Category: English

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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In my past life, I was known as the most vicious, unhinged wife in our high-society circle. Any woman who dared breathe too close to Christian was met with my fury. I tracked them down to their pristine brownstones, slapped them in their own entryways, and dragged their names through the mud. If any of them were foolish enough to accept his penthouse keycard for a late-night rendezvous, I was always there, kicking down the door, turning their polished lives into a public circus. At first, Christian actually enjoyed it. He loved the ego stroke of watching me claw other women’s eyes out for him. Until I went after Daisy, his newly hired personal assistant. In a fit of rage to protect his precious little muse, he bribed witnesses and framed me for attempted murder by poisoning. I was sentenced to twenty years in a maximum-security prison, where I met a bitter, miserable end. Even my funeral portrait and ashes were tossed into a dumpster like yesterday’s trash. But now, I am back. This time, my vision is clear, and my hands are steady. I have absolutely zero interest in playing the scorned wife or fighting over a garbage man. This life, I’m only here for the money. … In my previous life, it all started falling apart when I went to the office and slapped Daisy. The catalyst was simple: I found her black lace thong tucked neatly into the inner pocket of Christian’s bespoke suit jacket. When I confronted her, she made a grand spectacle of running to the roof of the corporate tower, threatening to jump. She sobbed to the gathering crowd below about how her dignity had been stripped away, how death was preferable to the public humiliation I’d caused. The moment Christian got the call, he abandoned a multi-million dollar merger and sped to the scene. Instead of comforting his hysterical wife, he stood before the entire board of directors and slapped me. Hard. Ten times, twenty times, until my lip split and blood dripped onto my Chanel collar. Only then did he stop. He rushed over to Daisy, gently lifting her from the ledge and pulling her into his arms, cooing like she was a fragile bird. “Don’t be afraid, Daisy,” he whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Anyone who hurts you will pay a thousand times over.” Just like that, I became the laughingstock of Manhattan’s elite. “Helena finally hit a wall,” they whispered over mimosas. “She touched Christian’s golden girl. She’s done for. Let’s see how loud she barks now.” “Good riddance. She had it coming.” “For someone born into the Hastings dynasty, she has zero class. Chasing down mistresses like a stray dog. It’s embarrassing to the rest of us.” “Honestly, if I were her, I’d rather drown myself than live with that level of pathetic desperation.” When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the exact moment Daisy confessed her affair to me. “Mrs. Harrington, you’re getting older, and frankly, you can’t keep your husband happy,” she said, looking at me with wide, mock-innocent eyes. “Why shouldn’t you give younger girls a chance? Do you have any idea how brutal the job market is right now?” My muscle memory flared. My arm tensed, preparing to swing a heavy leather handbag right across her cheek. But a sudden jolt in my brain stopped me. Don’t make the same mistake twice. Daisy’s eyes were already glassy, her tears primed and ready to fall. When my hand dropped to my side, her expression crumbled into utter confusion. She didn’t know whether to cry or speak. My best friend, Paige, who had marched into the office with me as backup, frowned. “Helena, are you okay? Or did you just think of a slower, more painful way to destroy her?” “Right,” Paige muttered, glaring at Daisy. “We can’t let this little leech run to Christian and play the victim. We don’t touch the face. Let’s have the security detail take her down to the basement pool and hold her under until she remembers how to respect a married man.” Paige signaled the security team we’d brought. But I stepped in. “Let it go,” I said quietly. Daisy, who had clearly rehearsed her entire routine of collapsing into Christian’s arms to sob about my cruelty, panicked. Seeing me refuse to play my part, she tried to bait me. “The one who isn’t loved is the real intruder, Helena,” she sneered, dropping the sweet act for a split second. “Christian told me he feels absolutely nothing when he’s with you. I’m the only one who satisfies him.” Paige practically vibrated with rage. She grabbed a hot cup of coffee and stepped forward. “You miserable little bitch!” Before she could throw it, I caught her wrist, pulling her back with surprising force. In my past life, Paige had thrown that coffee right into Daisy’s face to defend me. Christian never forgot it. On her next birthday, he hired men to lace her drink at a club, leading to a brutal, orchestrated assault by a dozen men. They took photos and leaked them across the dark web. Paige’s spirit was entirely broken. Three months later, she jumped from her apartment balcony. This time, I was going to protect her. At all costs. “Paige, don’t,” I murmured. “That’s imported Kona coffee. It’s fifty dollars an ounce. Wasting it on her face is a crime.” Paige’s brow furrowed. “Since when do you care about fifty dollars? We used to charter a private jet to Paris just to catch him in a hotel room. And what about last month? You threw a row of antique Chinoiserie vases off the mezzanine, and you didn’t even blink when only one of them managed to clip that sales associate.” That was the old me. The me who didn’t realize that a man is never worth more than cold, hard cash. I leaned in, whispering in her ear, “I’m done with the violence. It takes two to tango. Why should I waste my energy and bank account on a dirty, stray dog? It’s bad for business.” Paige stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “So you’re just going to let her walk? She’s standing here gloating, she literally just spilled orange juice on your custom Givenchy dress, and tomorrow she’ll be whispering in Christian’s ear to divorce you so she can take your place.” I looked up, my eyes sweeping over Daisy’s youthful, plump face. “She is fresh, isn’t she? No wonder Christian forgets he has a home.” I turned back to Daisy. “Since he likes you so much, I won’t stand in your way…” Before I could even finish my sentence, Daisy dropped to her knees, weeping beautifully. It was a masterclass in performative vulnerability. “Mrs. Harrington, I know you’re consumed by jealousy. I know what happens to the women Christian smiles at. If you want to use your influence to fire me, I can’t stop you. But please, I beg of you, take better care of him. He works so hard to provide for you. We women shouldn’t be so selfish, only thinking about shopping and spending his money.” She sniffled, wiping an imaginary tear. “And please, remember he likes soy milk in the morning. Don’t just give him regular dairy because it’s easier—he’s lactose intolerant. He might look like a strong, six-foot-two man, but he kicks his blankets off at night and catches cold easily. It breaks my heart.” “Oh, and he’s at a critical point in his career right now. He doesn’t have time for domestic drama. When you… force him into bed, please make sure you use protection. He doesn’t need a child stressing him out.” I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Are you quite finished?” In my past life, this exact monologue had sent me into a blind, screaming rage. I had torn her hair out, giving Christian the perfect ammunition to lock me away. But right now, I could hear the faint click of leather shoes in the hallway. Christian was at the door. I looked down at her calmly. “Since you care so deeply for my husband, I think it’s only fair you stay close. I won’t fire you. In fact, I’m promoting you to his personal executive assistant. And I’m doubling your salary.” “You… you’re doing what?” Daisy stared up at me, frozen on the floor. This wasn’t the script she had written. She remained glued to the carpet until Christian cleared his throat from the doorway. “Helena is rarely this understanding, Daisy,” Christian said, stepping into the room with a smooth, patronizing smile. “It seems the two of you actually get along. Stand up and thank her.” Once we cleared the lobby and walked out onto the bustling Manhattan street, Paige let out a frustrated groan. “Why are you playing nice with that little leech? We should have dragged her out by her hair, let the whole office see her for the home-wrecker she is. Instead, you basically paved a golden runway straight to Christian’s bed!” I offered her a sad, quiet smile and shook my head. “Paige, don’t you see? Christian is actually infatuated with her this time. If I kept screaming and throwing fits like I used to, he would have found a way to quietly dispose of me. I like being alive too much to play his game.” Paige studied my face, her anger softening into deep concern. “So what’s the plan? You can’t just let her parade around in front of you forever. The Helena Hastings I know doesn’t lay down and take a beating.” She was right. In my first life, I cared too much. I put a man at the center of my universe, and it destroyed me. That evening, Christian did something unprecedented: he came home early and handed me a small gift box. It was a sterling silver bracelet—a complimentary freebie given to high-tier clients who purchased custom jewelry. I knew this because Daisy had already posted the actual prize on Instagram hours earlier: a flawless five-carat diamond necklace and matching ring, paid for with Christian’s primary black card. Her caption had been a masterclass in passive-aggressive gloating: ‘So sweet to be young and adored by a gentle protector ten years older. True love doesn’t care about age. Honestly, I’d rather die than grow old, bitter, and ignored by my husband.’ I played my part flawlessly. I smiled, thanked him, and let him clasp the cheap silver around my wrist. But the moment he left, claiming an urgent late-night board meeting required his presence at the office, I unclasped the bracelet and threw it straight into the kitchen trash chute. “Trash belongs with the trash.” The next morning, I traded my usual loud, logo-heavy designer dresses for a sleek, tailored pantsuit and flat leather loafers. I packed a thermal lunchbox with warm soup and headed to Christian’s office, playing the doting wife. The moment I stepped into the marble lobby of the Kerwin Group, the air felt charged. The HR director, whom I had quietly put on my payroll months ago, rushed over to whisper in my ear. “Daisy arrived in Mr. Harrington’s car this morning. They were wearing matching designer suits. Half an hour ago, they had a courier deliver a box of condoms to his private office.” “Got it. Thank you.” The entire floor was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. I walked toward his office suite, and before I even reached the door, the muffled, unmistakable sounds of giggling and heavy breathing drifted from his private lounge. Daisy’s voice was unmistakable, pitchy and breathy. “Stop it, Christian… you know I’m sensitive there…” I stood at the secretary’s desk. Across the room, two junior analysts were already whispering, making bets. “Five bucks says Daisy is dragged out of there naked in under five minutes, getting her face clawed off.” “Are you new?” the other whispered back. “That’s Helena Harrington. Five minutes isn’t even a warm-up for her. It’ll be ten minutes minimum. She’ll take photos first, throw a vase through the window, and we’ll have to call NYPD to pull them apart.” Instead of storming the door, I turned on my heel, walked into the communal breakroom, poured myself a cup of black coffee, and sat down to wait. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Suddenly, the elevator doors chimed open. The sharp, rapid clack-clack-clack of stilettos echoed down the corridor, moving with frantic urgency. Right on cue. Just like in my past life, she had arrived. Isabelle. The gorgeous, untouchable first love Christian had spent his twenties mourning. When Isabelle kicked open the office door, a high-pitched shriek tore through the suite. Inside, Christian was frozen in shock. “Isabelle? What are you doing back in New York?” A loud slap echoed, followed by another. Isabelle’s voice cracked with tears. “If I hadn’t come back, were you going to let this cheap little receptionist take over my life? You promised me, Christian! You swore on the phone that I was the only woman you ever loved! It was all a lie!” Within seconds, the office turned into a war zone. Objects were flying, glass shattering, screams multiplying. At one point, a torn black lace thong flew out of the doorway, landing perfectly over the frame of Christian’s corporate portrait. I sipped my coffee, listening to the employees around me mutter in disgust. “Jesus. Does he think this is a brothel or a hedge fund?” “Typical. Don’t look, just get back to work before HR sees us.” As the crowd dispersed, I heard a quiet whisper. “Wait, where’s Helena? Why isn’t she in there?” I closed my eyes, remembering the horror of my previous life. In that timeline, I had been the one inside that room, locked in a feral claw-fight with Daisy. Christian had stepped in—not to protect me, but to shield Daisy. He had kicked me off her so hard that two of my ribs fractured. I spent weeks in the hospital while he cut off my allowance to punish me for “embarrassing” him. And Isabelle? In that timeline, she had stood quietly in the hallway, waiting for me to be wheeled out on a stretcher before sliding back into Christian’s life as his comforting, elegant savior. But this time, I was the spectator. Seeing the moment was ripe, I gave a subtle nod to the HR director. A crew of tabloid journalists, armed with heavy cameras and blinding flashbulbs, burst through the glass doors of the executive suite, pushing past the weak protests of the secretary. Christian panicked, shielding his face. “Who let you in here? Get out! Delete those photos! Now!” But the photographers didn’t stop. The shutters clicked rapidly, capturing every angle of the chaos. “This is gold,” one reporter muttered. “The golden boy of Wall Street having a three-way with his assistant and his ex. This is front-page news for a month.” Daisy, completely naked, tried to burrow into Christian’s chest, sobbing hysterically. This only enraged Isabelle further, who lunged forward to scratch at her face. “You pathetic little leech! Still posing for the cameras? You’re disgusting!” By the next morning, the Kerwin Group was trending globally for all the wrong reasons. The scandal cost the firm several major international mergers, resulting in an immediate loss of nearly a billion dollars in market value. At the Harrington family estate in Connecticut, Christian’s grandfather, Franklin Harrington, was livid. He threw the morning papers directly at Christian’s face. “You useless fool!” the old man roared. “I spent forty years building this legacy, and you drag it through the mud for a cheap thrill!” Christian, pale and trembling, noticed me sitting quietly beside his grandfather, pouring the old man a cup of chamomile tea. He immediately pointed a finger at me. “Grandpa, Helena set this up! You know how insane she is. She’s been looking for a way to ruin me because of my personal life. She tipped off those reporters!” I let my shoulders tremble. I squeezed my eyes shut, and within seconds, tears began to stream down my cheeks.

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Growing up, I was always my twin brother’s shadow, the quiet repository for all his sins. When he stole cash from our mother’s purse, my father beat me until my ribs bruised. When he left marks on kids at school, my parents forced me to my knees, shoving my head against the floor until I begged for forgiveness in his place. On the eve of the State Merit Scholarship Exam—the only ticket out of this house I would ever get—he slipped sleeping pills into my tea and shredded my admission voucher. I fought through the haze, dragging my leaden limbs to the testing board’s local office, begged for a replacement, and somehow pulled a 740. A near-perfect score. The highest in the entire state. But when the scores went public, Tyler—who had never scored higher than a miserable 250 in his life—held up my printed score report to the local press and claimed the crown. In the kitchen, my parents cornered me, their whispers like venomous snakes. “Tomorrow, we’re putting you in the Pinecrest asylum. This glory, this future—it belongs to your brother. Not you.” As my chest hollowed out with despair, a sharp, metallic ding echoed in my mind: [Out-of-Context System Activated.] Outside, Tyler was dabbing at his eyes for a reporter’s lens. “My sister lost her mind after she got caught cheating on the exam…” But the words that actually echoed from his mouth were: “I lost my mind after I got caught cheating on the exam…” 1 “I lost my mind after I got caught cheating on the exam.” A suffocating silence fell over the yard. The reporter’s microphone froze mid-air. The cameraman peered out from behind his lens, his brow furrowing as he looked at Tyler. Tyler froze. His mouth was still puckered in a pathetic sob, his eyes wide and vacant. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Slowly, the color drained from his face, replaced by a mottled, furious red. He lunged forward, grabbing the cameraman’s collar and shoving him backward. “What the hell did you play? Is your station trying to screw with me?!” The reporter ripped Tyler’s hands off the cameraman, taking two quick steps back. “Get off him! What did you just say? Did you just admit to cheating?” “I said it was my sister! Her! Not me!” Tyler’s voice cracked, turning into a screech. The other reporters immediately raised their phones, aiming them directly at him. Out on the sidewalk, the whispering neighbors began recording on their devices too. Mrs. Higgins leaned over the fence, her phone pointed straight at Tyler’s face, the little red recording light blinking steadily. “Wait, who actually cheated?” someone whispered. “Sounds like he just admitted it himself.” I lay on the cold concrete, my hands still bound behind my back, every inch of my body screaming in pain. But it worked. The system actually worked. “Stop filming!” my mother shrieked, bursting out of the front door with my father hot on her heels. She threw herself in front of Tyler, blocking the lens with her hand while pointing accusingly at me. “Don’t listen to this nonsense! Our daughter is mentally unstable! She’s baiting my poor boy into talking crazy!” My father glared down at me. Without a word, he grabbed a heavy wooden stool from the porch and swung it high. “Lindsay! Get inside! If you ruin this, I’ll break your legs!” “She hasn’t moved a single inch,” the lead reporter noted dryly. My father ignored him. As the stool came crashing down, I threw myself to the right. The wood splintered against the concrete, bouncing off and flipping a nearby folding table. Everything on the table clattered to the ground, including the celebratory plaque they’d ordered. It cracked clean down the middle. Tyler stared at the ruined plaque, the veins in his neck bulging. He violently shook off our mother’s hand and lunged at me, thrusting a finger right between my eyes. “Don’t think playing crazy is going to save you, Lindsay! I saw you sneak those cheat sheets into the exam room with my own eyes!” The system screen flashed brilliant blue in my mind’s eye. And Tyler’s voice echoed through the yard, sharp and crystal clear: “I sneaked those cheat sheets into the exam room with my own eyes!” Instantly, every camera, phone, and live-stream feed in the yard pivoted to lock onto Tyler’s terrified face. 2 Tyler’s knees buckled, and he hit the dirt hard. Every drop of blood drained from his face. His voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t say that…” When no one answered, he suddenly slapped himself across the face. Slap. Slap. Slap. By the third blow, a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He yanked at his own hair, screaming frantically. “I’m cursed! I’m possessed! Someone is doing this to me!” Our mother rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his head. “Tyler! Tyler, don’t be scared! Mom’s here!” Tyler shoved her off with a sharp elbow, his hair wild as he pointed a shaking finger at me. “It’s her! Lindsay! She drugged me! She poisoned my dinner! Why else would I say those things?!” I pushed myself up from the concrete, wiping a smear of blood from my lip with my sleeve. “There are dozens of cameras recording us right now. The words came out of your own mouth. Do you want to watch the playback?” My Aunt Beatrice looked away. Uncle Donald was already backing toward the gate, one foot in the yard and one foot out. My cousin Logan, who had just been bragging while helping Tyler hang up the celebratory banner, had vanished entirely into the shadows. Only Mrs. Higgins remained perched on the fence, her phone still recording, but her mouth was