Category: English

The night the dam broke, I was trapped on the rooftop with my one-month-old son in my arms. I pressed the radio to my lips and called out to my husband. “Ethan, the water is rising. We’re up here on the roof. Please come get us.” His voice came through the receiver, but he wasn’t talking to me. “Don’t be scared, Mandy. I’m on my way.” The next second, the green light on our private channel went dark. He had blocked me. I tried to reconnect like a madwoman. Once. Then again. The motor of a rescue boat roared in the distance, growing closer. A searchlight swept across my face, then slid away without mercy. I pressed the radio to my lips, my voice raw and bleeding. “Ethan. You don’t have to save me. But please, take the baby. He’s only a month old. He’s never even seen your face.” The only answer was the fading growl of that engine. I looked down at the child in my arms, his warmth slipping away. Then I looked at the GPS bracelet he had fastened on my wrist with his own hands. So when everything fell apart, the one he chose to save was someone else.

Sophie’s POV The moment the dam broke, I held my one-month-old son with everything I had. I kicked the rooftop door open with the last of my strength. My newborn’s little face had gone blue from the cold. His cries were so faint they barely existed. I pressed the call button and reached out to my husband. “The baby and I are trapped. The water keeps rising. Bring the boat around and grab a can of formula on your way. Please. Save our son.” Nothing came through the radio but static. I bent my head and pressed my cheek against his cold little face, trying to warm him with what little heat I had left. This was our child. One month old. Ethan hadn’t even held him once. “Ethan, it’s me. Sophie.” I ran my thumb desperately over the ridges of the radio, tears and rainwater streaming together. “The baby’s with me. He’s so cold. Please, just say something.” The channel went quiet for half a second. Then came the sound of low, urgent breathing. Ethan. I nearly cried out with relief. I knew that breathing anywhere. Five years ago, after the old dam collapse, Ethan had dug me out of the rubble with his bare hands, gasping just like that. That day, he had clasped this GPS bracelet around my wrist himself and looked me in the eye. “This frequency is yours alone. Even if the whole city loses power. Even if the sky falls. I will dig you out from whatever has buried you.” “Ethan, you can hear me, right…” Before I could finish, a sharp voice cut through the channel, shrill and trembling, wet with tears, drowning me out completely. “Ethan! I’m so scared! The water is at the window. I’m really scared!” Mandy. The girl Ethan always kept close, his so-called “goddaughter,” though they shared no blood. Every drop of warmth left in my body turned to ice. I didn’t even get the chance to speak. Through the radio came Ethan’s voice, steady and gentle.”Don’t be scared, Mandy. I’m almost there.” I opened my mouth. Cold rain poured down my throat, and the pain choked off every sound. A sharp beep. The green light on the private channel, the one meant only for me, blinked out and went gray. I hammered the reconnect button. Failed. Again. Still nothing. Ethan had cut my signal. While our baby was freezing to death, my husband had severed my only lifeline to go save another woman. “Ethan!” I raised the radio into the downpour and screamed until my throat tore. “Ethan, our baby is up here!” The dead gray screen didn’t move. Then I heard it, the sound of a motorboat in the distance. I snapped my head up. A blinding searchlight swept past a half-collapsed billboard and cut straight toward the rooftop edge where I was standing. That was Ethan’s rescue boat. I lurched to my feet, wading through waist-deep floodwater, waving both arms at the beam of light. “Over here! Ethan! We’re over here!” The cold light swept across my face. Then moved on without a second’s pause. The boat carved a clean arc through the water, spun around, and sped toward the far bank where Mandy was waiting. My arm froze in midair. A wave of brown water slammed into my lower back. I stumbled and went down, and the baby let out a sound so faint it barely registered. I clapped my hand over the back of his head, pulling him close. But the last of his warmth inside the wrappings was draining away fast. I pressed the radio hard against my lips and hit the emergency backup channel for the last time. My voice came out in shreds: “Ethan… I’m not asking you to save me first. Just take the baby. Please. He’s only a month old. He’s never even seen his dad.” The only answer was the engine fading into the distance, and the dead silence of a radio that would never connect again. I let my head fall. On my wrist, the GPS bracelet I’d worn for five years blinked blue. Still sending. Still doing its job. But the person on the other end had blocked me. I unzipped my rescue jacket and lashed the baby’s wrappings against my chest. My fingers were so frozen I couldn’t grip. I bent my head and used my teeth to pull the cloth strips tight, biting down until they held. When it was done, I lifted my wrist and put the bracelet’s clasp in my mouth. A hard click. The clasp cut into my lip. I tasted blood, but it gave way. The bracelet, the one that was supposed to mean I will always find you, slipped off the wrist it had circled for five years. I closed my fingers around the cracked screen and held on. I pressed my back against the rooftop exhaust pipe, pulled my son against my chest, and slid slowly down into the water. The cold rose inch by inch past my knees. Over my chest. I lowered my chin until it rested on the still bundle wrapped against me. I had nothing left to shout.

Sophie’s POV At four in the morning, a rescue helicopter winched me up from the water. The baby in my arms had stopped breathing. By the time the upriver rescue team reached the Riverside District, the rooftop of Building Three was completely submerged. Only a few inches of exhaust pipe still broke the surface. The searchlight swept across it and found my hand first, fingers locked white around the metal pipe. Then it found my face, bloated and pale, completely still. Against my chest, tied in place with the ruins of my rescue jacket, was a small bundle. A rescue swimmer dropped down on a rope to free the knot. He found my fingers frozen solid. He had to force them apart twice before the wrappings came loose. The moment the medic took the bundle, his arm stopped. Too light. Like holding a roll of cold cotton. “Move. Get the baby to trauma first.” “The mother’s alive. Pull her up.” The helicopter blades tore through the rain. I was lifted onto the stretcher unconscious, my lips purple, water dripping from my clothes. But my right hand was clenched in a fist so tight no one could open it. The medic cut my sleeve open and saw a ring of deep marks pressed into my wrist, the imprint of something worn there for a long time. Now there was nothing there. “Got it!” Another rescuer pulled something from the water: a cracked bracelet caked with mud. The GPS light was still blinking. Faint. Stubborn. He wiped it clean and plugged it into the team’s terminal. My ID came up instantly, and the last recorded coordinates were locked to the rooftop of Building Three, Riverside District. He scrolled down to the transmission log. Every two seconds. From the moment the dam broke, right up until the helicopter arrived. I had never stopped sending. He checked the receiver log. One line. Cold and clear: Blocked. The rescuer stared at it. His face changed. He knew exactly what that meant. They all did. This was deliberate. He shoved the bracelet to the team recorder, his voice flat as ice.”Photograph it. Log it. Seal it in an evidence bag and don’t let anyone touch it.” The helicopter set down at the Memorial Hermann Hospital helipad. I was rushed into trauma, blood pressure so low the monitors screamed the whole way. In the room next to mine, they laid my baby on a table. The medics unwrapped him from his soaked bundle and worked on that tiny chest. One compression. Another. Again. That small body, one month old, did not move. I tried to say something, but the nurses were already pushing me through a different door. Ethan still didn’t know any of this. He didn’t know I was lying in a trauma bay with my life hanging by a thread. He didn’t know that his son, the one who never got a name, had been covered with a white sheet. And the bracelet he had clasped on my wrist was sitting in a clear evidence bag, its cracked screen still blinking its dim, bitter light. Near dawn, the door to the neonatal trauma room opened slowly. The doctor pulled off his mask. He looked at the chart in his hands and spoke in a voice too tired to soften it. “Unidentified infant male. Approximately one month of age. Hypothermia from immersion. Non-responsive to resuscitation.” The nurse’s eyes were red. She lowered her head and filled in the time of death. In the room next door, I lay buried under tubes and wires, my face as white as the walls. A nurse came in and told me everything. The shock was too much. I lost consciousness.

Sophie’s POV When I came to, the hospital room was empty. I opened my eyes and saw the IV stand first, then my own bare wrist. The mark from five years of wearing the bracelet was still pressed into my skin. The bracelet was gone. The nurse stood at the bedside with a clipboard, keeping her voice low. “Ms. Gray, don’t try to move yet.” My throat was dry enough to crack. “Where’s the baby?” She didn’t answer right away. That pause landed harder than anything she could have said. I looked up at her. The veins in the back of my IV hand went taut. “I’m asking you. Where is my baby?” I wanted so badly for what I’d heard before losing consciousness to be wrong. The nurse’s eyes filled. She gripped her clipboard. “When they brought him in, he wasn’t breathing on his own. They worked on him for a long time.” She stopped. “He didn’t make it.” I didn’t cry. I stared at the ceiling. My lips were cracked. Under the bandages and tubes, my chest rose and fell in small, slow movements. Yesterday he had been pressed against me. His tiny fingers curled around the edge of his wrappings. When he went still, I told myself he was just tired. Now the words came down again, and everything in the room fell away. The doctor arrived shortly after, two nurses behind him. He set the charts at the foot of the bed and kept his voice as level as he could. “The infection from your delivery wound is severe. Combined with extended exposure in cold floodwater, your condition deteriorated past the critical threshold. We performed emergency surgery, but…” He paused. “We weren’t able to save your uterus.” I turned my head and looked at him. He held the pause a moment longer. “We’ll continue monitoring the infection. The fact that you’re alive at all is not a small thing.” My fingers moved. “It’s gone?” He nodded. I looked back at the ceiling. Something inside me went hollow in that moment. Not pain, exactly. Pain has a location. This had none. A nurse brought over a clear sealed bag. Inside was the swaddling cloth, washed clean. The mud was gone, but the fabric was old and worn, and there was a small stain at one corner, a faint yellow patch that hadn’t come out no matter how many times it was washed. “This came in with the baby. We cleaned it.” I pushed myself upright against the bed frame. The nurse moved to help. I shifted away. I took the bag and ran my thumb over the cloth through the plastic. He had lain in this. Last night I’d tied it against my chest so all the wind and water hit my back first. I thought that was enough to protect him. I opened the seal. Took the cloth out. Laid it flat. Folded one corner to the opposite. Then again. Slowly. The IV pulled at the back of my hand with every movement. I didn’t stop. When it was folded, I slipped it back into the bag and pressed the seal closed. I set it on the pillow beside me. That bag was all that was left of him in the world. That afternoon, the door to the room wasn’t fully shut. The TV at the nurses’ station down the hall was running disaster coverage, the anchor’s voice rising and falling. I wasn’t paying attention, until I heard a name I knew. “Mandy.” I turned my head. Through the gap in the door, the screen had just cut to a replay. Mandy was propped up in a hospital bed, face pale but hair neatly brushed, a small cake on the tray beside her. A candle burned on top. She smiled for the camera, eyes faintly red. A caption rolled across the bottom. So glad you’re still here. The camera shifted and caught a jacket draped over the chair beside the bed. Ethan’s rescue team patch was visible on the sleeve. The comments scrolled past. He stayed with her on the night of the flood to celebrate her birthday? That’s the sweetest thing. Your boyfriend is everything. That’s real security right there. I stared at the jacket. That same night, my son had been cooling against my chest while I called Ethan’s name over and over, begging him to come, to bring formula, to get the baby out. During that same stretch of hours, Ethan had draped his jacket over Mandy’s shoulders. The candle on the cake was still lit. I reached over and pulled the sealed bag into my arms. The plastic was cold and stiff against my hospital gown. On the screen, Mandy bit into the cake and smiled. “Ethan said as long as I’m alive, that’s all that matters.” My arms tightened slowly. The seal made a faint sound under my hands. I didn’t get up. I didn’t call for the nurse to turn it off. I sat there, looking through that gap in the door, and watched Mandy finish every last bite.

Sophie’s POV By the time the lawyer came to the room, I was already getting out of bed on my own. I sat by the window in my hospital gown, the sealed bag on my knees. Outside, the temporary helipad was still up. Rescue vehicles moved past one after another. None of them were Ethan’s. The lawyer set his document folder on the small table and looked at me first. “Ms. Gray. Everything you asked for over the phone is ready.” I nodded. “Read it to me.” He opened the folder. The first document was a voluntary waiver of marital assets. The apartment, the savings, Ethan’s stake in the rescue company, I was taking none of it. The second was a power of attorney authorizing the lawyer to handle all legal matters between Ethan and me. The divorce. The asset separation. Any future correspondence. All of it would go through him. The third was a donation inventory. A set of equipment at the New York rescue station, a generator, life vests, a medical supply kit, a satellite terminal, had been purchased with my own savings after the marriage. I wasn’t taking them. I was donating everything to the upriver rescue team. The lawyer looked up from that page. “The market value of this equipment isn’t trivial. Are you sure you don’t want compensation?” I set the bag down on the bed. “I’m sure.” “If Mr. Shaw doesn’t agree, the process could drag out.” “Then we sue.” The lawyer’s pen paused. The room was quiet for a moment. I picked up the first document and turned to the signature page. My hand hadn’t fully recovered. My wrist was stiff, and my name came out slow. Sophie Gray. Watching the letters land on the page, my hand trembled slightly. I signed the second document. Then the third. After each page, the lawyer pressed a sticky note with instructions for notarization and delivery. I didn’t ask questions. I just signed where he indicated and pressed my thumb where the ink pad was. The red ink stayed on the pad of my finger. I wiped it twice and it didn’t come off. The lawyer gathered the documents and pressed them into a hard-shell folder. “From this point forward, all contact from Mr. Shaw will come to me first. I’ll also file a privacy request with the hospital on your behalf.” I looked up. “Don’t tell him my condition.” “Understood.” “And don’t be the one to tell him about the baby.” He watched me. “Are you sure?” I picked up the sealed bag from the bed and set it back on my knees. “He has his own channel.” The lawyer didn’t push. He closed the folder and left. After the door shut, all that was left in the room was the smell of antiseptic. I sat for a while. Then I pulled back the covers, got out of bed, and walked to the end of the hallway. There was a payphone near the wall, old, with tape wrapped around the receiver. I dropped in coins and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. It rang six times. Then someone picked up. “Hello?” “Hannah. It’s me.” A pause on the other end. “Sophie?” I leaned against the wall. The puncture wound on the back of my hand hadn’t closed yet. Pressing the receiver against it stung. “I don’t have anywhere to go. Can you find me a place to rent in Houston?” Hannah didn’t ask why. I heard her chair scrape back. Then her voice dropped. “Just you?” I looked down at the loose hem of my hospital gown. “Just me.” A long silence. “Okay. Do you want it close to a hospital?” “Close.” “South-facing?” I closed my eyes. “Doesn’t matter.” “I’ll look at places today,” Hannah said. “Call me when you get in.” I held the receiver, and my throat moved. “Thank you.” “Don’t. Just get yourself to Houston in one piece.” The call ended. I put the receiver back and walked slowly along the wall back to my room. There was a photo tucked under my pillow. I pulled it out. Five years ago, after the old dam collapse. Ethan and I stood outside the rescue tent, both of us covered in mud. His hand was resting on my shoulder, his smile exhausted. I was smiling too, and on my wrist was the GPS bracelet, freshly clasped. The corners of the photo had started to curl. I looked at it for a long time. Then I turned it over, held it against my chest, and tucked it into the inner pocket of my hospital gown. I didn’t want anything else. Only this. Outside, another rescue vehicle drove past, its tires crashing through standing water. I walked to the bed, set the sealed bag on the pillow, pulled open the drawer, and took out the hospital discharge form.

Sophie’s POV The day I left the hospital, it was still raining in New York. I didn’t wait for the nurse to change my dressing, and I didn’t wait for the lawyer’s car. The moment the light came through the window, I undid my hospital gown button by button, exposing the bruising across my chest that hadn’t faded yet. There was only one thing in the locker: an old rescue jacket, washed clean. The one I’d been wearing in the photo, five years ago. The cuffs were worn pale, the shoulders had gone stiff from being waterlogged, and the threads at the edge of the team patch were fraying. I shook it out and put it on slowly. Halfway through zipping it up, the incision across my abdomen pulled, and I had to stop and breathe through the pain before I could pull the zipper all the way to the top. The photo was under the pillow. I slid it out and looked at it once. In the picture, Ethan stood beside me, hand resting on my shoulder. He had just finished clasping the GPS bracelet on my wrist. His face was smudged with mud, but his eyes were bright. I folded the photo in half. The crease pressed flat across Ethan’s face. I slipped it into the inner pocket of my jacket, next to the post-surgery bandaging, where it made a small firm shape against my side. On the bed, I laid out the hospital gown and folded it, sleeves over sleeves, collar aligned, until it was neat and square. I put the sealed bag on top of it. The cloth inside had dried. The edges were still crinkled. That small stain in the corner was still there, pale yellow, caught behind the plastic, the last thing he had left behind. I pressed my thumb against the seal for a moment. It gave a soft sound. I looked down at the bare mark on my wrist where the bracelet used to be. The cracked GPS unit was in the drawer. The nurse had said the rescue team had logged it and I could take it with me. I picked it up. The screen was dark. The frame had mud in the seams. The clasp had a deep groove where I’d bitten into it. I’d assumed it was broken. Broken was fine. If it still lit up, the promise it carried would only look worse by contrast. I set it on top of the sealed bag. One old promise pressing down on the only thing left of my son. That felt about right. Footsteps passed the door, a nurse, light and quick. I didn’t look up. I took my discharge papers and walked to the nurses’ station. The nurse saw me dressed and stopped. “Ms. Gray, you can’t be walking around yet.” I set the papers on the counter. “I need to check out.” “Your infection markers still need to be rechecked.” “I’ll follow up somewhere else.” She looked at my face, pale and hollowed out, and started to say something else. I was already picking up the pen. On the last page of the hospital records, there was a privacy disclosure section. Authorize disclosure of medical information to family members. I checked a box. No. Authorize disclosure of patient whereabouts to family members. I checked another box. No. Authorize legal spouse to receive future medical correspondence. I didn’t pause. Third check. No. The pen tore slightly into the paper. The nurse took the form back, her voice quieter now. “Do you need us to call you a car?” “No.” I signed the last page, put the pen down, and walked out through the main entrance with nothing in my hands, just the folded photo pressing into my chest through the inner pocket. Wind pushed through the doors. The rescue jacket was thin, and it didn’t stop the cold. The train station was nearly empty. Trains had only just resumed running after the flood. The waiting area was scattered with wet umbrellas and muddy footprints. I stood at the edge of the platform, and my phone buzzed. A message from Hannah. Found a place. South-facing, close to a hospital. Text me when you land and I’ll come get you. I read it, then turned my phone off. The arrival tone sounded down the track. The rails began to hum. I looked down at the top button of my rescue jacket. In the photo from five years ago, this same button was there, bright and sharp. Ethan had done it up for me once. Told me to wear the jacket properly and stop leaving the collar open. I reached up and pulled. The thread snapped. The button dropped into my palm. I stepped to the yellow line at the platform edge and opened my fingers. The button fell, hit the gravel between the rails, rolled twice, and disappeared into a crack in the dark. The train came in on a wall of wind. The doors opened. I stepped on, found a seat by the window, and sat down. The platform lights slid past my face one by one. I didn’t look back. Back in the hospital room, the cracked bracelet still rested on the sealed bag. Deep inside its shattered screen, the local memory held a complete record of every GPS ping from the night of the flood until the morning I walked out. In the receiver field, that one line remained. Blocked.

