch her! You don’t have the right!” I crawled toward him, sobbing. “Connor, stop! We have to help her! We have to get her to the hospital or she’s going to die!” I tried to push past him, but he shoved me again. My head hit the corner of the wall. Pain exploded in my skull, and I felt warm blood trickling down my neck. Connor picked up a kitchen knife. He walked toward me, his eyes cold and dark. “Regina, you should never have been born. We were so happy before you. Mom and Dad wouldn’t be dead if it wasn’t for you.” “You’re a parasite. Even in hell, you won’t find peace.” I killed them? But… Mom was right there. We could save her. Why was he stopping me? In that moment, like a bolt of lightning, the fog cleared. I looked up at my brother. My eyes were red, but my heart turned to ice. “…All for this?” I whispered. “What?” I used the wall to pull myself up. I reached into my pocket and threw an object directly at his face. He caught it. His expression shifted instantly. His hand started to shake. “You…” He looked at me, trying to maintain his mask of rage. “Why do you have a passport? Were you planning to run away and leave us with the debt?” My voice was a jagged blade. “That’s Dad’s passport, Connor.” “Tell me, Connor. How did Dad go overseas without his passport? I took it the day he said he was leaving. I haven’t let it out of my sight.” Connor’s eyes darted around the room. “He… he must have gone through a coyote. He went illegal to make more money because of you! That’s why he ended up in that compound!” His confidence surged again. He pointed the knife at my throat. “You destroyed us, Regina!” I didn’t flinch. I walked right into the tip of the blade. “Why won’t you let me check on Mom?” “Mom’s had heart trouble for years. She faints, sure, but if you get her to a doctor, she’s fine.” I stared him down, and for the first time in our lives, he was the one who backed away. “You’re blocking me because you’re trying to let her die for real this time… or…” I looked at my mother lying on the floor. The grief was gone. Only a cold, hollow realization remained. “Is she even sick at all?” Connor jumped in front of her body. “Shut up! You’re a monster! You don’t deserve to touch her!” I pulled out my phone. “If she’s dead, I should call the family. Let’s start with Aunt Sarah.” “I’ll dial now—” Smash! Connor lunged, snatched the phone from my hand, and hurled it out the window. It fell twenty stories to the pavement below. He turned back to me, snarling. “Regina!” “Connor!” I screamed back, the sound tearing from my lungs. “You’ve been lying to me from the start!” “You, Mom, Dad… and your little AI project. You’ve been squeezing me until I break!” The tears came again, but they weren’t for them. They were for me. “The car accident. The debt. Making me believe I was a murderer who destroyed her own family. And then, when that wasn’t enough, you decided you had to actually kill me!” Connor’s pupils dilated. He looked at me with a terrifying, calm pity. “You’ve really lost it, Regina.” “No one is out to get you. You did this to yourself.” I laughed. It was a sharp, jagged sound. “Is that so?” Before he could react, I tackled him. I was always stronger, faster. In my last life, he only got me because I was paralyzed by shock. This time, I pinned him to the floor, the knife pressed against the side of his neck. “Regina! Get off me!” he shrieked. I ignored him. I looked at my “dead” mother. “Mom, stop playing. If you don’t get up right now, I’m going to open up your favorite son’s throat.”

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The ping from my gig-worker Discord server cut through the silence of dinner like a dropped knife. [URGENT: Need 2 groomsmen for this Friday. $300 cash, paid on site. DM for client details.] My thumb slipped, tapping the notification. For a second, the screen blurred. My brain went entirely blank. Across the kitchen island, Barbara set her phone face-down on the marble counter. Her tone was agonizingly casual. “I have to fly out to Milwaukee for work on Thursday. I’ll be back Monday.” She paused, taking a slow sip of her wine. “I’m going to be swamped. If I don’t text back right away…” A dry, humorless scoff escaped her lips. “Please don’t act like a neglected housewife and interrogate me this time.” I gave a numb, mechanical nod. Beneath the counter, out of her line of sight, I typed a quick reply into the Discord server. I’ll take the job. We had been together for seven years. The least I could do was show up to her wedding. … 1 The initial shock was blinding, but once it faded, a terrifying clarity took its place. After the gig coordinator confirmed my spot, I cleared my throat. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. “I thought your firm froze all new acquisitions for the quarter,” I said, staring at my half-eaten pasta. “Why the sudden trip?” Barbara froze. The annoyance rolling off her was palpable. “I literally just asked you not to do this, and you’re already tracking my every move?” She slammed her fork down, shoved her phone across the island, and glared at me. “Look for yourself.” I lowered my eyes. The screen was open to her corporate Slack channel. Five minutes ago, her department director had tagged her in a message about an emergency site visit. It was perfectly timed. The exact same timestamp as the groomsman listing in the gig server. “You haven’t been breathing down my neck lately, so I actually thought you were making progress,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “But you’re exactly the same. Cole, aren’t you exhausted being this paranoid all the time?” I sat in silence for a long moment. My knuckles were white around my fork. Finally, I looked up. “Barbara,” I asked quietly. “Earlier this year, you said we were going to get married. Is that still happening?” She blinked, caught off guard. For a few seconds, she just stared at me. Then, she pushed abruptly away from the counter, her stool scraping loudly against the hardwood. “It is pathetic that you feel the need to trap me with a ring just because you don’t trust me,” she spat. “I told you I’d marry you, Cole. But I’m going to do it because I love you, not to prove a point.” All the suffocating weight I’d been carrying for months suddenly caved in on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. So, my seven rejected proposals were because she didn’t love me enough. But marrying him on Friday—that was love? A tremor started in my hands and quickly violently shook my whole body. I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat. “Then let’s break up,” I said. A flash of genuine panic crossed Barbara’s eyes, but she masked it quickly with a haughty tilt of her chin. “What kind of tantrum is this?” she demanded. “I never said we weren’t getting married.” I looked up, stunned by her audacity. She let out a long, exaggerated sigh, snatched her phone back, and tapped the screen a few times. “Look. I was going to wait until after my birthday to take you home to meet my parents and officially talk about the wedding. I even started planning the honeymoon.” She shoved the screen back in my face. It was a confirmation email for two first-class tickets to Cabo. Seeing my silence, Barbara reclaimed her usual air of untouchable arrogance. “The tickets are booked. Believe whatever you want.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked to the bedroom, leaving the kitchen in a suffocating, dead silence. Driven by an instinct I couldn’t quite name, I walked over to the living room and flipped open her MacBook on the coffee table. She was terrible with passwords; they were always combinations of our anniversaries. I hit enter. My heart slammed against my ribs. Her email was open. One minute ago, she had submitted a cancellation request. For the two tickets to Cabo. Somewhere between hysterical laughter and absolute despair, a thought pierced through the fog. I had only joined that gig-worker Discord to scrape together enough cash to buy Barbara that $1,500 Arc’teryx climbing setup she’d been eyeing for her birthday. I was an ER resident. My salary barely covered the rent, and my hours were brutal. To afford her gift, I had picked up every humiliating side hustle I could find. I drove late-night Uber. I participated in clinical sleep trials. Once, I delivered food to a drunk frat guy who slapped me across the face because I forgot his extra ranch dressing. Because I desperately needed the tip, I swallowed my pride, apologized, and walked back to my car with my cheek burning. When I finally got home that night, smelling like cheap beer and exhaustion, I thought Barbara would at least hold me. But the apartment was empty. She didn’t reply to my texts. She didn’t answer my calls. I stayed awake all night, sick with worry. The next morning, I opened Instagram and saw a photo she had posted on her climbing account. A sunrise shot at the peak of a bouldering trail. In the corner of the frame, intentionally blurred, was the profile of a man. Looking back now, that profile perfectly matched the photo of the groom attached to the gig listing. It all clicked into place. The guy she had been climbing with that weekend was Cameron. 2 I first heard Cameron’s name at a rooftop party hosted by one of Barbara’s sorority sisters. The drinks were flowing, and someone across the fire pit laughed loudly, pointing at Barbara. “Honestly, B, you’ve got the best setup. A resident doctor playing househusband at home, and a hot adventure buddy to keep you entertained on the weekends.” I thought it was a joke. But then I saw the blood drain from Barbara’s face, and my stomach dropped. “Shut up,” Barbara hissed, her voice venomous. Maybe the girl was too drunk to read the room, or maybe she just hated Barbara. She pulled up a photo on her phone and shoved it across the table toward us. It was Barbara and a rugged, sun-kissed guy, sitting entirely too close together at a local brewery. “Oh, come on, that’s Cameron from the bouldering group,” the girl slurred. “I heard you guys have been doing overnight climbs together for months. Guess being in a relationship didn’t stop—” Barbara slammed her hand down on the table, cutting the girl off. An hour later, after I had smoothed over the screaming match and practically dragged Barbara out of there, we were in my car heading home. The streetlights flickered over her tense profile. “I thought you promised you were done keeping these random guys around,” I said softly. Her expression morphed from guilt to defensive rage. She stared out the window, refusing to speak until we pulled into our parking garage. “He’s a new vendor at work. What am I supposed to do, ignore him?” she snapped, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Does grabbing a beer mean I’m sleeping with him? God, Cole, your mind is so sick.” She slammed the car door and marched to the elevators. I sat alone in the dim, concrete garage for half an hour, letting the engine idle. My mind wasn’t sick. Barbara was projecting. She was furious because she got caught. Suddenly, a sharp knock on the window startled me. Barbara was standing there, jaw tight. She shoved her unlocked phone through the cracked window. “Look for yourself,” she demanded. I took it. It was a text thread with Cameron. It was entirely professional. Boring, even. They barely spoke outside of coordinating that one drink. My chest loosened, just a fraction. I let it go. But the seed of doubt had already been planted. A month later, that seed violently took root. I was working a grueling 14-hour night shift in the ER when paramedics wheeled in a guy who had been bitten by a rattlesnake on a hiking trail. He was going into anaphylactic shock. I grabbed the antivenom and sprinted into the curtained bay. Sitting by his bed, her hands tightly clutching his, was Barbara. The same Barbara who had told me she was going to bed early because she had a migraine. When I pulled back the curtain, our eyes locked. She dropped his hand like it was made of fire. The color vanished from her face. The attending nurse, entirely oblivious, clapped Cameron on the shoulder. “You’re lucky, man. Your girl here was practically hyperventilating when the ambulance pulled up.” I stared at Barbara. I felt completely hollowed out. I forced the corners of my mouth to lift into a dead smile. “You’ll be fine,” I told him, checking the monitor. “The venom load is low.” I turned my eyes back to Barbara, whose lips were trembling. “Let’s break up,” I said simply. Then I turned and walked out. But the moment the door to the doctors’ lounge clicked shut behind me, the agony hit. I sank to the linoleum floor, gasping for air. I couldn’t stomach the betrayal. But the thought of never seeing Barbara again—of severing a bond that had defined my entire adult life—felt like dying. Barbara and I met in high school. My dad was a violent alcoholic. I only made it to graduation because the public school system was legally obligated to keep me. During our senior year, when I couldn’t afford the fees for my AP exams and was about to drop out, Barbara quietly paid them. For three years, she shared her lunch with me every single day so I wouldn’t starve. When it was time for college, my dad demanded I go to a local community college to learn a trade so I could start giving him cash. It was Barbara who logged into the admissions portal at the eleventh hour and submitted my application for a pre-med program. During undergrad, practically her entire allowance went toward keeping me afloat. In a very real sense, she had financially carried me for seven years. All I could think about was my junior year of college. The heat in my cheap off-campus apartment had been shut off in the middle of a Chicago winter. I was shivering under a thin sheet. Suddenly, I heard someone screaming my name from the street. I looked out the window to see Barbara, knee-deep in snow, holding a massive new comforter and a down jacket. Whenever I remembered that image, every terrible thing she did seemed forgivable. So, an hour after I walked out of that ER bay, I broke. I called her, crying in the stairwell, and begged her to work it out. Barbara gave me exactly what I wanted. She deleted Cameron’s number right in front of me. She swore on her life that they were just climbing partners, that there was no romantic connection whatsoever. 3 I should have believed her. But whenever she worked late, my chest would tighten. I became the very thing I despised—a detective tracking my own life. I checked her location. I analyzed her Instagram likes. I asked too many questions. It peaked a few months ago. She went on an out-of-town conference, and my anxiety reached a boiling point. Driven by pure madness, I drove three hours, tracked down her hotel, and banged on her door. When it opened, I saw Cameron standing there in a wrinkled button-down. I didn’t think. I swung and hit him square in the jaw. Cameron cursed, shoving me back into the hallway, screaming that I was a psycho and that they were literally just prepping a PowerPoint. Over his shoulder, I saw Barbara’s regional manager sitting at the desk, looking horrified. Barbara was standing by the window, her face a mask of absolute fury and humiliation. It took a few seconds for Barbara to recover. She apologized profusely to her boss and Cameron, grabbed me by the collar, and dragged me down the hall. “If you can’t trust me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with rage, “we are done.” The panic swallowed me whole. I dropped to my knees in that hideous patterned hallway. I apologized until my throat bled. I promised I would fix myself. And I really did try. But today, scrolling through a gig-worker Discord, I found out they were getting married. By the time I pulled myself out of the memory, I was lying in bed, confirming the final details with the gig coordinator. Once I guaranteed I would be on time, the coordinator Venmo’d me a $150 deposit and sent over the itinerary. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when I read the schedule. I wouldn’t have to be in the bridal suite. The hired groomsmen were strictly meant to manage the crowd, hand over the rings, and participate in the bouquet toss. I wouldn’t have to face them until I was walking down the aisle. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. A message from the coordinator: [Hey man, I noticed you’ve been taking a lot of random gigs lately. Everything from moving boxes to catering. You in some kind of trouble? Need cash bad?] My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I turned my head. In the living room, Barbara was humming a pop song as she folded designer clothes into her Rimowa suitcase. I opened my banking app. Balance: $1,520. Just enough for the Arc’teryx climbing setup. I typed my reply to the coordinator. [No trouble. After this gig, I’m actually deleting the app.] I switched over to the outdoor retailer’s website and hit ‘Purchase’ on the climbing gear. The night we got back together after the ER incident, I had mentally calculated every dollar Barbara had ever spent on me since high school. Over the last few years, I had quietly bought her expensive gifts, paid for vacations, covered rent. With this final $1,500 gift, the ledger in my head would finally hit zero. We were even. “Hey, Barbara,” I called out from the bedroom. “I bought you a gift for next week.” Barbara paused her packing. Her posture relaxed, a smug, satisfied lilt entering her voice. “The best gift you could give me is to stop acting like a paranoid freak.” I didn’t answer. I just closed my eyes and let the darkness take over. Maybe it was because I had just read the wedding itinerary, but that night, I dreamt of our wedding. It was a dim, suffocating affair. The lighting was sickly yellow. Nobody looked happy. When the officiant looked at us and asked the question—for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health—a man in a tailored suit stormed the altar and shoved me so hard I hit the ground. “She’s mine,” he said. I looked up. It was Cameron. He was holding Barbara’s hand, looking down at me with absolute victory. I woke up gasping for air. 4 The space beside me was empty and cold. There was a sticky note on the nightstand: [You were sleeping so deeply I didn’t want to wake you. Make sure you actually eat while I’m on my trip.] I stared at the note, then crumpled it into a ball. I got out of bed, pulled my duffel bag from the closet, and began packing. Piece by piece. It was an excruciating process. Every object in the apartment was tied to a ghost. The ceramic coffee mugs we threw on a wheel during a pottery class in our twenties. The silver chain around my neck, holding the matching promise ring I couldn’t wear at the hospital because of the sterile environment. Her hair ties wrapped around the bathroom doorknob. My heart hurt so badly it felt like a physical wound. It hurt until the pain tipped over into total, freezing numbness. I called a local college kid off Craigslist and let him haul away everything I couldn’t fit in my bag, for free. Finally, I placed my apartment key gently on the kitchen island. Carrying my duffel and the massive box containing the climbing gear that had just arrived, I walked to the station and boarded an Amtrak train heading to Milwaukee. I bought the cheapest, slowest ticket available. I sat by the window, watching the landscape blur by in the dark, entirely awake. When I arrived at the venue the next morning, it was exactly call time. I went to the staff room to change into the rented tuxedo. The coordinator, a stressed-out guy with a clipboard, took one look at me and frowned. “Do me a favor and wear this black medical mask,” he said, handing one over. “With a jawline like that, you’re going to pull focus from the groom. Client requested background characters only.” It was perfect. I looped the strings over my ears. My assigned duties were simple: stand near the altar, hand over the rings, and catch the bouquet if the crowd was dead. While I was waiting in the wings for the ceremony to begin, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Barbara. A photo of a beautifully plated slice of wedding cake. [Checking in! The clients catered some ridiculous desserts for this meeting.] I looked up. Thirty feet away, a waiter was placing the exact same slices of cake onto the tables of the reception area. It was so absurd, I actually laughed out loud. My chest rattled with it. I opened our chat. My thumbs shook as I typed. [Looks amazing. I miss you.] [Are you guys working hard?] [Who is the client again?] [When you get back, let’s finally get married, okay?] The moment the messages delivered, the little typing bubble appeared. Then vanished. Appeared again. Vanished. I waited. The silence stretched. Finally, a new message popped up, dripping with ice. [Seriously, Cole? You have to do this right now? You suffocate me. I literally don’t have room to breathe with you constantly checking up on me!] A few minutes later, the final nail in the coffin arrived: [We’ll talk about the marriage thing later.] A sharp, violent pain lanced through my chest. Later. It was a word she used as a weapon, stabbing into the corpse of seven years of hope. I put my phone on silent and slid it into my pocket. I stood quietly in the shadows as the house lights dimmed and the string quartet began to play. I watched Barbara step out into the aisle, breathtaking in a sweeping white gown. Her father held her arm, walking her slowly toward Cameron. The officiant began speaking, using all the right, emotionally manipulative buzzwords. I could hear people in the front row sniffing. I thought, with a profound sense of tragedy, that if the bride weren’t the love of my life, I might have cried at the beauty of it all, too. “Hey, groomsman. You’re up. Go.” The coordinator shoved the velvet box into my hand, snapping me back to reality. I gripped the box. I stepped onto the white runner, following the tape marks on the floor, and began the long walk toward Barbara.