clamped shut. Desperate, Tyler reached into his bag, pulling out a kraft-paper notebook with the word Journal written on the cover. He held it high above his head. “Look! This is my sister’s confession journal! Black and white! She wrote it herself!” He flipped it open, stabbing his finger at the pages. “Look, it’s right here in plain English! I bought the answers! I cheated!” The system flashed again. And Tyler’s voice boomed across the yard, carrying over the fence: “Look! This is my confession journal!” “Look, it’s right here in plain English! I bought the answers! I cheated!” Tyler’s arm froze in mid-air. He stared at the notebook, then blinked up at the sky. The surrounding crowd took a collective step back, murmurs of unease rippling through them. With a guttural shriek, Tyler slammed the notebook onto the ground. He stamped on it once, twice, then dropped to his knees, ripping the pages into shreds with his bare hands. His voice turned into a high-pitched wail. “There’s a ghost! This place is haunted!” I took a slow step forward. “Is there anything else you want to confess? The cheat sheets, the journal… what other tricks did you use?” “Stay back!” Tyler curled into a ball, pressing his hands hard over his ears, rocking back and forth. “Get away from me!” The wail of a siren echoed from the end of the street. Everyone turned to look. A white van squeezed through the crowd, the words Pinecrest Wellness Center painted on its side. The van screeched to a halt, the side door sliding open. Nurse Henderson stepped out, flanked by four burly orderlies in scrubs. The crowd parted automatically to let them through. 3 Nurse Henderson marched into the yard, scanning the wreckage. “Well, this is a spectacular mess.” Tyler’s hair looked like a bird’s nest, and he was shivering in the corner. My cheek was badly bruised, the blood still tacky on my lip. My mother was frantically shoving my father, both of them red-faced and screaming at each other. The orderlies fanned out, looking highly confused, their eyes shifting back and forth between me and Tyler. Nurse Henderson slammed a plastic tray onto the overturned table and barked, “Quiet down, all of you!” She pulled out a syringe—thick as a thumb—tapped the barrel twice, flicked off the plastic cap, and pushed a tiny squirt of liquid into the air. “We received a dispatch call about a highly aggressive, non-compliant psychiatric patient at this address.” She scanned the broken wooden stool and the shredded paper littering the ground. “Our protocol is simple: sedate first, transport second. I don’t care who it is.” I spoke up, keeping my voice level. “Nurse Henderson, under state law, an involuntary psychiatric hold requires an in-person evaluation by a licensed psychiatrist. Doing this without a petition is illegal confinement.” She didn’t even look at me. “The law? Listen to me, girl. Once you’re behind our doors, you’re whatever we say you are. Don’t talk to me about the law.” Holding the syringe, she stood in the center of the yard and snapped, “Now, who is the patient? Point them out so we can get this over with!” Before our mother could speak, Tyler scrambled up from the corner like a feral cat. His face twisted in pure malice. “My mom is losing her mind because of this psycho! Give my sister the shot!” My fists clenched, but the system reacted faster than my reflexes. “My mom is the psycho! Give her the shot!” Nurse Henderson looked at Tyler, then turned her gaze to my mother. My mother was clawing at my father’s shirt, her face contorted in a screaming match, while my father raised an angry fist. They looked like two rabid animals tearing each other apart. She nodded slowly. “Right.” She waved a hand, and two burly orderlies lunged at my mother. Before she could even process what was happening, her arms were pinned. They lifted her off her feet, her legs kicking wildly in the air. Before she could even scream, Nurse Henderson bent down, yanked up her pant leg, and plunged the needle deep into her calf. Five milligrams of Haloperidol. My mother’s shriek peaked within three seconds, warped into a choked gurgle by the seventh, and by the tenth, she went entirely limp, as if her bones had dissolved. My father stood frozen. Then, with a gutter-raw roar, he threw a heavy punch at the nearest orderly. “Who the hell did you just inject?! Who?! I told you to take the girl!” The orderly staggered back, clutching his bleeding nose. The other three immediately swarmed my father, tackling him to the ground. The yard dissolved into absolute chaos. In the scuffle, Nurse Henderson was shoved backward, her forehead clipping the corner of the broken table. Blood started oozing down her temple. She clutched her head as she stood up, her face livid. “This entire family is clinically insane! Every single one of you!” She ripped her torn pocket off her scrubs and screamed at the orderlies, “Abort! Get the hell out of here! We’re leaving!” The orderlies gladly retreated, grabbing their gear and scrambling for the gate. Before slamming the van door, Nurse Henderson kicked the post. “The Pinecrest Center is done with this circus! Next time you call, the dispatch fee is a thousand dollars cash up front!” The heavy door slammed shut, and the siren faded into the distance. Leaning against the rusty outdoor faucet, I looked down at my wrists. The rope binding them had loosened during the fracas. Using my teeth, I pulled the final knot loose and shook out my hands. Dark red rings encircled my wrists, and my scraped knees bled slowly onto the gravel. All that remained was a yard littered with shattered glass, splintered wood, torn paper, my mother twitching on the ground, and my father huddled beside her. Tyler slumped against the brick wall, his eyes fixed on the blinking red recording lights of the reporters’ cameras at the edge of the driveway. 4 Suddenly, he lunged into the cluster of reporters and snatched the microphone right out of the local news anchor’s hand. He dragged me by my bruised arm right back to the center of the frame. I tried to pull away, but his grip was frantic and tight. “Don’t you dare run,” he hissed under his breath. “We’re finishing this now.” He shoved me directly in front of the lens, standing tall beside me. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, squeezing out a fresh wave of tears. “To everyone watching this stream, I didn’t want to air our family’s dirty laundry like this. But you deserve the truth. My sister is no scholar. She’s been running illegal online poker and sports betting rings at school. She’s drowned in thousands of dollars of debt. This whole breakdown today? It’s nothing but a desperate cover-up because she knows she’s caught!” The live chat exploded. Gambling? No way. Does he have receipts? The neighbors began muttering among themselves. A voice shouted from the back, “A gambling addict trying to steal her brother’s glory? Shameless!” A plastic water bottle sailed through the air and bounced near my feet. Tyler paused, letting the anger simmer, before pulling a manila folder from behind his back. He slipped two documents out and held them directly up to the lens. First, he displayed a stapled packet. The header read: Confidential Exam Proxy and Score Transfer Agreement. Next was a printed screenshot of a wire transfer—five thousand dollars, with the sender’s name blacked out. Tyler flipped to the signature page on the third sheet, holding it inches from the camera lens. “Look closely. This contract has my sister’s signature and her thumbprint in red ink. To pay off her gambling debts, she sold her ID and her exam credentials to a black-market cheating ring. She planned to cheat her way to a perfect score, but she panicked under pressure and bombed it with a miserable 250. Now she’s trying to steal my score to fulfill her end of the deal!” He tapped the wire transfer paper. “This five grand was her advance deposit. But she was flagged by the proctor before she could finish, leaving her with a 250. Now she’s trying to claim my 740 to save herself from the black-market brokers!” The stream’s chat section went wild. Exam fraud??? That’s a felony! Some guy got prison time for this last year! Investigate them both! This girl is insane! I stood silently before the cameras, offering no defense. My mother, still groggy from the sedative, staggered back into the frame. She grabbed my collar, tugging me down, and pointed a trembling finger at my face, sobbing hysterically. “You ungrateful little wretch! Your father and I starved ourselves to put you through school, and this is how you repay us? Gambling? Hiring proxies? You’ve dragged our name through the mud!” My father flanked her, shouting directly into the microphone. “Officers, reporters—we disown her! Lock her up! Throw away the key! We fully support the law!” The chat surged again. Even her parents disowned her. It’s definitely true. Man, poor parents. She got what she deserved. Siren wails cut through the air once more. Two police cruisers and a sleek black SUV pulled up, blocking both ends of the driveway. Four officers stepped out of the cruisers, securing the perimeter. Then the door of the SUV opened. Dr. Mercer, the State Commissioner of Education, stepped out wearing a simple blazer and loafers. Behind him was Chief Davis of the State Police Department in full dress uniform. They were followed by six staff members carrying laptops and investigative folders. Dr. Mercer lingered at the edge of the yard. His sharp eyes scanned the splintered wood, the shredded paper, the frantic boy clutching the folder, and finally, me—battered, bloodied, and standing in rags. The Commissioner’s voice was quiet but carried absolute authority. “Can someone explain to me what is going on here?” Tyler’s eyes lit up. Seeing the Commissioner and the heavy police presence, his confidence surged. Clutching his “confidential agreement,” he rushed forward. “Commissioner Mercer! Thank God you’re here! I’ve been waiting for this moment all day!” He thrust the document into Dr. Mercer’s hands. “Look! Here is the ironclad proof!” He turned back to the cameras, raised the microphone, took a deep breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs: “Commissioner! This filthy score-selling proxy agreement was signed by my sister—I watched her press her thumbprint on it myself!” The system screen flashed brilliant blue in my mind’s eye. And Tyler’s voice, amplified by the microphone, carried clearly into every single live stream: “Commissioner! This filthy score-selling proxy agreement was signed by myself—I pressed my own thumbprint on it!”