Ethan’s POV I reached Memorial Hermann a week after the flood. That week, I had been handling the aftermath, giving interviews, managing the press, keeping Mandy calm in front of the cameras. I assumed Sophie and the baby were recovering in the hospital. That the baby had caught a chill. That Sophie was angry with me. I figured I would come when she had cooled down and bring them both home. I even stopped at the gift shop downstairs and picked up a can of baby formula and a bunch of white roses that were entirely wrong for the occasion. The elevator doors opened and I saw the lawyer first. He was standing at the end of the hallway, black document bag in hand. When he saw me, nothing on his face changed. I stopped walking. “Why are you here?” He reached into the bag and pulled out a folder, holding it out toward me. “Mr. Shaw. Ms. Gray asked me to deliver these.” I didn’t take it. “Where is she?” “The documents explain everything.” I looked at him steadily. “I asked you where she is.” He extended the folder another inch. “Ms. Gray has authorized me to handle all legal matters between the two of you. The waiver of marital assets, the power of attorney, the equipment donation list, all signed and in effect.” The color drained from my face slowly. “She just had a baby. You let her sign all of that?” The lawyer met my eyes. His tone didn’t move. “She requested it.” “Get out of my way.” I pushed past him and went straight to the room. The door wasn’t locked. I pushed it open and saw the empty bed first. The sheets were tucked smooth. The pillow was centered. The chair had been pushed back under the desk. On the nightstand, a hospital gown was folded in a neat square, white and cold-looking. On top of the gown was a clear sealed bag. On top of the bag was a cracked bracelet. I stood in the doorway. The formula hit the floor. The white roses scattered, stems rolling to the foot of the bed. I walked over and picked up the bracelet. There was a bite mark on the clasp. Deep. I recognized it. This was the bracelet I had put on Sophie’s wrist myself. The day the old dam gave way, she had been sitting in the rescue tent with her arm in bandages. I had knelt and clasped it for her, and told her: even if the sky came down, I would find her. Now the screen was cracked. She had left it behind. My fingers locked up. My eyes moved down to the sealed bag beneath. Inside, folded small, was a swaddling cloth. It was very small. Clean in a way that felt wrong. I reached for it, and the moment my fingertips touched the plastic, I pulled back. The weight was off. Too light to press against. The seal had been pressed down very firmly. I tore it open after two tries. The cloth came free. There was a small stain at one corner, faint yellow, the kind that doesn’t wash out. It smelled like hospital antiseptic and, very faintly, like mud and floodwater. My throat tightened. I had never held that baby. The day he turned one month old, Sophie sent me a text asking if I had time to come home and see him. I told her I was busy. After that, I never heard from her again. I pressed the cloth back into the bag, but my hands were shaking too badly to get the seal to line up. The nurse took the bag from me. Sophie had left a belongings transfer form before discharge, and handed it to the lawyer to take with him. I held the bracelet and pressed the power button. The screen flickered twice, then lit up in a patchwork of broken blue. The local log opened automatically. Line after line of GPS transmissions. The night of the flood. Building Three, Riverside District. Every two seconds. For hours. My breathing went wrong all at once. I kept scrolling. Half the receiver log had been corrupted by water damage. But the last field was perfectly legible. Blocked. My thumb stopped on the screen. The cracked glass made it hard to read clearly. The room was quiet. The lawyer was still outside the door. He hadn’t come in. I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the bracelet in my hands. The hospital gown crumpled under me. The sealed bag slid onto my knee. I looked at the cloth in my hands. Then at the bracelet. A baby had died the night I crossed the river to the other bank. A woman had sent me her location every two seconds from a rooftop. I never received it. My receiver had blocked her. I snapped my head up. My eyes were shot through with red. “Who touched my account?” The lawyer didn’t answer. From the hallway came the sound of a nurse’s cart, wheels rolling over tile, stopping outside the door. The nurse glanced at the empty bed, then at what I was holding, and looked away. I tightened my grip on the bracelet. The cracked frame dug into my palm. Blood seeped between my fingers and dripped onto the clear sealed bag.

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I woke up and found myself convicted of a hit-and-run killing. On the day I was sent to prison, my fiancé Brandon suddenly confessed to me: “Actually, it was your sister Freya who did the hit-and-run. I fabricated the evidence to make you take the fall for her.” Seeing me frozen in shock, he said it like it was nothing: “I’ve been seeing her behind your back for a while now. She’s pregnant with my child.” “Your whole family knows.” My body went stiff. My mind went completely blank. He continued: “Don’t worry. When you get out, my child with her will be your child too.” Except I never made it out. I was beaten to death in prison. After I died, my soul drifted to Brandon and Freya’s wedding. Without meaning to, I possessed Freya’s body. The officiant was holding the microphone, asking the bride if she took this man to be her husband. I controlled Freya’s body, ran a hand over her slightly swollen belly, and smiled with her face — smug and satisfied: “I absolutely do!” “After all, I’ve been sleeping around with multiple men. Not only did I pick up an STD, I’m also carrying some random guy’s baby.” “So after I ran someone over drunk driving, I deliberately let Caitlin take the fall and go to prison, then stole her fiancé.” “If I don’t marry Brandon, where else am I going to find a loaded idiot willing to take me in?” I turned to Brandon, whose face had gone a sickly shade of green. I patted his cheek and smiled with cold contempt: “Baby, don’t worry. The child might not be yours, but I’m still yours, aren’t I?” ⋯⋯

The moment those words left my mouth, the entire banquet hall froze like someone had hit pause. The silence was so complete you could hear a pin drop. This was a union between the Western Brown family and the Andre family. Every guest here was somebody. The bride had just detonated a scandal with her own lips. The media in the room descended like sharks smelling blood, cameras surging toward me from every direction. After a brief silence, the room erupted into furious whispers. Brandon’s brow twisted. He shoved the reporters back, seized my hand in an iron grip, and dropped his voice: “Freya, what exactly did you just mean by that?” “Wasn’t it Caitlin who had the STD and got knocked up by some other guy?” I looked at this man I’d loved for five years and felt a sharp, gutting pain move through me. Three months ago, Freya had used one AI-generated fake photo to make Brandon completely convinced that I was sleeping around behind his back — that I had an STD, that the baby I was carrying belonged to some unknown man. I had begged him to believe me. The photo was fake. It was Freya who had the STD. But he shoved me to the ground, loomed over me, and screamed: “Freya is pure and kind. Why would she ever frame you?” “You’ve always resented her for taking your place as the Brown family’s daughter. You just can’t stand her!” I hit the floor. The pain in my lower abdomen was so severe I broke into a cold sweat all over my body. I curled into myself and begged him to take me to the hospital. To save our baby. He stared at the pool of blood spreading beneath me, his voice soft and brutal at the same time: “Caitlin, as long as that bastard in your belly is gone and you get your STD treated, I’ll still marry you.” I crawled through the blood to reach the table, grabbed my phone, and called 911. By the time I got to the hospital, the baby was already gone. He had killed our child with his own hands. I dragged my broken body home, only to find Brandon and Freya tangled together in my bed. When I fell apart and confronted them, Brandon sneered: “You’ve been with so many men. You were carrying some stranger’s kid.” “I’m just fooling around with one person. If anything, you’re getting the better end of the deal.”

My thoughts snapped back to the present. I looked at Brandon through Freya’s eyes and gave him the worst smile I could manage: “You idiot. I was obviously lying to you!” “Those photos of Caitlin were AI fakes I made myself. I’m the one carrying some random guy’s baby!” “I made you kill your own child with your own hands, and then handed you someone else’s kid to raise without any of the pain.” “If you think about it, you’re actually getting a pretty good deal!” Brandon’s face cycled from pale to dark. The veins at his temples bulged. His eyes took on something terrifying. At that moment, Freya’s soul started fighting to reclaim her body. She screamed inside my head like something unhinged: “Caitlin! You disgusting piece of trash! Get out of my body right now!” Since this was my first time possessing someone, my hold on her soul was unstable. The world spun violently and I was forced out. Freya, freshly back in control of her own body, burst into tears — the kind that looked beautiful and heartbreaking. She grabbed Brandon’s arm and rushed to explain: “Brandon, none of those words were mine!” “It was Caitlin — that awful woman — she died but she still…” She caught herself mid-sentence, seemed to remember something, and quickly changed her story: “She’s taking revenge on me. I don’t know what kind of dark trick she used to take over my body and make me say those things.” She took Brandon’s hand and pressed it against her small round belly: “She’s jealous that I’m carrying your child. She’s trying to tear us apart on purpose!” The mention of the baby smoothed out Brandon’s furrowed brow immediately: “I knew it. You’re too good and too sweet for any of that. Of course it’s my child. It has to be Caitlin stirring things up!” Seeing Brandon buy the story, Freya let out a deep, quiet breath of relief. Her brother John, sitting in his wheelchair, clenched his fist and spat: “Even locked up, she’s still scheming against people. And here we were, spending a fortune to make sure the guards treated her well — practically turning her prison sentence into a vacation. She doesn’t know how good she had it!” “I want nothing to do with a sister this vicious!” “She should have died in that prison!” I floated there above them, feeling nothing but a dark, hollow absurdity. They had conspired together to put me behind bars with fabricated evidence. And yet they expected me to bow down in gratitude to the very people who destroyed my life. It had only been a few days after my miscarriage when Freya, drunk behind the wheel, ran someone over — then deliberately reversed and ran over the body again before fleeing the scene. When it all came to light, she cried and sobbed and said it wasn’t her fault. The victim had stepped in front of her on purpose, trying to extort money from her. She was scared. She couldn’t go to prison. And just like that, without a second thought, the whole family pointed their finger at me. My parents wrapped their arms around Freya and acted like it was the most natural thing in the world: “Freya was raised to be pampered. She couldn’t survive prison.” “Caitlin, your sister has spent over twenty years being devoted to this family in your place. You owe her everything.” “Going to prison for her is the least you can do to repay that debt.” My brother John hated me for what he believed I’d done — hiring someone to break both his legs, leaving him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He wanted me to suffer, so he supported sending me to prison without hesitation. And Brandon — he used the gentlest voice to say the cruelest things: “Caitlin, you’re already damaged. A little more damage doesn’t matter. I won’t think less of you for it.” “But if Freya goes to prison, her whole life is ruined.” Even now, even dead, there was still a gaping hole where my heart should have been. The hatred was so overwhelming it launched me straight back into Freya. I shoved her soul out and took back control of her body. I wiped away the tears Freya had just been crying, drew back my foot, and kicked hard enough to nearly send John’s wheelchair toppling. I laughed through the tears still clinging to my face: “You are so irreparably stupid!” “Use that tiny little brain of yours and think! Caitlin had no grudge against you. She had no money. Why would she ever hire someone to break your legs?”

“Obviously it was me. I hired them to break your legs and pin it on Caitlin. I needed you to hate her — really hate her — so I could drive a wedge between you two, steal the shares that were rightfully hers, and force her to take my fall.” I looked a lot like John. He’d run into me by chance one day, started to suspect something, had DNA testing done in secret, and then brought me back into the Brown family. When I first came home, both he and my parents wanted to make up for the twenty-two years of family I’d missed. They were planning to announce my identity as the true Brown family daughter at the company’s anniversary celebration half a month away. And to transfer my rightful shares into my name. But just a few days later, John was dragged into an alley and had both his legs broken. He’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Based on the fake evidence the attackers had deliberately planted, he didn’t even look into it. He decided I was responsible and hated me for it with everything he had. My parents, nudged along by Freya’s manipulation, grew colder toward me with every passing day. John stared at the sister he’d cherished and spoiled for twenty-two years. His lips trembled: “Freya… is that true?” Now that I was in Freya’s body, I had full access to her memories. That’s how I knew all these details. I laughed coldly: “The guy who led the attack was named Jason. His number is… but you don’t have to take my word for it. Look it up yourself.” John’s face drained white, then darkened. He barked at his assistant over the phone, demanding they investigate immediately. He made it clear — if Freya really was behind what happened to him, he would not let it go. I clapped Freya’s hands together with exaggerated delight: “Good! Please, don’t let me off the hook!” “Send me to prison. Have me torn apart. Make it count — for your real sister.” He grabbed my wrist hard: “What are you saying? What do you mean, torn apart? What do you mean, make it count?” In order to put me behind bars and cover for Freya, they had falsified dashcam footage, altered surveillance recordings, and bribed everyone involved. They’d successfully gotten me convicted and thrown in prison. But then they’d also spent a small fortune bribing the guards and other inmates to look after me — to ease their own guilt, and so they could tell themselves I was fine and ought to be grateful. What they hadn’t counted on was Freya. Using the Brown family name, she had issued her own orders, overriding all of that — commanding those same people to beat me, humiliate me, and work me until I died. I was laughing so hard my eyes burned with tears: “Of course I was the one who paid them off. I had them beat Caitlin every single day until she was dead.” “Now no one can ever take the Brown family name away from me again.” John’s brow furrowed. He seemed to be weighing whether to believe it. Brandon shoved through the crowd and grabbed my arm: “What the hell are you saying? How could Caitlin be dead?” “Didn’t you say just yesterday that Caitlin complained about the food in there and asked you to get three million from me?” The situation was spinning out of control. Freya went frantic inside me — cursing me, clawing at the edges of her own mind, trying to force me out of her body. No one else could see the two souls fighting for control. From the outside, Freya just looked like she was losing her mind — one moment sobbing: “John, please don’t believe any of this! How could I ever want to hurt you?” “It was Caitlin — she used some kind of witchcraft on me and made me say those things!” “Brandon! I’m carrying your child! This is all Caitlin’s doing, she’s trying to destroy me…” And the next second, slapping herself hard across the face, calling herself worthless — saying she had stolen someone else’s life and deserved every terrible thing coming to her. She even pulled out her phone to call the police and turn herself in. Mrs. Brown rushed forward, knocked the phone out of my hand, pressed her palm over my mouth, and pulled me into her arms.

She turned to the guests with an embarrassed smile and explained that ever since I had come home, I’d been unable to accept Freya as an adopted daughter and had been bullying her relentlessly. Freya’s breakdown today, she said, was clearly my fault. I seized the moment and wrestled back control, shoved her to the floor, and turned to Mr. Brown with a cold, flat stare: “Dad. When exactly are you planning to finish moving the company assets? When are you going to get rid of this old woman so you can bring my real mom home and finally have the family you actually want?” Mrs. Brown hadn’t expected the daughter she’d adored to push her to the ground. It took her a long moment to process it. She pressed a hand to her chest and stared at me, her lips moving: “Freya… what did you just…” Freya was fighting me with everything she had. I bore down and held her back, took control of her hands, and cast the contents of her phone onto the big screen at the front of the hall. Mrs. Brown stared at the image on that screen — Mr. Brown with his arm around another woman, the three of them posed like a perfect little family — and the blood drained from her face. “Honestly, you’ve only got yourself to blame for being so easy to use. If you weren’t loaded, why would my dad have stayed with you this long?” “The one my dad has always loved is my mother, Laura.” “To give me a better life, my dad deliberately switched me and Caitlin at birth. He had her abandoned out in the woods.” I let myself laugh until I nearly doubled over: “The precious daughter you’ve been raising and spoiling for twenty-two years is your husband’s illegitimate child. She’s his mistress’s daughter.” “And you — you went and sent your own biological daughter to prison. For her.” “You killed your own flesh and blood with your own hands.” Every word landed like a hammer blow directly to her chest. She turned to look at Mr. Brown, whose face had gone the color of ash. She murmured to herself, barely audible: “That can’t be real… none of this is real…” She pulled herself up from the floor and latched onto my wrist with both hands: “Freya, tell me. Tell me right now that everything you just said was a lie.” “It was Caitlin, wasn’t it? That vicious girl did something to you, made you say all of that!” No one answered her. Because the answer was staring everyone in the face — Freya looked almost identical to the woman Mr. Brown had his arm around in that photo. I didn’t bother engaging with any of them. I just kept casting more files from Freya’s phone onto the big screen. Photos of her with various men. A hospital report confirming her STD diagnosis. A message thread showing her ordering the guards to have me beaten to death. And then — Brandon’s recent medical report confirming a diagnosis of low sperm count. One bombshell after another. The media in the room were ecstatic, cameras clicking and flashing in a relentless barrage. Brandon snapped at the staff to kill the screen, then grabbed my wrist: “Freya, Caitlin did something to you, right? She’s the one behind all of this?” John and Mrs. Brown both chimed in — saying I had always been vicious, that all of this so-called evidence was obviously something I had fabricated. I looked at the three of them, cold and still. Even with everything laid out in front of them, they still chose to believe in Freya. Still chose to call me the villain. It was almost funny. I controlled Freya’s body and laughed until the tears nearly came. I pointed at them and screamed: “Caitlin is already dead!” “You people killed her. Every single one of you.” Mrs. Brown fired back immediately: “She’s just spiteful. She resents her own family, so she’s been pulling strings behind the scenes, setting all of this up to humiliate us!” John added: “Exactly. We made sure she was well taken care of in there. Prison was practically a vacation for her—” He stopped himself. He’d said too much. Every guest in that room was sharp enough to know when something didn’t add up. The next moment, a hesitant voice rose from somewhere in the crowd: “I heard there was a bullying death at that prison last week. That wasn’t… Caitlin Brown, was it? Is she actually dead? Does that mean all of this is real?”