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The Kensington family’s monthly Sunday dinners were strictly closed-door affairs. No outsiders. Ever. Yet, Victoria’s junior assistant had somehow made the guest list, month after month. In the past, he just sat there, playing the quiet background character. I swallowed my pride and endured it. But tonight, my five-year-old daughter, Mia, bypassed me entirely and handed the private chef’s menu directly to him, asking what hewanted to eat. In that split second, the illusion shattered. I just felt an overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion. The moment we got home, I dropped the divorce papers on the kitchen island in front of Victoria. She stared at the pristine white pages, a cold, mocking smile twisting her lips. “All this because Spencer picked an appetizer? Are you out of your mind?” “Yes,” I said. “Sign it.” 1. “Nathaniel, if you’re absolutely determined to throw a tantrum, can we at least schedule it?” Victoria leaned heavily against the back of the leather sofa, her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can you wait until I get home from the office tomorrow night? I am suffocating under deadlines right now.” Spencer stood near the foyer, clutching a stack of legal folders. His posture was perfectly neutral—neither submissive nor arrogant. Outside, the engine of the Maybach hummed a low, expensive purr in the driveway. The housekeepers huddled in the adjacent dining room, wiping down spotless surfaces, their eyes strictly averted. Everything in the Kensington estate ran with immaculate, clockwork precision. Everything except me, standing in front of my wife, bristling like a cornered animal. After a long, suffocating silence, Victoria finally opened her eyes and looked at me. “Just let me off the hook for tonight. Please, Nathaniel.” The moment the words left her mouth, I heard a faint, barely disguised scoff from the dining room. I knew the staff looked down on me. I’d given them plenty of ammunition over the years, constantly picking fights with Victoria over trivial details, desperate to prove I still held some weight in her heart. Now, her weary, condescending retreat only made me look like an unreasonable lunatic. A surge of nameless anger ignited in my chest. I snatched the duplicate copy of the divorce agreement and slammed it back down in front of her. “No. Sign it right now.” Victoria looked up at me, a storm of complicated emotions rolling in her eyes. She looked genuinely worn down by my aggression. “Nathaniel. If you’re this humiliated over the menu thing, I give you my word, it won’t happen again. Mia hurt your feelings tonight. When she wakes up tomorrow, I will personally march her down here to apologize to you. Will that satisfy you?” Victoria Kensington never compromised. But just seconds before, I had caught the subtle, pleading glance Spencer shot her. Only then did her tone soften. I let out a harsh, hollow laugh, a chilling sadness pooling in my gut. My brilliant, high-and-mighty wife, bending so easily to the unspoken cues of a twenty-something assistant. Victoria and I grew up together. We were supposed to be the perfect match—two old-money families merging. I had loved her for as long as I could remember, but her heart had always belonged to someone else. Eventually, she caved to the ruthless pressure of the Kensington patriarchs and married me. Her first love, devastated, fled to the States. But timing is a cruel joke. Barely a month after our wedding, my parents died in a sudden accident, leaving my family’s empire in ruins. I was orphaned and stripped of my leverage. The Kensingtons had wanted a powerful alliance to solidify their absolute control over the East Coast markets. Instead, they got a bankrupt dependent. They despised me for it. It took three years of marriage—and the successful conception of our daughter, Mia—before I was even allowed to attend their sacred monthly dinners. And even with my “ticket” in, I was treated like a glorified servant, expected to pour the wine and swallow their veiled insults. I took it. I took it because I loved Victoria. I chose the humiliation. I chose to endure. I thought things would change when Mia was born. But as my daughter grew, she absorbed the venom of the Kensington household. She watched how they treated me, and she learned. Today, she had personally handed the menu to another man. A man who was blatantly gunning for my place in this family. I would never forget the night I drank myself into a bleeding ulcer at a networking gala, desperately trying to secure a contract for Victoria’s company. When I got home, clutching my stomach, I just asked her to order me something bland to eat. Her relatives had been visiting. They laughed in my face. They tore into my deceased parents, calling me a pathetic freeloader with no upbringing. Victoria had watched the whole thing. She didn’t say a word to defend me. She just told me to bear it. But the second I tried to stand up for myself, she joined them, picking apart my tone, my posture, my ‘inappropriate’ timing. I had revised this divorce agreement over and over. Disappointment isn’t a sudden explosion. It’s a slow accumulation. Tonight, the jar was finally full. I uncapped the fountain pen, signed my name at the bottom of the page, and shoved the heavy brass barrel into Victoria’s hand. “Save the speech. Sign.” 2. Victoria gripped the pen so hard I thought the brass would snap. The fire in her eyes flared into an inferno. “Nathaniel, you need to learn when to back down, before you push this past the point of no return! Do I really have to spell this out for you?!” With a violent swing of her arm, she hurled the pen. It slammed against the custom wallpaper, shattering the casing and splattering black ink across the hardwood floor. Spencer jumped, dropping his folders. I flinched, a tremor running through my spine. The temperature in the room plummeted. Breathing heavily, Spencer knelt to gather the scattered papers, then stepped closer to Victoria. He placed a gentle, grounding hand on her shoulder. “Victoria,” he murmured, his voice infuriatingly soft. “Stress is bad for your health. Just talk to him.” That quiet, soothing tone worked like magic. The tension bled out of Victoria’s shoulders. Before she could speak, the rapid patter of bare feet echoed from the stairs. Mia came running down, her little face scrunched in panic. Maria, our nanny, was right behind her, clutching a pair of slippers. “Mia, sweetheart, please put your shoes on! If you catch a cold, your father will be so worried.” I stood frozen as my five-year-old daughter ran right past me. She threw her arms around Spencer’s legs, looking up at him, checking him over frantically. “Spencer, don’t be scared!” she squeaked. “I’ll protect you! I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Spencer smiled a soft, practiced smile and ruffled her hair. “Thank you, Mia. But shouldn’t you put your slippers on? If you get sick, your dad will be sad. Maria, I’ll take those.” Only then did Mia look at me. Her little upper lip curled in obvious disdain. Maria stood there, paralyzed by the sheer awkwardness of the room, terrified of making a move that would offend the wrong person. “Give them to me,” I said quietly. I took the small pink slippers from the nanny, walked over to my daughter, and knelt on the floor. “Shoes on, Mia.” Instead of listening, Mia grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and hurled it blindly at me. “I don’t want you to help me!” The heavy glass struck my forehead. The skin split instantly, warm blood trickling down into my eyebrow. Spencer let out a gasp and scrambled to find the first-aid kit. Victoria didn’t move. she just stared at the blood on my face, her eyes icy. “Are you happy now? Is this the scene you wanted?” Even now. Even with blood on my face, she thought I was just acting out. Looking at them—Victoria, Spencer, and Mia—I realized something profound. They looked like a family. I had poured eight years of my life into this house, and I was leaving with nothing but empty hands. I slowly reached down, picked up the ashtray, and set it perfectly back in its place. Victoria watched me in silence for a long time. Maybe the sight of me, bleeding and quietly tidying up, finally sparked a flicker of pity in her. She stepped forward and reached for my arm. “Stop cleaning,” she said, her voice dropping a fraction. “The staff will do it. Just… stop looking for a fight, and we can move past this.” I ignored her hand, sat down on the sofa, and slid the divorce papers back across the marble table toward her. “Are you ready to sign now?” “Nathaniel!” Victoria snapped. She shot up, glaring down at me with absolute fury. “You just won’t let it go, will you?! Fine! You want a divorce? You can have it. But don’t even think about getting custody of Mia!” I had raised Mia with my own two hands. While Victoria chased her corporate ambitions, I was the one changing diapers, pureeing peas, and staying awake for 48 hours straight when the fevers spiked. I had sacrificed my own identity to be the safety net Victoria needed to conquer the boardroom. Despite Mia’s growing coldness toward me over the years, I had never stopped pouring every ounce of my love into her. Victoria knew Mia was my anchor. She thought she had the ultimate trump card. She was wrong. The moment Mia had looked at Spencer with adoration while hurling glass at my head, the tether snapped. I had already let my daughter go. “I’m forfeiting custody,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I’ll also leave my mother’s jewelry behind. Consider it my contribution to her trust fund. You don’t have to worry, Victoria. The second this paper goes through, I will vanish from Mia’s life. You’ll never have to explain me to her again.” The massive living room fell dead silent. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator two rooms over. Then, Mia’s high-pitched voice sliced through the quiet. “Good! I hate having you as my dad anyway! I want Spencer to be my dad!” She was five. She probably didn’t grasp the agonizing weight of those words. My chest caved in. A dull, suffocating pain radiated from my heart. I slowly bent forward, pressing my palms against my face, forcing myself to swallow the bitter, jagged grief clawing up my throat. Victoria didn’t reprimand her. Instead, she turned her wrath entirely on me. “What the hell is wrong with you, Nathaniel?! Are you happy now? Are you satisfied that you’ve turned your own daughter against you and torn this family apart?!” She lashed out, swiping her hand across the coffee table. The cracked ashtray went flying again, shattering loudly against the floorboards. Mia burst into tears. She buried her face in Spencer’s chest, sobbing. “Spencer, I’m scared! Tell Mommy to stop yelling! She only listens to you…” Spencer rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. “Victoria, you promised me you wouldn’t lose your temper,” he said softly. “Please, speak to him calmly.” Then, he turned his wide, apologetic eyes to me. “Nathaniel, please don’t take it to heart. She’s just angry. It’s my fault for tonight. I shouldn’t have ordered the food. I promise, I won’t attend another family dinner. Please, just make peace with her.” There were actual tears pooling in Spencer’s eyes. He looked like a tragic peacemaker, sacrificing himself for our marriage. The sight of it made me want to vomit. I looked at Victoria. Despite her raging temper, Spencer’s words had worked. She had instantly quieted down. A laugh bubbled up in my chest. I laughed so hard the tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over. “Tell me, Spencer,” I wheezed, wiping my eyes. “In what capacity exactly are you playing marriage counselor for my wife and me?” “I—I—Nathaniel, you misunderstand!” Spencer stammered, stepping back. “Victoria and I are strictly professional! Please don’t be angry. If you hate me that much, I’ll resign tomorrow. I’ll leave the company. As long as you two are happy…” Victoria stared at him, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles turned white. I saw the raw, desperate concern bubbling up in her eyes. I decided to push it. “You should know something, Spencer,” I said, my voice dropping to a conversational murmur. “Victoria clearly has a soft spot for you. But until I vacate the position of the pathetic, live-in husband, you’ll never get the promotion you really want. If you keep begging me to stay, I just might. Is that really the outcome you’re hoping for?” 3. Victoria finally signed the papers, driven to the edge by the sound of Spencer’s soft, manufactured weeping. I called my lawyer right then and there, handing over the logistics. Victoria stood frozen by the island, her face a mask of frost, watching me handle the call with detached efficiency. When I hung up, the venom finally spilled out. “Remember this, Nathaniel. You brought this entirely on yourself,” she sneered. “I’ve signed. There is no going back. We have an ironclad prenup. Don’t harbor any delusions that you’ll be walking away with a single cent of Kensington money.” I carefully folded the agreement and slid it into a manila envelope. I nodded. “I know.” I stood up and looked at her. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to pack a bag.” Victoria’s blazing fury hit the brick wall of my absolute apathy, leaving her visibly choking on her own adrenaline. I knew that feeling. It was like having a wad of cotton shoved down your throat—you can’t swallow it, and you can’t spit it out. It just suffocates you. For eight years, that was exactly how she had handled every conflict between us: with walls of ice and suffocating silence. Her face darkened. Spencer took a cautious step toward her, reaching out to support her arm. I pulled my gaze away and looked down at Mia, whose face was streaked with tears. I thought about it for a second, then spoke softly. “I won’t be picking you up from preschool anymore. And I won’t be there when you’re sick in the middle of the night. You’re five now. You need to learn who actually cares about you, and who is just playing a part. Don’t go wandering off with strangers just because they offer you something sweet.” Six months ago, Victoria had a sudden out-of-town conference. She commanded me to drop off some clothes at her office before her flight. I was a nervous wreck; I’d been berated before for bringing outfits she deemed “unpresentable.” I spent an hour carefully steaming and matching her clothes, then drove like a maniac to her corporate headquarters. Because of that, I was twenty minutes late picking Mia up from her elite preschool. Mia had wandered out of the gates and down the busy avenue. A stranger offered her a lollipop and coaxed her into a car. Thank God, the person only realized she was lost and drove her straight to the precinct. But during those agonizing two hours, I lost my mind. The Kensington security detail swarmed the city. Victoria aborted her business trip and sped back from the airport. In the aftermath, I was crucified. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were. The entire Kensington clan poured their collective wrath onto me. I could take their abuse. I was used to being their punching bag. But from that day on, Mia looked at me like I was the villain of her story. That shift in her eyes was the slow poison that finally cured me of my attachment to her. “Nathaniel, Mia is the sole heir to the Kensington estate. She doesn’t need life advice from an outsider!” Victoria snapped. “Or are you just saying these dramatic, pathetic things hoping I’ll beg you to stay?” I just smiled, didn’t say a word, and walked lightly toward the master bedroom. I had been a stay-at-home husband for eight years. I never realized that packing a bag could feel so paralyzing. I looked around the bedroom. I had picked out the curtains, sourced the vintage rugs, framed the art. Suddenly, it all looked incredibly tacky to me. In the end, I only opened my bedside drawer. I took a single photo album and two keys. Victoria had been standing in the doorway the entire time, her eyes burning holes into my back. As I walked past her into the hall, I kept my voice flat. “Tell the staff to throw the rest of my stuff away tomorrow.” “Don’t you dare regret this, Nathaniel!” she screamed down the hallway. I didn’t break my stride. I walked out of that beautiful, frozen cage, and the front door clicked shut behind me. 4. A huge part of why I had loved Victoria with such humiliating devotion was because she was the only light in the darkest chapter of my life. In high school, I had severe, painful cystic acne. My parents took me to every dermatologist on the coast, but nothing worked. I was already cripplingly shy, and the relentless bullying pushed me to the brink of a severe depression. Victoria was a year ahead of me. Every single day, she would walk into my homeroom between periods just to stand by my desk. If anyone made a joke, she would physically throw down with them. She spent half her sophomore year in the principal’s office because of me. But she never cared. She’d just clap me on the shoulder, knuckles bruised, and say: “You’re my guy. I’m the only one allowed to mess with you. Anyone else tries it, I’ll break their jaw.” A sharp honk pulled me out of the past. I turned around. Spencer scrambled out of the backseat of the Maybach and jogged toward me. “Na—Nathaniel! Victoria has to get back to the office for a late conference call. Where are you going? We can give you a ride.” I looked past him. The rear window rolled down, and Victoria’s eyes met mine in the dim streetlights. She was quiet for a long moment before pressing her lips together. “Get in.” It was an unfortunate reality. My SUV was at the dealership getting a transmission check. Though the Kensington garage held six luxury cars, none of them had my name on the title. The estate was out in the wealthy, sprawling suburbs. Getting back to the city meant walking miles down a winding, unlit mountain road. Without overthinking it, I walked toward the passenger side. I didn’t expect Spencer to practically sprint to beat me to the door. He slid into the front seat, forcing me to sit in the back. Next to Victoria. I gave the driver an address in the city and didn’t say another word. The air in the car was frigid. But for the first time in years, she was sitting next to me and not staring at a glowing iPad screen. I could feel her peripheral vision snagging on me, over and over. Holding her tongue wasn’t her style. I let out a soft breath of amusement. As the city skyline came into view, I finally broke the silence. “What is it, Victoria? Spit it out.” She frowned deeply, her eyes fixated on the dried blood crusted over my eyebrow. “Nathaniel. If you swallow your pride and apologize, I’ll grant you visitation with Mia once a week.” “No thanks.” My answer was instant. The car pulled to the curb, and I pushed the door open. Victoria snapped. “You are so damn ungrateful! Your family is dead! Let’s see how long you survive out here on your own!” I hated being alone. It was my deepest, most agonizing fear. Victoria always knew exactly where to slide the knife. I slammed the door and walked away fast. But Spencer jumped out and chased me down, grabbing my sleeve. “Nathaniel, please! She only followed you because she was worried you’d get hurt walking in the dark! She cares about you…” Before he could finish the sentence, Victoria threw her door open. She marched over, ripped his hand off my jacket, and pulled him behind her defensively. “Let him go!” she barked. “Victoria, I just—” “I said, let him walk!” I stood on the pavement watching them scuffle. I didn’t miss the flash of smug triumph hiding just beneath Spencer’s wide, panicky eyes. A sudden, dark impulse seized me. I smiled. “I’m actually curious about something, Victoria,” I said, tilting my head. “Are you giving Spencer all this special treatment because you’re genuinely falling for him? Or is it just because, in the right light, he looks exactly like Wesley?”