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Wright brought the third heavily pregnant woman into my firm, expecting me to draft a deed of gift for her. His friends stood in the corner, placing bets on exactly how many seconds it would take for me to lose my mind and trash the office. But I didn’t say a word, even as the thick stack of papers slid out of the printer, warm and final. “Wright, man, this is the third one,” Tyler muttered, casting a wary look in my direction. “Are you sure she isn’t quietly plotting to ruin you?” Wright pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice dropping into that deep, authoritative register he used when he wanted to sound magnanimous. “Maeve’s health is too fragile. She can’t handle the physical toll of pregnancy. This baby will be legally registered under her name the moment it’s born. Her position as my wife is never going to change.” I didn’t let my expression waver. I simply slid the stamped, legally binding documents across the mahogany desk, offering the standard professional disclaimer. “Everything is signed and sealed. The agreement is active and fully enforceable by law.” Wright took the paperwork, a brief, almost imperceptible frown crossing his handsome face. He hesitated, then slid a second document toward me—a voluntary divorce agreement. His tone softened. “Sign this. It’s just a formality, Maeve,” he murmured. “Hailey is strong. Once she gives birth and we legally adopt the baby, the family won’t be able to hold your infertility against you anymore. Your place at my side is secure. I’m only doing this to protect you.” I had played my part in this twisted theater twice before. But this time, I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the dotted line. Then, with deliberate slowness, I slipped on the massive pink diamond engagement ring Drew, the golden heir of the city’s most powerful empire, had given me just nights before. Wright had seemingly forgotten a tiny, inconvenient medical truth: he was completely sterile. If I wanted to be a mother, all I needed was a man with working anatomy. Why did he think I would cling to the hollow title of his wife, just to raise a bastard child spawned from another man’s affair? … Hailey stroked her round, heavily swollen belly, letting out a soft, theatrical sigh. “Wright… is Maeve mad? Look, she even bought her own ring just to make a point.” Wright’s eyes locked onto my left hand. His brows drew together, a flash of genuine irritation crossing his features. “Maeve, enough,” he snapped. “Do you really think buying some cheap piece of glass is going to make me change my mind?” I didn’t argue. I simply pushed the signed divorce agreement back to him. “It’s done. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning at nine.” The room fell dead silent for a fraction of a second, before Tyler and the rest of Wright’s entourage burst into mocking laughter. “Come on, Maeve, you’ve been playing this hard-to-get game for three years now. Aren’t you tired of it?” “Seriously. Wright just wants an heir. You can’t give him one, and now you’re trying to stop anyone else from doing it? Don’t be so bitter.” Wright rubbed his temples, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Maeve, stop throwing a tantrum. Hailey is carrying twins. The doctor said the pregnancy is high-risk. She needs peace and quiet.” Hailey leaned back into Wright’s chest, her eyes welling with crocodile tears. “Wright, I just don’t want our babies to be born hidden away in some dark corner of the city.” She peeked up at me, acting timid. “Maeve… would you mind letting us use your penthouse downtown? The security is incredible, and it’s so close to the medical center.” That penthouse was the only thing my parents had left me before they died in a sudden car crash. It was my sanctuary. “That is my personal property. It wasn’t part of our marriage.” Hailey flinched, pulling back as if I had struck her. Giant tears rolled down her cheeks. “Maeve, please don’t be angry. I was only thinking of the babies. If you don’t want us there, that’s fine. I’ll just pack my bags and raise them in some cheap motel out in the country.” Wright wrapped his arms tightly around her, turning on me with cold, uncompromising authority. “Maeve, don’t be petty. The place is sitting empty anyway. Pack your things tonight. Hailey moves in tomorrow.” I stared at the man I had loved for nearly a decade. For the first time, I realized how utterly pathetic I had been. “Wright, are you illiterate or just stupid? It’s my house.” Wright’s face darkened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Maeve, it’s just a house. Once the babies are born, you can have it back. Right now, Hailey is pregnant. You need to think about the bigger picture.” Tyler chimed in from the couch. “Yeah, Maeve. Hailey’s carrying the next generation of the family line. You can’t even spare a roof over her head?” I kept my eyes on Wright. “And if I refuse?” Wright let out a dry, humorless chuckle and pulled out his phone. “Let’s not forget who your firm’s largest retainer is, Maeve. You’re a smart woman. Don’t make me pull the corporate contracts.” For his mistress, he was willing to destroy the career I had poured my soul into. I stared at the absolute confidence in his eyes and felt a sudden, liberating laugh bubble up in my chest. “Fine. I’ll pack.” Wright blinked, taken aback by how easily I’d folded. A smug smirk touched his lips, and his tone softened with patronizing approval. “Good. See? When you’re reasonable, everything works out. Spend tonight at the family estate. I’ll have my assistant help Hailey move into the penthouse tomorrow.” I stood up, grabbing my coat. My gaze swept over the miserable crowd. “I’ll be out tonight. But Wright? I hope you remember this moment when the bill comes due.” Wright just laughed. “Don’t throw a fit, Maeve. It’s temporary. The house is still yours.” Hailey tilted her chin up, flashing me a quiet, venomous smile of victory. I didn’t look back as I walked out, letting the door click shut behind me. Through the heavy wood, I could hear Tyler’s muffled voice laughing. “Wright always knows how to pull her leash! Man, once these twins are born, you’ll be a father of three!” A father of three. I truly hoped he’d keep that same joyful energy when he found out whose name was actually on the birth certificates. The storm hit the city late that night, rain lashing violently against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. I packed light. In truth, there wasn’t much to take. I didn’t touch a single thing Wright had bought me. I only packed my parents’ framed portrait and my five-year-old Ragdoll cat, Casper. Casper seemed to sense my quiet anger, nudging his soft head against my hand and licking my knuckles. The electronic lock chimed, and Wright stepped inside, shaking the rain from his coat. When his eyes fell on the suitcases lined up by the door, his brow furrowed. “Are you really doing this? Maeve, I told you to go to the estate. Why are you packing up everything you own?” I smoothed down my final coat, zipped the suitcase, and stood up. “We signed the divorce papers, Wright. Why would I sleep under your family’s roof? Save your energy. You have twins to worry about.” He marched over, slamming his hand down on the top of my suitcase. “Stop being so dramatic! I told you the divorce is just a show for the board. Why are you pushing this? You’re a woman on your own. If you walk away from me, from the family, where do you think you’re going to go?” There was a sickening certainty in his eyes. He truly believed I was helpless without him. I reached down, firmly removing his hand from my bag. “Where I go is none of your business anymore.” His jaw clenched, but before he could snap, his phone buzzed. Hailey’s name flashed across the screen. He answered immediately, and her trembling, soft voice filled the quiet room. “Wright, where are you? I’m scared… the thunder is so loud, and my stomach hurts. What if something is wrong with the babies?” His face softened instantly into frantic concern. “Don’t panic, Hailey. I’m on my way.” He hung up and glared at me, his tenderness vanishing. “You better pray those babies are fine, Maeve. If anything happens to them because of your stubbornness, I’ll destroy you.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and rushed back out into the pouring rain. I watched the door swing shut, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. I remembered the night I lay bleeding out on an operating table from an ectopic pregnancy. Where had Wright been then? He’d been across town, helping his very first mistress pick out decor for her baby shower. I closed my eyes, forcing the toxic memory back into the dark corner of my mind. I grabbed Casper’s carrier, pulled my suitcase behind me, and walked out of the apartment forever. The next morning, I stood outside the courthouse at exactly nine. I waited. Hour after hour slipped by, but Wright never showed. I tried calling, but my calls went straight to voicemail. It was only when the office doors closed for the evening that my phone finally rang. It wasn’t Wright; it was Tyler. “Do you have a single shred of humanity left, Maeve?” Tyler hissed. “Hailey almost miscarried last night. Wright spent the entire night by her hospital bed, and you’re standing at the courthouse trying to force a divorce? Are you trying to kill his kids?” My voice was flat, empty of any anger. “If he’s busy, we’ll reschedule. Tell him to have his lawyer prepare the breach-of-contract penalty.” I hung up before he could reply and headed straight to my office. The moment I walked through the doors of my firm, the heavy silence hit me. Becca, my junior associate, ran up to me, her eyes red and tearful. “Maeve, we have a major problem. Wright’s legal department just sent over an official termination letter. They’re pulling out of every single