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I was reborn on the day I got buried in a sand pit. My wife of seven years leaned over the edge of the hole and screamed down at me. “The rope is down. Tie it around Stellan first. You’re strong. You can hold on another five minutes.” In my last life, I grabbed it first. Stellan ended up brain-damaged from oxygen deprivation. She forced me to work sixteen-hour days to pay off the debt. “Stellan is your fault. You did this. Why don’t you just die?” In the end, my leg bone rotted away. She threw me out of the hospital. I died alone in a basement that leaked when it rained. This time, I said only one word: “Okay.” I fastened the rope around Stellan’s harness. It pulled taut, and he was yanked up. Then the roar of the SUV’s engine faded fast. She drove away in the only vehicle, taking him with her without a single look back. I leaned against the wall of flowing sand and closed my eyes. This time, I wasn’t going to fight for it. But Mandy, why did you end up regretting it? “Ethan! The rope is down. Hook yourself in, now. The car can’t pull two people through this sand. We can only bring up one at a time. Do you hear me?” The sand had already swallowed me up to my chest when Amanda’s sharp voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, riding a wave of harsh static. I tilted my head up. The windstorm hit my goggles like gravel being hurled by a fist. Less than a yard away from me, Stellan had sunk halfway into the quicksand. He was clinging to a dead branch that was about to snap, his face streaked with sand and tears, screaming up at the surface in pure desperation. “Mandy! Help me! I can’t breathe! I don’t want to die out here!” Watching the scene in front of me, I felt nothing but cold emptiness inside. So I actually got a second chance. This moment was exactly the same as before. In my last life, Amanda and I had been married three years, both of us working out here in this wasteland. When the sand collapsed without warning, I’d been buried in the quicksand just like this. Back then, driven by survival instinct and by my trust in the woman I’d just married, I grabbed the lifeline. But I never could have imagined that one desperate choice would become the beginning of a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Because Stellan spent ten extra minutes under the sand, he was oxygen-deprived long enough to cause brain damage by the time they pulled him out. His mental capacity dropped to that of a ten-year-old. From that day on, the look Amanda gave me held nothing but a hatred that cut all the way to the bone. She drove me to work sixteen hours a day. Every dollar I earned, salary, bonuses, everything I had saved toward buying us a house, went straight to Stellan’s medical bills. “This is the consequence of what you did. If you hadn’t saved yourself first, Stellan would never have ended up like this. You have to take responsibility.” Then, after years of grueling work in brutal conditions, the bone in my thigh deteriorated so badly I could barely walk. At the moment I needed surgery money most desperately, Amanda quietly drained every cent from our account. She stood over me where I lay in the hospital bed, her voice stripped of any warmth. “Stellan needs new physical therapy equipment, and that costs a lot. Your leg is already ruined anyway. There’s no point wasting money on it.” In the end, she kicked me out of the hospital without mercy. I died alone, in a basement with no heat. Every bone in my body rotted. I died in agony, drowning in regret that had nowhere to go. “Ethan! Are you deaf? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Amanda’s voice came through the walkie-talkie again, edged with fury she could no longer hold back. “Stellan has severe asthma. Inhaling all this sand could kill him. You’re in good shape. You can last another five minutes down there. Clip the safety hook onto Stellan. Do it now.” She didn’t even ask, not once, whether I was also about to be swallowed alive. Whether I might die too. In her mind, my strength and my obedience had become the very reasons it was acceptable to abandon me. I looked at Stellan sobbing beside me, and suddenly I thought my past self was the world’s biggest joke. I’d nearly killed myself trying to prove I mattered more to her than her best friend. And all I got in return was a rotted leg and a cold corpse. This time, I wasn’t going to fight for it. “Okay.” I spoke into the walkie-talkie, calm, my mouth full of grit. Then I reached out with both hands, pulled the rope toward me, and clipped it directly onto Stellan’s safety harness. “Ethan… thank you. Don’t worry. I’m sending the guys down with equipment right now. Give me five minutes!” A thread of relief slipped into Amanda’s voice, along with something that tried to pass itself off as gratitude. I didn’t respond. I just reached over and switched off the walkie-talkie. All I could hear now was the soft scraping of sand against Stellan’s body as he was pulled upward. The rope went taut fast. It jerked Stellan out of the pit in one rough motion. He wailed like a rescued child in midair, flailing his arms and legs as they hauled him up. I stood in the tightening sand and watched his shape disappear into the blinding light above. Then came the muffled growl of the SUV’s engine from somewhere overhead. The tires spun furiously in the sand, throwing out a sharp, grinding shriek. One hard rev of the engine, and then the sound moved away fast. She drove off in the only vehicle. Took Stellan, the one she treated like he was everything, and left without looking back. In this scorching wasteland where the sun could peel the skin right off you, she drove away the only vehicle that could save my life and told me to wait. I leaned back against the tightening quicksand wall and closed my eyes. There was no rage in me. Only a stillness, deep and dead, like water that had forgotten how to move. The Ethan who had spent his whole life revolving around Amanda died in that moment, buried beneath the dry, drifting sand.

The vibration from Amanda driving away triggered a second collapse. A falling boulder slammed into my left leg and snapped it clean. The quicksand surged up to my neck in seconds. To survive, I pried my leg free from the rock with an entrenching tool, forcing the bone loose through sheer will, spitting blood as I dragged myself out of the pit. In fifty-degree heat, I walked on that mangled leg. One step, then another. I don’t know how long I moved. When my mind started to blur, I finally saw the cluster of red tents and the high-end climate-controlled trailer sitting on the edge of the horizon. That was our base camp. Running almost entirely on instinct, I crawled on my hands and knees to the door of the climate-controlled trailer. I reached up with a hand caked in blood and sand and pulled at the door handle. It didn’t move. Someone had locked it from the inside. Cold air seeped through the gap in the metal door, a faint, maddening whisper against my skin. Through the sand-resistant window, I could hear Stellan’s weak moaning, and Amanda’s gentle, soothing voice. “Take it slow, Stellan. It’s ice-cold lemonade, best thing for heat exhaustion.” My hand hung in midair. The grime under my fingernails was dark with the blood I had dug through the sand with. I clenched my jaw and knocked on the window with the wooden handle of the entrenching tool. Hard. “What is wrong with you? Ethan, seriously!” Amanda’s voice came through the trailer’s external speaker almost immediately, dripping with irritation and barely restrained fury. “Stellan just had a severe panic attack down there. His airway is badly inflamed right now. You’re covered in filth and you smell. If you bring germs in here and something happens to Stellan, are you going to take responsibility for that?” “You walked back on your own two feet, which means you’re fine. Go wait in the supply tent. There are sleeping pads in there. Once Stellan falls asleep tonight, I’ll come out and bring you something to eat.” The speaker cut out. Silence settled over everything like a burial. I leaned against the scorching metal side of the trailer and slowly slid down to the ground. My left thigh had swollen to the size of a bucket. The skin had turned a sickly blue-black. I was losing sensation fast. My wife, knowing full well I’d just survived a life-threatening collapse, wouldn’t even unlock the door. Because she found my smell offensive. I stared at that sealed door, and then I dropped my head and laughed. I laughed until something dry stung the corner of my eye, something that evaporated instantly in the desert heat before it could even fall. I didn’t knock again. I didn’t say another word. I pressed my hands to the ground, dragged my useless left leg behind me, and inched my way toward the tent. I lay down beside the cold, hard metal of the equipment cases, closed my eyes, and let the darkness take me.

The supply tent was stifling. I lay beside the cold metal equipment cases, every inch of my skin crawling like it was being eaten alive. The dehydration had pushed my body into a high fever. My forehead burned to the touch. The cracks in my lips wept tiny beads of blood. My left leg had gone completely numb. The thigh had swollen so badly it was straining against the fabric of my pants. The skin had taken on a taut, glossy sheen, the look of severe internal bleeding and muscle death beneath the surface. I could feel it. My body was failing, slowly but steadily, giving out from the dehydration and the damage. “Ethan! Oh God, what are you doing on the ground?” The tent flap was yanked open. Dr. Sam Pearce, the survey team’s medic, burst in with his kit. One look at me, and the color drained out of his face. He dropped to his knees beside me, hands trembling as he tore open my pant leg, and sucked in a sharp breath. “The muscle tissue is severely necrotic. It’s already losing blood supply. Ethan, are you out of your mind?” Sam’s eyes went red with panic. He was already rummaging frantically through his kit, pulling out the last saline bag, getting it ready to run an IV. “No good. His kidneys are starting to fail. He needs fluids right now, and then he needs surgery at a county hospital immediately. If we wait any longer, that leg is coming off. He could lose his life.” He was still talking as he struggled to find a vein in my arm. Amanda pulled the tent flap aside and walked in. She was holding a stack of recovered survey documents, brow furrowed. When she saw Sam putting the needle in, her expression went flat. “Sam, what are you doing in here? I told you to stay with Stellan in the trailer. His ice packs have melted. He’s dizzy again. Go get him fresh ones, now.” Sam shot to his feet, pointing at my leg, furious. “Mandy! Ethan has a broken leg, he’s severely dehydrated, and he’s running a high fever. If he doesn’t get fluids and surgery, that leg is done.” Amanda’s gaze finally moved to my left leg. When she saw how swollen and darkened it was, something flickered in her eyes, a brief tightening of the pupils. But it lasted less than a second. Then it was gone, replaced by cold indifference and suspicion. “Sam, don’t let him fool you. You know what kind of shape Ethan is in. The man carries forty pounds of gear across miles of rough terrain on a normal day. You’re telling me a little time in a sand pit broke his leg?” She walked over and gave my lower leg a light nudge with the toe of her boot, voice thick with impatience. “Ethan, is this your way of guilting me for pulling Stellan out first? Stellan actually has asthma. Inhaling all that sand could have suffocated him. You’re perfectly healthy. Can’t you just be a little less selfish about this?” I lay on the hard ground and listened to her. I didn’t even bother opening my eyes. In my last life, every time Stellan got so much as a scratch, she would make sure the whole team heard about it, turning me into the brute who was too rough and too simple to understand suffering. In her mind, men like me didn’t deserve to hurt. Men like me were made of stone. “Mandy, have you lost it?” Sam shook with rage, pulling the saline bag close to his chest. “I’m the doctor here. I’m going off the test results. Ethan’s body is at its absolute limit. This IV needs to go in right now.” “No.” Amanda snatched the saline bag out of Sam’s hands and set it back in the kit without a second thought. “Stellan’s been vomiting. He’s critically dehydrated. We’re out of resupply. That’s the last saline bag, and it needs to go to Stellan. Ethan’s tough. He can drink from the water barrel outside.” She looked at me, and her voice took on a hard edge. “Stop being dramatic. Get up and clean yourself off. Lying there like that, it’s disgusting.” She dropped those words, picked up the med kit, and walked out without turning back. Sam stood there staring at his empty hands, eyes red, tears threatening to spill. “Ethan… how can she do this to you? You’re her husband. You’ve been married three years.” My cracked lips moved slightly. My voice came out as a dry rasp, barely a sound. “Sam. Don’t go back to her.” I paused. “Just get me a bowl of plain cold water. That’s all. Thank you.” My heart had gone cold a long time ago. Now the only thing I wanted was to stay alive. And then get far, far away from her.

Evening came. The desert wind picked up, carrying a dry rustling sound, and the temperature finally dropped a little, but my fever climbed higher. Sam did everything he could. In the end, all he managed to get down my throat was a few mouthfuls of water that tasted of grit and salt. My thoughts were starting to blur at the edges. A violent, twisting pain tore through my lower back. “That’s it. We have to move. We need to get to the county hospital right now!” Sam kicked the supply tent flap open and shouted at Amanda, who was outside directing the team as they packed up gear. “Ethan’s starting to talk out of his head! Mandy, give me the keys to the Land Cruiser. I’m driving him out of here myself!” The survey team had two SUVs. One had been totaled in yesterday’s collapse. The only vehicle still running was the Land Cruiser, the best one they had. Amanda was helping Stellan into the passenger seat. Stellan had a damp cloth draped over his face and a blanket pulled around his shoulders, moaning softly with that look he always wore, like the world owed him a gentleness it had never given him. When he heard Sam, Amanda’s hands paused. Then she turned around, her face set. “I’m not giving you the keys. I’m taking Stellan to the hospital myself.” “His skin blistered in the sun. He’s severely on edge. The therapist at the hospital is already booked. If we don’t get there today, Stellan could be left with serious psychological trauma. His career can’t take that hit.” Sam looked like he was about to explode. “Stellan has a sunburn. Ethan is dying. Look at his leg. It’s completely black. The back seats are wide open. Just put Ethan in the back and drop him at the hospital on the way. Is that so impossible?” Amanda glanced at me, pale, motionless on the stretcher, and something shifted in her eyes. Distaste, and something careful. “Stellan is traumatized. Seeing Ethan triggers his anxiety attacks. He can’t breathe when Ethan’s nearby.” “The supply truck comes in tomorrow morning. Ethan can ride out in that. The cargo bed is big enough for him to lie flat.” Tomorrow morning. That was more than twelve hours away. In my condition, dehydrated, with a leg that was already dying, lying in this supply tent for twelve more hours with no medical equipment. By the time the truck showed up, I would probably be a stiff. Amanda turned back to the door and reached for the handle. “Mandy.” I was flat on the stretcher. I dug up everything I had left and rasped her full name. Her hand froze on the handle. She turned and looked at me, surprised, off-balance. In three years, I had always called her by her nickname, the soft way. This was the first time I’d said her name in full, without a single degree of warmth in it. “You’re not giving me the keys.” I looked at her. My eyes were as cold as the desert at three in the morning. “That’s your answer?” Something in Amanda’s expression cracked. She covered it quickly, pulling herself up, throwing the words back at me with a sharp, almost panicked edge. “Ethan, what is your problem? I’m making the best call for the whole team and for Stellan’s health. If you’re so capable, walk yourself out. Don’t just lie there glaring at me.” “Fine.” I let out a short, humorless laugh and closed my eyes. “Sam. Stop asking her. Help me up.” And then, from somewhere far out along the horizon, there came a deep, heavy rumble. A large truck was moving along the dirt road beside the camp, its high beams cutting bright lines through the dark. It was a mining truck from a nearby site. It ran a nightly haul into town. “Sam. Flag it down.” I pointed at the truck. With my left hand braced against the edge of the stretcher, gritting through the grinding agony of broken bone against bone, I forced myself upright. Sam’s eyes were wet. He ran straight to the roadside and started waving his red wind jacket over his head with both arms. The truck let out a long pneumatic hiss and slowed to a stop. A weathered, middle-aged driver leaned out. “What’s going on? You need help?” “Please, my colleague has a broken leg, severe dehydration. We need to get to the county hospital. Can you take us?” Sam was crying as he shouted it. “Get in. I’ll get you there fast. She’s rough on the road but she moves.” The driver didn’t hesitate. He reached over and swung the passenger door open. Between Sam and the driver, they got me up and into the passenger seat. As I climbed in, I turned and looked back at Amanda one last time. She was staring at me. Both hands still gripping the keys to the SUV. Her face was frozen, stunned, unable to process what she was seeing. She couldn’t seem to understand it. The man who had always bent to whatever she wanted, without question, without complaint, he was leaving. And he wasn’t stopping. “Ethan! Are you insane? That truck is going to shake you apart. Your leg can’t handle that.” She was shouting from below, sharp and rising. I didn’t answer. I reached up and pulled the door shut, cutting her voice off, sealing it out there in the wind and the grit and the dark. “Drive.” I looked out at the long, black road ahead of me. “Let’s go.” The truck pulled away from the camp and didn’t look back.