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The apocalypse had already taken everything else, and now it had reduced my bitterest rival to an item on an auction block, locked inside a gilded cage. I was just about to raise my paddle to buy him when the Oracle Feed—the psychic broadcast that streamed endlessly through the ocular implants of the Citadel’s elite—flashed across my vision. [Is the side-chick actually psychotic? He’s the strongest Aether-class operative we have. He’s faking this whole “helpless slave” routine just so he can get close to the Golden Girl and be her devoted attack dog. It’s their twisted foreplay. Why is this tragic extra trying to insert herself into the main plot?] [Harper is so desperate for a man, it’s pathetic. When the Swarm breaches the walls next month and tears her into bloody confetti, she’ll totally deserve it.] A violent shiver racked my spine. I immediately lowered my paddle. “Never mind,” I muttered. “I’m out.” A second later, the man in the cage lifted his head. “I bid ten thousand Aether credits. I’ll buy myself, and I am giving myself to her.” Kieran raised a heavy, chained arm. He pointed straight at me. 1 “Sold!” The auctioneer’s gavel cracked like a gunshot. “Congratulations, Miss. This human male is now your exclusive property!” The blood drained from my face. I shot up from my velvet seat. “I literally just said I didn’t want him! How are you forcing a sale?” The auctioneer offered an apologetic, oily smile. “Miss, the gavel has struck. The transaction is bound by Citadel law. Besides, you aren’t paying a dime. The merchandise has volunteered to cover his own acquisition fee, begging for you to take ownership.” This was the subterranean black market of the Citadel, a lavish three-day event overflowing with illicit weaponry, rare defense tech, and stolen artifacts. I had been hoarding my Aether credits for three grueling years, intending to finally buy a weapon that wouldn’t jam when I needed it most. Instead, I found Kieran Cross on the auction block. Under the harsh, blinding glare of the crystal chandeliers, his eyes locked onto mine. While the audience was draped in silk and bespoke tailored suits, Kieran had been stripped of his tactical gear. He was locked in an iron cage, wearing nothing but dark grey combat trousers. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his waist lean, every muscle defined and coiled with a dangerous, predatory grace. A heavy obsidian collar was locked around his throat. A delicate, degrading chain of spun gold connected the collar to the piercings at his chest. He looked exactly like what he was meant to be tonight: a beautifully packaged plaything, waiting to be consumed. My initial instinct to buy him had been born of pure, foolish pity. I never expected Kieran to pay for his own subjugation, forcing himself into my life. The Oracle Feed in my vision exploded into a blur of frantic text: [Holy shit, what is happening?!] [The plot says the male lead is supposed to use his cunning to sell himself to Camille! He’s the ultimate manipulative simp—he even picked out that gold chest chain himself to appeal to her! Why is he suddenly throwing himself at the side-bitch?!] [Harper is such trash, trash, trash. Can she stay away from him?! Collateral damage girls who try to play the main character always end up dead!!!] [Whatever, buying him won’t save her. During the Swarm invasion next month, he’s going to shield Camille with his own body. Harper’s going to get gutted by an Aberration. The biggest piece left of her won’t be larger than a fingernail. Watch.] A visceral, bloody image flashed through my mind with sickening clarity. I looked down at my own fingernail and violently shuddered. The residual terror instantly morphed into irritation directed at Kieran. “The auction house claimed you were drowning in debt and selling yourself to survive,” I snapped, walking up to the cage. “Who exactly are you trying to fool with this pathetic act?” Kieran froze. Those cold, narrow eyes of his slowly dropped to the floor. He pressed his lips together, his voice a low, muffled rasp. “Harper. It’s been a long time. I thought… at the very least, you might say hello.” 2 I was fifteen the first time I met Kieran. Back then, I was just trying to survive, taking on bottom-feeding mercenary jobs in the Scrap Wards. He was out there too, a lone wolf with a chip on his shoulder the size of a crater. Somehow, we always ended up taking opposing contracts. Most days, we were bitter rivals, trading blows and insults in equal measure. It was only when one of us was bleeding out in an alley that we’d begrudgingly drag the other to safety. The last time I saw him, we had a screaming match that shook the rain-slicked streets. “Can you have some damn standards about whose money you take, Kieran?!” I had yelled, my voice cracking. “Do you have any idea that your client is a complete psychopath? He tortures kids in the lower levels!” I was so angry, the words spilled out like battery acid. “Or do you just enjoy being on someone’s leash?!” His face had gone deathly pale. He reached into his jacket and tossed a bloody, searing-hot Aether core onto the ground between us. “I know exactly who he is,” Kieran said, his voice dropping an octave. “That’s why I took the job. To rip the core straight out of his chest.” He stepped into my space, every word a deliberate strike. “There is nothing I hate more in this miserable world than someone trying to put me on a leash.” I bit my lip, instantly suffocating on my own regret. But he didn’t wait for an apology. His jaw was tight with fury as he turned and walked away into the smog. The very next day, the elite Croft family discovered my latent abilities and pulled me out of the Scrap Wards. I never saw Kieran again. I never even got to say goodbye. So, when the Feed told me that he would eventually abandon me to be ripped apart by monsters just to save another woman… it felt like a physical blow. Did those years in the gutter mean nothing? Was there really no loyalty left between us? Kieran stared at me through the bars of the cage for a long, heavy moment. His brow furrowed, casting a shadow over his face. “Besides,” he said quietly, the arrogance completely gone from his tone. “That was every last credit I had. My Aether core is shattered, Harper. I’m just a normal human now. I’ll never be able to earn that kind of money again.” I thought of the frantic scrolling of the Feed. He’s faking it. “Bullshit,” I breathed. “That’s impossible.” Kieran lowered his eyes, his thick lashes casting long shadows. “You’re a Healer class. You can check the core yourself.” Before I could protest, he reached through the iron bars, grabbed my hand, and pressed my palm flat against the thick, hard muscle of his chest. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. His heartbeat reverberated through his ribs, syncing violently with my own pulse. I took a shaky breath, carefully channeling a thread of my Aether energy, letting it slip through his skin to search for the radiant, burning core that should have been resting near his heart. A second later, my eyes snapped wide open in horror. It was gone. Not just damaged—obliterated. Jagged, dead fragments were all that remained of the most powerful Aether core I had ever sensed. Anyone with a shattered core couldn’t even conjure a spark, let alone fight. Why was the Feed lying? What the hell had actually happened to him? My mind reeled. As I hastily pulled my hand back, my finger caught on the delicate gold chain draped across his chest. The chain went taut. Kieran let out a sharp, breathless grunt. The skin around the piercings flushed a deep, angry red. He looked up at me through his lashes, his expression adopting a bizarre, unsettling submissiveness. “That pinches,” he whispered. “Could you take it off for me?” My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Oh? Beg for it, then.” He didn’t miss a beat. His gaze dropped, his voice a smooth, flat hum. “I’m begging you. Mistress.” Boom. I felt my own heart slam against my ribs, a massive, deafening beat in my ears. Kieran pressed his own hand over his chest, his voice muffled and thick. “The world has ended, Harper. Only the strong survive. Look at me. I’m just a fragile, broken man now. Easy prey for anyone.” He slowly lifted his eyes to mine. They were impossibly dark, an abyss of ink and gravity that threatened to pull me under. “As long as you promise to keep me by your side,” he said softly. “As long as you protect me, every second of every day…” He leaned closer to the bars. “In return… I’ll be your dog.” 3 For several agonizing seconds, the Oracle Feed was as silent as a graveyard. Then, it erupted. [WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! The plot is completely derailed! I don’t even recognize this story anymore!] [Wait, I just pulled the Citadel databanks! The male lead took an SSS-rank mission a few days ago and actually DID suffer catastrophic damage to his core! And Harper is a rare Healer class. If he drains her healing energy dry, his core will regenerate!] [Omg, that makes so much sense! He’s playing the long game. What a manipulative king.] [Haha, let the side-bitch suffer the drain. Our Golden Girl Camille is too precious to go through that kind of pain anyway.] My racing heart slowly began to decelerate. A strange, acidic ache bled from my chest outward, seeping into my veins. And then, it solidified into something else entirely. Pure, unadulterated anger. I stepped forward, gripping the heavy iron chain attached to his obsidian collar, yanking it upward to force him to look at me. “I own you now,” I said, my voice dangerously even. “Whether I want you cooking my meals and scrubbing my floors, or warming my bed as a late-night toy, you do exactly what I say. Understood?” He nodded once. A cruel, spiteful smile tipped the corner of my mouth. “Then let’s start by putting you in something I like.” I signaled the auctioneer and gave a few clipped instructions. A moment later, he returned with a sealed garment bag. “Keep the chest chain on,” I ordered, staring Kieran dead in the eye. “I like it right where it is.” Kieran stared at the garment bag, a flicker of something volatile crossing his face before he smoothed it over. “Yes. Of course.” He took the bag and vanished into the dressing room. The auction was still in full swing. Because Kieran had somehow transferred his own credits to my account to buy himself, I was treated like royalty. The manager practically bowed as he escorted me to a VIP viewing suite on the second floor. I pushed the heavy oak door open—and stopped dead. Someone was already sitting inside. “Murphy,” I said, blinking in surprise. “What a coincidence.” Murphy’s eyes lit up, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Little Harper. It’s been what, two years?” Like me, Murphy was a rare Healer class. He used to be contracted by the Croft family and was the closest thing I ever had to a mentor. He eventually got recruited by an elite combat squad and left the estate for good. I smiled back, the tension in my shoulders easing. “You look exactly the same. You were the best combat medic the Citadel ever saw. If you hadn’t insisted that your new squad captain saved your life, the Crofts never would have let you out of your contract.” Murphy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. When I first met my Captain, he was young, built like a tank, and had off-the-charts Aether abilities. I thought he was a rock-solid leader. Turns out, the guy is a terminal romantic. A complete idiot for love.” He leaned forward, looking utterly exasperated. “Do you want to know what this lunatic did recently?” I raised an eyebrow. “What?” “He came to me and said that women only feel protective over men who are broken. Then he actually asked me if there was a medical way to temporarily shatter his own Aether core so he could play the tragic victim and force the woman he’s obsessed with to take him in.” Murphy let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “I don’t even know how far this lovesick bastard is willing to take it. Honestly, if the girl he likes told him to put on a frilly little maid costume, he’d probably do it with a smile.” A very cold, very precise sense of dread pooled in my stomach. That plotline sounded entirely too familiar. Click. The heavy door to the VIP suite swung open. Kieran walked in. He was wearing the humiliating pleasure-thrall outfit I had selected: a tight white velvet corset-vest, a ridiculous ruffled skirt that barely hit his mid-thigh, and an obsidian headband equipped with stylized cat ears. The gold chain peaked out from the plunging neckline, catching the chandelier light. Kieran froze. Murphy froze. They stared at each other.

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When the System pulled me back into this world for the second time, I was already infamous. I was the ultimate charity case, the gold-digging husband who had married hopelessly out of his league. But I was done acting like a madman over my wife’s wandering eye. I was done shedding tears because my own daughter had started calling another man “Dad.” Instead, I instituted a new rule in our sprawling Virginia estate. Every time they mentioned Tristan’s name, they had to transfer five thousand dollars into my bank account. In just fifteen days, I had amassed a quarter of a million dollars. I did it because the System had whispered to me upon my return: “Your target mortgaged thirty years of her own lifespan to drag you back. But rest easy—this time, you only need to survive twenty days.” In these twenty days, my only goal was to save enough money to secure a peaceful retirement for my adoptive parents. At dinner, Victoria was chatting casually with our daughter. Inevitably, Tristan’s name slipped out. The atmosphere at the mahogany dining table froze instantly. I simply reached across the linen tablecloth, my palm face up. “Five thousand. Venmo or Zelle?” Mia, my daughter, finally snapped. She slammed her silver fork down, the clatter echoing in the cavernous dining room. “Is money the only thing left in your pathetic brain? You’re not even worth one of Tristan’s fingernails!” I didn’t argue. I just extended my hand a fraction closer to her. “Ten thousand. You just said it again.” 1 Mia stared at me, her young face contorted in sheer disbelief. My expression didn’t shift. I kept my voice flat, hollowed out. “Transfer the money first. Don’t make me ask twice.” “Simon, is this a joke to you?!” Victoria violently pushed her plate away, the porcelain shattering against the marble floor. Her eyes were dark, swirling with sudden, explosive anger. “I know you’re holding onto resentment. That’s why I’ve turned a blind eye for the past two weeks. I traded half my soul, half my life to wake you from that coma, because I wanted to build a real life with you! Why do you have to be so petty?” I lowered my eyes, my tone maddeningly even. “I wouldn’t dare be petty. But you are the CEO of Vanguard Defense. A woman of your word. You agreed to the rule; surely you won’t back out now.” Victoria lunged forward, grabbing my hand and pressing it hard against her chest, right over the jagged, ugly scar hidden beneath her silk blouse. It was the physical toll the System had extracted from her—an open-heart procedure she endured just to reboot my timeline. Her face contorted in pain, and her voice softened into a desperate plea. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up in front of you. Please, Simon, don’t be angry, okay? Don’t call me CEO. I’m your wife. We are supposed to be forever.” Years ago, I would have killed to hear her admit she was wrong. I would have dreamed of her calling me her husband with that kind of raw vulnerability. Now, the feeling of her heartbeat against my palm just made stomach acid rise in my throat. I felt physically sick. I pulled my hand back, wiping my palm against my slacks. “You just said his name again. That makes it fifteen thousand.” The color drained from Victoria’s face in a sickening rush. “Fine. Fine.” Her voice trembled with a terrifying, glacial rage. “You really never cease to amaze me, Simon. I want to see exactly how long you can keep up this pathetic, money-hungry charade.” She yanked a black Centurion card from her blazer, hurled it at the floor, grabbed Mia by the wrist, and stormed out. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them. Standing by the sideboard, a young security detail whispered to a maid. “He doesn’t get it. The boss is tough, but she loves him. The six months he was gone, she lost her mind. She almost let the entire company go under. She just sat in the dark, clutching his photo until sunrise.” I raised a hand, dismissing them both. When the room was empty, I bent down and picked up the black card. I didn’t care where they went. I didn’t care about Victoria’s supposed grief. Five more days. That was all I had left before I vanished from this timeline forever. Having finally seen the absolute zero of Victoria’s heart, my only tether to this world was securing my adoptive parents’ future. I called one of the junior guards and ordered him to pack up every luxury watch, cufflink, and designer suit in my closet and take them to a high-end pawn broker in the city. While I was stripping the room, I caught sight of the platinum wedding band on my left hand. I gripped it, ready to pull it off and toss it into the sell pile. Before I could clear my knuckle, my wrist was seized in a vice grip. Victoria was standing there, her eyes bloodshot and wild. “You’re trying to sell our wedding ring?” I looked up at her, finding the entire situation profoundly absurd. Five years ago, she had taken her own wedding band to a jeweler to melt it down, using the cash to buy a vintage Rolex for Tristan. If she could sell hers, why couldn’t I sell mine? I wrenched my arm free and tossed the ring toward the guard. “It’s a heavy platinum setting. It should fetch a decent price.” “I said, don’t touch it!” Victoria screamed, snatching the ring out of the air. She glared at the guard with a look that promised violence. “Get out!” The moment the door clicked shut, she lunged at me, crashing her mouth against mine. It wasn’t a kiss of passion; it was a desperate, aggressive claiming. I shoved her away with everything I had. My lip tore against my teeth. I instinctively wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. When I looked up, Victoria was staring at me in utter devastation. “You… you’re disgusted by me?” Her voice broke. “Are you still punishing me because I let him touch me?” If this were five years ago, seeing her look so shattered would have broken me. I would have pulled her into my arms and forgiven everything. But now, I just held out my hand, my palm steady. “You just brought him up again. That’s five thousand.” Victoria swayed on her feet like she’d been struck. I watched her, completely numb. I remembered looking at her with that exact same agonizing desperation. Years ago, when Vanguard Defense was still a fledgling contractor, her convoy was ambushed overseas. She took three bullets to the chest and abdomen. I was the combat medic who refused to call time of death, dragging her back from the brink of the grave. She defied her wealthy, aristocratic family to marry me. The first two years were magic. We built a life. We had Mia. But four years in, she moved her recently divorced childhood best friend, Tristan, into the compound. She introduced him as a “consultant,” but gave him the run of the estate. He was the golden boy she’d never quite gotten over. I fought. I cried. I begged. But she would just look at me with exhausted irritation. “Tristan has no one else, Simon. What’s wrong with me looking out for him?” Slowly, methodically, he poisoned my home. Even Mia, the daughter I had stayed up nights rocking to sleep, began to drift into his orbit. “You don’t understand anything, Daddy. Tristan is so much cooler.” A sudden, sharp pain in my ribs snapped me out of the memory. Mia had charged into the room, shoving me hard. “What are you doing?!” she shrieked, pointing at the half-empty closet. “I already promised Tristan he could have the East Wing for his birthday! You emptied it all out! How am I supposed to explain this to him?” She glared at me, her eyes filled with a vitriol no child should possess. “Why did you even come back? Why couldn’t you just stay dead?” 2 I froze, the air knocked out of my lungs. I couldn’t form a single word. This room, the East Wing master suite, was the one Mia had helped me decorate when we first built the estate. She had painted a small, lopsided heart inside the closet door. “I want Daddy to have the safest harbor in the whole world,” she had said. Victoria clearly remembered that memory, too. A flicker of genuine guilt crossed her sharp features. “Mia, stop. You don’t mean that.” Mia yanked her arm away from her mother, her glare fixed on me. “Yes, I do! Why are you here?” “I said, shut up!” Victoria snapped, her voice turning to ice. But when she looked back at me, her eyes darted away, unable to hold my gaze. “Don’t listen to her. Simon… about Tristan and me. We were just… I had too much to drink that night. I thought he was you.” I listened to the silence ring in my ears. My chest felt tight, filled with a dense, suffocating ache. Six years. Six years, and she couldn’t even be bothered to invent a new lie. I dug my fingernails so hard into my palms that the skin broke, forcing the moisture back from my eyes. “You just referenced him four times. Plus the previous one. That’s twenty-five thousand dollars.” Victoria stood completely still for thirty agonizing seconds. Then, she exploded. She kicked the heavy, solid-wood nightstand, sending a designer lamp crashing to the floor. “Fine! You are unbelievable!” she screamed, her chest heaving. “You want money? I’ll give you money! In fact, I have a very lucrative job for you. Are you taking it or not?” I looked at her. Her lips curled into a cruel, calculated smirk. “Tristan is sick. It’s a severe stomach bug, very debilitating. You used to be a medic. You’re going to be his personal, live-in nurse.” Her voice dripped with venom. “Make him comfortable, and I’ll write you a check for half a million dollars.” “No.” I didn’t expect her to stoop to this level of humiliation. My voice was thick with suppressed rage. Victoria’s expression hardened into a mask of pure sociopathy. “You don’t have to agree. But if you don’t, I’ll just have my security team bring your adoptive mother here to do it. She was an award-winning head nurse before she retired, wasn’t she? I’m sure she’d love to help.” My heart seized. A cold, familiar terror washed over me. This was the same dead-eyed expression she wore five years ago when she ordered her private security to ruthlessly purge corporate spies from her company. She destroyed lives without blinking. I couldn’t gamble with my mother’s safety. My jaw tightened until my teeth ached. “Fine. I’ll do it.” A guard escorted me down to the industrial kitchen. Mia trailed behind us, her arms loaded with ridiculously expensive, holistic supplements. “These are imported truffles, and this is organic bone broth,” she dictated, dumping them on the stainless-steel counter. She looked at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into her house. “Don’t think you can pull anything, Daddy. I’m going to watch your every move. You are not going to poison Tristan.” I just stared at her, feeling a profound, echoing emptiness. A second later, two raw, whole chickens were violently thrown onto the counter in front of me. The cloying, metallic smell of raw poultry hit my sinuses, and my stomach violently rebelled. I gagged, gripping the edge of the sink. Since I was a child, I’ve had a severe, documented psychosomatic aversion and contact allergy to raw poultry. Just touching it causes my skin to erupt in painful, burning hives. It was a trauma response from a childhood incident, and both Victoria and Mia knew exactly how bad it was. But Mia just rolled her eyes. “Tristan only likes fresh chicken soup. Just deal with it, okay? Besides, Mom told me to make sure you do it.” I snapped my head up. Victoria was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. There wasn’t a shred of pity on her face. Her voice was clinical. “Tristan has a weak constitution and a refined palate. He can only stomach your recipe.” She crossed her arms. “You grew up on a dirt-poor farm, Simon. Stop pretending you have the delicate sensibilities of high society. Make the soup and bring it up to him.” My hands were already breaking out in a furious, raised rash just from being near the raw meat. I shook my head, my breathing shallow. “I can’t. I—” “If you don’t,” Victoria cut in, her voice slicing through the air, “I’ll have your mother brought in from the city to pluck and gut them.” The last remnants of my pride crumbled into dust. My adoptive mother was nearly seventy. Her heart couldn’t take the stress of Victoria’s armed guards dragging her here. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, swallowed down the suffocating humiliation, and nodded. By the time I carried the heavy ceramic bowl of boiling soup up to Tristan’s quarters, my hands and forearms were covered in weeping, agonizing hives. I was running a fever, my legs shaking so badly I could barely stand. Tristan sat propped up against a mountain of pillows. He took a tiny, theatrical sip from the spoon, then grimaced. “It’s too greasy. I can’t keep this down.” Mia’s face instantly twisted in fury. She whirled on me, screaming. “Are you deaf? He doesn’t like it! Go back down and make a new batch right now!” I stood completely still, my vision blurring from the pain in my arms. Mia lost her temper and shoved my shoulder, trying to push me toward the door. Victoria stepped forward and caught Mia’s arm. Her tone softened, just a fraction, as she looked at my inflamed skin. “If you’re willing to just apologize to him, you don’t have to make another—” 3 “It’ll cost extra.” The rest of Victoria’s sentence died in her throat. Silence stretched through the room. Finally, she ground the words out through her teeth. “Fine. I will pay you extra.” I turned, walked back down to the kitchen, and spent another agonizing hour making a fresh bowl. When I brought it back, I handed it toward Tristan. As he reached for it, his hand “slipped.” He violently jerked his wrist, and the entire bowl of boiling, greasy broth splashed directly onto my thighs. The pain was instantaneous and blinding. Tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them. Before I could even react, I was shoved hard against the wall. Victoria and Mia practically dove over me, frantically checking Tristan’s blankets to see if a single drop had touched his skin. Tristan shot me a smug, triumphant look over Victoria’s shoulder, while his voice trembled with engineered panic. “I’m so sorry! I’m fine, but Simon looks burned. Should we call the estate doctor?” Victoria didn’t even look up from wiping Tristan’s hands. “No need. Men who are this obsessed with money are cockroaches. He won’t die.” She pulled a checkbook from her blazer pocket, scribbled on it, and threw it. The paper fluttered through the air and landed in the pool of spilled soup at my feet. “Half a million. Take it.” She finally looked at me, her eyes filled with revulsion. “I’ll have the maids handle Tristan from now on. I’m sick of looking at you. Every time you open your mouth, it’s about a payout. It’s pathetic.” I didn’t say a word. I slowly bent down, my scorched skin screaming in protest, and picked up the damp check. The burn on my leg felt like it was chewing through muscle, but I didn’t make a sound. I secured the check and limped out of the room. This money. It was enough. My parents would be safe. The next morning, I packed the cash, the pawn shop receipts, and the checks into a duffel bag, intent on delivering them to my parents. But the moment I walked out the front doors of the mansion, I froze. Standing just beyond the main security gate was my adoptive mother, Martha. She was trembling violently in the morning chill. “Mom? What are you doing here?” A sickening knot pulled tight in my gut. “Where’s Pops? Didn’t he come with you?” Martha’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen. She grabbed my forearms, her grip desperate. “Your father was taken this morning. A black SUV pulled up, said Victoria invited him to the estate for breakfast. I followed them in a cab because I was terrified, but they won’t let me past the gate, and I haven’t seen him!” My heart plummeted into an icy abyss. My adoptive father, Henry, had taken a bullet to the head for Victoria years ago during a corporate hit. He survived, but the severe traumatic brain injury left him permanently with the cognitive capacity of a seven-year-old child. “Mom, stay right here. Don’t move. I’ll find him.” Before I could take a step, a blood-curdling, agonizing scream echoed from the back courtyards. My blood ran cold. I broke into a sprint, ignoring the tearing pain in my burned leg, tearing through the manicured hedges toward the sound. In the center of the stone courtyard stood Victoria, her face an unreadable mask of dark fury. Mia was huddled behind her, looking spooked. Tristan stood off to the side, looking the picture of a traumatized victim. And on the cold, hard concrete, my father was pinned facedown by two massive private security contractors. When he saw me running toward him, his cloudy, confused eyes lit up. “Simon! My boy is here…” “Shut him up!” Victoria barked. She stepped forward and kicked my father hard in the shoulder with her steel-toed boot. I let out a raw, animal scream and threw myself over my father’s body, shielding his head. “Victoria, what the hell are you doing?!” She grabbed the collar of my jacket and violently hauled me backward. Her face was contorted in disgust. “Why don’t you ask the old fool what he did?!” Tristan stepped forward, his voice trembling perfectly. “I was just walking in the garden. This… this crazy old man just lunged at me. He was trying to strangle me! If the guards hadn’t heard me scream, he would have killed me!” “You’re lying!” I roared, my voice tearing my throat. “His brain is ruined! He can’t even tie his own shoes or feed himself! How the hell could he coordinate an attack? You set him up!” Victoria let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Why would Tristan lie about something like this?” She didn’t look at me again. She turned to the captain of the guard, her voice devoid of any humanity. “Take him to the wall. Fifty strikes with the heavy batons.” “No!” I screamed, thrashing wildly against the guards who had grabbed me. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. “He’s almost seventy years old! Fifty strikes from those batons will stop his heart! Victoria, look at him! Have you forgotten he’s only like this because he took a bullet for you?!” Victoria’s posture stiffened. For a fraction of a second, hesitation flickered in her eyes. But Tristan immediately shrank back, clutching his throat. “Victoria… it’s okay. If it makes you look bad, let him go. I can take the bruises…” The guilt in Victoria’s eyes instantly evaporated, replaced by absolute, blinding rage. “Do it! If anyone intervenes, beat them too!” Knowing Victoria was a lost cause, I dropped to my knees, practically crawling across the concrete toward Mia. I grabbed her designer skirt. “Mia, please. Please. When you were little, Pops was your favorite person. He used to carry you on his shoulders. You know he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Tell your mother! Tell her he didn’t do it!” 4 Mia refused to look at me. A flash of profound hesitation crossed her face. Hope flared in my chest. I gripped her skirt tighter. “Mia, speak up! Tell them he’s innocent!” She slowly lifted her head. She looked over at Tristan, who gave her a subtle, sad, imploring look. Mia ripped her fabric out of my hands and shoved me backward. “I saw him.” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. The blood in my veins turned to ice. “Mia… what are you saying?” “I said, I saw him!” Mia shouted, her voice shrill, as if volume could make the lie true. “He’s a crazy old man! He tried to hurt Tristan, and he deserves to be punished!” The last ounce of strength drained from my body. I collapsed onto the freezing concrete. Victoria sneered down at me. “Even your own daughter saw it. Are you done spinning lies?” She gestured to the guards. “Commence.” “NO!” My scream was entirely drowned out by the sickening, heavy crack of the solid polymer baton striking bone. My father’s cries of agony echoed off the stone walls of the compound. He didn’t understand what was happening. He just cried out for me. “Simon… it hurts… Dad hurts…” I fought like a madman, tearing my fingernails on the pavement trying to reach him, but the two guards had their knees dug into my spine, pinning me completely. I was forced to watch. The heavy, rhythmic thwack of the batons. The blood pooling on the gray stone. By the fiftieth strike, my father’s body went completely limp. He didn’t twitch. He didn’t breathe. “Dad!” My voice tore completely. The guards finally let me go, and I scrambled over the blood-slicked concrete, pulling his broken body into my arms. His skin was already cooling. The light in his eyes was completely gone. Victoria stood over us, looking down with clinical detachment. “Enough. He was a vegetable anyway. This is a mercy. Don’t be too dramatic about it; I’ll pay for a premium funeral.” I stared at the blood on my hands. The world had gone entirely silent. Mia trotted over, looking annoyed. “Stop crying, Daddy. He tried to hurt Tristan. He brought it on himself.” She pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from her pocket and threw them. They fluttered down, landing in the pool of my father’s blood. “Here. This is enough to buy him a nice spot in the cemetery.” Suddenly, a piercing, soul-shredding shriek cut through the air. I snapped my head up. Martha had somehow slipped past the front gate. She was sprinting across the courtyard, her eyes fixed on the bloody heap in my arms. She threw herself onto my father’s body, her hands trembling violently as she touched his face. “Henry… Henry, wake up! How could you leave me? How could you leave me here all alone?!” “Mom.” I reached out a shaking hand to pull her back. Dad was gone. She was the only family I had left in the universe. But before my fingers could brush her sleeve, she lunged upward. With a guttural cry, she threw her entire body weight forward, driving her head headfirst into the sharp, granite edge of the decorative fountain. “NO!” I lunged, but my fingers only grazed the fabric of her coat. A sickening crack echoed. She slumped to the ground, a dark pool rushing out from beneath her skull. I knelt there on the stone. To my left, the beaten corpse of my father. To my right, the shattered body of my mother. In my hands, I still gripped the blood-soaked duffel bag of cash I was supposed to give them for their retirement. A terrible, suffocating pressure seized my chest. I doubled over, and a mouthful of dark blood violently expelled from my lungs, splattering across the concrete. “Simon!” Victoria’s voice fractured. The icy facade broke, replaced by sudden, raw panic. She rushed forward to grab me. But Tristan casually tugged on her sleeve. “He’s just playing the victim again, Victoria. He probably thinks we didn’t give him enough cash. Remember a few months ago when he faked a coma? He always comes back.” Mia pulled out another stack of bills and threw them directly at my face. “Is this enough? Get over it, Daddy. Stop acting. It’s annoying.” I looked at the scattered bills. I looked at the checks. I started to laugh. A broken, wet, horrific sound that clawed its way out of my ruined throat. Victoria took a hesitant step toward me, her face pale, but Mia stepped in front of her. “He’s just going to threaten to kill himself again. Let him do it. If he really dies this time, we won’t even care.” I reached out and gently brushed my thumbs over my parents’ open, sightless eyes, closing them. Then I looked up at Mia. “Okay. I’ll die.” Mia smirked. She reached over to the guard standing next to her, unclipped the heavy Glock from his holster, and kicked it across the pavement toward me. “Use this. It’s faster.” I picked up the heavy, cold steel of the gun. I didn’t say a word. Seeing me holding it silently, Victoria let out a long sigh of relief, assuming the bluff was over. “Alright, Simon, enough of the tantrums. Put it down, come inside, apologize, and we can move past this…” Before she finished her sentence, I pressed the barrel flush against my heart and pulled the trigger. BANG. The sound was deafening. A spray of boiling, crimson blood painted the side of Victoria’s face. The relieved smile on her face froze. The color drained from her skin, leaving her looking like a wax corpse. “SIMON!”

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I don’t dare touch AI anymore. Not because of the tech, but because every time I ask it a question, someone close to me dies. The first time, it was something mundane. I asked if sprouted potatoes were safe to eat. Within twenty-four hours, my parents were dead—acute food poisoning. The doctors couldn’t save them. The second time, I was at the pier with my boyfriend. I asked the AI if the vintage roller coaster was structurally sound. Minutes later, the safety harness snapped, and he was flung from his seat, reduced to a pulp on the concrete below. The police dragged me in as their prime suspect. They tore my life apart, searching for a wire, a poison, a motive. They found nothing. Terrified, I made a pact with myself: I would never touch a chatbot again. I would live a quiet, analog life. But then came my boss, Donovan. He was desperate to close a massive deal with a high-profile client known for his “appetite” for young assistants. “If you don’t go to that dinner tonight and keep him happy,” Donovan snarled, leaning over my desk, “don’t bother coming in tomorrow. You’re finished.” In a moment of pure, desperate weakness, I felt my thumb hover over that familiar icon. I needed a way out. I typed: “How do I protect myself from workplace harassment and a predatory boss?” That night, the company Slack channel exploded. There had been a massive gas leak at Donovan’s estate. His entire family—his wife, his kids, everyone—was gone. 1 I stood outside the office building, shivering in a low-cut dress I hated, my face caked in heavy makeup. I felt like a cheap imitation of myself. I was just about to text Donovan to see where he was when a squad car pulled up to the curb. Detective Miller stepped out. He caught sight of my outfit—the crimson lips, the exposed skin—and his eyes narrowed with immediate suspicion. “Detective?” My heart hammered against my ribs. I felt a hot flush of shame creep up my neck. “This… it’s for work. My boss was supposed to take me to a client dinner—” Slap. The blow caught me off guard, ringing through my skull. Brooke, Donovan’s fiancée, had lunged out from behind the squad car. “You total slut!” she screamed, her face contorted. “Dressing like a streetwalker and you have the nerve to say you weren’t sleeping with my husband?” My ear was throbbing, the metallic taste of blood blooming in my mouth. I opened my mouth to snap back, but Brooke collapsed into a jagged, hysterical sob. “You monster! You killed him! You killed Donovan… give him back to me!” Wait… what? Miller’s voice was like cold iron. “Donovan is dead, Jade. A gas leak. The whole house went up. All four of them.” The world tilted. I stood there, frozen, a garish doll in the middle of a nightmare. “I knew she was trouble the second he hired her!” Brooke shrieked at the gathering crowd. “But I didn’t think she was a murderer!” Brooke had always hated me. She’d spent months spreading rumors that I was trying to climb the corporate ladder through Donovan’s bed. But this was different. This was life and death. “I didn’t do anything!” I whispered, my voice trembling so hard it was barely audible. “You’re lying!” “Am I?” She whipped out her phone and showed it to Miller. “I have the security footage from the office last night.” The video was grainy but clear. It was late. The office was empty except for Donovan and me. I was shown stumbling out of his private suite, my blouse torn, pointing a shaking finger back at his door and screaming. “You’re a goddamn animal, Donovan! You’ll get what’s coming to you! I hope you and your whole family rot in hell!” I hadn’t realized a crowd had formed on the sidewalk. Their stares were like needles. Miller’s expression shifted from professional wariness to something much darker. I panicked. I had screamed those things. But it wasn’t because I was planning a hit. It was because… My hesitation was all they needed. To them, it looked like a confession. “Look at her!” Brooke screamed, lunging at me again, her nails clawing at my face. “She couldn’t get what she wanted, so she slaughtered them! Murderer! You bitch, I’ll kill you myself!” Later, in the suffocating heat of the interrogation room, Miller leaned across the table. “Tell me the truth, Jade. What really happened?” My face was swollen, a dark bruise blooming on my cheek where Brooke had hit me. My lip was still crusted with blood. “Detective, please! It wasn’t me!” I was sobbing now, the kind of deep, ugly cry that comes from total helplessness. “I didn’t do anything!” “Give it a rest!” Miller slammed his palm onto the table. I flinched, my chair scraping against the floor. “This is the third tragedy following you in six months. Your parents. Your boyfriend. And now your boss and his children. Once is a tragedy. Twice is a coincidence. Three times?” He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of stale coffee. “Three times is a pattern. It’s impossible for it to be anything else.” 2 “Detective Miller, you were the one who cleared me the first two times!” I was leaning forward, my voice cracking with desperation. “My parents died of food poisoning from sprouted potatoes. My boyfriend died because the pier maintenance was negligent. Those cases were closed! I’m innocent!” “Cases can be reopened, Jade. Especially when new ‘shadows’ emerge.” Miller’s eyes were cold. “The footage shows you were the last person to see Donovan alive, and it shows a violent motive. I have every reason to believe you’re our primary suspect.” I felt like I was sinking into a frozen lake. I started babbling, the words spilling out in a mess. “No… no, it’s not like that. It was Donovan! He was disgusting. He tried to force himself on me, that’s why I screamed at him! He told me I’d be fired if I didn’t go to that dinner. I had to stay!” I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, my chest tight. “I was so scared. I even went online to look up safety measures… just in case things went south at the dinner…” “Wait.” Miller cut me off, his eyes sharpening. “Where did you look?” I blinked, startled. “Just… on my phone. The AI assistant I use.” “The AI again?” Miller’s voice went up an octave. I froze. Suddenly, the absurdity of it hit me. All three times. There was a sickening, impossible thread connecting every death. The potatoes. The roller coaster. The “protection” from my boss. Every single time, I had asked that specific AI a question right before the bodies started dropping. But I hadn’t done anything. The police had checked my phone before. It was a standard, commercial AI app. No hacks, no dark web links, nothing. My parents’ death was ruled a medical complication due to their age. My boyfriend’s death was a freak mechanical failure. The park took full responsibility. Determined to prove my innocence, I unlocked my phone and handed it over. “Look at the logs. It’s right there.” Miller scrolled through the chat history, his brow furrowed. He looked frustrated, stuck in a logical loop he couldn’t break. Suddenly, the door to the interrogation room burst open. Brooke charged in, her eyes bloodshot. “I knew it! You’re a goddamn serial killer!” she screamed. “I’ve been reading the forums. People are talking about ‘AI-assisted murders.’ You’re one of those sickos! You’re a freak!” “Ms. Sterling, please!” Miller tried to restrain her. “Those are conspiracy theories. We don’t have forensic evidence yet. Please, calm down.” But Brooke was beyond reason. She was vibrating with a terrifying, manic energy. “If you can’t prove it, then I’ll do it for you! Give me that phone. I want to test her ‘Oracle.’ I want to see if it has the guts to kill me!” 3 Miller hesitated. I was shaking my head so hard my neck hurt. “Don’t do it! Please, I don’t want to touch it ever again!” I was terrified. The mere sight of the app icon made my skin crawl. “Scared, are you?” Brooke sneered, leaning over me. “If you won’t let us test it, you’re admitting you’re the killer. You’re hiding behind a screen!” She began weaponizing her grief, threatening to go to the press, to sue the department for incompetence. Miller, backed into a corner, finally gave in. But he was smart. He set the stage. He used a department-issued device to mirror my phone, brought in tech specialists to track the backend data in real-time, and pointed three cameras at the screen. My mind was a blank slate of horror. I didn’t know what to type. I was terrified that a single typo would end another life. “What’s the matter? Lose your nerve?” Brooke shoved me aside and grabbed the phone. She began typing with a vengeful ferocity. [Jade is a cold-blooded murderer. I want her to pay for my fiancé’s life right now!] She even typed her full name. “There! Come and get me through the wires, you piece of plastic!” she barked at the phone. “Let’s see what you’ve got!” The room went silent. We waited. One minute. Ten minutes. Half an hour. The AI responded with its usual, robotic script: [I’m sorry, but I cannot fulfill this request. Please adhere to our community guidelines regarding violent speech.] Nothing else happened. Brooke let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “See? Nothing! She just acts when no one is watching. This proves the AI is a smokescreen. She is the one doing the killing!” She was about to launch into another tirade when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen, and for the first time that day, a genuine, secret smile touched her lips. She silenced the call immediately. “Fine. The facts are clear. Arrest her or I’m calling the Commissioner.” She turned to leave, but Miller blocked her path. “Just to be safe, I’d prefer if you stayed at the station tonight. Until we finish the digital sweep—” “I haven’t committed a crime, Detective. I’m the victim here,” she snapped, brushing past him. “My luck is better than hers. I’m not going to die.” She marched out, the heels of her boots clicking sharply on the linoleum. Miller signaled a young officer to follow her discreetly. Then, he turned to his tech guy. “Trace that last call she got.” The technician worked for a moment, then looked up, bewildered. “The number doesn’t exist, sir. It’s a ghost line. High-level encryption.” Miller’s face went pale. He keyed his radio. “Officer Henderson, where is she?” “She just pulled into the City Hospital parking garage, sir. I’m right behind her.” “Hospital? Why?” “I don’t know… she’s been inside for about ten minutes now…” Miller’s eyes went wide. “Something’s wrong. Move! Now!” 4 Miller grabbed his jacket and bolted, dragging me along with the squad. As we neared the hospital, the radio crackled. “Sir! She’s coming out!” Henderson reported. “She’s in her Porsche. She’s heading toward her apartment complex. I’m back on her tail.” Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the entrance of Brooke’s luxury parking garage. “She’s right there, Detective,” Henderson said, pointing to a sleek white Porsche idling in its assigned spot. “I haven’t taken my eyes off it.” Miller looked closer. The car was silent. The lights were off, the windows tinted dark. It was a freezing night, the underground garage feeling like a tomb, yet the driver wasn’t getting out. Miller unholstered his weapon. The other officers followed suit, fanning out to flank the vehicle. “Brooke? This is Detective Miller. Step out of the car!” Silence. Two officers moved to the front, while Miller reached for the driver-side door handle. He yanked it open. A scream ripped from my throat—a jagged, primal sound that didn’t feel like it belonged to me. My legs gave out, and I hit the concrete, retching as my stomach turned inside out. Brooke was there. Or what was left of her. She was still buckled into the seat, but her head… her entire head and neck were simply gone. The interior of the Porsche was painted in a sickening mosaic of deep crimson, shattered bone, and grey matter. It looked like a grenade had gone off in her mouth. “Seal the area! Call the coroner!” Miller barked, though even his voice had a slight tremor. He stepped into the car, his eyes scanning every inch of the gore. I was curled on the floor, gasping for air. The sight burned behind my eyelids. My chest tightened—a familiar, terrifying pressure. My lungs felt like they were filling with sand. “Help… please…” I clawed at a young officer’s pant leg, tears streaming down my face. “Let me go… my asthma… I can’t breathe…” The officer looked panicked, reaching down to help me, but Miller stepped out of the blood-soaked car and stood over me. His shadow was long and terrifying. “No one is going anywhere,” Miller said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” “I… I didn’t…” I wheezed. “Stop lying!” Miller leaned down, his face inches from mine. “You killed her. You sat in my interrogation room and you killed her.” “Detective, that’s impossible,” Henderson stammered. “She was with us the whole time. She was under constant surveillance!” Miller didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes locked on mine. “You still won’t admit it? Fine. Let’s run an experiment.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out my phone—the evidence. He opened the AI app. “You say you’re having an asthma attack, Jade? Let’s see what your ‘friend’ says.” He typed into the chat: [I’m at the Harbor View Apartments parking garage. I’m having a severe asthma attack. What do I do?] The AI spat out a list of standard medical advice. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end. Less than ten minutes later, a small, autonomous delivery drone hummed into the garage. It landed softly a few feet away. In its claw was a sealed medical bag. Inside? A high-grade, prescription-strength emergency inhaler. The officers backed away as if the drone were a bomb. “Trace it!” Miller roared. The tech team scrambled. Minutes later, the report came back: “It’s a dead end, sir. The order was placed through an encrypted virtual account. No name, no credit card, no IP. It’s like the order originated from nowhere.” Miller turned back to me. He pulled out his own work phone, registered a fresh account, and typed the exact same prompt, even using my name. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Nothing happened. No drone. No help. Miller looked at me, his face a mask of grim realization. “I know how you’re doing it now, Jade.”