retainer agreement. Worse, they’re blacklisting us. They let every major developer in the city know that doing business with us means war with Wright’s family.” My boots clicked to a halt on the hardwood floor. My expression hardened. This was Wright’s classic play: crush me financially until I crawled back on my knees. I sat at my desk and opened my laptop. My inbox was flooded with cancellations from clients I had spent years networking to win over. Right on cue, my phone vibrated. A text from Wright: Apologize to Hailey, promise to fall back into line, and I’ll restore the firm’s contracts. Don’t push my patience, Maeve. A soft laugh escaped my lips. He truly believed he held all the cards. I didn’t bother typing a reply. I blocked his number, then pulled up a contact I hadn’t touched in months. The call connected on the second ring. A deep, smooth voice drifted through the line. “Let me guess. Wright finally made his final mistake?” I stared out at the city skyline. “Drew. You were right. I’m dropping Wright’s accounts. But I need a favor.” Drew let out a low, amused chuckle. “Maeve, for you, I’d burn down the entire city block by block. Tell me what you need.” My grip tightened on the phone. “I want Wright’s family holdings squeezed. I want their credit dry and their capital frozen within thirty days.” For the next week, Wright went completely silent. He was undoubtedly waiting for me to hit rock bottom, expecting me to beg for his mercy once the bills started piling up. What he didn’t realize was that I had already quietly liquidated my shares in the firm for a massive payout. By the time he thought I was starving, I had already stepped into my new role as the chief legal counsel for Drew’s multinational corporate division. Late one Tuesday afternoon, right after wrapping up a board meeting at Drew’s headquarters, my phone rang. It was the emergency vet clinic. “Maeve, it’s about Casper. You need to get here immediately.” Panic seized my chest. I sped across the city, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I burst through the clinic doors, I was escorted into the back. Casper was lying on the sterile table, his pure white fur soaked in deep crimson. He was barely drawing breath. The vet, his hands covered in blood, looked up with a grim expression. “I’m so sorry, Maeve. He suffered severe blunt force trauma. His internal organs are ruptured. We’re doing everything we can, but…” My mind went completely blank. Casper had been a birthday gift from my parents before they died. He was the last piece of home I had left. With trembling fingers, I touched his bloodied, soft fur. Casper forced his eyes open, looking up at me with a faint, tired meow, and then he stopped breathing. “Who did this?” My voice was barely a whisper, cold and hollow. The vet sighed, turning a laptop screen toward me. “A woman dropped him off in an alley nearby. Our security cameras caught her.” On the footage, Hailey stood in the alleyway wearing dark sunglasses, an iron golf club slung over her shoulder. Her driver dragged Casper’s carrier out of her trunk and dumped him onto the pavement. Without a second of hesitation, Hailey swung the club, striking my cat again and again. She kept swinging until Casper stopped moving. Then, she nudged his small body with the toe of her designer heel. “Stupid animal thought it could scratch me,” her voice drifted clearly through the audio feed. “Throw it in the trash. Don’t let Wright see it.” I stared at the screen, my fingernails digging so deeply into my palms that they drew blood. I pulled out my phone and dialed the police. Thirty minutes later, two police officers accompanied me back to the penthouse I had built. When the door opened, I saw Hailey curled up on my custom-designed sofa, nestled in Wright’s lap. At the sight of the uniforms, she let out a theatrical shriek and scrambled behind Wright. “Wright! What’s happening? I’m scared…” Wright stood up, shielding her, his glare icy as he locked eyes with me. “Maeve, what kind of sick stunt is this? Bringing cops to my home? Have you completely lost your mind?” I stood perfectly still. “Hailey is under investigation for animal cruelty and felony property damage. I’m pressing charges.” Wright blinked, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Are you seriously doing all this over that stupid cat? Maeve, you are genuinely pathetic. It’s an animal. It died. I’ll buy you ten more! Hailey is pregnant; she cannot handle this kind of stress. Take your cops and get the hell out of my house.” I looked at the man I had spent years of my life with, and felt absolutely nothing but disgust. “Casper was the last thing my parents left me. He didn’t do anything to her. Why did she have to beat him to death?” Hailey peeked out from behind him, sobbing softly. “Maeve, please don’t lie. That beast went wild. It tried to claw my belly. I was only protecting Wright’s children. Is a filthy animal really worth more to you than our babies?” Wright’s expression hardened into pure malice. Before the officers could react, he stepped forward and swung his arm. Slap. The force of his palm across my face echoed through the foyer. My head snapped back, a sharp ringing filling my ears as warm blood trickled down my chin. Wright pointed a shaking finger at my face, shouting, “You malicious, bitter bitch! Just because you’re sterile, you try to use a wild animal to kill my heirs? Let me make this clear, Maeve: if anything happens to Hailey’s babies, I will personally ruin you.” The officers immediately tackled him, pinning his arms behind his back. “Sir! Step back! Assaulting someone in front of law enforcement is a felony. Calm down!” Wright didn’t even flinch. He sneered, casually adjusting his expensive cuffs. “Arrest me? Your captain dines at my private club. I was putting my hysterical wife in her place.” He turned his murderous gaze back to me. “Maeve, this is your last chance. Drop the charges and get on your knees and apologize to Hailey. Or I swear to God, I will run you out of this city by morning.” I slowly reached up, wiping the blood from my lip, staring at the two of them. Strangely, the anger washed away, leaving only a cold, crystalline silence. “Wright, that slap officially paid off whatever debt I owed you. You want heirs so badly? Then I wish you all the joy in the world with your beautiful, perfect family.” I turned back to the officers. “I’ve forwarded the security footage to the precinct. Let’s let the legal system handle this.” Without another glance, I walked out of the penthouse. Behind me, Wright’s voice cracked with rage. “Maeve! Get back here! You walk out that door, and you are dead to this family!” Three days later, the ballroom at the Waldorf Astoria was packed. Wright had spared no expense, throwing a multi-million dollar baby shower that was, in reality, a high-society coming-out party for Hailey to cement her status as the future matriarch of his empire. The room was drowning in thousands of imported red roses. When I stepped inside, a quiet murmur rippled through the crowd. “Is that Maeve? What is she doing here?” “I heard Wright’s filing for divorce because of the mistress.” “So sad. If you can’t produce an heir, you’re easily replaced.” I ignored the whispers, walking straight into the heart of the ballroom. Wright spotted me immediately, his face darkening. He marched over and caught my elbow, his voice a low hiss. “Who invited you? I told you to stay put and reflect on your behavior. This is a massive night for my family. Don’t ruin it.” I smiled, a cool, polite expression. “You sent an invitation, Wright. As your soon-to-be ex-wife, how could I miss such a celebration?” He pulled away with a grunt. “Just keep your head down and watch. And stay away from Hailey.” Before I could reply, the main doors opened. Hailey stepped in, draped in a custom white silk gown that clung to her belly. Dazzling around her neck was the Heart of the Ocean sapphire necklace—a piece Wright had won at an auction, promising it to me for our upcoming anniversary. Hailey glided over, deliberately shifting to highlight her stomach. “Maeve, you made it,” she purred. “I’m so sorry, this gown is just so tight. The twins are practically kicking up a storm tonight.” She let out a dainty laugh, her eyes shining with malice. “Oh, and Wright insisted I wear this necklace. He said it suited my skin tone much better. You don’t mind, do you?” I looked at the glittering blue stone on her chest, then back to her face. “Why would I mind?” I murmured. “After all, trash belongs with garbage.” Hailey’s face drained of color. “Who are you calling trash?!” She raised her hand, aiming a slap at my face. I caught her wrist mid-air, squeezing hard before shoving her back. She gasped, losing her balance on her heels and stumbling backward straight into Wright, who had rushed over. “Wright! She attacked me! She’s trying to kill the babies!” Hailey sobbed, burying her face in his chest. Wright went white with fury. “Maeve, you’ve gone too far!” He turned to the crowd of onlookers, raising his voice so it carried across the entire room. “Everyone, since we’re all here, I’d like to make an official announcement. My marriage to Maeve is over. As of today, Hailey is my future wife. And the children she is carrying are the sole, rightful heirs to the empire!” A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom. All eyes turned to me, heavy with judgment and pity. I stood my ground, a slow, brilliant smile spreading across my face. I reached into my clutch, pulled out a thick envelope, and threw the documents straight at Wright’s face. “Take a good look, Wright. Read every single page.” The papers scattered across the floor. On the very top sheet, printed in bold ink with the official seal of the city’s premier medical board, was a diagnostic report. Name: Wright. Diagnosis: Congenital Azoospermia. Incurable Sterility.