Sam held onto me the entire ride, steadily wiping the cracking skin of my lips. “Stay with me, Ethan! We’re almost at the county line!” I don’t know how long it took. The truck finally stopped in front of the county hospital. Sam and the driver carried me out together. The ER team came rushing. “Comminuted fracture of the femur, severe ischemia in the affected tissue. Prep for emergency surgery immediately.” The ER doctor’s voice rang through the corridor. The consent form was handed to Sam. The doctor looked at him urgently. “Where’s his family? Why is there only a coworker? We need a signature right now. We can’t delay any further!” “I’m just his colleague. His family isn’t here.” Sam was wiping his face with the back of his hand. I was lying on the gurney, fighting the vertigo that came in waves with the fever. With my right hand shaking, I reached for the pen. “Doctor. I’ll sign it myself. I’m an adult. Whatever happens, that’s on me.” I said it one word at a time and wrote my name at the bottom of the form: Ethan Cole. The anesthetic moved through me slowly, and then the world softened. In the last second before everything went dark, I thought about the helplessness of lying in that hospital bed in my last life. This time, I had taken the first step back. When I opened my eyes again, sharp sunlight was pouring through the window. The ward was quiet. The air carried the faint, clean bite of antiseptic. My left leg was elevated and wrapped in thick white bandaging. It still ached distantly, but the burning was gone. Sam was slumped over the edge of my bed, asleep. “You’re awake?” The door opened. My attending physician walked in with a glasses and a thick stack of charts. He looked at my leg, then at me, and let out a slow breath. “Surgery went well. You’re alive. The leg is still there.” His tone was even, but what came next hit the quiet ward like something heavy dropped from a height. “That said, the fracture was severe. More critically, you were dehydrated for too long in extreme heat. The muscle and vascular tissue in that leg were compressed under that rock for too long. A significant portion of the tissue was completely necrotic. We had no choice but to remove it.” “Going forward, that leg will never function the way it did. You’ll walk with a limp. You’ll need a cane permanently. And you absolutely cannot return to any kind of high-intensity fieldwork. You need to prepare yourself for that.” Inside, I was surprisingly calm. Sam had woken when the doctor started talking. He sat there, stricken, unable to hide the grief in his face. “You’re twenty-eight years old. You love being out there in the field. What are you going to do now?” I looked at my bandaged leg. The corner of my mouth lifted, just slightly. “Sam. Don’t cry.” I put my hand on his trembling shoulder. My voice was quiet, but there was nothing unsteady in it. “I made it out of the wilderness alive. That’s more than enough. If I can’t go back to the desert, then I won’t go back.” In my last life, I left everything in that desert. My health, my time, my life. All of it spent for Amanda and Stellan. This time, I traded one leg for my life back. That was the best deal I had ever made.

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During the group photo, I crouched down to pick up a lens cap I’d dropped on the floor. When I looked up, Dylan had already raised his camera and pointed it straight at Wendy. I was about to move closer, but I could already see there was no space left for me in the frame. The colleagues around us laughed under their breath. “Here we go again. Every time Dylan shoots Wendy, you can just see it in his eyes.” “That’s what you call a photographer and his muse. Nobody gets it like they do.” My fingers tightened around the lens cap. Everyone said they had a natural chemistry. But nobody remembered that I was the girlfriend he’d been with for four years. In those four years, he took over a thousand photos of me. He never edited a single one. When I complained, he’d just ruffle my hair. “It’s not like you make a living off your looks. Why bother retouching them.” “Natural is better.” Then he’d turn around, open his editing software, and go through Wendy’s photos frame by frame. Carefully. Like he was crafting a grand confession. Watching his back, I suddenly understood in that moment. It wasn’t that everyone else had misread their relationship. It was that I had misread my own. I was never going to be the lead in his story.

Dylan poked his head out from behind the camera, brow slightly furrowed. “Lily, can you move over a little?” “The light is falling perfectly on Wendy’s face right now. The client needs these shots. We can’t mess this up.” He paused, then added. “I’ll take some of just you after.” My fingers went numb. I spoke quietly. “This is the spot I was assigned to stand in.” Dylan sighed and walked over to me. He reached out to ruffle my hair, but I turned my head away. His voice carried a note of resignation. “Stop being like this. Wendy’s dress is a dark color today, so she needs to stand in the center to catch the light.” He lowered his voice. “Just work with me today, okay? Once the client approves this set, I’ll make it up to you.” Wendy smiled at me apologetically. “Lily, why don’t you take the center spot? I really don’t mind. I don’t want you two fighting because of me.” Dylan turned toward her, his voice softening. “We’re not fighting. She’s just a little tired today. Hold your position and don’t move. That angle is perfect.” I looked down at the lens cap in my hand. Then I quietly stepped back two paces. “Go ahead and shoot.” The shutter clicked in rapid succession. Dylan kept his eyes on the screen, giving occasional direction on posing. From start to finish, he didn’t spare me a single glance. When the shoot wrapped up, everyone suggested going out for dinner. Dylan smoothly took the prop umbrella out of Wendy’s hands and turned to look at me. “Let’s go get Mexican. There’s a new place that just opened up the street.” I stood where I was and looked at him. “My gastritis just cleared up. I can’t eat spicy food this week.” Dylan paused. He came over and put his arm around my shoulder. “Everyone said they want to go.” He hesitated, then continued. “That place has mild options too. I’ll order you a plain soup so you don’t have to touch anything spicy. Just this once, okay?” That dinner brought back a memory. Another group outing, another table full of spicy food. We had just started dating. Not wanting to seem difficult in front of everyone, I pushed myself and took a bite. By midnight I was curled up on the edge of the bed, shaking from the pain. Dylan went pale with fear. He carried me on his back and rushed to the emergency room. He never let go of my hand the whole time. After that, he wrote it down in his phone’s notes app: Lily can’t eat spicy food. Needs bland food when her stomach hurts. Back then, he would’ve brushed off everyone else’s suggestion without a second thought. Just one sentence: Lily can’t handle it. But now, he clearly still remembered. The arm around my shoulder felt suffocating. I nodded.

“Okay.” At the restaurant, Dylan handed the menu to Wendy, and the two of them leaned together to discuss what to order. I sat on the other side. After all the food arrived. Dylan picked up a piece of baked lobster with cheese and placed it in Wendy’s bowl. “Try this one. The chef here is really good.” Wendy took a bite, her eyes lighting up. “Oh wow, this is amazing. You should try some too, Dylan.” Dylan. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d called him by his first name like that. I looked down and picked through the leaves floating in my soup. “Lily, how come you’re not eating?” A coworker across the table asked casually. Dylan turned and looked at my untouched bowl. His brow creased. “Still no appetite. When are you going to get over this picky eating thing.” Wendy set down her fork and looked at me. “Lily, are you upset with me? I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you couldn’t eat any spice at all.” “I’ll go outside and order you something milder.” “Sit down.” Dylan pressed a hand on Wendy’s arm, his tone stiffening. “Excuse me, can we add another bowl of soup?” Then he looked at me. “And stop giving everyone the cold shoulder. We’re all here together.” A dull ache spread through my stomach. I looked up at him. Something caught in my throat. “Dylan, do you remember why I can’t eat spicy food?” He went still for a moment. I didn’t wait for his answer. I set down my fork. “Never mind. I’m done. Enjoy your meal, everyone.” When I got home, the living room was completely dark. I felt my way to the couch and sat down in the dark. The cramping in my stomach was sharp. I dug out some antacid tablets and swallowed them dry. A bitter taste spread through my throat. One in the morning. Dylan came in carrying the smell of the evening on him. He reached over and flicked on the light. “Why is it dark in here?” He kicked off his shoes, walked to the couch, and looked at me. I said nothing. He sighed and sat down beside me, pulling at his tie. “Are you still upset about tonight.” “Wendy just got into the industry. As someone more experienced, isn’t it natural for me to look out for her a little?” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Dylan, tomorrow is our four-year anniversary.” He blinked. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. “I know. I already booked a restaurant. I’ll clear my schedule tomorrow night to spend it with you.” “I’m exhausted tonight. I’m going to shower, and then I need to finish editing Wendy’s photos.” He got up without another word and walked straight into the bathroom. The sound of water started. I looked at the sketchbook he’d carelessly tossed on the table. Page after page of Wendy’s profile and silhouette. Every sketch had camera settings and notes written beside it. My photos, meanwhile, lived forever in a folder he’d simply named “Everyday.” The next afternoon. I left work early, bought groceries, and picked up the cake. He’d said he booked a restaurant, but I knew he’d been running himself ragged this week and would probably forget. Sure enough, at seven that evening. A voice message came in from Dylan. “Lily, I’m sorry. There’s a problem with Wendy’s set layout and I can’t get away.” “I canceled the restaurant reservation. Just grab something for yourself. I’ll definitely make it up to you tomorrow.” I listened to the whole thing without replying. I sat at the dining table and waited for a long time. The food went from steaming hot to a film of cold grease floating on the surface. I stared at the words on the cake. Happy 4th Anniversary. And I suddenly remembered that this time last year, I’d been quietly browsing engagement ring styles.

It turned out only one of us had been counting the years. I cut into the cake and took a bite. It was too sweet. Cloyingly, nauseously sweet. I sat there for a long time without moving. Then I threw the cake and all the food into the trash. At eleven that night, Dylan came home. He looked exhausted, but there was a brightness in his eyes. “Lily, Wendy’s photos came out incredible. The investors are thrilled. They’ve decided to expand her solo exhibition.” He had completely forgotten what day it was. I sat at my desk, organizing my work files. “Congratulations.” Dylan noticed the food in the trash and frowned. “That’s all you ate tonight? Didn’t I tell you to get yourself something decent?” “I didn’t stand you up on purpose. The situation with Wendy was unusual. It’s her first time carrying a project on her own. The pressure got to her.” He reached out to hold me. I stepped back. “Lily, do you really have to protest like this? Just shutting me out?” “I already said I’d make it up to you tomorrow.” I turned to face him. “I’m not protesting.” “I genuinely mean it. Congratulations.” Dylan suddenly turned irritable. “Fine, you’re not protesting.” He let out a cold laugh. “Then I won’t bother making it up to you either. Since you clearly don’t care.” He turned and walked toward the study. The door slammed shut behind him. I stared at the closed door, then pulled out my phone and opened an apartment listing app. I scrolled for a while. My finger stopped on a city two thousand kilometers away. Southport. There was a magazine there that I’d always wanted to work for. Over the next few days, Dylan practically lived at his studio. He was in the final push before his photography exhibition. On Friday afternoon, Dylan’s assistant called me. “Lily, Dylan’s stomach is really acting up. He’s sweating through it and still won’t go to the doctor. Could you maybe make some oatmeal and bring it over?” I almost said no, but then I thought about the empty pill box in his drawer. I went into the kitchen without a word. Last time, I told myself. I pushed open the studio door to a flurry of activity. I carried the insulated container straight to Dylan’s private room. The door wasn’t fully closed. There was a gap. I was about to push it open when I saw what was inside. Wendy was standing in front of a full-length mirror in a deep burgundy gown, turning slowly in a circle. Dylan was sitting nearby, his face pale, his eyes soft. “Does it look good?” Wendy asked, glancing back at him. “It looks beautiful.” Dylan smiled. “That color really suits your complexion.” My breath caught. That dress. Dylan had bought it last month while he was away on a work trip. He’d sent me a photo at the time and said he’d seen it and immediately thought of me. Said he was buying it as an early anniversary gift. But after he came home, the dress had never appeared. I thought he’d forgotten about it. Apparently, it had just found someone else to wear it. “But, didn’t Dylan buy this for Lily originally?” Wendy looked down, her voice uneasy. Dylan rubbed his temple, his voice dropping. “You need it for your audition today, so just wear it once. I’ll buy her a new one afterward. She won’t make a big deal out of this.” I took a slow breath and pushed the door open. Wendy’s face went white when she saw me. “Lily, let me explain. I’m only trying it on.” Dylan froze too. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. “What are you doing here?” I set the insulated container on the table. “Your assistant said your stomach was hurting.” “It’s nothing serious. Sorry for making you come all this way.”

He reached for the container. But Wendy stepped forward first. “Let me serve it for you.” She probably just wanted to break the tension, but she moved too fast. Her sleeve caught the edge of a document box. A clatter. The box hit the floor and everything inside spilled out. They were handmade photo albums. I had spent three full months rebuilding them from Dylan’s discarded negatives, turning them into a proper portfolio. I had originally planned to give them to him. I hoped they might remind him of why he fell in love with photography in the first place. But that day came and went, and I never got the chance to bring them out. Afterward, I had just left them at the studio. Now the photos were scattered across the floor. Wendy, trying to catch the falling container, stepped directly onto them. A stiletto heel punched straight through one of the prints. “Oh—” Wendy let out a sharp cry. She still couldn’t catch the container. Scalding oatmeal splashed out and landed across the top of her foot. “That burns,” she whimpered. Her eyes filled with tears instantly. She bent down, clutching her foot. Dylan shoved the table aside and yanked Wendy up. “Where did it burn? Let me see.” He glanced at the container, then at Wendy’s foot, his face dark. “Lily, I’m not blaming you.” “But couldn’t you have knocked before walking in? None of this would have happened.” I looked at the mess on the floor. My voice came out completely flat. “She knocked it over herself.” He helped Wendy to a seat, frowning at the scattered photos. I watched his concern for her, and felt something absurd move through me. I quietly crouched down and picked up the photos one by one. Then I dropped them all into the trash can beside me. The photography exhibition was set for that Saturday. It was the largest show Dylan had put on since opening his studio. Three months ago, when he handed me the planning documents, he pointed to the first item on the event rundown. “Lily, the featured speaker slot — that’s yours, no question.” “This studio wouldn’t be where it is today without four years of your support.” I’d turned down every company obligation to hold that commitment. I helped him secure the venue, coordinate with media, and rewrote every press release line by line. Saturday morning. A large banner stood at the entrance to the gallery. I stopped walking. My eyes dropped to the line near the bottom. The space where my name had been listed as featured speaker was covered by a sticker. It now read: Wendy. I looked at it for a moment. Then walked inside. Dylan was directing workers adjusting the lighting. When he saw me, he walked over quickly. His gaze swept over me briefly and his brow tightened. “You made it. Head to the back lounge and rest. The ribbon cutting is about to start.” I looked him in the eye. “The name on the banner. What happened?” Dylan paused. “The investors brought it up this morning at the last minute. I was in the middle of dealing with the press and didn’t have time to talk to you first.” “Lily, I know this isn’t fair to you. But we can’t have anything go wrong today. Once it’s all over, I’ll personally thank you in front of everyone.” I didn’t respond. I walked past him into the gallery. At one of the display stands hung a large print of a woman’s silhouette. The girl in the photo was wearing a white dress, standing on the rocks by the ocean. The light and shadow were handled perfectly. Something cold and mysterious breathed through the image. That was from two years ago, when Dylan and I took a trip to the coast. He had captured it in a spontaneous shot. At the time, he said it was the most soulful photograph he had ever taken. I looked at the label below the print. Title: Muse. The model field was blank. In its place, a single line of text.

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The night before the wedding, my fiancé Alpha Eliot’s beloved little sister Lola told me she had a surprise prepared — one I would never forget. She lured me into the Frost Pack’s restricted canyon, locked the heavy iron gate from the outside, and activated the artificial rain system. It was a December blizzard. Ice water mixed with sleet slammed into my face. The canyon was surrounded on all sides by transparent observation decks. Young wolves from both packs held up their phones, watching me shiver and struggle like I was the night’s entertainment. Lola smiled — sweet and vicious at the same time. “Seren, aren’t you always playing the high-and-mighty act? Get on your knees and beg me. Let everyone watch you shake like a wet dog!” And my fiancé, Frost Pack’s Alpha Eliot, stood at the center of the observation deck, watching me through the curtain of rain. “Just make sure nobody dies.” “A wild girl who grew up running with Rogues needs to learn the hard way that Frost Pack doesn’t let just anyone through its doors.” Ten minutes later, I smashed through the iron gate and walked out of the storm, covered in blood. I dialed the Elder Council and spoke in a voice so calm it had no warmth left in it at all. “Notify all elders. Terminate the inter-pack marriage alliance. Cut all resource ties.” “Everyone who came here tonight to watch — I won’t let a single one of you off.” Eliot thought I was just some stray girl clinging to Frost Pack for a better life. What he didn’t know was that I was the Alpha Female of Ironclaw Pack — his most important ally.

The moment the ice water hit me, I could barely breathe. The iron gate had been locked from the outside. All four sides of the canyon were enclosed by reinforced glass observation decks, and the cold white glow of night-vision lights lit everything up, leaving me no place to hide. The decks were packed with young wolves from both packs. They held warm drinks in their hands and watched like this was a carefully arranged hunting show. Someone slammed their palm against the railing and let out a long, mocking howl. Someone else raised their phone and pointed the lens straight at my soaked back. “Frost Pack’s got a new game? Pretty entertaining.” “Gotta hand it to Alpha Eliot — night before the bonding ceremony and he’s got his fiancée standing in an ice storm.” “This is his test to see if she’s worthy of being Frost Pack’s Luna!” The taunts cut through the sound of the rain and burrowed into my ears one by one. My fingers locked around the iron bars of the gate. The gate wouldn’t open. An electronic lock hung on the outside, its screen glowing with Frost Pack’s white wolf crest. Lola stood at the front of the observation deck. She wore a clean white dress, makeup flawless, like a white rose that had never been touched by dirt. She stood under a white umbrella, smiling, and gave the remote in her hand a little wave in my direction. “Seren, don’t look at me like that.” “Everyone just wants to see how much you really love Alpha Eliot.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was just loud enough for the wolves nearby to hear. Another wave of laughter rolled through the crowd. I wiped the water from my face and heard my own voice shaking. “Lola, open the gate.” She tilted her head like I’d said something funny. “But the hunt just started.” “We made a bet on how long you’d last before you begged.” She stepped closer and looked at me through the glass. “Didn’t you always say you were Ironclaw Pack’s finest heir? Independent. Strong. Capable?” “Then prove it.” I watched her innocent face, and something inside me turned cold, inch by inch. Tonight was supposed to be the eve of my bonding ceremony with Eliot. Frost Pack and Ironclaw Pack had been neighbors for generations, but border conflicts had been escalating. The Elder Councils had decided to seal the alliance through a bonding. Eliot said this was the respect he owed me. He said I had stayed by his side through Frost Pack’s three hardest years. That I had walked with him from the fringes of the pack all the way to the Alpha seat. He said I deserved to carry the title of Luna. For a while, I thought that was the best ending I could hope for. For this alliance, I had turned down three border hunts and personally reviewed every territory agreement and every supply line arrangement. But now, the man who promised me respect was standing at the center of that observation deck. He hadn’t come down. He hadn’t told anyone to open the gate. The overhang above the deck kept the rain off him. Eliot stood in the warm light, watching with cold eyes as I soaked and shook in the canyon below. I called up to him through the glass. “Eliot!” “Tell her to open the door!” I thought he would at least frown. But he just slowly brushed a hand across his sleeve. “Seren, Lola just likes to have fun.” “You’re older than her. More mature. Don’t take it so seriously.” I stared at him, eyes burning red. “You know exactly why this terrifies me!” When I was ten, I followed my father on a border hunt and got trapped with him when an enemy pack cornered us inside a collapsed cave. A blizzard raged outside. Snowmelt rose past my knees. There was nothing around me but darkness and broken rock. My father, trying to get me out, was crushed by a collapsing wall. He pushed me toward the opening. He never made it out. After that, I was afraid of enclosed spaces. Afraid of the constant sound of running water. Afraid of any night I couldn’t escape from. All these years, I never told anyone. Only Eliot knew. Because once, when the Frost Pack was cornered underground by enemy wolves, I stayed in that cave with him for an entire night to help him protect his pack’s hunting maps. He held my hand and said: “Seren, I’ll protect you from now on. You never have to be afraid again.” Now he stood on the observation deck and let my fear become entertainment for every wolf in the canyon.