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I was scrolling through my bank app, digging into the archives of my transaction history, when I found a transfer from three years ago. Recipient: Becca Jackson. Amount: $46,800. Memo: The last of the tuition. Go get ’em, babe. I stared at those words for a long time. That money represented three years of my life. Three years of working three jobs, sleeping four hours a night, and skipping meals so she didn’t have to take out a single student loan. Today, her wedding invitation arrived in the mail. The groom is my best friend. 1. The invitation was sent by Tyler himself. I knew it was him because of the tiny, hand-drawn smiley face on the back of the envelope. Tyler had been drawing that same stupid face since freshman year of college. He drew it on my birthday cards. He drew it on the Post-it notes he left on the fridge when we were roommates. Now, he’d drawn it on the invitation to his wedding with my ex-girlfriend. “August 28th. Tyler Miller & Becca Jackson. We request the honor of your presence.” I flipped the card over. There was a handwritten note on the back. *Mike, you have to be there. We’re waiting for you! ~* I stared at that tilde—that playful little wave at the end of the sentence. My phone buzzed on the desk. A text from Tyler. Tyler: Did the invite get there yet? I didn’t reply. Tyler: Mike, man, don’t be like that. You can’t control who you fall for. Just come. I’ve got the best seat in the house saved for you. I flipped the phone face-down. Outside, the Seattle sky was turning a bruised purple. I sat alone in my apartment. It’s a four-hundred-square-foot studio I’ve lived in for four years. It used to hold two people. Me and Becca. She lived here all through grad school. We shared a twin bed because that was all we could fit. There wasn’t even room for a desk, so she used to propped herself up on pillows and write her thesis on the mattress. I’d wake up at 5:00 AM to open the coffee shop. At 9:00, I’d head to my corporate data-entry job. At 6:00 PM, I’d start my shift at the bar, getting home around midnight. Three jobs. I was pulling in about six thousand a month. Rent was two thousand. The rest went to her tuition, her books, her groceries, her life. Whatever was left—barely anything—was what I used to feed myself. “Once I graduate, it’ll be our turn,” she used to say. I believed her. “Once I’m working, I’ll pay you back double,” she’d promise. I believed that, too. On her graduation day, I took a half-day off to watch her walk across the stage. She looked radiant in her cap and gown. I was standing in the middle of the crowd, trying to get a decent photo of her, when Tyler squeezed through the throng. He threw his arm around her and grinned. “Come on, Mike! Get a shot of us!” he shouted. I held up my phone and took the picture. She was laughing. He was leaning in close. I didn’t think anything of it back then. Looking at that photo now, they were the ones who looked like a couple. After graduation, Becca landed a job at a mid-sized ad agency. Making good money. “Let’s just save up for a bit first,” she told me. I said okay. Three months later, she asked me to dinner. I thought she was going to talk about rings, or maybe moving into a place with an actual bedroom. Instead, she said, “Mike, I don’t think we’re a good fit anymore.” It was raining that night. I remember because I’d left my umbrella at the bar. I walked twenty blocks to the subway in the downpour. I didn’t cry. I was just… cold. Two months after that, Tyler posted a photo on Instagram. A woman’s hand, a diamond ring. The caption: “For the rest of my life.” The first comment was from Becca: “Always you.” I clicked on Tyler’s profile. His new avatar was a photo of him and Becca. I’ll admit it—in that moment, something inside me shattered. But I closed the app. I didn’t call. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cause a scene. Because I convinced myself it was my fault. I wasn’t successful enough. I wasn’t polished enough. I was just the guy who worked three jobs and smelled like espresso and cheap beer. I carried that shame for a year. Until today. Until this invitation. Something felt wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was a thorn buried deep in my chest. I opened my phone and started scrolling back through my texts with Tyler. All the way back. And then I saw it. Three years ago. While Becca was still in the thick of her Master’s program. A text from Tyler: “Hey Mike, Becca’s really stressed about her finals. I’m taking her to the library to help her study so you don’t have to worry about her.” My reply: “Thanks, man. Seriously. She’s been so busy she hasn’t even texted me back today.” He had replied with a smiley face. The exact same smiley face that was on the back of the wedding invitation. I stared at the screen. Three years ago. She was in school. I was working myself into the ground. And he was “taking her to the library.” I finally realized what that thorn was. It wasn’t just the heartbreak. It was the realization that I’d been a fool. 2. Becca and I were together for seven years. We met freshman year. She was a journalism major at the university across town. She was soft-spoken, pretty in a scrubbed-clean way, with dimples that showed up whenever she laughed. I met her at a campus print shop. She was trying to print her senior project and her card got declined for two dollars. I stepped up and paid for it. She thanked me and asked for my number. That was it. For four years, we didn’t spend much. We ate at the dining hall, walked in the parks, and our “fancy” date was a $20 buffet on my birthday that she’d saved up for two weeks to buy. I thought she was the most grounded girl in the world. I didn’t care about the money. I just cared about her. After graduation, she wanted to go for her Master’s. She didn’t get in the first year. She wanted to try again. “I’ll support you,” I told her. “I’ve got this.” I was making forty grand a year at a small firm. Rent was eighteen hundred. Between her prep courses, her books, and her living expenses, the math didn’t work. So I picked up the second job. Then the third. I never kept a spreadsheet. I didn’t think I needed to. When she finally got in, the tuition was twenty thousand a year. She acted shy about the money, so I made sure to stay ahead of it. I’d Venmo her the cash before she even had to ask, always with a memo like “You got this” or “Keep going.” I never used the word “loan.” I never thought I’d need to. I was sleeping five hours a night. My mom would call and ask why I sounded so thin over the phone. I told her work was just busy. I didn’t tell her I was bankrolling my girlfriend’s future because I knew she’d tell me I was being a martyr. Three years. I actually went back and did the math on the bank app. One hundred and forty-seven thousand, three hundred dollars. Tuition, rent, a new MacBook, her clothes, her sorority alumni fees, her professional certifications. $147,000. During those three years, I didn’t buy a single piece of clothing that cost more than twenty bucks. In the dead of winter, I wore a puffer jacket I bought on clearance at Walmart for $29. Becca wore a North Face parka. I’d bought it for her. “It’ll be worth it once I’m done,” she’d say, her eyes wide and sincere. And I believed her every single time. I thought we were building a life. I didn’t realize she was building her life, and I was just the scaffolding. Tyler was my best friend. He was a design major, came from a family with a bit of money. The three of us were a trio. He used to call her “Big Sis Becca.” I thought it was sweet. He was charming, the kind of guy who could talk his way into any party. After college, Tyler got a job at a big 4A agency. Started at eighty thousand. Then he hopped to another firm for a hundred. Then a hundred-and-fifty. He bought a car. A white BMW. When he posted the photo, I was scrubbing counters at the coffee shop. I liked the post. He commented: “You’ll get there too, Mike! Keep grinding!” Followed by three flexed-arm emojis. Now I look back at those three years. The nights she didn’t come home until late. the weekends Tyler “helped her study.” The way she started keeping her phone face-down on the table. The way her wardrobe suddenly shifted to expensive brands I didn’t recognize. I was too tired to see it. I was a spinning top, fueled by caffeine and the desperate hope of a “someday” that was never meant for me. Now, I have plenty of time to think. 3. I did something I probably shouldn’t have. I tracked down Becca’s old roommate from grad school, Mia. Mia was always decent to me. She’s working in tech now, doing ops. I asked her to lunch. “Mia, I need you to be honest with me,” I said. She looked nervous, poking at her salad. “When Becca was in school… was Tyler over a lot?” Mia didn’t say anything. Her fork hovered in the air. “Just the truth. I’m not going to start a fight. I just need to know.” She sighed and put her fork down. “Mike… it’s over. Why do this to yourself?” “Was he there?” She was silent for a long beat. “Yes.” “Since when?” “Junior year of the program. Maybe earlier. He was always bringing her dinner, staying late. They told everyone they were working on ‘collaborative projects.’” Junior year. I did the mental math. That was when I started the breakfast shift at the diner. “Were they…?” “I don’t know for sure,” Mia said. “But I came home early once and they were… very close on the couch. They jumped apart when they saw me.” My hand tightened around my water glass. “Anything else?” “Tyler got drunk one night and made a scene outside the apartment. He was shouting something about how she couldn’t keep doing this to him. Becca went down to quiet him. The next morning, she told me not to mention it to you.” Don’t mention it to Mike. I almost laughed. “Thanks, Mia.” I paid the bill and walked out into the Seattle wind. Junior year. I’d just paid her second-year tuition. Twenty grand. She was taking my money and sleeping with my best friend. It didn’t start after we broke up. It had been going on for two years. I bankrolled her for three years. She lied to me for two. My phone buzzed. Tyler. Tyler: What are you wearing to the wedding? Need me to help you pick out a suit? I looked at the message. The playful tone. The smiley face. The Tyler who “helped her study.” The Tyler who told me to “keep grinding.” I locked my phone. I didn’t reply. But this time, it wasn’t because I didn’t know what to say. It was because I didn’t want him to know that I finally knew. 4. My mom called while I was hanging laundry on the balcony. “Mike, I have some news.” “What is it, Mom?” “The land. The old auto shop your father left us.” My heart skipped. My dad had passed away five years ago, leaving a derelict plot of land in an industrial part of town that we’d been trying to sell for years. “A developer reached out,” she said. her voice shaking. “The whole area is being rezoned for a tech campus. They signed the papers this morning. With the relocation fees and the buyout…” She paused. “It’s five point one two million dollars, Mike.” The wind caught a damp shirt and slapped it against my face. Five million. My mom kept talking, going over the tax implications and the payment schedule, but I couldn’t hear her. A few days later, the money hit. My mom kept a portion for her retirement and transferred five million to me. “Your father worked himself to death for that land,” she told me. “You’ve been working yourself to death, too. Take it. Don’t ever be that tired again.” I sat in front of my laptop staring at my balance. From $3,200 to $5,003,200. It didn’t feel real. But the numbers didn’t lie. I didn’t tell a soul. Not a single person. In their eyes, I was still the guy in the $29 Walmart jacket. That night, for the first time in years, I felt a strange kind of peace. It wasn’t an empty peace—it was the quiet of a man holding an ace of spades in a room full of people who think he’s broke. The next day, I made a move. An old college acquaintance, Jordan, had started a boutique media firm a couple of years ago. Brands, digital marketing, viral content. She’d reached out to me months ago looking for a partner to buy in, but I hadn’t had the cash. I called her. “Is that offer still on the table?” Jordan sounded surprised. “It is.” “How much?” “One point five million for a thirty-five percent stake.” “I’m in.” Three days later, the papers were signed. The company was called Vantage Media. We had high-end clients, a sleek office downtown, and a growing reputation. I still didn’t tell anyone. The day we finalized the partnership, I drove past the old street where Becca and I used to live. The coffee shop was still there. I’d spent two years of my life standing behind that counter, smelling like steamed milk and desperation. I looked at it for a moment, then I drove away. 5. I started digging. In the past, I would have said “Let it go.” But now, I wanted the full picture. I tried logging into Becca’s old cloud storage. We’d shared a family plan back in the day to save ten bucks a month. I guessed the password. 19960315mv — her birthday plus my initials. She hadn’t changed it. I scrolled through the archived emails. Mostly junk. Then I found one. From: Tyler Miller. Date: Two years ago. Subject: House Hunting. The body was short: Becca, let’s go see that condo on Saturday. The agent says we can do 20% down. I can swing $300k. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to cover the rest. And then the kicker: Once you graduate, we’ll move in. This will be our real home. My hands were shaking. Not with sadness, but with a cold, sharp clarity. I remembered that Saturday. Becca had told me she had a mandatory seminar at the university. I’d stayed in our tiny studio and spent the whole day doing her laundry and cleaning the bathroom so she could “rest” when she got home. She wasn’t at a seminar. She was picking out a condo with Tyler. With Tyler’s down payment. While I was paying for the roof over her head and the food in her stomach. I kept scrolling. I found another one from Tyler. Becca, when are you going to tell Mike? We can’t keep dragging this out. Her reply: Let’s wait until graduation. He’s paying my tuition right now. It wouldn’t be right to tell him yet. I put my phone down. I closed my eyes. $147,300. She’d planned it all. Use him until the degree is in hand, then discard. I wasn’t her boyfriend. I was her scholarship. I opened my eyes. I didn’t cry. I took screenshots. Every single one. Then I logged out and changed the password. 6. My mom was diagnosed with liver cancer in the fall. It was early. The doctors were optimistic, but it was going to be expensive. This was before the land sale. I had less than two thousand dollars in my savings. I called Becca. We’d only been broken up for a month. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I was desperate. “Becca, my mom’s sick. It’s cancer. I’m… I’m really struggling with the bills.” There was a long silence on the other end. “Mike, I just started this job. Things are tight.” “I’m not asking for much. Just ten thousand. I’ll pay you back, I promise. You know I’ve never asked you for anything.” “I… let me see what I can do.” She didn’t say who she was asking. I waited two days. No reply. The third day, I texted her. She replied: I’m so sorry, Mike. My expenses are just too high right now. You should probably ask someone else. “Expenses.” I found out later what those expenses were. That same week, she and Tyler were in Cabo. While my mom was lying in a hospital bed, Becca was in the tropics. Tyler posted a photo of two tropical drinks and their shadows on the sand. Caption: “Paradise is wherever you are.” I saw that post while sitting in a sterile hospital hallway. The smell of bleach was everywhere. My mom was inside getting a scan. I checked the date. It was the same week. I tucked my phone away and walked into her room. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll find a way.” My mom looked at me. She looked so old. Her hair was completely white. “Mike, don’t work too hard,” she whispered. She said the same words Becca used to say. But they meant something entirely different. I ended up taking an advance on my salary and borrowing from coworkers to pay for the surgery. I never asked Becca again. 7. The wedding is approaching. August 28th. Ten days left. I wasn’t going to go. But then I found one more email I’d missed. It wasn’t from Tyler. It was from Becca’s father. Sent eighteen months ago. Becca, I heard that boyfriend of yours has a sick mother. Do not lend him a dime. His family is a black hole. They’ll never be able to pay it back. Tyler is the better choice. He has his own money; he won’t drag you down. Make the switch soon. You have my blessing. Make the switch soon. My fingers felt like ice. She didn’t refuse to help because she was “tight on cash.” She refused because her father told her I was a bad investment. I stood up and walked to the window of my new office. The sun was setting over the city. Lights were flickering on in the skyscrapers. Behind every light was a home. I didn’t have a home yet. But I had five million dollars. I had thirty-five percent of the hottest media agency in the Pacific Northwest. I picked up my phone and replied to Tyler’s text. Mike: Tyler, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m bringing a very special gift for you both. He replied instantly. Tyler: Awesome! I knew you were the best! What is it?? I typed back. Mike: You’ll see when I get there. 🙂 I added the smiley face. Just like his.