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For as long as I could remember, I was the girl who wanted nothing. No matter how bare our cupboards were, no matter how cold the radiator got in the winter, I possessed a pathologically flatlined desire for money. When I was five, a modeling scout knelt on our cheap linoleum floor with a contract, begging to launch my career. I didn’t even look at it. At fourteen, my roommate swapped my financial aid forms with her own. I knew what she’d done, but the energy required to expose her felt heavier than the hunger in my stomach. I simply packed my bags, went home, and went to sleep. My quiet, stoic detachment was my defining trait. Until the night before the National Merit Scholarship Exam—the high-stakes test that was my only ticket out of this town—when the billionaire Davenport family pulled up to our run-down porch. They told me I was their biological daughter. “Here is five million dollars,” the elegant woman said, tossing a black card onto the floorboards. “This buys out whatever blood connection we have. The only daughter of the Davenport house is, and always will be, Tiffany.” Looking down at the card resting near my dirt-streaked sneakers, my usual pride flared. I was about to walk away from their pity money. I was about to let my quiet, dignified indifference carry me out the door. Then, neon lines of glowing text flashed right before my eyes. Like a live chat feed hanging in the air. [You idiot! The apocalypse is coming in two days, and you’re still trying to act like a saint?] [In your last life, you were so damn proud. You ended up starving to death on exam day, without even a single cracker to your name!] A cold shiver ran down my spine. Under the sudden, silent cheer of the floating text, I bent down and picked up the card. I forced a cheap, eager smile. “Any chance you could make it ten?” 1 When the text first appeared, I rubbed my eyes hard. I figured I was finally hallucinating from hunger. My foster mother, Bernice, always said I was a stubborn girl who could handle skipping a few meals. I had spent the last two days quiet and compliant, waiting for the high school graduation banquet so I could finally eat a proper meal. But the floating chat didn’t disappear. The letters pulsed in a soft, warning blue. [Hailey Cross, quit playing dumb. Have you forgotten when you were five and tore up that modeling contract? Bernice beat you so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for three days.] [She has a tiny red birthmark right on her left collarbone. We aren’t being creeps—that’s just how we saw her body when she died in the ruins of the shelter in the first timeline.] [Doomsday hits on the day of the exam. Last time, you acted like you were above it all and walked away without a dime. You died with an empty stomach in a ditch. It was brutal.] In that single, terrifying second, the fear of the unknown overpowered my pride. I bent my knees. To the virtual applause of the text in my eyes, I snatched the black card off the floor. I looked up, meeting Mrs. Davenport’s stunned, icy gaze, and smiled. “So… is ten million on the table?” The woman froze, clearly unprepared for her long-lost daughter to be so shameless. But it was Tiffany, the fake heiress, who reacted first. She whipped out her phone, her camera lens aiming straight at my face. “Hey guys,” she whispered into her screen, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I’m live. I honestly can’t believe the sister I was so excited to meet is just a gold-digger. She played the quiet, noble victim for eighteen years, but the second she sees cash, she shows her true colors.” She was streaming. In her screen’s reflection, I could see myself: wearing a faded, oversized secondhand school uniform, a cheap, desperate grin plastered on my face. A wave of intense humiliation washed over me. For a split second, I wanted to fling the card right back at Tiffany’s manicured face. But the chat stopped me. [Don’t do it! Don’t let her bait you! You’ve already died once. Do you really want to repeat history?] [When the world ends, these rich snobs will be begging you on their knees for a moldy piece of bread!] I took a slow, deep breath, shifting my gaze to the stern, middle-aged man standing beside them. “Mr. Davenport, is your biological bloodline really only worth five million to you?” His face turned a deep, angry purple. He snatched a secondary card from his wallet and threw it at my feet. “Ten million,” he spat. “Take it and rot. Don’t you dare tell a soul you have a single drop of Davenport blood in you.” I nodded. I didn’t care about their name. I just knelt, picked up the second card, and turned my back on them. Behind me, Tiffany let out a soft, mocking giggle. “Well, at least she’s consistent. Talk about a sellout! Give her a galaxy on the stream, guys, let’s send her on her way!” Her laughter followed me out—bright, sharp, and cruel. I squeezed the cards tightly in my palm as the chat scrolled rapidly before my eyes. [Don’t sweat it. This time, you’ll build a fortress. When the storm hits, we’ll send her a ‘galaxy’ straight to hell.] [Exactly! Your only priority right now is hoarding. You need supplies. Now.] 2 I stood on the street corner, my thumb tracing the embossed numbers on the cards, completely lost. Was any of this real? Was the world actually ending in forty-eight hours? Before I could even voice the question in my head, the chat responded, reading my mind. [Hailey, you like to pretend you’re Zen and above the drama. But when you were fourteen and that girl stole your scholarship, didn’t you go home and draw voodoo dolls in your diary, cursing her to lose her hair?] My breath hitched. No one in the world knew about that diary. I had burned it years ago. That was the moment I stopped doubting. Under the chat’s chaotic but precise instructions, I ran across the city. I didn’t waste money on gourmet food. Instead, I ordered a thousand cases of military-grade MREs and canned meats. Then came the heavy-duty generators, water filtration systems, and barrels of diesel fuel. I tracked down the owner of the logistics warehouse where I used to work part-time, sorting packages for pocket change. When I told him what I wanted to buy, he stared at me through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You’re a kid. What do you need a reinforced, off-grid warehouse space and industrial machinery for?” I didn’t offer an explanation. I just wired him two million dollars on the spot. [Man, thank god this isn’t our world’s banking system. A teenager moving two mil would have triggered ten different fraud alerts by now.] [Shh, don’t ruin the moment. Let the girl buy her survival.] I ignored their bickering. The warehouse owner, suddenly very cooperative, handed over the keys to a secluded brick facility on the edge of town. I hired a specialized construction crew, paying them triple to work through the night. We boarded up every window with three-inch-thick steel plates. We welded the back exits shut. The main entrance was replaced with a thirty-centimeter-thick vault door equipped with a mechanical lock, a keypad, and a biometric fingerprint scanner. Triple redundancy. During a break, one of the sweaty welders wiped his brow and looked at me. “Hey, kid. Who are we trying to keep out? The Russian army?” I didn’t answer. I just kept my eyes glued to my clipboard, crossing off completed tasks. Two days until the exam. Two days until the end. But before the apocalypse arrived, Tiffany did. She was a micro-influencer who built her brand on aesthetic wealth and petty drama. Having tasted the high engagement from her last stream, she tracked me down and started broadcasting live outside my fortified warehouse. “Hey everyone! You won’t believe this, but Doomsday Sister has officially lost her mind. She spent ten million dollars on literal trash.” She pointed her camera at me as I dragged a crate of MREs into the entrance, my old school uniform covered in grey construction dust. “She’s hoarding all these weird supplies. People in the comments are actually asking if the world is ending. Honestly, people like Doomsday Sister need to be locked up in an asylum for spreading public panic.” Tiffany laughed so hard she dropped her phone onto the gravel. Within hours, I was viral. The internet dubbed me “Doomsday Sister,” turning screenshots of my exhausted, dirt-smudged face into memes. When Bernice saw the videos, she nearly had a stroke. She called me, her voice shrieking through the receiver. “Hailey Cross! Have you lost your mind? Where did you get that kind of money? You didn’t give a single cent to me, and instead, you spent it on a pile of scrap metal and garbage? Cancel the orders! Transfer that money to my account right now! The moment you finish your exam, you’re getting a job. I won’t have you embarrassing me!” I hung up without saying a word. Looking at the towering shelves of canned peaches, dried beef, and clean water, a profound sense of peace washed over me. I had known I was adopted since I was old enough to understand words. Bernice never hid it. She treated it like a twisted badge of honor. “If I hadn’t been smart enough to swap you two in the hospital cradle,” she would boast whenever she was drunk, “my sweet Tiffany would be living in this dump with me. I wonder what kind of luxury my real baby is living in right now. I hope she remembers me when she’s older.” I hated her. I hated the unfairness of the world she had built around me. My detachment hadn’t been a virtue; it was a survival mechanism. If I wanted nothing, they could take nothing from me. But now, for the first time in my life, I had something to protect. 