“Alpha Eliot already said it himself — I’m just having fun.” “Seren, don’t be such a killjoy.” She turned to face the wolves on the deck and raised her voice. “Everyone, the bet is officially open.” “If she cries and calls out for Alpha Eliot to save her within thirty minutes, I lose.” “If she holds out and doesn’t beg, I’ll transfer one hundred thousand dollars to each of you.” The crowd erupted. “Lola, you’re the best!” “Then we’re all betting she breaks.” “She’s got no father, no backing — does she really think putting on a nice dress makes her Frost Pack’s Luna?” “Is Alpha Eliot actually going to marry her? I always figured it was just a political deal.” My fingertips went numb. Rain ran into my eyes and the sting made it hard to keep them open. I pounded on the gate. “Eliot! I’m saying it one last time — tell someone to open this door!” Eliot finally looked up at me. His expression held no guilt. Only irritation at being called out in front of everyone. “Seren, do you really have to make this so ugly?” “Lola grew up spoiled. Why are you letting her get to you?” “Besides, aren’t you the one who’s always handling crises? You can’t manage something this small?” I stood there frozen for a moment, then felt the corner of my mouth pull into a smile. So in his eyes, my fear of being locked in the storm was nothing. Just something small. Three years of blocking border threats for him, negotiating every resource deal for him, rewriting pack development plans for him at four in the morning — all of it had somehow become the reason he felt entitled to humiliate me. When Lola saw me smile, her expression flickered. She hated this. She hated that even at my lowest, I wouldn’t bend. She raised the remote and pressed a button. A second later, the rain system at the top of the canyon surged. A colder, heavier torrent came crashing down. My knees buckled and I nearly fell. The observation deck erupted — not in concern, but excitement. “She’s going to break!” “Hurry, get it on video — this is going to spread to every pack by morning!” “Alpha Eliot’s fiancée is something else, I’ll give her that…” Lola moved close to the glass and dropped her voice so only I could hear. “Seren, drop the act.” “I know exactly what you’re afraid of.” “Alpha Eliot told me himself.” My stomach dropped. Her smile got sweeter. “You think he kept your wounds as secrets?” “Sorry, he tells me everything when he’s trying to get me to sleep.” “He said you got trapped somewhere when you were little, so you never sleep well when it rains.” “He said you seem tough, but deep down you’re still that scared little wolf who’s afraid of the dark and afraid of water.” Something in my ears started roaring. Those words were colder than the storm. Three years with Eliot. I had shielded him from enemy ambushes, negotiated the northern mineral rights for him, held a starving territory together in the dead of winter. The night his stomach bled, I sat with him in the medical tent until morning. When the Frost Pack elders tried to frame him for misappropriating pack resources, I was the one who found the accounting discrepancies and pulled him out of that hole. He knelt in front of me and said: “Seren, without you, I wouldn’t be here.” “Once I’ve secured the Alpha seat, I’m going to marry you.” I thought that was a promise. But it turned out I was just a useful tool. Lola tapped the glass. “Seren, don’t blame me.” “I just wanted you to understand your place.” She glanced up at Eliot and let her voice go soft. “Alpha Eliot, you’re not upset with me, are you?” Eliot put out his cigarette. “Don’t go too far.”

Lola immediately pouted like a child who’d been scolded. “What’s too far? You promised me tonight would be fun.” “And you said the bonding was just a temporary arrangement.” A temporary arrangement. Four words. They dragged back and forth across my chest like a dull blade. I looked up at Eliot. “Is that true?” He frowned. He clearly hadn’t expected Lola to say it out loud in front of everyone. But a moment later, he settled back into that composed, untouchable expression. “Since you heard it, there’s no point hiding it.” I stood soaked to the bone in freezing water, staring at him. “So tomorrow’s ceremony — that’s all fake too?” He said, evenly, “Seren, you should understand that an alliance between two packs can’t be built on feelings alone.” “Lola is connected to the northern white wolf bloodline. She’s the one who belongs at my side as Luna.” My nails pressed into my palms. “Then what am I?” For the first time, a flicker of impatience crossed Eliot’s eyes. “Do you have to make me say it like this?” “I haven’t treated you poorly these past three years.” “You wanted power — I gave you the Beta position.” “You wanted respect — who in Frost Pack dares to address you as anything other than Beta Seren?” “The Luna title isn’t something I can offer you. I won’t lie to you about that forever.” He said it so calmly. As though three years of everything I gave had been worth exactly one title. Lola leaned against him, smiling. “Seren, learn to be grateful.” “You have no family name, no backing. The fact that you get to be Alpha Eliot’s Beta is more than you ever deserved.” Voices nearby chimed in. “Exactly.” “If Alpha Eliot actually married her, what would that say about Frost Pack?” “Being capable doesn’t matter. A Luna is chosen by bloodline.” “Seren should wake up. At best, she’s the person who helped Eliot get to the top. That doesn’t make her Luna material.” I looked at the wolves who had bowed their heads to me at every hunting council meeting. When they respected me, they called me Beta Seren. Now that Eliot wasn’t protecting me, they had turned without hesitation. One wolf in a gray jacket grinned and held up his phone. “Beta Seren, want me to take a photo for you? Something to remember tonight by?” “After tomorrow, it’ll be Lola standing next to Alpha Eliot.” “The way you look right now — might as well enjoy your last moment in the spotlight.” I said nothing. Because the fear had already passed its worst point. When pain reaches its limit, something in you goes still and clear. I reached up and touched the wolf-mark stud in my right ear. It wasn’t an ordinary piece of jewelry. Three months ago, when I noticed irregularities in Frost Pack’s internal accounts, I had my personal guard put together an emergency device for me. Three consecutive presses would trigger an automatic location signal, sending an alert to the Elder Council, my guard unit, and my private hunting team. Eliot didn’t know. He had always assumed I handed him every card I held. But he forgot: someone who clawed their way out of ruins doesn’t truly put their life in anyone else’s hands. I lowered my head, pretending to choke on the rain, and brought my hand up to cover my ear. Once. Twice. Three times. A faint vibration from the stud. The signal was sent. Lola thought I was finally breaking. Her eyes lit up. “Alpha Eliot, is she about to cry?” “I knew she couldn’t hold out long.” She pulled out her phone and aimed it at me. “Come on, Seren. Look at the camera and say you were wrong.” “All you have to do is admit you’re not good enough for Alpha Eliot, and I’ll open the gate.” I looked up at her. “Lola. Are you sure you want to keep going?”

She blinked, then let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “We’re already this far in and you’re threatening me?” “Seren, you don’t actually think you’re still Ironclaw Pack’s feared heir, do you?” “Your position was given to you by Alpha Eliot.” “He gave it. He can take it back.” I straightened slowly. “Ask him, then. Ask him whether Frost Pack still has the power to take anything back from me.” A shadow passed through Eliot’s eyes. “Seren. What are you implying?” I looked at him through the rain. “I’m implying that you should pray nothing happens to me tonight.” “Because if it does, tomorrow Frost Pack will be hosting a reckoning, not a celebration.” Laughter rippled through the crowd again. They thought I was bluffing. Lola laughed so hard she bent forward. “A reckoning? You’re going to hold Frost Pack accountable?” “Seren, did the cold freeze your brain?” Eliot’s expression went cold. “Enough.” He looked at me, voice low. “Seren, don’t overestimate your importance.” “The hunting territories you control ultimately belong to both packs.” “The connections you’ve made — you made them through the platform the alliance built.” “Without Frost Pack, you’re nothing.” I held his gaze, and in that moment the last ember of whatever I’d felt for him burned out completely. “Fine.” “Then let’s find out tomorrow, Eliot.” “Let’s see which one of us ends up with nothing after we walk away.” Lola didn’t like the look in my eyes. She wanted me to cry. She wanted me to beg. She wanted to watch me lose every shred of dignity in front of the entire pack. But I didn’t give her any of that. So the smile on her face slowly died. “Seren. You’ve got more endurance than I thought.” She handed her umbrella to someone nearby and walked to the electronic lock herself. “Since you won’t admit you’re wrong, let’s make it harder.” She pressed another button. The blackout curtains around the canyon began to drop. Heavy black panels slid down one by one, covering the transparent glass walls. The light disappeared, and my breath lurched. Enclosed. Dark. Water. All three hit at once. My vision swam. Lola stood outside the last narrow gap as the curtain fell. “You said you were going to hold us accountable?” “Come on then.” “Get out first. Then we’ll talk.” The curtain dropped completely. The canyon fell into near darkness. Only the lights at the top flickered on and off like something was broken, white and cold. The water kept falling. Each drop felt like the snowmelt that used to leak through the ceiling of that old cave. I heard my father’s voice. “Seren. Crawl out.” “Don’t look back.” I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood. I can’t fall apart. Not yet. There were still people outside waiting for me to break. Eliot was still standing there, waiting for me to bow my head and give in. I moved along the wall, feeling my way to the corner. There was a decorative wolf bone altar set up in the canyon. I used everything I had left to lift the heaviest bone from it and drove it into the iron gate. The first blow left a hairline crack in the metal. The people outside startled. Someone shouted: “She’s lost her mind!” “That’s an alloy gate. She can’t break through.” “Seren, give it up. Just apologize and this all goes away.” I didn’t stop. Second blow. Third. My wrists went numb from the impact. The skin at my palm split open and blood ran down, mixing with the rain on the ground. The cracks spread wider with every hit. Lola finally panicked. She slapped the door from outside. “Seren, stop it!” “If that gate breaks, you’ll get hurt.” I let out a cold laugh. “Now you’re worried about me getting hurt?” Lola’s face drained of color. She turned back to look at Eliot. “Alpha Eliot, she’s actually going to break it.” Eliot’s brow furrowed hard. “Seren, stop.” “All you’re doing is making this worse.” I swung the bone and brought it down again. With a sharp crack, the gate finally split open at one corner. Cold air rushed in. I drove my foot into the gap.

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The AC broke down during a heat wave, so I asked if I could stay at my girlfriend Ronnie’s place for the night. She said no without hesitation. “We agreed — no living together before marriage. Hernandez, can’t you respect my beliefs?” I apologized and let it go. Ronnie was traditional. I’d always respected that, and this time was no different. But that night, too hot to sleep, I was mindlessly scrolling and stumbled across my company intern Nick’s Instagram. Landlord kicked me out last minute — thank god my boss took me in, otherwise I’d be sleeping on the street. The background in the photo was familiar. It was Ronnie’s apartment. I stared at my phone screen and lit a cigarette. So my conservative girlfriend was only conservative with me. Ronnie only said one thing to me. “Are you a princess? You can’t sleep without AC?” “God, that’s pathetic. Can guys stop being so dramatic?” I closed my eyes. That photo wouldn’t leave my head. Nick had posted a shot of his lower half and a suitcase. He was wearing my slippers, dressed in pajamas, standing in Ronnie’s apartment. I had barely walked out her door before he walked in. And the whole time, Ronnie had been rushing me out. “Hernandez, don’t you have things to do? You’re so clingy, you know that?” “Go home. I’ve got an emergency at work coming up.” Turns out there was no work emergency. The emergency was Nick. He was a new intern at my company, and we hadn’t exactly hit it off. I’d mentioned it to Ronnie once. She didn’t seem to care, or even really listen. I had no idea she knew him. She never brought it up. But clearly, Nick was spending the night at her place. Nick posted again on Instagram: Met the most kind-hearted woman when I needed it most. This time, Ronnie was in the photo. She was smiling — that soft, indulgent smile I knew well. Two bowls of bolognese pasta sat on the table. Her favorite. When we spent weekends together, that was the dinner I made for her all the time. I’d taught her how to cook it. She made it for Nick. Then a comment appeared under the post. Nick was showing off. $200 rent, utilities included, no deposit. Best landlord ever. Landlord. Ronnie let Nick move in? A dull, suffocating ache spread through my chest. I could barely breathe. Ronnie rented an apartment near the office for convenience. Nice place — two bedrooms, one living room. She used to have a roommate, but after the girl moved out, no one suitable came along. Worried about the rent pressure, I’d offered to help cover it. Kind of funny, looking back. The monthly rent was $2,500, and I was the one paying it. She wouldn’t let me stay. But Nick moved in for $200. I remember the first time I asked to stay over at Ronnie’s. We were deep in the honeymoon phase. She turned me down firmly. I respected it. The second time was after I helped her move furniture and came down with a sudden fever. She sent me home, told me not to get her sick. There was a third time too, though Ronnie had probably forgotten. My landlord evicted me on short notice. He barged in in the middle of the night and threw my stuff out the door. Furious and panicked, I dragged my suitcase and called Ronnie. She ripped into me. “Hernandez, are you insane?” “You’re a grown man. You could sleep on the street if you had to. Why are you waking me up at this hour?” Four years. I never once got through her door. Nick walked right in. I had to admit — her old-fashioned boundaries only applied to me. My phone buzzed. Ronnie sent a message: Good night. No explanation. No mention of anything. By the way, found a new roommate. Moving in tomorrow, kind of last minute. Hernandez, it’ll be a little awkward for you to come by after this. I stared at that last line and almost laughed. But the tears came first, dropping onto the screen before I could stop them. I wiped my eyes and didn’t reply. Nick posted a third time on Instagram. One photo was of him and Ronnie clinking glasses. In the other, their cheeks were practically touching. Celebrating the new place. Ronnie, thanks for everything — looking forward to what’s ahead. Night. A man and a woman. Alone together. I’d once found a craft beer I thought Ronnie would like and brought her a bottle. She accused me of trying to get her drunk and said she never touched alcohol. Now she was drinking with Nick. In that moment, whatever feeling I’d been holding onto finally let go. There was nothing left to hold.

Two days passed. I didn’t send Ronnie a single message, and she didn’t seem to notice. Then one evening after work, a downpour hit. I was waiting under the awning outside the office for a ride. Nick was standing next to me, phone in hand, smiling to himself. “Ronnie, pull up a little closer — I’m right by the entrance…” A car pulled up. I recognized it immediately. Sure enough, the window rolled down. Ronnie was in the driver’s seat. That car was something Ronnie had wanted. I helped her pay for it so her commute would be easier. But in the middle of a rainstorm, she hadn’t thought to check on me once. She drove my car to pick up Nick. She saw me and hesitated. “Hernandez, you’re…” Nick folded his umbrella and climbed into the passenger seat. “Ronnie, you know Hernandez?” He looked at me through the window, a barely-there smirk on his face. “Hernandez, why don’t you hop in? Let Ronnie drop you off. Hard to get a ride in this rain.” Ronnie said nothing. She just looked at me too. I kept my face flat and shook my head. “I’m good.” I’d already called a car. Three minutes out. I wasn’t going to squeeze in there and ruin my own night. Nick nodded and rolled the window back up. The car sat there for a few seconds, then drove off. By the time I got home and stepped out of the shower, Ronnie was already there. She had my door code. “Hernandez, are you mad at me?” “You didn’t get in the car, and I figured you were busy — but the more I thought about it, something felt off. You’ve barely been texting me lately.” Ronnie reached for my arm. I stepped aside. “Is this about me picking up Nick? Or about the other night when I wouldn’t let you stay over?” She looked more exasperated than anything. “Don’t be like that. Nick is an old classmate. I gave him a ride because I was already passing by — hard to say no when someone asks directly.” “And the reason I don’t let you stay is because a girl has to have standards…” “Ronnie. Let’s break up.” She froze. Her expression cooled. “Hernandez. Seriously?” “Seriously.” I held her gaze. “I can’t stay at your place, but Nick can. You don’t think that’s a little ridiculous?” She never planned on telling me. She knew exactly how I’d react. “You… just hear me out.” She hadn’t expected me to find out. That much was clear from her face. “Nick came here on his own to make it in the city. I’m the only person he knows.” “His family doesn’t have much. It’s been hard for him, and then his landlord threw him out. If I didn’t help, he’d literally be on the street.” I stayed quiet. She sighed. “He’s just crashing temporarily. There’s nothing going on between us. It’s not that deep.” “Besides, he’s like a younger brother to me — and technically just a tenant…” “Just a tenant?” I almost laughed. “Ronnie, I told you about Nick. He’s a new intern in my department.” “He’s been here a week. Every lunch break, he’s on the phone in the break room. People teased him about it and he said it wasn’t a girlfriend — just an old classmate.” “That’s you, isn’t it?” Ronnie’s eyes shifted for just a moment. She didn’t deny it. I’m the kind of person who likes to share things. Whenever I had a free moment, I’d text her. She almost never texted back. We’d argued about it more than once. Back then, Ronnie always looked worn out when it came up. “Hernandez, we’re adults. Work is busy. Lunch breaks are for resting. Can you stop making this so hard?” With Nick, nothing was hard. “These past two days, Nick has been bringing lunch to the office. You made it for him, didn’t you.” I’d once complained about my stomach bothering me and asked if she could cook for me sometime. She told me coldly that she wasn’t my personal chef. The matching lunch containers I’d bought for us — left at her place — Nick had been using them. Ronnie frowned, clearly not following my logic. “Hernandez, don’t you think you’re being a little petty?” “Try not to judge Nick. He mentioned there was some misunderstanding between you two…” She hadn’t listened to a word I said. But she’d taken Nick’s word for it. I had nothing left to say. The silence stretched between us — until the doorbell rang. Ronnie turned and opened the door. Nick walked in and gave me a small smile. “Hernandez. Sorry to intrude.”