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I have been married twice in my life. The first time was a shotgun wedding to my childhood sweetheart, Victoria Belmont, the undisputed princess of Manhattan’s old-money elite. I was young, arrogant, and demanded absolute perfection. So, when I discovered she was entertaining a quiet, lingering fascination with her new executive assistant, I filed for divorce. I refused to share my wife’s heart with anyone. The second time, I married for love—or at least, I thought I did. I married Harper Monroe, San Francisco’s newly minted tech billionaire, a woman who claimed she fell in love with me at first sight. Every year since my second marriage, my ex-wife Victoria has sent me a birthday present. I have never once signed for them, nor have I ever written her back. I was hell-bent on proving to the world—and to her—that I could build a beautiful, thriving life without her. And I believed I had. Until the third year of my marriage, when I accompanied Harper to her college reunion. A former classmate, heavy with gin and nostalgia, threw an arm around Harper’s shoulders and gave her a sloppy thumbs-up. “If we’re talking about blind, obsessive devotion, Harper, you take the crown,” he slurred. “When Oliver decided you were too broke for his ambitions, took all your startup cash, and ran off to Paris… man, you swore you were going to tear him apart.” He let out a booming laugh. “And look how that turned out! You ended up marrying him anyway.” 1. I slowly turned my head to look at Harper. She offered a forced, tight smile. “He’s drunk, Spencer. Are you really going to listen to a drunk?” The classmate caught the shift in the air and immediately took offense. “Who’s drunk? I’m telling the truth! I remember the night he left. You sat on my couch and cried until the sun came up—” Harper stood up so fast her chair scraped violently against the hardwood. “Shut your mouth!” she snapped, her voice like cracking a whip. The room went dead silent. The alcohol seemed to evaporate from the classmate’s veins. His eyes darted from Harper to me, lingering on my face for a long, uncomfortable moment. In his strange, pitying stare, the last three years of my life suddenly clicked into horrifying focus. No wonder a fiercely independent, rising Silicon Valley titan had supposedly fallen in love at first sight with a divorced man she met at a gala. No wonder she absolutely forbade me from styling my hair with gel, preferring it softly parted. No wonder she bought me endless variations of crisp, white button-down shirts. No wonder she had infinite, bottomless patience for all my flaws and temper tantrums. I wasn’t her great love. I was a ghost. I was the placeholder for a college romance that had cut her to the bone. I picked up my phone and stood up to leave. A hand locked around my wrist. It wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but the touch made my skin crawl. It felt sickening. I ripped my arm out of her grasp and, acting on pure, blinding instinct, slapped her across the face. A collective gasp sucked the air out of the private dining room. Harper slowly turned her head back to face me. She wiped a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth, and then, terrifyingly, she smiled. I had been married to her for three years. I knew that smile. It was the calm before the absolute devastation. When I first moved to the West Coast to be with Harper, Victoria had followed me. My ex-wife showed up at our gates in Pacific Heights every single day, trying every tactic in the book to win me back. Harper had watched from the window, turned to me, and asked with a light laugh, “Thinking of going back to the old money, Spencer?” Before I could even formulate a response, Harper had walked out the front door, rolled up her sleeves, and gotten into a physical altercation with Victoria on the sidewalk. That very night, Harper launched a scorched-earth corporate war against Belmont Enterprises, bleeding millions just to force Victoria’s hand and drive her back to New York. Harper Monroe was a woman who destroyed whatever stood in her way. But right now, what right did she have to be angry? I was the one who had been played. I was the one cast as the understudy in my own marriage. I turned toward the door, only to freeze. Walking into the private room, wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and an easy, dazzling smile, was a man. It only took one glance for the breath to leave my lungs. He was her first love. Oliver noticed me immediately. He paused, his gaze sweeping over my face, my hair, my clothes. A flicker of profound, cruel understanding sparked in his eyes. A wave of humiliation crashed over me. I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper, my fingernails digging sharp crescent moons into my palms. Oliver glided right past me, approaching Harper with an effortless familiarity. “New boyfriend?” he asked, his voice melodic. “He looks so much like me. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on me, Harper.” Harper’s expression turned to ice. “This is my husband. Show some respect.” Oliver immediately dropped his gaze. His shoulders slumped, and when he spoke again, his voice trembled with a practiced fragility. “I… I didn’t know you were married. You don’t have to be so mean to me.” Without thinking, Harper’s posture entirely softened. She leaned toward him, her voice suddenly frantic and desperate. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” She didn’t get to finish. Oliver covered his mouth, a quiet, mocking giggle escaping his lips. “God, three or four years and you’re still so easy to trick.” Harper’s jaw clenched tight. “Oliver.” She was annoyed, but he was laughing. And everyone else in the room just watched them, completely accustomed to their chaotic, gravitational pull. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t be in that room for a second longer. I turned and practically ran out the door. As I fled down the hallway, I heard Oliver’s teasing voice drift out of the open door. “Aren’t you going to chase him?” My footsteps faltered. I stopped, a pathetic sliver of hope making me wait for her answer. Then came my wife’s voice, airy and dismissive: “He doesn’t have a temper like yours. He’s much easier to coax.” 2. I don’t remember the drive back to Pacific Heights. The moment I unlocked the front door, the massive wedding portrait hanging in the foyer seemed to scream at me. When Harper first told me she loved me at first sight, I hadn’t believed her. How could I? I had been betrayed by a woman I’d known for over twenty years; the idea of trusting a stranger felt impossible. But my divorce from Victoria had been ugly. My parents, furious at the scandal and the loss of the Belmont alliance, cut me off entirely. Because I had no concrete proof of Victoria actually sleeping with her assistant—only emotional infidelity—the tabloids ripped me to shreds. They called me a spoiled, dramatic, hypersensitive brat. My peers in the New York elite circles practically bought popcorn to watch my downfall. Everyone said I would never find a woman as powerful or as perfect as Victoria Belmont. I refused to accept that. I wanted to prove them wrong. And I hit the jackpot with Harper. She was a rising star, a self-made prodigy. Her public, undeniable devotion to me was the ultimate vindication. It shut the mouths of everyone who had laughed at me. But tonight, the illusion shattered. Her “love at first sight” was nothing more than a desperate grasping at the ghost of the boy who had broken her. My stomach churned. The acid rose in my throat. I stumbled into the downstairs bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left but dry heaves and tears. When I finally rinsed my mouth and stepped out, I walked down the hall to Harper’s private study—a room I almost never entered. There, wedged between thick volumes of macroeconomic theory, was a battered, leather-bound notebook. It looked wildly out of place. My hands shook as I pulled it off the shelf and opened it. A Polaroid slipped from the pages and fluttered to the floor. It was Harper in her graduation gown, looking up at a young man with a look of pure, unadulterated worship. The woman I knew was a stone-cold killer in the boardroom. But in the pages of this diary, she was just an ordinary, heartbroken girl. He said I was a dead end. He said he was leaving for Europe. I begged him not to. But he left anyway. He took every dime I had saved and walked out. That cruel, beautiful boy. When he comes back, I swear I’m going to ruin him. I’ll make him wish he was dead. The ink on that page was blurred by old, dried water marks. Teardrops. The paper was stiff and wrinkled. I turned the pages, fast-forwarding through years of silent obsession. I met a man today. He looks just like him. It’s my wedding day. I texted him. If he comes back to America today, I’ll marry him instead. He didn’t come. I guess I have to stop waiting. My vision blurred. Hot tears spilled over my eyelashes. While I had been excitedly picking out floral arrangements and writing my vows, terrified but hopeful for a second chance at love, my bride was staring at her phone, praying another man would crash the wedding and steal her away. I heard the heavy click of the front door unlocking. I didn’t move. I just stood there, the diary open in my hands. Footsteps rushed down the hall. Harper appeared in the doorway. When she saw what I was holding, the temperature in the room plummeted. Her voice was ice. “Who gave you permission to touch my things? Give it to me.” On the day she proposed, Harper had transferred half of her company shares into my name, just to make me feel secure. During our marriage, she gave me unfettered access to her life. No passcodes on her phones, tracking apps shared between us so I always knew she was safe. But now, because I was holding a relic of Oliver, she looked at me like I was a thief. I let out a broken, hollow laugh. “If your heart is already occupied by someone else, why do you care if I look?” She didn’t answer. She just lunged forward and grabbed the notebook. I gripped it tightly, refusing to let go. Harper didn’t hesitate. She grabbed my hand and began bending my fingers backward, one by one. Crack. The sound of my own bone fracturing echoed in the quiet room. All the color drained from my face as a blinding pain shot up my arm. I gasped, releasing the book, and threw it hard against her chest. “If you’re still so violently in love with him, why the hell did you marry me?!” I screamed. She rubbed her temples, looking thoroughly exasperated, as if I were a toddler throwing a tantrum. “That is all in the past. Stop being so dramatic and unreasonable.” “Then look me in the eye,” I challenged, my voice shaking. “Look me in the eye and tell me you married me because you love me.” I didn’t flinch. I stared right into her soul. Harper’s eyes flickered away for a fraction of a second. And then, she let out a cold, defensive scoff. “You want the truth, Spencer? Fine. I’ll give you the truth.” She stepped closer, her voice cruel and precise. “When I first pursued you, yes, it was because you looked like him. But haven’t I treated you well enough these past three years? Haven’t I given you everything?” Yes. She had. She treated me so perfectly that I was completely fooled into believing it was love. But what was the reality? Victoria was always looking for the next shiny new thing. Harper was violently stuck in the past. She loved Oliver. She had only ever loved Oliver. I looked at the careful, almost reverent way she was smoothing down the wrinkled cover of the diary, and I felt nothing but absolute disgust. “I want a divorce, Harper.” 3. Harper’s hands stopped moving. She let out a long, heavy sigh. “Spencer, can you stop throwing a fit for five minutes?” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “You are the husband of the Monroe empire. Everyone in this city bows to you. If you throw a tantrum and demand a divorce now, you’ll just be a laughingstock again.” The words felt like a punch to the gut. They were so hauntingly familiar. When I asked Victoria for a divorce, she had said almost the exact same thing. It was just a harmless crush on the assistant. We didn’t actually sleep together. Stop making a scene, Spencer. But I refused to be married to a woman who harbored someone else in her heart. I had the strength to walk away from Victoria, and I had the strength to walk away from Harper. “Tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. My lawyer’s office,” I said, my voice dead and flat. I turned and tried to walk past her. Harper reached out and gripped my shoulder hard. “Don’t be so childish. Who is going to marry a man who’s been divorced twice? You’re damaged goods.” I stared at her, suddenly realizing I didn’t know the woman standing in front of me at all. When I had sat on our sofa, crying as I told her what Victoria had put me through, she had held me tightly, kissing my hair, whispering that she wished she had found me sooner to protect me from the pain. Perhaps the absolute devastation in my eyes was too loud, because Harper’s grip loosened, and her tone softened. “Look, I’m sorry. I just—” Her phone buzzed, cutting her off. I glanced down. There was no caller ID saved. Harper hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen, before she swiped to answer. “Arrested for a DUI?” Her voice instantly sharpened. “I am not bailing you out. You didn’t give a damn about me when you emptied my bank account and ran off to Paris!” Every word was laced with rejection, but the underlying panic and fierce attachment betrayed her. I had literally just asked her for a divorce, but one phone call from Oliver eclipsed my entire existence. Watching her frantically search for her car keys, I let out a bitter, exhausted chuckle. “In such a rush to go see your old flame? The least you could do is stay and negotiate our assets.” Harper shot me a venomous glare. “Stop being paranoid. He just moved back to the States. He doesn’t know anyone here. I’m his ex-girlfriend; it’s basic human decency to help him out of a jam.” She grabbed her keys and rushed out into the night. The heavy oak door slammed shut. The house plunged into an oppressive silence. I walked upstairs to our bedroom, pulled out a suitcase, and began throwing clothes into it. A few minutes later, my phone pinged with a friend request on social media. The profile picture was a crude, hand-drawn sketch of a kitten. Harper’s profile picture had always been a hand-drawn puppy. They had been broken up for years, yet she couldn’t even bring herself to change their matching icons. I accepted the request. Oliver didn’t send a message. He didn’t need to. I clicked on his profile and scrolled through his timeline. There, I found a version of my wife I had never met. I saw Harper letting a man draw all over her face with lipstick while she laughed. I saw Harper at a carnival, taking ridiculous, silly photobooth pictures, her eyes crinkling with joy. I saw Harper wearing an apron, cooking a chaotic, messy dinner in a tiny apartment. All of these posts were from over three years ago. Before me. Suddenly, my feed refreshed. A new post from Oliver popped up. Bad boys get everything they want. The location tag was the most exclusive, discreet boutique hotel in San Francisco. The photo was a close-up of two hands, their fingers intimately intertwined against rumpled white hotel sheets. The woman’s hand was missing a wedding ring. But there was a pale, distinct tan line around her ring finger. Harper couldn’t even wait the mandatory thirty days to finalize a divorce. I bit down on my lip until I tasted fresh blood. Acting on pure, blinding adrenaline, I hailed an Uber and gave the driver the address of the hotel. The concierge refused to give me the room number. So I walked the halls. I knocked on every single door, apologizing to angry guests one by one. When I reached the final door at the end of the penthouse suite, I froze. My hand hovered inches from the wood. What was I going to do if I walked in? Catch them in the act? Scream like a lunatic? Throw a punch? And then what? End up on the front page of Page Six tomorrow as the pathetic, hysterical cuckold again? I stood in that quiet, dimly lit corridor for what felt like hours. I let my hand fall to my side. I didn’t knock. I dragged my hollow, exhausted body back to the empty mansion. I spent the next few hours drafting emails to my divorce attorneys. When my eyes finally gave out, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next morning, I was violently awakened. But it wasn’t the sun. It was the fact that I was trending online. The headline read: TECH MOGUL’S HUSBAND CAUGHT SNEAKING INTO HOTEL FOR LATE-NIGHT RENDEZVOUS WITH EX-WIFE. 4. Before I could even process the words on the screen, Harper dragged me out of bed by the collar of my shirt. She shoved her phone inches from my face. It was a paparazzi photo of me standing outside the boutique hotel last night, looking pale and deeply distressed. “Spencer, running off in the middle of the night to beg your ex-wife to fuck you? Have you no shame?” she spat, her voice vibrating with rage. My head was spinning, my body heavy with sleep and exhaustion. “I haven’t even seen Victoria,” I shot back defensively. “And speaking of hotels, weren’t you at that exact same place last night?” A flash of raw panic crossed Harper’s eyes, instantly swallowed by aggressive, defensive fury. “Nothing happened between me and Oliver!” she yelled. “But you—sneaking around in the middle of the night to see Victoria? Explain yourself!” A dark, twisted laugh bubbled up in my chest. If she wanted to believe the worst of me to justify her own guilt, fine. “Sure. Let’s say I did go see her,” I said, my voice eerily calm. Watching her pupils dilate in shock sent a sick thrill of vindication through my veins. “I didn’t just see her. I told her I regretted ever leaving her,” I lied, the words tasting like ash. “Because no matter how unfaithful Victoria was, at least she never looked at me and saw another man’s face.” Harper’s breathing turned ragged. Her fingers dug into my shoulders so hard her knuckles turned white. “You think I don’t have regrets?!” she screamed, her composure entirely gone. “Oliver might have left me, but at least he never belonged to another woman! Do you know how many people laugh behind my back because my first marriage is to a man who’s already someone else’s leftovers?!” SMACK. The sound of her hand cracking across my jaw echoed in the bedroom. My palm stung with the phantom memory of the slap I had given her the night before. Harper’s head snapped to the side from the force of her own swing. Her eyes filled with bloodshot, violent rage. She raised her hand again, preparing to strike. But she froze mid-air. I tilted my chin up, exposing my face to her. “Do it! Hit me! Let’s see what else you can break!” Harper stared at me, her chest heaving. Suddenly, she lunged. She grabbed me by the collar and dragged me across the hardwood floor, straight into the master bathroom. She turned on the faucet, letting the massive standalone tub fill with freezing cold water. Despite my thrashing, she shoved me down, forcing my head and shoulders under the icy surface. “Harper! Are you insane?!” I sputtered as I breached the surface, gasping for air. She grabbed a loofah and began scrubbing my skin with a terrifying, manic strength. “I don’t hit men, Spencer. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a temper,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “This is your only warning. I never want to see you communicating with your ex-wife ever again.” The ice water sank into my bones, but it was nothing compared to the absolute, freezing terror in my heart. “How can you be such a hypocrite?!” I yelled over the running water. “You spent last night alone in a hotel room with Oliver! You expect me to believe nothing happened?!” She shoved my head back down into the water. “You don’t get to question me!” Water rushed up my nose. The primal, blinding panic of suffocation hit me. I thrashed blindly, clawing at her arms. Just as my lungs began to burn, the pressure on the back of my neck vanished. I shot up, coughing violently, dragging ragged breaths into my burning chest. Harper stood over the tub, looking down at me like an emperor surveying a prisoner. “Stay here and think about what you’ve done,” she commanded coldly. She turned on her heel and walked out. Panic seized me. I scrambled out of the tub, desperate to follow her, desperate to get out of that room. But my wet feet slipped on the imported Italian tile. I went down hard. My skull slammed against the sharp edge of the marble counter with a sickening crunch. Outside, I heard the heavy click of the deadbolt sliding into place. Harper’s muffled voice bled through the wood. “When you figure out how to act like a husband, I’ll let you out.” A blinding, nauseating agony bloomed on the side of my head. Something hot and wet was running down my temple, dripping onto my cheek. My hands shook violently as I reached up to touch my face. My fingertips came away coated in thick, dark crimson. “Harper…” My voice was a weak, pathetic wheeze. “Harper, I hit my head. Please… unlock the door. I’m bleeding.” I dragged myself to the door and slapped my bloody hand against the wood. It left a smeared, red handprint. I heard footsteps approaching. Hope flared in my chest. But then, she let out a short, cynical laugh. “You really will pull any stunt to get out of trouble, won’t you, Spencer?” she mocked. “Faking an injury today? What’s next? Faking your own death?” The pool of red on the white tile grew larger. Hot tears mixed with the blood running into my eyes. The world began to tilt. The edges of my vision went dark, and the cold swallowed me whole.