3 The next morning, my phone rang. It was the local police precinct. “Hailey Cross? We have a report against you for inciting public anxiety and disrupting public order. We need you to come down to the station for questioning.” The chat feed went completely blank for a second. Then, the messages flooded back in. [Don’t panic! In twenty-four hours, the police station won’t even exist.] [You didn’t spread any rumors anyway. Since when is buying groceries a crime?] I cleared my throat and spoke into the receiver. “I’ll come. But can it wait until after tomorrow? The National Merit Exam is extremely important to me.” There was a long pause before the officer sighed. “Fine. Show up the morning after.” I hung up, checking my lock systems one last time. According to the chat, the end of the world was scheduled for tonight. Just past midnight, I locked the vault door from the inside. Three heavy steel deadbolts slid into place. The security monitors hummed, showing the empty, dark street outside the warehouse. Everything was quiet. The early morning streets of the suburbs were still. Occasionally, a stray cat darted across the asphalt. The chat was quiet too, holding its collective breath with me. One o’clock. Two o’clock. Three o’clock. The night remained perfectly, agonizingly normal. [Wait… did we get the date wrong?] [No way. One of us misremembering is possible, but all of us?] [Stay alert. Don’t let your guard down.] I gripped my aluminum baseball bat, my palms slick with sweat. I closed my eyes and began reciting physics formulas and historical dates to keep my mind sharp. If morning came and the world didn’t end, I had to take that exam. It was still my only legitimate ticket out of this life. At 5:00 AM, a sudden, loud clatter outside the warehouse door made me jump. The chat went wild. [It’s starting! It’s finally starting!] [Oh thank god, I thought we looked like total clowns there for a second.] [Hailey, remember: the first rule of the apocalypse is to bury your inner bleeding heart. No charity. No exceptions.] I nodded at the floating text, feeling a surge of adrenaline. I turned to the security monitors, expecting to see monsters, or perhaps a burning sky. Instead, I froze. The disruption wasn’t a natural disaster. It was Tiffany. She had brought her entire production team—about twenty people—complete with professional lighting rigs, cameras, and a folding table. They had set up a portable stove right outside my warehouse door. Tiffany was wearing a pastel pink designer dress, her hair in perfect pigtails. She waved at her camera. “Hey guys! We are live at the Doomsday Countdown. Let’s see if our resident crazy sister actually comes out to take her exam today, or if she’s going to stay huddled in her little rat trap waiting for the aliens to land.” Her chat stream was already flooded with thousands of viewers. She dipped a piece of beef into a boiling pot of soup, chewing happily for the camera. “Hailey! You want a bite?” she yelled toward the steel door. “You’re going to need your strength if the zombies show up!” Inside, my screen flickered with panicked comments from my own chat. [What the hell is going on? Is this a parallel universe?] [No! Today is definitely the day! Hailey, you have to believe us. You have to stay inside!] I didn’t answer them. I slowly began packing my pens, calculators, and admission ticket into a plastic ziplock bag. There were three hours left before the exam started. Maybe there was still time. 4 By 7:00 AM, Tiffany’s crew packed up their gear. Before getting into her luxury SUV, she smirked at my security camera. “Well, unlike my dear sister, I don’t need a test to define my future. But hey, it’s the national exam. Might as well show up for the participation trophy.” She climbed into the back seat, her silk dress trailing behind her, and the car sped away. I didn’t check the internet. Instead, I turned on the battery-powered emergency radio I had purchased. The morning news broadcast was playing. “Today marks the start of the National Merit Exams. Over a million students across the state are heading to testing centers this morning. Local officials wish everyone the best of luck…” The announcer’s voice was warm, professional, and entirely calm. [Maybe… we were really wrong.] [We ruined your life, Hailey. I’m so sorry.] I sat on a wooden crate, my head in my hands. What was my life even worth? I had spent eighteen years trying to fade into the background, trying to make myself invisible so Bernice couldn’t hurt me. I remembered my first day of elementary school. Bernice had marched into the principal’s office, screaming that I had stolen ten dollars from her purse. She stood on the edge of the school roof, threatening to jump if the school didn’t suspend me. I hadn’t stolen anything. But she couldn’t bear to see me succeed, to see me grow. So, I built a wall around myself. I made sure I had no friends, no desires, no dreams. I sighed, grabbing my plastic bag of exam supplies. The apocalypse wasn’t coming. I had to go face my reality. I had to take this test. The chat was silent. I didn’t even know if they were still there. I grasped the heavy lever of the vault door and pushed. It didn’t move. I threw my weight against it. Nothing. The door was completely jammed from the outside. My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried again, straining until my muscles screamed, but the door remained dead. Then, the chat flared back to life. [That absolute snake! Tiffany locked the vault door from the outside! They jammed a steel rod through the external hinge mounts!] [She’s a literal sociopath! In the original timeline, she survived to the very end by stepping on everyone else’s corpses!] [Stop talking about the past! How do we get Hailey out? The exam is going to start!] I took a deep, shaky breath, scanning the warehouse. I had reinforced this place so perfectly. I had turned my sanctuary into my own tomb. The minutes ticked away. 8:30 AM. The exam started at 9:00. Even if I got out now, I’d never make it to the high school in time. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Tiffany. “Are you having fun in there, sister?” “It’s a shame, really. I locked it tight. Unless you crawl out and beg me on your knees, no one is ever going to find you in that dump.” Beg Tiffany? I’d rather rot. I grabbed a thick tow strap, wrapping it around the internal locking mechanism, utilizing a crude pulley system against one of the structural steel pillars, just like my physics teacher had demonstrated in class. I pulled with everything I had. Slowly, painfully, a tiny crack of light appeared at the seam of the heavy door. It was working. But before I could celebrate, the concrete floor beneath my feet shuddered. I stumbled, gripping the pillar. I looked through the tiny gap in the door. The bright morning sky had vanished. In its place was a bruised, terrifying shade of dark violet, as if the atmosphere itself had been torn open. Then came the rain. It didn’t fall; it crashed. A solid wall of water slammed into the earth, accompanied by a low, rumbling roar that shook the very foundations of the warehouse. The world went black. Inside, the chat erupted in a frantic, blinding crawl of text. [OH MY GOD! IT’S HERE! IT’S FINALLY HERE!] [Hailey! Lock the door! Now!] [Do not open it! No matter who screams, do not open that door!]

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I was born frail, a delicate glass doll, yet I lived a life of unimaginable indulgence. My bedroom was a climate-controlled sanctuary, always kept at a precise seventy-two degrees with perfect humidity. Organic ingredients were flown in daily from organic farms across Europe and South America. I had a rotating team of dozens of world-class private physicians, all dedicated to monitoring my breath, my pulse, my sleep. They coddled me so thoroughly that I hadn’t so much as caught a cold in over a decade. But it wasn’t out of pure paternal love. It was because I was the Davenport family’s living talisman. I held their luck in my hands. When I was happy, Davenport Enterprises flourished, securing record-breaking mergers and soaring profits. When I was distressed, the family’s fortunes plummeted like a stone. For fifteen years, my joy kept us at the absolute pinnacle of Wall Street, our stock price untouchable. Until my father brought Hailey home and announced she was his biological daughter—the real heiress. The moment my father left for an international summit, Hailey made her move. She threw my belongings out into the corridor, her eyes wild with a strange, vindictive triumph. “The real daughter is back,” she sneered, tossing my silk pillows at my feet. “Why is an imposter like you still breathing my air? Get the hell out.” An icy draft rushed into my warm sanctuary, and I sneezed. Before I could even gasp, Hailey shoved me. Hard. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind me. I stood bare-footed on the snow-covered terrace, wearing nothing but a thin silk nightgown. Across the country, on the trading floors of New York, the Davenport stock—stable for over a decade—shuddered. …… 1 Within seconds, a dozen maids rushed out, panic painting their faces as they draped me in cashmere coats and slipped lined boots onto my freezing feet. “Miss Beatrice, please, put this on! You can’t catch a chill!” They bundled me up as quickly as they could, but a dull, throbbing ache was already blooming behind my temples. In Manhattan, the Davenport market value began a steep, sickening nosedive, threatening to strip us of our top spot on the S&P 500. The head housekeeper tried to guide me back inside, but Hailey blocked the doorway, her arms crossed defiantly. “I am the lady of this house now!” Hailey barked, her voice shrill. “I order all of you to get back inside and leave Beatrice alone!” Mrs. Higgins, the lead housekeeper, practically begged her. “Miss Hailey, please, stop this. Mr. Davenport gave strict orders that Miss Beatrice must be cared for at all costs. If she loses even a single hair, your father will ruin us. We’ll never work in this city again!” Hailey didn’t budge. “Why are you so terrified? My father only pampered her because he thought she was his blood. But she’s not. She’s a nobody. I’m throwing out a parasite, and my father won’t say a word. If any of you dare to help her, you’re fired!” She stepped aside, wearing a smug, expectant grin, waiting for the staff to abandon me. She had no idea. She didn’t understand that my pampering wasn’t born of sentimentality, but of survival. My body and the Davenport fortune were bound by a thread of pure gold—one thrived only when the other did. To keep the empire safe, my father would have willingly worshiped me on bended knee. To prevent corporate sabotage or kidnapping, my father had kept this secret entirely to himself and his most trusted advisor. Looking at the terrified, torn expressions of the housekeepers caught in the middle, I tried to warn her, keeping my voice soft but steady. “Hailey, don’t take your anger out on them. Let me back inside. I have a weak constitution. If I fall ill, the consequences for the family will be catastrophic.” But Hailey merely sneered, her eyes glittering with spite. “Look at you, playing the fragile victim the moment Dad’s back is turned. Who are you trying to fool? I’m not letting you back in, and you’re not going to freeze to death from a little fresh air. And ‘catastrophic for the family’? This empire was built on my father’s sweat, not yours. Have you no shame, leech?” The biting wind cut through my coat, and my face went pale. The staff knew all too well what happened when my comfort was compromised. Seeing my deteriorating state and terrified of my father’s wrath, they ignored Hailey’s threats. Pushing past her, they swarmed around me, ushering me back into my climate-controlled bedroom. The medical team on standby immediately rushed in, checking my vitals, while the chef hurried up with a steaming mug of spiced ginger tea to warm me from the inside out. Seeing me treated like royalty once again, Hailey snapped. She marched over, slapped the mug out of the chef’s hands, and shoved the doctors away. “Have you all lost your minds? I am the real heiress! I told you to leave her, and you ignore me? Do you all want to end up on the streets?” She lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of my hair, and began dragging me toward the door. “I am throwing this parasite out today, and I dare any of you to stop me!” No one dared lay a hand on Hailey in her blind, violent rage. My scalp stung with sharp, blinding pain as she yanked me. I could feel warm beads of blood beginning to well up. Desperate to save the Davenport legacy from crumbling, I struggled against her grip. “Hailey, let go of me! I don’t want to fight you for Father’s affection. I don’t even care about the heiress title. But I am hurt. If you don’t let them treat me, you will regret this!” Hailey didn’t even pause. “Who are you trying to scare? You never stood a chance against me anyway. Why would I regret throwing out a useless piece of trash?” I stopped fighting. It was her own choice to burn the Davenport empire to the ground. I had warned her. I only wondered if she would still hold that arrogant, remorseless look on her face when the family was drowning in billions of dollars of debt. Just as Hailey dragged me to the grand foyer, the massive front doors swung open. My father’s chief of staff, Fletcher, had returned. 