I looked at Ronnie. My expression didn’t change. “You called him here?” Nick couldn’t have known my address on his own. Ronnie stood beside him, avoiding my eyes. “Hernandez, Nick isn’t who you think he is.” “There’s been a misunderstanding. You two should talk it out.” I almost laughed despite myself. “I spent two weeks on that event proposal. He deliberately removed my name from it. That’s a misunderstanding?” The project was mine. Nick was just assisting. I’d worked late nights to finish it, and he’d deleted my version from the shared drive and submitted it as his own. I confronted him directly, but I couldn’t prove it. The whole thing blew up at the office. “Hernandez, you can’t just bully me because I’m new.” “That proposal was clearly mine…” Nick trailed off and exhaled slowly. “Forget it. You’re Ronnie’s boyfriend. I don’t want to make things worse between you two. Don’t fight over me.” “I’ll just take the blame. I’m sorry.” Something visibly softened in Ronnie’s eyes. “Nick, I know who you are. Things are what they are.” “You don’t have to put yourself down just because of me.” She didn’t believe me. She believed Nick. She turned to me. “Hernandez, just apologize to Nick. No one’s going to think less of you.” The last trace of hurt in my chest went quiet. I felt completely calm. “Ronnie. I’ll say it one more time. We’re done.” “Now take your friend and get out of my apartment.” Nick flinched. He looked wounded, like he was holding something back. Ronnie stepped in front of him and took his hand. She turned to me, her gaze cold. “Hernandez, is that a threat? You think that’s going to make me back down?” “You’re being completely unreasonable.” She pulled Nick toward the door. It slammed shut behind them. I collapsed onto the couch, completely drained. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Hernandez, you’re really coming home? Did something happen?” “Nothing happened. I already put in my resignation. Once I finish the handoff in a couple days, I’m on my way.” “Did you and Ronnie have a fight?” “Not a fight. We broke up.” I’d already been thinking about moving on from that company. What happened with Nick made the decision easy. I turned in my notice. My boss practically signed it with a smile — apparently he thought he’d just landed Nick as some kind of prize. My mom was quiet for a moment. “Okay. As long as you’re sure.” “Come home. Your dad and I worry about you out there.” My throat tightened. “Mom, don’t worry about me.” “I’ve already been looking at other opportunities. There’s a lot of good stuff…” “I’m not worried. Just don’t push yourself too hard.” I couldn’t get another word out. I thought I’d be able to get through my last two days in peace. But Nick wasn’t done with me. The afternoon before I left, the company group chat blew up. Nick had posted a video. The person in the video was Ronnie. Her expression was serious. She wasn’t joking around. “Regarding the proposal incident — on behalf of Hernandez, I’m issuing a formal apology to Nick.”

She introduced herself as my girlfriend of four years. I stared at the chat, and the blood rushed straight to my head. I knew. Nobody was going to take my side after this. Nick was charming, well-liked. The whole group chat was rallying behind him. I heard about this. I never believed Nick would do something like that. Hernandez really went too far — even his own girlfriend came out against him. That’s actually his girlfriend. Her Instagram is pinned on his profile. No wonder he quit. Probably felt guilty… Ronnie had publicly sided with Nick. Against me. This was the woman I had loved for four years. Made allowances for, for four years. She had gone this far for him. My hands were shaking when I called her. “Why did you do that? Why did you record that video?” “Because Nick hasn’t been sleeping over it.” “Hernandez, when you do something wrong, you own it. Real men don’t cry — but Nick has been so upset he actually broke down.” “I didn’t know what else to do. I just wanted to comfort him a little.” Her voice went softer. “Are you still upset? Hernandez, let’s meet in person and talk.” She sent me the address of a restaurant. I went. I was running on emotion at that point, barely thinking straight. All I wanted was for Ronnie to set the record straight in the group chat and apologize to me publicly. When I got to the restaurant, she wasn’t there yet. Minutes passed. I finished my first glass of water. It hit me suddenly — this was the restaurant where Ronnie and I had made it official. She’d been the one to confess. She’d made me a promise that night. “Hernandez, I mean it. I’m going to treat you right for the rest of my life. I’ll always have your back.” I refilled my glass and drank it down. The anger in my chest started going cold. I lost count of how many glasses of ice water I drank. Ronnie still hadn’t come. The restaurant was getting ready to close. I called her. It rang for a long time before someone picked up. “Hernandez. What do you need?” It was Nick. His voice was smug, sharp around the edges. “Ronnie’s busy. She’s been with me all night.” “She’s exhausted — fell asleep. If there’s something you need, you can tell me.” I gripped my phone. And just like that, my head was completely clear. “Nothing for her. Good thing, actually — I’ve got something for you.” I let out a quiet laugh. “Nick. You’re pretty disgusting, you know that?” “You like collecting other people’s garbage? Fine. Consider it a gift.” I hung up. I wasn’t going to waste a single word on explanations. I left the company group chat. The truth doesn’t need defending. This event was set to launch in ten days. Nick was now fully in charge. I wanted to see how he’d handle it. I opened Instagram and deleted everything connected to Ronnie. I’d already sorted out the move with my landlord weeks ago. I sent her a message letting her know I was leaving early. Then I grabbed my suitcase and headed to the airport. I changed my ticket to the earliest available flight home. The rent I’d been paying for Ronnie, the car payments — I let all of it go. Along with four years of my life. Everything ended the moment I walked through that gate. The plane took off. I powered off my phone and finally got some sleep. Four hours later, I landed. A real weight lifted off my chest. But the second I turned my phone back on, it started vibrating nonstop.

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On the 3,600th day of my relationship with Ethan Sinclair, his parents came to inspect the company. I handled the reception personally. Every detail, from the tour schedule to the welcome refreshments. I had stayed up through the night revising the reception plan eight times over. But on the day of the visit, Ethan gave me a last-minute notice. A new intern would be taking over everything in my place. Mia grabbed my plan and ran with it. She won his parents over without breaking a sweat. His mother, Helen, even asked Ethan in front of everyone: “Is this the girl you’ve been dating for almost ten years?” “She’s sharp, thoughtful, and she even switched out the desserts for sugar-free options for me and your father.” “No wonder you like her.” Ethan just smiled and said nothing. Back in the office, I was in tears, demanding to know why. He answered coldly: “It was just a reception. Was it really that big a deal?” “We’re not even engaged yet, and you’re already this desperate to be the lady of the house?” “Vivian, show a little dignity.” I froze. On our tenth anniversary, he stepped in front of my wedding car. “Didn’t you say you’d never marry anyone but me? Why are you marrying someone else?” I smiled. “Didn’t you say I had no dignity, Mr. Sinclair? Don’t worry. He doesn’t seem to mind.”

Ethan left his warning and walked away. I stood alone in the office for a long time, unable to speak. By the time I came out, his father, Richard, had already finished his speech. Mia was right there beside him. His mother, Helen, looked at her with undisguised affection. “Sweetheart, this is our first time meeting, and I didn’t even prepare anything for you.” “Here, take this family heirloom ring. I want you to have it.” My heart jumped into my throat. A family heirloom ring. That was something the Sinclairs only brought out for a daughter-in-law. And Helen was just going to take it off and hand it to Mia? Mia reached out to stop her. “Oh, I couldn’t, Mrs. Sinclair! It’s far too precious! I can’t accept this!” “Still calling me Mrs. Sinclair?” Helen smiled warmly. Mia’s cheeks flushed pink. “But…” “Come on, sweetheart.” Helen took her by the wrist. “We’re family now. Why be so formal with your own mom?” Mia’s face went even redder. She glanced shyly over at Ethan. I stood in the crowd below. My fists trembled at my sides. Ethan’s gaze passed over my face. A faint smile crossed his lips. “Mom’s giving it to you. Just take it.” Mia looked up at him through her lashes, then back at Helen, cheeks still burning. Richard laughed. “She’s too shy. Put it on her yourself.” Helen didn’t hesitate. Smiling, she took Mia’s hand and slid the ring onto her finger. Mia lowered her head, looking bashful. She didn’t pull away. Someone set off a confetti popper, and the crowd erupted. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair!” “Mia, you’ve been holding out on us! We had no idea your boyfriend was Mr. Sinclair!” “Right? We all thought it was Vivian!” “She’s been so attentive to him, and then today with all the effort she put into this visit. If you didn’t know better, you’d really think they were the couple!” I got up. And walked out. Every part of the event was going exactly according to my plan. Today had originally been Helen’s birthday. The surprise I had arranged for her after the speech was now, under Helen’s own direction, turned into a celebration for the two of them. A cake taller than a person was wheeled in. I watched as Ethan was nudged over to stand beside Mia. Helen gently steered Mia to the front of the cake.

The two of them stood there shoulder to shoulder. Mia’s face was red all the way to the tips of her ears. Ethan was perfectly composed. He glanced at her and picked up the cake knife. “Do you want more of the sweet layers or the less sweet ones?” Mia murmured, “Whichever you cut for me… I like it all.” “Awww~” The teasing from the crowd was immediate. Helen covered her mouth, laughing. “Look at these two.” Ethan cut her a slice himself. “You like grapes, right? I saved this piece for you.” As he said it, he glanced briefly in my direction. I turned away. And walked back to the conference room without looking back. I was sorting through documents when Mia pushed open the door, humming to herself. She saw me. Her smile vanished instantly. “Vivian.” I didn’t respond. I closed the folder and stood up to leave. “Vivian, wait!” She rushed over and grabbed my arm. “I never expected things to go this far!” “I was put in an impossible position. I couldn’t say no!” “I’ll give the ring back right now!” She began tugging at the ring with real effort. But the band was clearly bigger than her finger. She tried several times. It wouldn’t come off. “Stop pretending.” I said flatly. “Keep it.” “Vivian!” She grabbed me again. “I’m serious, I didn’t mean for any of this. Just give me a second, I can get it off!” “What’s going on in here?” Helen pushed open the door. She took one look at the two of us, Mia holding my arm, me pulling away, and her brow furrowed immediately. “You must be the one who’s always been difficult with Mia. Miss Hayes, is it?” I blinked. That was how Helen saw me? I looked at Mia. She quickly averted her gaze. Now I understood who had said what. “I’ve heard about you, Vivian.” Helen’s tone was cold. “You run a tight ship. All your subordinates are afraid to step out of line.” “Tell me, do you think this company belongs to you? Or do you already see yourself as the lady of this house?” My breath caught. Mia had only just met Helen for the first time today. So where had she heard all of this? Unless… I clenched my fist. No. Had it really been Ethan? The door opened again. Ethan appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?” Helen looked at her son. “The people in your company need some serious managing.” “She was trying to take the ring I gave Mia.” Ethan looked at me. I gritted my teeth. “I was not.” At that moment, Mia finally worked the ring off her finger. She grabbed my wrist and slid it onto my hand. “Vivian, please don’t be upset. I’m giving it back to you.” Helen gasped. “Mia, what are you doing! You can’t just give that to someone else!” Mia’s eyes went pink at the corners. “But… Vivian has loved Ethan for so long.” “That gives her the right to take things from you? She’s been walking all over you this whole time, and you’re going to let her have this too?” Helen pulled Mia firmly to her side. “Don’t worry. This time, Ethan and I have your back.” “But… I’m just an intern. How could I possibly wear a ring like that…” “Who says you can’t?” My wrist was seized. Ethan took the ring off my hand effortlessly and held it out to Mia. “I say you can. So you can.”

“As for Vivian.” Ethan looked at me. “Your position is officially being transferred to Mia, effective immediately.” I stared at him in disbelief. He frowned. For just a moment, something reluctant flickered in his expression. Then it was gone. He said, “Vivian, stop making things difficult for people.” Helen beamed. “There we go, Mia. She’ll be answering to you now.” Mia looked down at the ring, now back on her finger. A faint flush rose in her cheeks. She glanced at me, and for just a second, a small, barely concealed smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. I watched the three of them perform in front of me. Suddenly, I felt almost ridiculous. I looked at Ethan. “That’s fine, Mr. Sinclair. Honestly, I’ve been more than ready to step down from that director position.” Then I walked past him and headed out. In the parking garage, I had just unlocked my car when a hand caught me from behind. “In a little while, I’ll move you up to VP, directly under me. Mia will still report to you. Don’t read too much into any of this.” “Mom loves her. In that moment, I couldn’t embarrass her in front of everyone.” It was always like this. After every fight. He could always pull me back with explanations and just enough softness. I clenched my jaw. And shook off his hand. He went still. I got in the car and drove away without looking back. When I got home, I found that Ethan had sent me over a dozen messages. The first ones were more explanations. But then, in a move completely out of character, he sent me a travel booking confirmation. A seaside town. The ocean. 【Vivian, don’t worry. While you’re on this forced break, I’m taking time off too.】 【You’ve always wanted to see the ocean. I’ll take you. Call it our late honeymoon.】 I couldn’t even imagine. If he had sent me that even a month ago. How happy I would have been. But this time, I typed back a simple reply. 【No thanks.】 He responded almost immediately. 【Don’t be like that. I already booked tickets for eight tomorrow morning. I’ll work late tonight and get everything cleared. Don’t wait up for dinner.】 He added a little heart emoji. I stared at the screen for a moment. Then put my phone down. Fine. I’d wait for him to come home and say what needed to be said. I had already agreed to go on a blind date that my family had set up. This relationship. I was done with it. But I waited an entire night. By the time morning light came through the windows, he stumbled home smelling faintly of alcohol. And eight o’clock had long since passed. “Didn’t you say we had tickets at eight? To go to the beach?” I couldn’t help asking. He squinted, trying to place the memory. Then laughed. “Oh, right. I canceled those. Took Mia instead.” I stared at him. “You’ve seen the ocean plenty of times. How many trips have you planned for that?” He collapsed onto the couch, clearly having not slept. “After I finished work last night, I was going to come home and pack with you. But Mia just got promoted, and the team threw her a little celebration. I had a few too many drinks.” “She mentioned she’d never seen the ocean.” “So I changed the itinerary last minute.” Even without any real hope left. Still, in that moment. I heard myself say: “You made a promise.” The alcohol slowed him down for a second. Then he smiled. That easy, unconcerned smile. “Vivian, we’ve been together for how long now? Almost ten years. Basically an old married couple at this point.” “Why are you holding onto something so small?” “And you’ve been to the beach three times already. Don’t be greedy.”

Then he leaned back against the couch. And closed his eyes. I sat there looking at him. A dull pressure building in my chest. Yes, I had planned three beach trips. But I had never made it to the water. Not once. The first time, Ethan came down with a sudden fever the night before we left. I canceled on my best friend and spent three days at his side taking care of him. The second time, he was in the middle of a major pitch. I gave up my ticket and stayed up night after night rewriting the proposal from scratch. The third time, a scheduling conflict meant an important client had no one to meet them. I canceled without a second thought, put on my heels, and went to the meeting myself. Three times. I had never once actually left. But all he remembered was that I had booked three trips. I nudged his arm. “Then I’ll go with someone else.” He answered without opening his eyes. “Yeah, go with your friends.” “It’s not my friends.” He kept his eyes closed. I listened to his breathing slow and even out. I didn’t wake him. I texted the guy I was set up with and arranged to meet at the lakeside resort in two days. Before I left, I had a few files to hand off to a colleague. But the moment I walked into the office, Mia appeared in front of me dressed in the director’s blazer. “Oh, Vivian! You’re here?” “Perfect timing. These need to be printed, two copies each. Leave them on my desk when you’re done.” “You know where that is, right? It used to be your office.” I looked at the stack of documents being held out toward my chest. Then shook my head. “I’m here to drop something off. Not to run errands.” “Vivian.” Mia smiled. “Mr. Sinclair gave me this position. Have you forgotten?” “I’m on leave.” “Did I approve that?” All traces of the awkward girl from before were gone. She stood there with her arms crossed, already carrying herself like she’d been in charge for years. “A leave of absence requires a signed approval from your direct supervisor. Did you submit a request?” I looked her over slowly. “Do I answer to you?” She frowned. I let out a short, humorless laugh. Didn’t spare the documents so much as a glance. Turned and walked out. “Vivian Hayes.” From the CEO’s office, Ethan had just caught the whole exchange. Mia turned toward him immediately. Then hugged the entire pile of documents to her chest. “It’s fine, Mr. Sinclair. Vivian was my supervisor. I can’t ask her to do that.” “I’ll take care of the printing myself.” She gathered the stack, which came up to her chin. It looked like it weighed a ton the moment she lifted it. She had barely picked it up before she was already gritting her teeth. Ethan’s voice was flat. “If she can’t be asked to carry it, what makes you think a director should be doing it?” I felt a flicker of irritation. Mia quickly said, “Really, Mr. Sinclair, I’ve got it, just let me—ah!” She stumbled. And went down, taking the entire pile with her. Ethan crossed the room and grabbed her arm. “Careful!” “I’m okay, I’m fine, Mr. Sinclair…” Mia pressed a hand to her ankle. Her eyes were glistening as they drifted over to me. Ethan’s expression hardened. “Vivian Hayes.” “You’re not the director anymore.” “If you want to throw your weight around, do it somewhere else.” “If you don’t want to be here, fine.” He looked at me. “Go collect your final paycheck from HR. We don’t need you anymore.” Everyone in the room was watching. I looked back at him, quietly surprised. “Go ahead.” Ethan said it without a flinch. I hesitated for a moment. Then said nothing. After all, he hadn’t said anything I wasn’t already planning to do myself.