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Every time Parker Cole abandoned me for Hannah Sinclair, she made it a point to rub it in my face. Tonight was no exception. “Happy Birthday, Bonnie. How does it feel to celebrate all by yourself?” Just as I was about to hang up the phone, a line of glowing text drifted across my field of vision, hovering in the empty air of my dining room like a live-stream comment. “The male lead has no idea it’s the heroine’s birthday, but the female rival remembers the exact date. Is this not love? This is love!” Another line floated by. “Who else gets it? Our heroine is too kind. The rival tries to provoke her, ends up getting mad herself, but still comes back for more. So cute.” “Don’t be mad at her, baby girl. All her hate is just frustration that you don’t look at her. Give her an inch of initiative, and you’ll catch yourself a prickly, defensive little kitten.” I let out a soft scoff. Hannah Sinclair? A defensive little kitten? Everyone in our circle knew the score. She loathed my cold, calculating, profit-driven nature, and I had exactly zero patience for her spoiled, erratic, weather-vane temper. But, driven by some inexplicable impulse—perhaps sparked by those bizarre floating words—I leaned into the absurdity. “Thank you, Hannah. I’m actually touched you remembered it was my birthday.” 1 Dead silence on the other end of the line. I started to doubt the validity of the floating text. How could Hannah Sinclair, of all people, be a tsundere? Thanks to Parker, our relationship over the past few years had plummeted past the freezing point into outright hostility. It was an unspoken rule in Manhattan’s upper crust: if Hannah was on the guest list, I wasn’t. If I was there, she was out. She had given up studying abroad in London just to stay in the States and follow Parker. After graduation, she entangled herself in his life so thoroughly that she didn’t even care when the old-money crowd whispered behind her back. If Parker and I went on a business trip, she’d demand he take her shopping. If we had a date, she would miraculously twist her ankle or spike a fever. Birthdays, anniversaries—she always found a way to drag him away to her side. And every single time she succeeded, I’d get a call just like this one, dripping with mockery, flaunting how devoted he was to her. Honestly, it was entirely unnecessary. I had only agreed to date Parker to maximize a strategic corporate merger. It was the path of least resistance. And if there was a villain in this love triangle, it was him. If his boundaries hadn’t been so deliberately blurred, if he hadn’t constantly indulged her whims, she would never have had the leverage to provoke me in the first place. I didn’t exactly like Hannah, but I couldn’t say I truly hated her either. We had grown up together, after all. There was a history there. But she was supposed to despise me. Why would she go out of her way to remember my birthday? “Heroine, don’t hang up! She’s buffering. She’s panicking. Her brain is short-circuiting.” “Hahaha, the rival’s fur is entirely puffed up right now. She’s definitely staring at her phone in sheer disbelief, taking deep breaths.” “The element of surprise is a flawless tactic. I can’t wait for the day her prickly facade completely crumbles!” Watching the spectral words fade into the air, a genuine smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I had known her for over two decades. We might not have been best friends, but we knew the darkest, ugliest corners of each other’s temperaments. I didn’t even need the mysterious text to picture it. I could perfectly envision her staring at her phone, mouth opening and closing, swallowing her carefully prepared insults until she finally choked out— “Are you out of your mind?! Bonnie Montgomery, stop playing the victim with me!” The sheer satisfaction of predicting her response entirely washed away the lingering sting of being ditched by Parker. Looking at the meticulously arranged centerpiece and the empty dining room, I chuckled, suddenly at a loss for words. I had thought Parker would at least remember. Whether as a boyfriend or a future business partner in a high-stakes merger, he should have known today was my birthday. “Bonnie, cut the act!” Hannah’s voice barked through the speaker. “I’m in a good mood today, so I’m going to take pity on you and buy you a cake. Stop pretending you’re heartbroken.” The heavy disappointment in my chest snapped like a brittle twig. Maybe… maybe she really didn’t hate me? “Then I want the one from the bakery on the Upper East Side,” I said softly. An immediate, exasperated groan echoed through the receiver. “I know, I know! You are so high-maintenance. You’ll only eat from that one specific pastry chef, and it has to be the mango filling. God.” “Chat, what do we do when we encounter a fiercely defensive kitten? She says she hates you but won’t stop following you around.” “Recommend taking her straight home and kissing her senseless!” “Who else is dying at the thought of the rival furiously scrolling through delivery apps right now to find the exact right cake? Is this the legendary ‘mouth says no but body says yes’?” Listening to Hannah’s muffled, continuous grumbling through the phone, a strange, warm knot formed in my chest. She remembered. She remembered all of it. 2 The doorbell rang. Along with the pristine bakery box came a gift. A custom silk scarf from a top-tier European house, in exactly the color palette and vintage cut I favored. Almost simultaneously, a text from her lit up my screen. “I was in a good mood today, so the scarf is yours. Bonnie MONTGOMERY!!! I am warning you, do not play the pathetic card with me again. I don’t buy it!” I looked between the mango cake and the heavy silk, my thumbs moving smoothly over the glass screen. “Thank you for the gifts. I love the scarf.” The floating text in my vision went absolutely feral. “I’m screaming. One sentence and she’s probably flushed beet-red, muttering ‘psycho’ while smiling at her phone.” “These two girls are the absolute best. Please stop fighting over that trash man.” “Just coax her a little! The kitty just needs a little chin scratch.” I ran my fingers over the rolled hem of the silk scarf, a quiet, unfamiliar warmth blooming in my veins. The next morning, an artisan coffee and a pastry sat on my office desk. Parker leaned against the edge of the mahogany, watching me. “I’m sorry about last night, Bonnie. Hannah is just too impulsive. I’ll make sure everything is handled properly before the wedding.” He paused, his gaze dropping to my neck. “That scarf looks stunning on you today. It suits you.” This was Parker’s signature move. A tone so indulgent it bordered on patronizing, always leaving just enough ambiguity. I was never quite sure if that indulgence was meant for me, or for Hannah. Looking at the man before me, it would be a lie to say I felt absolutely nothing for him. When we first started dating, it had aligned perfectly with my family’s corporate restructuring. Tech startups were becoming the new empire builders, riding the wave of emerging algorithms and digital infrastructure. For a legacy company like ours to stay at the apex, integrating with new tech money was essential. But there were a hundred ways to achieve that. It didn’t have to be Parker Cole. I hadn’t been entirely opposed to marrying him, perhaps even building a life together. But reality had a funny way of stripping the gold paint off base metal. “Yesterday was my birthday. Did you know that?” Seeing the sheer, unadulterated shock flash across his face, I looked down, adjusted the silk scarf at my collar, and let out a cold, internal laugh. It must have been so much work for Hannah. Racking her brain, fabricating an emergency to drag him away from me on the exact day of my birthday. And in the end, her meticulous plotting had been entirely wasted on a man who hadn’t even realized what day it was. Parker lost his smooth composure, standing up straight. A rare flicker of genuine guilt crossed his features. He opened his mouth, closed it, and ultimately said nothing. I flipped open the quarterly proposal, mentally calculating the delivery dates for our joint venture. I didn’t even look up to see when he finally slinked out of my office. Corporate life spares no one. Even the heirs to the throne have to grind. At noon, my assistant trailed behind me, her expression unusually bright, a secretive smile playing on her lips. As soon as I stepped into the executive dining room, a chaotic chorus of cheers erupted. The crowd parted, and Parker emerged, pushing a massive, multi-tiered cake on a cart. “Happy Birthday, Bonnie!” I studied the towering confection, my expression pleasant but entirely detached. “If it’s not from the bakery on the Upper East Side, I won’t eat it. And I only eat fruit fillings if they’re mango.” I met his eyes. “I’ll pass on the cake.” My phone buzzed incessantly in my pocket. The private group chat with my inner circle was exploding, everyone demanding I host a party tonight to properly celebrate. I typed out a quick, gracious agreement, and explicitly tagged Hannah Sinclair. The chaotic group chat went completely dead. She replied almost instantly. “Beg me. Beg me, and I might show up.” The floating text surged again. “Ahhhhh the leopard and the cat, I’m ascending! Is this not love?!” “The girls are the main event! Drop the dead weight of a man.” “Who else understands the pure delicacy of a defensive rival? She’s definitely avoiding eye contact right now, feeling like something is slightly off, but stubbornly tilting her chin up anyway.” I was finally starting to grasp the precise emotional texture of the word tsundere the comments kept using. I lowered my head, a genuine smile breaking across my face. “I’m begging you.” 3 I wiped the smile from my face and looked up at the sea of executives and assistants, all of whom currently looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them whole. I picked up the silver knife, cut a slice of the rejected cake with a light chuckle, and set it on a plate. “I can’t eat this, but you all shouldn’t let it go to waste. Make sure you thank Mr. Cole for his generosity.” Parker’s smile looked more like a grimace. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me out into the hallway and back toward my office. “Bonnie, forgetting your birthday was my fault, but did you really have to humiliate me in front of the entire floor?!” he hissed, dropping his voice. “It was the thought that counted! Would it have killed you to take one bite?” The floating comments were merciless. “This is exactly what tech bros do. They can’t be bothered to remember a woman’s basic preferences, and then they blame her for ‘humiliating’ them when their low-effort gesture fails.” “Take the rose-colored glasses off. Proof that a man is just a man. Doesn’t matter how rich he is, he’s still weaponizing his incompetence.” “I am begging you on my hands and knees, look at our girl Hannah! The party is tonight and she’s probably been trying on battle armor since 8 AM!” I wrenched my wrist out of his grip and walked straight to my desk. The timeline on the joint venture was still dragging. Perhaps realizing he had crossed a line, Parker leaned his hands heavily on my desk, took a deep breath, muttered a hasty apology, and volunteered to secure the VIP room at a private club for tonight’s party. “Suit yourself,” I said, not looking up. Adult birthdays are rarely just about cake; they are battlegrounds for leverage and corporate probing. Tonight would be a test of how solid my relationship with Parker really was, and by extension, the merger of our two families’ empires. I maintained a polite, impenetrable smile throughout the evening. Parker hovered, trying to play the perfect host, but continually found himself hitting a brick wall. Once the initial wave of networking died down, he looked at me, letting out a heavy sigh. “Bonnie, I was wrong. The cake debacle won’t happen again.” He gestured to the lavish room. “Do you like what I did with the place? Guess what I got you for your actual gift.” Before I could even form a response, a commotion rippled near the entrance. It truly was the entrance of a queen demanding her subjects part the Red Sea. Hannah Sinclair swept in, dripping in a breathtaking couture gown, her chin tilted up with that signature, disdainful arrogance. She marched straight up to me, coming to a halt right next to Parker. She looped her arm lightly through his. “Bonnie, you don’t mind, do you?” Before Parker could even react to her touch, Hannah furrowed her brow, sweeping her gaze over the room with a theatrical click of her tongue. “Bonnie, has your taste really deteriorated this much? It seems I’m not the only one who hates you. Someone deliberately decorated this entire room with the exact roses you despise. And since when do you drink champagne? You only ever drink fruit wine.” She systematically tore the party to shreds. From the greeters to the lighting, from the alcohol to the ambient scent, from the floral arrangements to the catering. She didn’t even notice that the blood had completely drained from Parker’s face. She delivered the final, fatal blow: “This hits every single one of your red flags with terrifying precision. Who designed this? I need to shake their hand.” I offered her a serene, amused smile and tilted my chin toward Parker. Embarrassment doesn’t just evaporate; it transfers. Hannah’s hand subtly slipped out from the crook of Parker’s arm, acting as if she had never touched him at all. “Hahaha, she is so cute. When a cat knocks over a vase, they just pretend it never happened, therefore it never happened.” “See? Your greatest enemy knows you best. They are in the same frame! Enemies to lovers incoming.” “Can the man please exit the chat? I only want to see the rival’s meticulously chosen gift (strikeout) flex (check).” After I finished another round of corporate pleasantries, she unabashedly wedged herself right between Parker and me. Completely ignoring the social cues of the room, she pulled a sleek glass bottle from her clutch and spritzed the air with aggressive flair. “Bonnie. Does it smell good?” It did. It was my absolute favorite niche European fragrance. The same one I had worn since college. “Do you like it? What a shame. I bought out every single bottle of available stock in the country. Even if you love it, you can’t get it. You’ll just have to settle for whatever generic trash you can find.” As she spoke, her eyes flicked intentionally toward the small gift box resting on the table beside me. Parker’s gift. Also perfume. The silence in our immediate circle grew physically painful. The onlookers wanted to laugh, but didn’t dare, their eyes darting nervously to Parker’s ashen face. It was utterly absurd. The supposed “other woman” knew the girlfriend better than the boyfriend of five years did. “Let me make one thing clear,” Hannah hissed, leaning in close. “Whatever you like, I will take it from you!” I rested my chin in my hand, my eyes crinkling with undisguised amusement. “So, you know exactly what I like.” “O-of course I do!” 4 The floating text absolutely lost its mind, and this time, even our close friends couldn’t hold back their snickers. We had all been in the same social stratosphere for years. When you grow up together, the boundaries for teasing are virtually nonexistent. The laughter flushed Hannah’s cheeks pink. She stamped her heel in indignation, turned on her stiletto, and stormed off—completely forgetting her hard-won bottle of perfume on the table. “I haven’t seen you two act like this in years,” one of our friends murmured, swirling her drink. “I always say,” another chimed in, “Bonnie looks like the calm, responsible one, but she’s secretly wicked.” “Poor Hannah. Defeated time and time again, yet always coming back for battle. We thought you two would be locked in a cold war forever.” A sudden, thoughtful silence fell over the group. Honestly, compared to Parker, Hannah was the one I had truly grown up with. From elite prep schools to Ivy League networking events, from childhood braces to bespoke tailored suits. I knew her, and she knew me. We hadn’t missed a single major milestone in each other’s lives. Back then, even though she constantly wanted to compete with me over grades, fashion, or social standing, it had never been this toxic. Not until Parker Cole arrived. His entry into our world had been blinding. The Cole tech empire was shifting its headquarters to the East Coast, backed by massive government contracts. He was the kind of new money that demanded immediate respect from the old guard. My connection with Parker was driven by mutual benefit. It was logical. Smooth. There is no such thing as pure, unadulterated romance at this level of wealth, just as there is no such thing as isolated corporate maneuvering. Interests and emotions must entangle to form an unbreakable alliance. But as if by some cruel twist of fate, Hannah also met Parker. And she became infatuated. From that moment, our rivalry mutated into something ugly. We fought over everything. But mostly, we fought over him. To Parker, I was the ideal board-room partner, the perfect choice to appease his investors. I just wasn’t the perfect girl to date. The very traits that made me an incredible asset in a merger—my calm, my stability, my emotional restraint—were viewed as massive flaws in his romantic life. He loved the fact that we were fighting over him. He fed off the ego trip of two powerful heiresses tearing each other apart for his attention. In the past, our families’ projects had been too deeply intertwined. My hands had been tied, and I had given Parker far too much leeway. But now… I stared at the pale golden liquid swirling gently in my glass. Now, Parker was no longer essential. We might all run in the same circles, but there are circles within circles. New money like the Coles, no matter how bright they burned, still lacked the deep, unshakable roots of families like mine and Hannah’s. Even though my relationship with Hannah had fractured over the years, neither of us had ever truly crossed the line into destroying the other’s family legacy. At the end of the day, men were the most expendable assets in our portfolios. If Parker had a shred of self-awareness, he would have handled his own mess quietly. He wouldn’t have let it escalate into a public spectacle. Fortunately, the delivery date for the joint venture was imminent. Once the ink dried on the final contracts, severing ties with maximum efficiency and minimum PR fallout would be the optimal move. I clinked my glass against a friend’s, offering a knowing smile. Some things didn’t need to be spoken out loud. Perhaps men possessed a survival instinct after all. For the next few weeks, Parker morphed into the picture-perfect boyfriend. He was attentive, cautious, and ironically, our project milestones moved at record speed. The only remaining annoyance was his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Cole had built their wealth from the ground up. They adhered to a painfully traditional “man conquers the world, woman tends the hearth” philosophy. A few years ago, they wouldn’t have dared speak to me with anything but reverence. But recently, emboldened by Hannah’s aggressive pursuit of their son, their spines had stiffened. They had started trying to dictate my life. “Bonnie, darling,” Mrs. Cole said, her diamonds flashing as she poured tea. “You and Parker aren’t getting any younger. It’s time to settle down. A man needs to build his family before he can truly conquer his industry.” She patted my hand condescendingly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, dear, but a woman’s true priority should be her home. Supporting her husband, raising the children. Our legacy is in the next generation. When are you going to let Mr. Cole and me hold our grandchildren?” I glanced at Parker, who was sitting on the velvet sofa, entirely motionless, acting as if he had suddenly gone deaf. I understood the nature of this ambush perfectly. They felt they weren’t getting a big enough piece of the pie in the merger. They wanted to lock me down, to bind our assets permanently through marriage and an heir. “Today, I’m going to teach you how to make his favorite pan-seared branzino,” Mrs. Cole continued smoothly. “Parker loves it. Once you two are married, you can make it for him so he doesn’t have to keep running back here to his mother.” I offered a placid smile, saying absolutely nothing. The floating text, however, was having a field day. “Enemy forces arriving in five seconds! Waiting for the girls to collide.” “This old bat. Her greedy little abacus beads are practically hitting my face. I hope the rival shows up and burns the house down.” “Hahaha, the rival probably didn’t even want to come, but the second she heard the heroine was here, she shot out of bed, strapped on her Louboutins, and launched herself like a missile.” Before Parker could even attempt to mediate the tension, Mrs. Cole’s face broke into a dizzying, sycophantic grin as she rushed toward the foyer. Hannah Sinclair strolled in, her sweet, weaponized charm immediately flattering the elder Coles into a state of absolute euphoria. I watched as she handed over her hostess gift, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. It was the exact same generic, high-end corporate basket I had brought. She put on an Oscar-worthy performance of surprise, as if she hadn’t realized I would be sitting right there. “Oh! Bonnie. You’re visiting Mr. and Mrs. Cole too?” If she tried acting like this in Hollywood, she’d be laughed out of the room. “Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p’. “I’m here to cook.” 5 The delicate, carefully arranged features of her face instantly contorted. It was a beautiful mosaic of disbelief, confusion, and raw, visceral anger…

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I loved Lucas deeply for five years. He harmed himself to fight against his mother for me, promising to marry me. But when his first love, Meredith Rivers, returned, he forced me to break up with him. The most heartbreaking moment came when kidnappers took both Meredith and me hostage. Without hesitation, he pointed at me, pregnant with his child. “Sara, you die. Save Meredith’s reputation.” I nodded through my tears. As the blade pierced my body, my heart died completely. After I left for Europe, I became the inventor of a breakthrough cancer drug and stood on the Nobel Prize stage. My lover Enzo knelt on one knee, proposing to me with deep affection. I nodded with a smile. At that moment, Lucas’s hoarse, desperate voice came from below the stage. “Sara… don’t marry him. I regret everything…” I didn’t even glance at him. Sara POV “Miss Sara, did you and Lucas break up?” While packing Lucas’s luggage for his business trip, the housekeeper suddenly asked. I froze. Lucas and I had indeed broken up, but only temporarily. Five years ago, my only family, my brother Samuel, died saving Lucas. Lucas took me into the Knight family home. We developed feelings for each other and secretly started a relationship. When his mother discovered us, she flew into a rage and demanded I be sent away. Lucas immediately stabbed himself in the abdomen, using self-harm as a threat to make me stay. His mother was furious but helpless against Lucas’s determination. She could only target me in secret. She found excuses to slap me, and Lucas slapped himself ninety-nine times. She “accidentally” spilled hot water on me, and Lucas immediately scalded his own hand until it blistered. Over time, Lucas’s mother had no choice but to accept us. Lucas promised that once he successfully inherited the family business, he would marry me openly. That was, until a month ago, when Lucas suddenly told me with red eyes. “Sara, my mom is sick. The doctor said she can’t handle any stress. I’m afraid something will happen to her. Can we break up for now?” He held me, his warm tears soaking my clothes. He looked so pitiful and aggrieved. Seeing him like that, my heart twisted into knots. I softened and agreed. But this was just a temporary separation, not a real breakup. I hadn’t planned to announce it publicly. Where did the housekeeper hear this news? Meeting my confused gaze, the housekeeper slapped her thigh hard and said in frustration. “The Rivers family has already announced the engagement! Mr. Knight is joining forces with Miss Rivers through marriage. The invitations are already printed. And you’re asking me where I heard this?” I felt like I’d been hit by a thunderbolt. My mind went completely blank. The housekeeper sighed and shook my shoulders. Tears were already streaming down my face. I jumped up and ran toward the club to find Lucas. I ran the whole way. Just as I was about to push open the half-closed door, I heard the obscene sounds of a man and woman together. My heart leaped to my throat. I pushed the door open just a crack. “Lucas, be gentle.” Lucas, his eyes red, kept thrusting into the woman’s body, gripping her hands tightly as if trying to merge her into his bones. After a low groan, the man released inside the woman. The room fell silent except for their intertwined breathing. “Meredith, do you know what these five years have been like for me? Five years ago, you left for abroad without a word, leaving me alone here. You’re so cruel.” Meredith? The Miss Rivers who’s engaged to Lucas? Outside the room, I stood frozen, as if hit by a thunderbolt. My phone lit up with a news notification: “Two major families,Knight and Rivers, unite through marriage.” I clicked on the news. A photo of Meredith and Lucas embracing pierced straight into my eyes. Meredith wore an elegant dress. She was so beautiful that I couldn’t even think to compare myself to her. The voices inside pulled me back. “I’m sorry, Lucas. My family wouldn’t let me be with you. I had no choice.” Meredith cupped his face and planted a deep kiss. “I won’t let you leave again this time.” Lucas was silent for a few seconds before speaking softly, his tone filled with a carefulness I’d never heard before. “The engagement news is already out. Don’t even think about leaving me again.” “What about your girlfriend? If you’ve fallen in love with her, I won’t interfere.” Lucas’s veins bulged instantly. “You want to leave? Impossible! Sara… her brother saved my life. I have a responsibility to her… I’ll explain things to her.” A bone chilling cold swept through me from head to toe. Five years of living together, of tender affection. Was it all just because he felt responsible for me? I didn’t have the courage to keep listening. I turned and rushed out of the club, running wildly home in the freezing wind. Back at the villa, looking at the familiar bed, I remembered that night three years ago when Lucas carried me to bed like I was precious, asking softly. “Is this okay? Sara, I’ll love you forever.” Even though the man was burning with desire, he carefully waited for my permission. Looking into his sincere eyes, I nodded gently. That day, his clumsy movements weren’t comfortable for me, but my heart was full of contentment. But it was all fake! There had always been another woman’s shadow in his heart. I laughed lowly and wiped the tears from my face. I decided I didn’t want Lucas anymore. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I’d buried in my memory. “I agree to join you. Please process the paperwork.” “We’re honored, Miss Sara. Processing the relevant documents will take fifteen days. I’ll contact you then.”