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“Ethan, I’m scared of fire…” Zara curled into Ethan’s arms, trembling. I stared at the back of my own hand — skin split and raw from the scalding soup — and heard only his cold, flat voice. “Claire, you knew Zara was terrified of fire. Why the hell did you light candles? You just can’t stand to see her happy, can you?” Three years of marriage. Because of his fallen comrade, I had become the villain of our own story. My passion, my company, even my child — all became bargaining chips for his debt of gratitude. Until the truth came out. The fragile little sister he’d shielded with his life was the real killer all along. Later, Ethan knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to come back. I smiled. “Ethan, trash belongs in the trash can.” “I don’t make a habit of picking it back up.” The blisters on the back of my hand had merged into one angry patch of red, swollen flesh — like overcooked meat left too long on the stove. The pain sent tremors through my whole body. I bit down hard on my lower lip just to keep from crying out. And my husband, Ethan Cole, was busy holding tight to the one responsible for knocking that scalding pot of soup all over me — Zara White. “Ethan,” Zara whimpered, face buried against his chest, shaking like a frightened fawn, tears rolling down in streams. “Fire… there’s fire. I’m so scared. Is my brother in the fire…?” Ethan’s eyes were full of tenderness. His large hands moved slowly up and down her back, his voice so soft it could melt. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Zara. The fire’s out. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” Once she was calm, he turned to look at me — and his expression went cold as stone. “Claire, have you lost your mind? You knew she was terrified of fire, and you still lit candles? What is wrong with you? Are you trying to push her over the edge?” I looked at the mess scattered across the floor. Today was our third wedding anniversary. I had cleared my entire schedule — cancelled every executive meeting — and gone to the market myself to pick out the freshest ingredients. I’d spent four hours in the kitchen coaxing out his favorite mushroom and seafood broth. I lit the pair of vintage silver candlesticks he’d bid on for me at an auction years ago. I wanted to give him something special. Instead of a surprise, I got Zara’s scream and a pot of boiling soup straight to the hand. “Ethan, today is our third anniversary.” I forced the words out through the searing pain, my voice rough. “I just wanted to have dinner with you.” “You need all this for a simple dinner?” Ethan cut me off without mercy, disgust plain in his eyes. “Zara’s brother died in a fire saving my life. She can’t handle anything that reminds her of it. You’re my wife — can’t you show even a little compassion?” Compassion. The word dragged across my chest like a dull blade. Zara’s brother, Daniel White, had been Ethan’s fire captain. Three years ago, during a warehouse blaze, Daniel ran back in to pull Ethan out and never made it. After Ethan left the service, he took over his family’s business, and together we built Vela Jewelry from the ground up. Six months ago, he tracked down Zara, who had been drifting on her own. “Claire,” he said, “Daniel died because of me. Zara developed severe depression after the fire — she’s terrified of flames now. I have to take care of her. For the rest of my life.” I said yes. I brought her into our downtown apartment, found her the best therapist in the city, and treated her like my own sister. But every step I gave, she took two more. She’d knock on our bedroom door at midnight in a slip dress, saying she was scared, insisting Ethan sleep in the guest room with her. She’d ruin my late-night jewelry sketches and then cry, claiming she hadn’t meant to — she said the lines made her dizzy. During what little time Ethan and I had alone, she’d have an episode on cue — cutting herself or refusing to eat. And every single time, Ethan would drop everything and run to her. “Ethan, don’t be mad at Claire. It’s my fault. I’m the problem — I can’t even handle one little candle…” Zara tugged at his sleeve, crying prettily, but her eyes slipped past his shoulder and landed on me — sharp and provocative. In that moment, I felt a bone-deep exhaustion settle over me. “Fine. If fire scares her that much, I won’t light anything in this house again.” I stood, walked straight toward the door without looking at either of them. “Where are you going?” Ethan frowned. “The hospital.” I held up my ruined right hand. “Ethan, I’m a jewelry designer. If my hand is out of commission, who’s going to deliver next season’s collection — Zara?” He hesitated. His eyes dropped to my swollen, blistered hand, and something flickered behind them. He let go of Zara and moved toward me. “I’ll take you.” “Don’t bother.” I stepped back from his outstretched hand. “Stay here and look after your precious little sister. We wouldn’t want her getting startled by thin air.” I pushed open the front door and walked out into the early autumn chill. Just before it clicked shut, I heard Zara’s soft, plaintive voice behind me. “Ethan, is Claire upset with me? Maybe I should move out…” He didn’t answer. But I already knew — he’d find a way to make her stay. Because in this house, obligation always outweighed love.

I had my injuries treated in the emergency room. The doctor examined the burn and frowned. “Second-degree. Even with proper care, there’ll be scarring. You absolutely cannot get this hand wet for the foreseeable future, and no gripping a pen for extended periods.” I stared at my hand wrapped in white gauze, and felt something sink in my chest. The submission deadline for the International Jewelry Design Awards — the Crown Prize — was next month. It was Vela’s shot at the global stage. I had been working toward it for a full year. Now my hand was out. I sat on a hard bench in the hospital corridor through the entire night. Not a single call. Not a single message. Ethan had simply ceased to exist. The next morning I dragged myself into the office, exhausted — and found someone in the design department who had absolutely no business being there. Zara. She was dressed in a tailored Chanel suit, makeup flawless, leaning back in my director’s chair like she owned it, twirling my crystal paperweight between her fingers. Ethan stood beside her, watching her with soft, indulgent eyes. “What is this?” I walked in, my expression flat. Ethan caught sight of the bandage on my hand and looked away briefly, then reset to cool indifference. “Good timing, Claire.” He cleared his throat. “Your hand is injured — you’re not in any condition for high-intensity work right now. I’ve decided to have Zara step in as acting design director and take point on the Crown Prize submission.” I was sure I’d heard him wrong. “What did you just say?” I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Ethan, are you serious? Zara studied early childhood education. She can’t tell a brilliant cut from a cushion cut. You want her to take my position? What do you think this company is — a game?” Zara’s eyes went red. She stood up, voice soft and wounded. “Claire, I know you don’t respect me. But I’ve been teaching myself jewelry design for the past six months. Ethan says I have real talent. I just wanted to take some of the pressure off you — look at your hand, how are you supposed to draw anything like this?” “Stay out of it.” My voice came out sharp. “This is my office. Who gave you permission to walk in here? Get out.” “Claire!” Ethan stepped in front of Zara, fury in his eyes. “Can you stop acting like this? Zara is trying to help. And for the record — this is my company too. As majority shareholder, I have every right to make personnel decisions.” Majority shareholder. I stared at the man in front of me like he was a stranger. When we started out, we had nothing. I had poured in every cent my parents had left me. I even sold the emerald necklace my grandmother had given me, just to scrape together the startup capital. When we registered the company, he said it would be easier for him to hold the larger share for business purposes. I agreed without hesitation. Because I trusted him. I trusted the boy who had stood in the rain waiting for me all night. I trusted the man who swore he would love me for the rest of his life. And now he was using the power I had given him to strip away everything I had built. “Ethan.” I walked to my desk, shielding my drafts with my uninjured left hand. “The Crown Prize submission is eighty percent done. That is my work. Nobody is touching it.” “Claire, stop being difficult.” His tone softened — but it wasn’t warmth, it was condescension. “The doctor said you need to rest. Zara would just be a figurehead — the design team would handle the actual execution. Think of it as giving her something to focus on. It would be good for her recovery.” Using my life’s work as therapy for her depression. “And if I say no?” I said through gritted teeth. His face hardened. “Don’t push me on this. If you insist on making a scene, I’ll put you on mandatory leave.” He turned to my assistant. “Pack up Director Claire’s things and have them sent home.” “You’ll regret this, Ethan.” I didn’t let them touch anything. I grabbed the core sketches with my left hand, shoved them into my bag, and walked out. Stepping outside, the morning sun hit me full in the face. I turned back and looked up at the Vela logo gleaming gold above the entrance. Once, it had been proof of what we built together. Now it felt like the punchline of a very bad joke.

I spent the next two weeks recovering at home. Every day, Ethan left early and came back late — and when he did come home, Zara was always with him. They moved through the apartment like a couple, talking about work over the dining table, laughing about what they’d had for lunch. I hid in the bedroom like a ghost no one wanted to see, training my left hand to hold a pencil, relearning how to draw. The Crown Prize deadline was closing in. I couldn’t walk away from it. It was my dream. Late one night, I came out to get some water. Passing the study, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. Voices drifted out — Zara’s and Ethan’s. “Ethan, do you like this pendant I designed?” Zara’s voice was light and coy. “It’s beautiful. You’re a natural — you just get it.” Ethan’s tone was full of admiration. I peered through the gap. Zara was sitting in Ethan’s lap, holding a sketch. One look at that sketch, and my blood ran cold. It was one of my discarded drafts — the ones I’d left in my office drawer. Yes, it was a throwaway. But the core concept was still mine. And she was using it to impress him. I shoved the door open. The bang made them both jump. Zara yelped and scrambled off Ethan’s lap. “What the hell, Claire?” Ethan’s brow furrowed. A flash of caught-out guilt crossed his face. I crossed the room and snatched the sketch from Zara’s hand. “You drew this?” I said coldly. Zara shrank back behind Ethan. “Y-yes, I drew it. What’s the problem?” I slapped the paper against her face without hesitating. “You’ve got some nerve, Zara. This is a draft I scrapped six months ago. My revision marks are still in the corner. And you have the audacity to pass it off as yours?” Ethan picked up the sketch, studied it, and his expression shifted. “Claire, you’re misunderstanding,” Zara said, tears already flowing freely. “I just found it in your drawer and thought it was beautiful, so I copied it. I wasn’t trying to claim it — I only wanted to show Ethan how much I’ve been practicing…” She cried like she was heartbroken, as if she were the one being wronged. “You copied it? You can’t even get the perspective right. Is that what you’re calling practice?” I stepped closer. “Enough!” Ethan shoved me aside and pulled Zara behind him. “Claire, why do you always have to go for the throat? She told you it was a copy. Why are you making it into such a big deal?” The shove sent me stumbling into the edge of the desk. Pain shot through my side. But the physical pain was nothing next to the other kind. “Ethan, are you blind? She plagiarized my work and you’re defending her?” “It’s a discarded draft,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “Who cares? Your hand is wrecked anyway — you can’t produce anything new right now. Zara wants to learn. You could just guide her a little. Isn’t that what family does?” A discarded draft. Who cares. In his eyes, my craft, my pride, my professionalism — all of it weighed less than one of Zara’s tears. I looked at this man and felt genuinely sick. “Fine,” I said, dragging in a slow breath, pushing back the wave of tears threatening to break through. “If you love her plagiarized garbage so much, Ethan, then the two of you can have each other.” I walked out of the study, went to the bedroom, and started packing. I couldn’t stay in this house another minute. Ethan followed me in, watching me throw clothes into a suitcase, his frown deepening. “What now? It’s the middle of the night. Where are you even going?” “Divorce.” I said it without looking up. He went still — then let out a cold laugh. “Claire, don’t use divorce as a weapon. You’re seriously doing this over something this minor?” “Minor?” I stopped packing and looked at him. “You let her ruin our anniversary. She burned my hand. She took my position. And now you’re covering for her plagiarism. Any one of those things would be enough — all four together and you’re calling it minor?” “Because I owe Daniel!” Ethan’s voice rose, his eyes going red. “If it weren’t for him, I’d have died in that fire. I made him a promise — I would look after Zara. I can’t go back on that!” “Then go be with her!” I hurled the clothes in my hands at him. “You owe Daniel — fine. Pay that debt yourself. Why should my life be the price? I don’t owe the White family anything, Ethan. Not a single thing.” He stood there, stunned into silence. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out without looking back. The night air was cold, but for the first time in a long time, my head felt completely clear. This broken thing we called a marriage — it was time to end it.

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Ten months. Ten months of being stranded on a barren, isolated island with my baby girl. I placed her fragile, fever-ravaged body onto a makeshift wooden raft. Then I plunged into the freezing ocean water, kicking with everything I had, pushing the raft forward through the swells. In the distance, the dark, triangular fins of sharks sliced through the waves, circling us, closing the gap. Despair, cold and absolute, washed over me. With one final, agonizing burst of strength, I gave the raft a massive push, sending her toward the outer boundary of the bay. I let go. My body sank into the weightless dark of the ocean floor. I closed my eyes, waiting for the teeth to tear me apart. But instead of pain, a blinding light flared through the water. Above, a massive theater curtain slowly rolled back. My husband, Thomas, stepped out onto the deck of a sleek yacht anchored just beyond the artificial reef. Clinging to his arm was Nancy, my former best friend. Thomas looked down at the water, his handsome face carrying an air of smug satisfaction. “Sweetheart,” Thomas said, his voice carrying over the water, “she slapped you once, so I put her out here for a year to teach her a lesson. Are you happy now?” He patted Nancy’s hand gently. “I’ll make her apologize to you, and then we’ll put this whole thing behind us.” He scanned the shoreline, his brow furrowing as he looked for our daughter. “Where is the baby? Where is Lucy? What kind of mother is she, starving her own child like this?” The surface of the water had already settled into a glassy, undisturbed calm. I was floating now, suspended in the air, watching my own blue, lifeless body drift down into the dark silt of the seabed. A hollow, broken laugh escaped my ghostly lips. Ten months of starvation, of desperate survival, of fighting to keep our daughter alive on a barren rock—it was nothing but a sick game to Thomas. A punishment. He had gotten his wish. But I was never coming back. … “Save Mommy… please save Mommy…” Lucy’s eyes fluttered, her voice a dry, papery whisper as tears tracked through the dirt on her face. Thomas felt a sharp pang of worry and scooped her up into his arms. He waited for a moment, looking around the empty shore, before his jaw tightened in anger. “Your mother must have run off the second she saw the yacht. I have never met a woman so incredibly petty.” Lucy wept harder, her tiny, cracked lips moving soundlessly as she pointed toward the dark water. But her strength failed her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she went completely limp in his arms. My heart lunges into my throat. I screamed, throwing myself forward to catch her, but I passed straight through her tiny, fragile body. I froze, staring at my translucent hands. “Medic! Get a doctor over here now!” Thomas’s face drained of color as he ran toward the waiting ambulance parked on the mainland dock. During her emergency treatment, Thomas touched Lucy’s arm. She was nothing but skin and bones. Rage and terror shook his voice. “I had supplies dropped on that island every single month! Could Grace not even bother to look for them? To starve a child like this… no wonder she’s too ashamed to show her face!” Nancy dabs at her eyes, her tone dripping with mock sorrow. “Oh, Thomas… Grace is so spiteful. How could she abuse her own daughter just to get back at you?” Thomas’s face darkens with pure fury. He pulled out his phone and left me a voicemail: “Grace, you show your face right this second, or so help me God. What kind of mother does this?” He cursed under his breath, but his eyes lingered on our last call history. It was ten months ago. I had just returned from a short weekend trip with Lucy. Walking into our home, I found Nancy naked beneath Thomas on our living room sofa. My entire world shattered in a fraction of a second. I lost my mind, screaming, clawing at them in a blind panic. Thomas shielded Nancy, pushing me hard to the floor. “Stop being hysterical, Grace! I had too much to drink. Every man makes mistakes.” With bloodshot eyes, I grabbed Lucy and walked out. Thomas grabbed my wrist. “You don’t get to hit Nancy and just walk away. Apologize to her.” Nancy whimpered behind him like a delicate, wounded flower. Nausea rose in my throat. I wrenched my arm free. “In your dreams. You both will burn for this. I want a divorce, Thomas.” I slammed the door, holding my quiet, confused toddler. We stayed at a cheap motel that night. But the next morning, we woke up on a desolate, rocky island. No food, no phones, no way out. When I tried to swim out for help, sharks—mechanical or real, I couldn’t tell then—forced me back. Now I realize the wilderness was a controlled playground, the sharks a cruel deterrent. But I believed it. Before my final dive, I had sliced my finger and written a desperate final message on a piece of slate with my own blood, begging Thomas to take care of our daughter. Back at the hospital, the doctor hands Thomas a critical condition notice. His hand shakes as he signs it. Nancy weeps softly. “I just don’t understand how Grace could do this to her own flesh and blood.” Thomas stares at a silver guardian angel locket he took from Lucy’s neck. It’s covered in grime. It was a locket we got together. Years ago, when Lucy was desperately ill, we climbed a mountain trail to a small sanctuary, kneeling at every step. Thomas nearly fainted from low blood sugar near a steep drop; I grabbed him, pulling him up with raw strength, scraping my knees and elbows to the bone. Thomas had cried, holding my bleeding hands. “Don’t be so reckless. If you fell with me, Lucy would have no one.” I had smiled through the pain. “You and Lucy are my whole world. I’d die before I let go of either of you.” “It was all a lie,” Thomas whispers now, his voice trembling with a mixture of grief and mounting fury. He stands abruptly and flings the silver locket into the trash. His phone rings. It’s the site manager from the private island property. “What is it?” Thomas snaps. “Mr. Leonard… we found a note written on the island. It looks like a suicide note from your wife.” “A suicide note?” Thomas sneers. “She’s playing the victim now? Trying to manipulate me? She’s pathetic. There are no wild animals on that island. She’s hiding. Find her and bring her to me.” He hangs up, laughing coldly. “She loves her own life too much to actually end it. Let’s see how she explains this when she’s dragged back.” I float above him, watching him plan my humiliation. It’s almost funny. How can he find me on that island? I’m in the lake. The operating room light goes out. The doctor steps out, grave. “The child’s stomach was filled with nothing but grass and wild berries. Extreme, prolonged malnutrition has caused organ distress and compromised her immune system. We stabilized her, but she’s in a coma. We need to monitor her.” “Grass?” Thomas freezes, his voice cracking. “That’s impossible. I personally authorized crates of canned goods and fresh fruit to be delivered. How could she starve?” Ah. Only for the first three months did we find any crates. After that, nothing. We lived on bitter berries, roots, and insects. Sometimes, while Lucy slept, I would press a sharp stone to my arm and let her drink my blood to keep her hydrated. She was so good, never complaining, whispering, “Daddy will find us, Mommy.” A sharp, phantom pain pierces my chest. So Thomas’s “supplies” were a lie. I burn with hatred. But then I notice Nancy’s face pale. She bites her lip and whispers, “When things get tough, not every mother has the strength to protect her child. She probably kept the food for herself.” Thomas instantly swallows the poison. “Of course. Grace ate it all.” He believes her, missing the cruel spark of satisfaction in Nancy’s eyes. In the ICU, Lucy murmurs in her sleep, “Mommy… water… please.” Thomas tries to offer a cup, but Lucy doesn’t open her eyes. Tears just leak down her pale cheeks. The phone rings again. “Mr. Leonard, we’ve searched every inch. Your wife isn’t on the island.” Thomas’s grip tightens. He pales slightly, then scoffs. “She knows she’s been caught. She’s hiding. Let her rot out there. Let’s see how long she lasts.” The assistant hesitates. “Sir, the construction crew is ready to drain the central lake on the property. Should we proceed?” “Drain it,” Thomas says coldly, hanging up. He texts my number a photo of Lucy in her hospital bed. Lucy is in critical condition. If you have a single shred of decency left, come see your daughter. He throws the phone aside, his eyes wandering to the trash where he threw the locket. He reaches in and pulls it back out. But a sudden shriek breaks the silence. Nancy drops her phone, her face white with terror. Before she can grab it, Thomas picks it up. It’s a forged “suicide note” from me, sent from an anonymous number: I hope Thomas and Nancy burn in hell! I want the world to know what monsters you are! You forced me to starve Lucy. You deserve to die! Thomas’s veins bulge. He punches the drywall. “She’s trying to ruin me. A fake death to destroy my reputation!” Nancy whimpers, “It’s my fault. I’ll go beg her for forgiveness if she just comes back.” “No!” Thomas sneers, his last ounce of worry replaced by disgust. “She starved our child and staged a fake suicide to blackmail me. If she wants to play dead, let her. She’s dead to me.” In his rage, he doesn’t notice the handwriting isn’t mine. During our college years, we wrote over a hundred letters to each other. They are still sitting on our bookshelf at home. When we used to fight, he would read them aloud to tease me. Once, in a fit of anger, I tried to burn them. Thomas had extinguished the flames with his bare hands, his arms covered in blisters. He had cried, not from the pain, but from the fear of losing them: You wrote these to me, Grace. You have no right to destroy them. He used to boast: Even if you burn them, I can copy your handwriting perfectly. I know every curve of your letters. We had a real, beautiful love once. My ghostly eyes sting, but my heart remains cold. I am dead. My only wish is for my daughter to survive. The next morning, Lucy wakes up. But she is disoriented, traumatized. “Mommy… water…” Thomas frowns. Nancy covers her mouth. “Oh, the poor thing. Did your mother deny you water too?” Lucy cries, struggling to find words. “Daddy… don’t… don’t fight with Mommy…” She closes her eyes, tears soaking her face. “Lucy’s chest… hurts.” Thomas’s heart drops. He checks his phone. Still no reply from me. The door swings open. His mother, Helen, walks in, her expression pinched. “Still no sign of Grace? If you ask me, file a police report for desertion and divorce her. She couldn’t even give you a son, and she’s nothing but trouble. She has no family, no backing. Just cut her loose.” Thomas ignores her, his jaw set. “She wants a war of attrition? I’ll give her one. Divorcing her now just lets her off easy. I want her to look me in the eye and tell me she isn’t ashamed of what she did to our daughter.” Helen scoffs. “She probably ran off with another man. Nancy is right here, ready to be a real mother to Lucy.” Nancy blushes, staying silent. Thomas sneers. “Who says I’m waiting for her? I just want to see how long she can keep up this little game. The moment she shows her face, I’m throwing the divorce papers at her.” The door bursts open again. His personal assistant stands there, panting, face pale as a sheet. Thomas frowns. “Did you find her? Is she too cowardly to face me?” The assistant shakes his head, trembling. “Sir… they just drained the lake on the island. They found a woman’s body.”

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By the time Victoria realized I was slowly fading out of her life, she had already demoted me to the janitorial crew to appease her young assistant, Adrian. She thought she was just teaching me a lesson, but soon, the cracks began to show. When she had to attend high-stakes business dinners, there was no one there to drink for her, forcing her to curse under her breath as she fumbled through her purse for hangover pills and antacids. When she stayed up until the early hours of the morning reviewing contracts, there was no one to gently force her to rest or quietly finish the paperwork for her. I even caught her coming out of a cheap, hourly-rate motel on the edge of town with Adrian, but I didn’t say a word. I didn’t demand answers. I simply turned and walked away. Eventually, Victoria swallowed her pride and came looking for me. She found me on my knees on the cold marble floor, scraping away at a piece of hardened chewing gum. “You don’t have to humiliate yourself just to get back at me,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of irritation and sigh. “Making you do janitorial work was just for show. Once Adrian cools off, I’ll put you back in the Vice President’s office.” I stood up, my aching legs protesting the sudden movement, and picked up my dirty mop bucket in silence. Today was the thousandth day I had spent chasing after Victoria Westwood. It was also the last. Another firm had already offered me a executive role with a competitive salary, and my plane ticket was already booked. … Seeing my silence, Victoria’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line. She was treating me like a sulking child, slapping me first and then offering a piece of candy, fully expecting that all of our history could be easily swept under the rug. “Don’t be mad on your birthday, birthday boy,” she said, trying to soften her tone. “I have a surprise waiting for you tonight.” Seven years together, and Victoria had never remembered my birthday once. Every time I bought a cake and set it on our dining table, she would look surprised and ask what special occasion we were celebrating. Yet Adrian had only been with the firm for two weeks, and she knew his birthday and his exact number of days on the payroll by heart. Now that I had stopped loving her, she suddenly cared. She reached her hand out, intending to ruffle my hair, but froze when a soft cough echoed from the corridor. Adrian stepped into the lobby, pulling a bottle of hand sanitizer from his designer bag. Without warning, he pointed it at my face and sprayed. “Jude, you’re a janitor now. You’re absolutely filthy,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ms. Westwood is delicate. Please sanitize yourself before you get too close to her.” He was too fast, and I couldn’t duck in time. The harsh chemical mist sprayed directly into my eyes, causing a stinging burn that made me instinctively reach up to rub them. My foot caught the edge of the heavy mop bucket. It clattered to the floor, sending gray, soapy water splashing across the pristine tiles. Adrian let out a dramatic, high-pitched shriek. “Call security to disinfect this area! The dirty water got on Ms. Westwood’s trousers! What if she catches some horrible bacteria and falls ill?” Victoria let out an indulgent laugh, nudging him playfully. “I’m not as fragile as you are, Adrian.” Adrian pouted, stepping forward to cup her face in his hands. “Who says I’m fragile? Last time you got acute gastritis from those extra-spicy diner fries, I was the one who practically carried you into the ER.” They flirted openly, completely ignoring me as I sat in the cold, dirty puddle, the sting in my eyes bringing back the memories of the slap that had ruined everything. It had been the night we finally closed a massive international deal. Victoria’s stomach had been tearing her apart from the stress and alcohol. I had run to the nearest pharmacy to buy her medicine, panting as I raced back to the restaurant, only to find her gone. The local news had been warning about a violent fugitive active in that very neighborhood. I had panicked, called the police, and searched every dark alleyway, sobbing her name. I couldn’t find her. Until the hospital called. I flew to her room, thinking that if she was gone, I would go with her. But when I pushed the door open, I saw Victoria holding Adrian, comforting him. Adrian was crying, blaming himself for taking her to that greasy diner for spicy fries. Out of sheer panic and exhaustion, my mind had snapped, and I slapped Adrian across the face. Victoria’s expression turned ice-cold. Right then and there, she called HR and demoted me to the cleaning staff. I remember screaming at her like a madman, asking if she had stopped loving me. She was too busy soothing Adrian to answer. But I had my answer. Now, the security guards arrived with heavy-duty chemical backpacks. Under Adrian’s orders, they pointed the spray nozzles directly at me. Victoria frowned slightly, grabbing Adrian’s hand. “Jude is highly allergic to industrial disinfectants. Just have them clean the floor.” Adrian winks playfully. “Don’t worry, Victoria. I made sure they used the organic, non-irritating stuff. Even if Jude gets a little on him, he’ll be fine.” He pressed the trigger. A harsh, chemical mist drenched my collar. “See? He’s perfectly fine.” Victoria glanced at me. Seeing no immediate rash on my neck, she affectionately pinches Adrian’s cheek. “You little troublemaker.” I staggered to my feet, digging my nails into my palms to resist the desperate urge to scratch my burning skin. Out of Victoria’s line of sight, Adrian smirks and made a face at me. He knew I won’t ask Victoria for help. Or rather, he knew that even if I did, she would side with him. Just like last week, when Adrian accidentally fed a month’s worth of crucial project data into the paper shredder. He had thrown himself into Victoria’s arms, crying, claiming I had ordered him to do it. The entire team glared at me, their hard work destroyed. I begged Victoria to check the security cameras to prove my innocence, but she simply covered Adrian’s ears and called me an incompetent fool who couldn’t even manage basic files. The chemical fumes sting my throat, making it hard to breathe. I press a hand to my stomach, praying my chronic ulcer won’t flare up from the stress. Victoria doesn’t notice my distress. But when Adrian coughs from the fumes, she quickly takes his hand and leads him away. A female security guard watches them walk off, then turns to look at my damp, clinging shirt with a sneer. “Thought sleeping with the boss made you untouchable, huh? Look at you now, thrown out like trash.” “Mr. Adrian said you have a certain scent on you. Said we need to scrub you clean with the good stuff.” Seeing the malicious glint in their eyes, I step back. “What are you doing?” They grab my arms, dragging me toward the stairwell, tearing at my shirt. Terrified, I sink my teeth into the closest guard’s ear, fighting like an animal. “Ah! You little bastard, let go!” A hard blow lands on my face, and a heavy boot kicks me squarely in the ribs, sending me crashing down. Ignoring the pain, I scramble backward, clawing at the concrete. “Help! Someone help me!” My screams echo through the concrete stairwell. Realizing things are getting out of hand, the guards swear, kick me one last time, and bolt. I huddle on the floor, gasping through the agonizing pain in my back, slowly dragging myself up. Before I can catch my breath, a hand grips my wrist with bruising force. Thinking the guards are back, I lash out blindly. “Get off me!” A cold sneer sounds from above. I look up and meet Victoria’s freezing gaze. “Jude, I didn’t think you could be this malicious.” Before I can comprehend her words, she drags me toward the elevator. Muffled sobs echo from the executive office. Victoria shoves me against the wall, pointing at the espresso machine. Inside the glass water reservoir floats a bloody, mangled dead rat. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t do this?” she roars. “Apologize to Adrian. Now.” The rat’s lifeless, bulging eyes stare back at me. The sight of the dark blood makes my vision spin. When my parents died in a car fire, I was sent to a state orphanage. A boy there wanted the pocket watch my father had left me—my only keepsake. I refused. He brought older kids from the street who threatened to cut me open. I held the watch to my chest, refusing to let go, and they plunged a knife into me. Victoria, who lived in the neighborhood, ran out and took the second blow for me. Her warm blood soaked my clothes, looking exactly like the blood my parents spat out in their final moments. I had screamed until my throat bled before passing out. Ever since, I have suffered from severe, paralyzing hemophobia. I slide down the wall, my knees giving out as the memories of my parents lying in a pool of blood crash over me. “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have asked to go to the carnival…” Victoria notices my trembling, her eyes widening in sudden panic. She takes a step toward me, but Adrian lets out a sharp whimper. Instantly, she pivots, pulling Adrian into her arms and stroking his back. “Victoria, I’m so scared…” Adrian weeps, clutching her collar. “Why does Jude hate me so much? Is it because I took his job? I’ll give it back… I’ll leave…” Victoria wipes his tears, her gaze turning venomous as she looks back at me. “Jude! Apologize to him!” Curled in the corner, I let out a hollow, broken laugh. She doesn’t believe me. She never will. Her heart belongs entirely to Adrian now. My fingernails bite deep into my palms. I close my eyes, despising my own weakness. I promised myself I wouldn’t care, that I wouldn’t shed another tear for this woman. Yet the tears keep spilling over. Losing her patience, Victoria grabs my wrist, her grip so tight I feel my bones grind. She drags me to Adrian’s feet, then reaches into her drawer and hurls a leather-bound document at my face. It is the deed to my parents’ house. “I bought back your family’s estate. I was going to give it to you tonight for your birthday,” she says coldly. “But since you refuse to apologize, I guess you don’t want it.” She steps forward, grinding her heel directly onto the deed. Seeing the dirty footprint mar the pristine cover, my chest tightens. I throw myself forward, desperately clutching the document. “I’ll buy it from you! At market value! You promised me, Victoria—you promised that once we made it, you’d help me get my parents’ house back. I want you to honor that promise. Now!” Victoria hesitates for a fraction of a second, but Adrian snatches the document from my hands. Rip. The sound is clean and sharp. The deed is torn into pieces, and Adrian throws the shreds out the open window, watching them scatter into the wind like snow. The final string in my mind snaps. I stare blankly at the falling white pieces. Victoria rubs her temples, turning to scold Adrian, but he looks up at her with wide, watery eyes. Her anger dissolves. She turns to me, her voice indifferent. “You put a dead rat in his coffee to terrify him. He tore up your paper. Consider it even.” The tears feel cold on my face. I let out a quiet laugh. She thinks Adrian only tore up a piece of paper. No. He tore up her promise. He tore up the last thread of love I had left for her. A metallic taste rises in my throat. In a whisper, I say, “Victoria, I don’t love you anymore.” She steps closer, leaning down. “What did you say? Speak up.” Seeing her attention drift back to me, Adrian clutches his chest, groaning. “Victoria, my head is spinning. How am I supposed to help you welcome the VIP guest like this?” A cruel smirk plays on his lips. The office door knocks. “Ms. Westwood, Mr. Jeff has arrived in the lounge.” A chill runs down my spine. Jeff is the only son of our largest investor, and an obsessive, violent stalker of Victoria. Every time he visits, he brings his trained Doberman, Kaiser, to sniff her clothes, searching for the scent of any man who has dared to get close to her. Once, Kaiser tore open the leg of a junior analyst who had simply shared an elevator with Victoria. Because Victoria needed his mother’s backing, she had to swallow her anger and sweep it under the rug. To keep me safe, Victoria used to give me the day off whenever Jeff came to the office. The heavy thud of boots echoes in the hallway, accompanied by the low, guttural growl of a dog. The private office closet is only large enough for one person. Victoria looks between me and Adrian, torn. Adrian gasps dramatically, collapsing into her arms. “Go ahead, Victoria. Let me handle the guest. I’m just your assistant. Even if I get mauled, it’s my duty.” A sharp pain shoots through my stomach. I lean against the desk for support, accidentally knocking my phone to the floor. The screen lights up, displaying a photo of Victoria and me laughing, holding Casper, our late Samoyed. Victoria’s eyes light up. She grabs my shoulders. “Jude! You used to raise Casper. Dogs always loved you. Maybe Jeff’s dog will like you too.” My heart freezes. I look at her, unable to comprehend her words. Kaiser is a trained attack dog. Years ago, Casper was killed by a stray mastiff while trying to protect me. The trauma left me with severe, recurring nightmares. Without waiting for my reply, Victoria gently ushers Adrian into the private closet. There is a small gap left—enough for me to squeeze in. But when I try to follow, Victoria blocks the door, her face hardening. “He needs air to breathe, Jude. If you crowd him, he’ll have a panic attack.” The knocking at the main door grows louder. Weak and trembling, I look around for anywhere else to hide. Suddenly, the door is kicked open. Jeff stands there, holding a thick leather leash connected to a massive, snarling Doberman. I instinctively shrink behind Victoria. Jeff’s eyes flash with murderous rage. He pats the dog’s head. “Kaiser, tear this parasite apart.” The Doberman lunges, teeth bared. I run, but the dog corners me, its claws slicing deep gashes into my calves. Victoria watches in horror, but when I try to crawl toward the closet, she grabs a heavy glass mug from her desk and smashes it right in front of me, cutting off my path. Through the crack in the closet door, Adrian smiles. Trapped in the corner, I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the worst. Just as the dog lunges for my throat, Jeff’s phone rings. He barks a command, pulling the dog back. “You got lucky today,” Jeff snarls, pointing a finger at me. “If I see you hovering around Victoria again, I’ll let him finish the job.” As Jeff’s footsteps fade down the corridor, the crushing tension in my chest finally eases. Victoria walks right past me, her boots stepping through my blood, and throws open the closet door. Seeing that Adrian is completely unharmed, she finally deigns to look down at me. “Go get patched up. I’ll come home tonight and we’ll celebrate your birthday.” I limp out of the office, heading straight to the hospital. The doctor cleans the deep lacerations, administers a tetanus shot, and warns me to rest. I go back to the apartment, pack my single suitcase, and head straight to the airport. As the office hours draw to a close, Victoria calls HR. “Reinstating Jude to the VP position tomorrow morning.” The HR manager hesitates. “Ms. Westwood… Jude submitted his formal resignation and signed his exit papers last week.” Victoria’s heart skips a beat. She drops her keys, sprinting to her car and driving like a madwoman back to our apartment. But when she throws open the door, the rooms are dark and empty. Only a cheap, dull diamond ring sits on the bedside table.

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