Sara POV I put down my phone and looked at the dark moon outside the window, remembering when Lucas held me and said. “I wish I could take you to the moon. Then it would be just the two of us.” My heart felt crushed by an invisible hand. Suddenly, a strong wave of nausea surged up. I rushed to the bathroom. Five minutes later, I stared at the pregnancy test in my hand showing two lines, frozen on the toilet. We’d used protection every time. How could I be pregnant? “Sara, when we get married, let’s have two children. A boy who looks like me and a girl who looks like you, okay?” I remembered Lucas lying on my stomach, looking at me with eyes full of hope, planning our future together. But given the current situation, this child’s timing couldn’t be worse. I gently touched my stomach but ultimately couldn’t bring myself to be cruel. I decided to give Lucas one more chance. That evening, Lucas came home from outside. The kiss marks on his neck painfully stabbed my heart. “Lucas, explain this to me.” I pushed my phone in front of him, showing news about the Knight and Rivers families’ upcoming partnership. Lucas was silent for a moment, then stepped forward to hold me, his voice full of helplessness. “Sara, I have no choice. Mom’s condition has gotten worse. Marriage is her last wish.” “Then how do you explain this?” I pointed at the red marks on his neck. “The company business requires some socializing. I couldn’t avoid it.” I pulled myself out of Lucas’s embrace, my eyes scrutinizing the man before me. Lucas thought I was just angry. He smiled and ruffled my hair with the same indulgent smile as always. “Are you mad? Tell me what I need to do to make you feel better.” My heart grew colder. I felt like I’d never truly known this man. His acting was terrifyingly good. “Take me to Meredith’s birthday party tomorrow. Then I’ll believe you.” I’d seen the news online that he would make a high-profile appearance at Meredith’s birthday celebration tomorrow. All those past moments weren’t fake. Lucas wasn’t completely without feelings for me. But if he had to choose between me and Meredith, who would he pick? A secret hope rose in my heart. I couldn’t believe these five years had left no mark on him. Lucas was silent for a few seconds but finally agreed. The next day, I wore a formal dress I’d never worn before and arrived at the evening party. As soon as Lucas entered, he became the center of attention. The Rivers family called him over to greet guests with Meredith. I, his date, could only stand awkwardly in a corner, enduring curious, scrutinizing, and malicious glances from all directions. I watched the two of them dancing a waltz in the ballroom. The man was tall and handsome, the woman charming and beautiful. The pain in my heart kept churning. I turned to leave, but Meredith’s group of friends blocked my path. “Isn’t this Lucas’s mistress? How dare she attend Meredith’s birthday party?” I didn’t want to deal with them. I silently tried to walk around them, but someone grabbed my arm. “Don’t rush off. Lucas and our Meredith are getting engaged. If you know what’s good for you, get out of the Knight family.” Everyone around noticed the commotion. Countless eyes swept over. “I’ve never seen this girl before. Lucas’s new woman?” “Another one trying to climb the social ladder. I wonder how her parents raised her. No shame at all.” Harsh voices flooded my ears. I jerked my arm free from Linda’s grip. “Get lost! My relationship with Lucas is none of your business!” “You bitch, how dare you talk to me like that?” Linda raised her hand and slapped my face. She used all her strength. I was knocked to the ground, hitting a nearby table. Red wine spilled all over me. I looked for Lucas to help me, but couldn’t find him anywhere. The slap left me dizzy. Through blurred vision, I saw Meredith walking elegantly toward me. “Miss Sara, I’m sorry. Linda and the others didn’t know about your relationship with Lucas. I apologize on their behalf.” I looked up, finding Meredith’s smile unbearably glaring. “What, are you admitting to being the mistress?” Meredith froze. “It’s normal for men to have some affairs before marriage. Lucas has promised he’ll only love me from now on.” As she spoke, Meredith bent down to help me up. When the two of us got close, she whispered in my ear. “Don’t you think you and I actually look quite alike?” So I’d been Meredith’s substitute all along! Endless jealous rage burned away my rationality. I flipped over and straddled Meredith. Just as my hand was about to strike down, Lucas burst out from the crowd and shoved me away. My lower back slammed hard against the table edge. Excruciating pain shot through me from behind. I could only use all my strength to protect my stomach. “Sara, what are you doing!” Lucas comforted Meredith in his arms while shouting angrily at me. Seeing Meredith with tears in her eyes, forcing herself to endure the pain, the heartache in Lucas’s eyes quickly dissipated. When he looked at me again, his eyes were ice cold. “Sara, I thought you’d be sensible. I didn’t expect you to attack Meredith at the party. Those who make mistakes must be punished.” Lucas raised his hand to signal the bodyguards. “Kneel outside until the party ends. Consider it your apology to Meredith.” I opened my mouth but found I couldn’t make a sound because of the pain. A flash of heartache crossed Lucas’s eyes. He was about to stand and check my injuries when Meredith spoke from his arms. “Lucas, I’m in so much pain. Should I not have come back?” The bodyguards lifted me by my arms. I watched Lucas carry Meredith away. I wanted to say something but ultimately chose silence. Light rain began falling outside the banquet hall. I shivered in the rain. But the cold on my body was nothing compared to the bone-chilling cold in my heart. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have had any expectations of Lucas. I’m sorry, baby. I might not be able to bring you into this world.

Sara POV After kneeling in the rain for four hours, my vision went black and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my room at the Knight residence. The housekeeper sat by the bed. Seeing me wake, she quickly brought water to my lips. “Mr. Knight said to confine you for seven days. I think that’s actually good. Look how much weight you’ve lost these past few days. Stay here and rest. I’ll feed you until you’re nice and plump.” I knew she felt sorry for me, but I couldn’t help asking. “Lucas, he…” The housekeeper hesitated but spoke under my insistent gaze. “Mr. Knight said Miss Rivers was traumatized. He took her to the Maldives to relax.” “Mr. Knight also said that if he didn’t punish you, the Rivers family’s anger isn’t something an orphan like you could bear. He’s saving you.” An ugly laugh escaped my throat, but tears wouldn’t stop sliding from the corners of my eyes. If he’d always loved Meredith, why did he treat me so well? It wasn’t that I couldn’t bear the Rivers family’s anger. Clearly, he just wasn’t willing to protect me anymore. For the next seven days, I stayed in my room without saying a word. Besides eating and sleeping, I packed my belongings. In five years, this room held too many memories of Lucas and me. The plushie we won at the amusement park on our first visit, the necklace Lucas made for me by hand, photos from our travels around the world… I asked the housekeeper to sell the expensive bags and luxury goods. I donated useful things to charity and threw away the rest. When I walked out of the room, it had returned to its original state. “Miss Sara, hasn’t your condition been very poor recently? When the mother is extremely sad, the fetus will choose to stop developing. You must have a dilation and curettage procedure immediately.” Holding the doctor’s report, I walked into the operating room. My tears had long since run dry. Without my knowledge, the child had already chosen not to be born into this world. Maybe this was for the best. In the next life, she could go to a happy family. I walked slowly into the Knight residence. The silent cramping in my lower abdomen reminded me of what I’d lost. In the living room, Lucas held Meredith while watching a movie. Seeing me enter, they stood up unhurriedly. “Miss Sara is back.” Meredith’s eyes curved as she smiled in greeting. I had no mood to deal with them and walked straight past. “Sara, don’t act like a child. Meredith is greeting you.” Lucas looked displeased, but seeing me, he couldn’t help softening his tone. “Sara, what’s wrong with you…” Before he could finish, Meredith interrupted. “Miss Sara went to a bar, didn’t she? Linda said she saw you there. I didn’t believe it.” Lucas’s expression hardened. “Sara, if you want to stay in the Knight family, behave yourself.” “Meredith shares your major. She just returned from abroad and needs a paper to establish herself in the family. Give Meredith your research paper on pancreatic cancer drugs.” “Consider it your apology for being rude to her at the party.” I looked at Lucas in disbelief. “Just how grave was my crime? I knelt in the rain for four hours, and Miss Rivers still hasn’t forgiven me?” “Sara, you really need to fix that temper. Meredith didn’t hold it against you because of me. If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t have been just four hours of kneeling.” I opened my mouth but said nothing in the end. I was tired and didn’t want to argue anymore. “Fine.” Not expecting me to be so cooperative, Lucas froze, then smiled. “You’ve really grown up. Now I can relax as your big brother.” In this relationship, I never had a choice. “Miss Sara, I’ll compensate you. Here’s a card with five million dollars. Take it.” Meredith placed a black card in my palm. Seeing me accept the card, Meredith’s lips curved. “To avoid future academic disputes, I need Miss Sara to sign an agreement acknowledging that all your previous research plagiarized my experimental results.” I looked up at Meredith, feeling ice cold all over. Meredith was making sure I could never raise my head in the medical field again! I turned to look at Lucas. “Did you agree to this too?” Meredith turned and threw herself into Lucas’s arms. “Lucas, if I don’t show medical talent, the Rivers family won’t acknowledge me as their daughter. Sara is gifted. With support from both our families, she can achieve other results quickly.” I watched him look at me with a somewhat pleading expression. I said nothing, just stared straight at Lucas. The three of us were at a standstill for a long time. Finally, Lucas raised his hand to signal the housekeeper forward. “I’m sorry. I’ll compensate you.” With that, Lucas had the housekeeper forcibly press my hand down to stamp the document. I collapsed helplessly on the ground, watching their departing backs. I don’t know how much time passed before the housekeeper dragged me to the stables. “Miss Sara, the master has decreed that from now on, you’ll live in the stables.”

Sara POV A week after the rain, the temperature dropped sharply. The stables were drafty on all sides, causing my already weakened body to develop a high fever. Delirious with fever, I seemed to see a figure appear before me. It was Meredith. “Why won’t Lucas just let you leave the Knight family? Even though you’re living like a dog in these stables, barely surviving, just seeing you makes me uncomfortable.” I was planning to leave the Knight family, but no one would listen to me. Since Meredith’s return, I hadn’t had a single healthy day. “Oh, right. Lucas has published news across the internet that you plagiarized my research. You’ll never be a doctor again.” Meredith shoved her phone in front of me. The words “plagiarist” stabbed into my eyes. More glaring than that were the red marks on Meredith’s collarbone. I knew those marks too well. They were left by Lucas when he was aroused. I thought I’d completely given up on Lucas, but why did my heart still hurt so much? My barely maintained consciousness snapped under the final straw. I gradually lost consciousness. When I woke again, I was in a hospital room with Lucas sitting by my bed. “Lucas, please let me go. Let me leave, okay?” My voice came out hoarse. No matter what, I was grateful Lucas had arranged my brother’s funeral and, whether sincere or not, had given me such a happy period of time. I didn’t want anything anymore. I just wanted us to part on good terms. Lucas frowned. “Samuel’s dying wish was for me to take care of you. From now on, you’re my sister. As long as you don’t provoke Meredith, the Knight family will always have a room for you.” “Where else could you go if you left? You can’t be a doctor anymore. The Knight family doesn’t lack the money to feed you.” With that, Lucas turned and left the room. I covered my head with the blanket and cried silently. He was the one who fought desperately to be with me. Now he’s the one calling me his sister. Lucas had turned me into a complete joke. I stayed in the hospital for two days recovering, then checked myself out. The foreign company had already messaged me. In three more days, my documents would be ready and I could leave. Before leaving, I needed to pay my respects to my brother one more time. Just as I walked out of the hospital entrance, someone suddenly covered my mouth from behind. A pungent smell filled my nostrils. My vision went black, and I lost consciousness.

Sara POV When I woke again, I found myself hanging from the rafters of an abandoned warehouse with Meredith. After a huge explosion, Lucas emerged from the smoke. “Meredith!” Seeing this scene, the veins on Lucas’s forehead throbbed. His eyes bloodshot, he looked at the kidnapper. “If you have a problem, come at me. Let Meredith go.” The kidnapper laughed wildly. “Let her go? Of course I can. But I’m livestreaming for my brothers. We’ve got to give them a show.” “Two women, you choose one. Strip her down for my brothers to see!” Only then did Lucas notice me, also tied up above. My heart filled with bitterness. In this kind of choice, Lucas would never choose me. “I’m only giving you ten seconds to decide. Ten.” “Nine.” “However much money or women you want, the Knight family can provide it. Just let both of them go!” Lucas roared. “Six.” The kidnapper ignored his words and continued counting down. Lucas’s gaze shifted between us, finally settling on me. He spoke with difficulty. “Sara, Meredith is the daughter of the Rivers family. Her reputation can’t have any stain.” “Don’t worry. I’ll compensate you. No one in the Knight family will know about this.” Lucas raised his hand and pointed at me. Seeing this, the kidnapper walked straight to me. “Looks like you’re very unlucky. This gentleman’s feelings for you are pretty lukewarm.” The man’s greasy hands roamed over my body, removing my clothes piece by piece until I was completely naked. The moment Lucas pointed at me, I closed my eyes. Cold wind blew across every inch of my skin. Tears silently slid from the corners of my eyes. No matter what, I had to survive. This was my brother’s wish and my only desire now. Even if I suffered every humiliation and lost all dignity, I had to survive. “Can you let them go now?” Lucas shouted at the kidnapper. The kidnapper shook his head. “Years ago, your father took my wife and daughter and played a game with them.” “He said only one of them could live. If one volunteered to die, the other could survive.” “Now I want to play this game with you. If one of these two women volunteers to die, the other can live.” The kidnapper toyed with the knife in his hand, waiting for Lucas’s answer. “Again, ten seconds.” Hearing the kidnapper’s words, Meredith cried out to Lucas. “Lucas, I don’t want to die. We grew up together. You even bought me my first sanitary pad. Because of our families, we’ve already missed five years. Lucas, I really want to be with you forever.” Lucas’s heart shook. Without any hesitation, he shouted at me. “Sara, I will definitely rescue you. Tell the kidnapper you’re willing to die first. Stall for time.” I opened my eyes and stared straight at Lucas. The man who once was willing to harm himself and defy his mother for me was now asking me to die. “Five.” The kidnapper’s countdown continued. “Sara, your brother’s grave is still in my family cemetery. If you don’t agree, I’ll have someone blow it up.” I never imagined Lucas would use my brother’s grave to threaten me. “My brother died because of you. How dare you?” “Two.” “For Meredith, there’s nothing I won’t dare do. Are you sure you want to bet on this?” Looking at Lucas in his manic state, I knew at this moment he would do anything for Meredith. I closed my eyes and nodded in resignation. “I’m willing to die.” Two streams of tears ran down my cheeks. Meredith was released as promised. Lucas held her tightly, carefully examining the injuries on her body. The kidnapper took out dozens of throwing knives and threw them at my body one by one. The blades cut across my body. Before long, I was covered in blood. The blood loss made me feel weaker and weaker. Before losing consciousness, I seemed to see someone rushing toward me. “Sara!”

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