2 Hailey’s face lit up with a brilliant, eager smile. “Fletcher! You’re back! Where is Dad? Did he miss me so much he cut his conference short?” She had no idea that in less than an hour, Davenport stock had plummeted straight out of the top ten. My father, trapped in high-stakes negotiations, had frantically ordered his chief of staff to board the private jet and fly back immediately. Fletcher took one look at me—bleeding, disheveled, and being dragged by my hair—and his face went deathly pale. “Miss Hailey! What on earth are you doing? Let go of Miss Beatrice this instant!” Hailey gave my hair another vicious yank, tearing a clump from my scalp. “What ‘Miss Beatrice’? She’s nothing but a lazy, spoiled fraud! This house doesn’t need dead weight. I’m kicking her out so Dad doesn’t have to look at her ugly face!” Cold sweat poured down my forehead as I fought back the trembling in my voice. “Did Father return? Fletcher, pull Hailey off me… let the doctors treat me. Please, hurry!” Fletcher lunged forward, physically wrenching me away from Hailey’s grasp. I was burning up with a sudden, feverish heat, my scalp slick with blood. Fletcher completely panicked. He turned to the paralyzed medical team and screamed, “Are you all useless? Can’t you see Miss Beatrice is bleeding? Treat her! Now! Use whatever it takes to heal her immediately!” Fletcher’s voice carried the absolute weight of my father’s authority. The doctors didn’t dare waste another second. They moved with practiced, frantic precision, starting an IV and tending to my head. Fletcher knelt beside me, his voice shaking as he tried to soothe me. “Please hang in there, Miss Beatrice. Mr. Davenport is on his way. He’ll be back soon. Don’t be sad, please. He will make this right. I promise you.” I closed my eyes, forcing my breathing to slow, doing everything in my power to stabilize my emotions to halt the financial hemorrhage of our family empire. But Hailey suddenly shrieked like a wild animal. “Make what right? Why are you coddling her? She’s a fake! I’m the real Davenport heiress! I am!” When the doctors ignored her, continuing their treatment, Hailey grabbed a silver paring knife from the fruit platter on the sideboard, brandishing it wildly. “Get away from her! If any of you touch Beatrice, I’ll gut you!” She drove the medical team back, her eyes wild as she advanced on me, the knife pointed directly at my chest. “You aren’t his daughter. You have no right to steal his love from me. Get out of my house!” As the blade drew closer, Fletcher threw himself in front of me, shielding my body with his own. “Miss Hailey, stop this madness! Don’t you understand? Miss Beatrice is the very lifeblood of this family!” Hailey took his desperate plea as a challenge. Without hesitation, she plunged the blade directly into Fletcher’s shoulder. “You think I won’t do it? I’ll show you exactly who my father’s true golden child is!” Blood immediately blossomed across Fletcher’s tailored suit. Hailey let out a cruel, triumphant laugh. “You’re just a glorified servant. How dare a servant talk back to his master? This is what you get!” The maids and doctors shrank back, utterly terrified by her psychotic behavior. No one dared to move. Unsatisfied, Hailey raised the bloodied knife once more. “Still want to protect her? Let me teach you a lesson about who you actually answer to in this house!” At that exact second, the phone in my hand finally connected. My father’s face appeared on the screen, his expression dark, his voice trembling with a terrifying, suppressed rage. “Hailey Davenport! I told you to take care of your sister. Is this how you do it?” “Go to your room and wait for me. When I get back, you and I are going to have a very long conversation.” Before Hailey could even stammer an excuse, my father disconnected the call. Fletcher let out a weak, ragged sigh of relief. “Miss Hailey… Mr. Davenport is furious. I suggest you start preparing your explanation.” Hailey’s face twisted in rage, her teeth grinding so hard I could hear them click. “Fine. I’ll make sure to give her the absolute best care. I’m sure Dad will be thrilled.” 3 Hailey slammed me down onto the leather sofa. “You’re so fragile, dear sister. You must be freezing after your little trip outside. How about some hot ginger broth? I’ll brew it for you myself.” Fletcher, pale and bleeding, stumbled toward me. “Miss Hailey, please. Stop tormenting her. She can barely sit upright!” I mustered every ounce of my remaining strength, my voice cold as ice. “Father told you to go to your room. Are you going to defy him too?” Hailey let out a sharp scoff. “He’s my father, not yours. Of course I listen to him. And I’m going to take excellent care of you.” She swept up the spilled ginger broth from the floor, scooping the liquid alongside the jagged shards of the broken porcelain bowl directly into a fresh metal basin. She thrust the dark, menacing mixture right into my face. “Weren’t you cold? Here’s your warm drink. Drink up!” Fletcher tried to knock the basin away. “That’s not fit for a human! Miss Hailey, if you keep this up, Mr. Davenport will throw you out of this house the second he returns!” Hailey kicked Fletcher squarely in his freshly bleeding shoulder wound. “The maids don’t know their place, and neither do you. I am the mistress of this estate. Who gave you the right to stand in my way? Have you not had enough of a lesson?” Fletcher groaned in agony, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious. My heart burned with a white-hot fury. “Hailey! Fletcher has been Father’s right hand for a decade. He is a respected member of this household. How dare you mutilate him?” Hailey tilted her head, her lips curling into a mocking smile. “Oh, Beatrice, I really underestimated you. Not only are you good at playing the victim, but you’re a consummate actress.” She pinched my jaw, forcing my mouth open. “Too bad your little performance won’t save you from me. Since you love drama so much, let’s see how you perform after drinking this!” She poured the mixture down my throat. The liquid, laced with microscopic shards of broken porcelain, scraped down my esophagus. It felt like fire and razor blades tearing me apart from the inside. My body convulsed, and I violently gagged, vomiting the fluid back up. The dark broth, heavily stained with bright crimson blood, splattered across the polished marble floor. Hailey stepped back with a look of pure disgust. “Repulsive.” She turned her gaze toward the trembling maids who stood paralyzed in the corner. “The broth was clearly too rich for my fragile sister. She’s burning up.” “Go fetch a bucket of ice water. Let’s help her cool down.” I was in too much pain to speak. I could only glare at the maids, pleading with my eyes. The staff hesitated, caught in agonizing indecision. Hailey let out a cold laugh. “What, feeling sorry for her? Have you forgotten the ridiculous rules you had to endure just to keep her comfortable?” “I recall that just last month, because the thermostat was set a single degree too high, my father docked half your monthly wages!” My body was indeed so weak that a single degree could trigger a fever. But my father also knew how demanding my care was. To compensate, their salaries were ten times the industry standard, and they worked in shifts of twenty, making the labor incredibly light. They had practically clawed each other’s eyes out to secure a position in this house. Yet, one of the maids turned her back on me, her expression hardening as she went to fetch a bucket of ice water. I could no longer hold back my rage, tearing away whatever polite facade remained. “Hailey, without me, Davenport Enterprises wouldn’t exist. If you do this to me, even if you are his biological daughter, Father will destroy you!” To my father, the legacy of Davenport was worth more than his own soul. He would never tolerate anyone who threatened to dismantle it. My response was a torrential downpour of freezing, ice-choked water over my head. Hailey burst into wild, arrogant laughter. “Have you lost your mind from the fever? What does this company have to do with you? I am my father’s only flesh and blood. What could he possibly do to me?” She scanned the room, looking at the other maids and the silent doctors. “How much resentment have you all built up because of her? Don’t you want a little payback?” “Beatrice clearly isn’t thinking straight. Why don’t we throw a few more buckets of ice water on her to wake her up? If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility!” 4 The first maid to douse me with water stepped forward, a vicious gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Beatrice, I have tolerated your demanding attitude for far too long. I have never seen anyone so ridiculously fragile in my entire life!” “You brought this on yourself. You deserve every bit of this!” Hailey clapped her hands in delight. “Perfect! Remember, everyone—I am the only true mistress of this house. Only those who obey me get to keep their jobs!” She casually pulled out her phone and wired a hundred thousand dollars to the maid’s account. Seeing the immediate windfall, the other maids lost all hesitation. They rushed to the kitchens, hauling out bucket after bucket of ice water. They shouted insults, dumping the freezing water over me. “You fake! Even an endangered panda isn’t as high-maintenance as you. Now that you’re no longer the heiress, we don’t have to put up with your nonsense!” Not wanting to be left out, one of the private physicians stepped forward, brandishing a syringe. “Because of your low pain tolerance, I had to pull all-nighters for two months straight practicing my injection technique. No one else complains about pain, so why do you? You dramatic little princess—let’s see how much you like this!” He jabbed the needle into my skin over and over. Hailey laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach. “Aren’t you the ‘lifeblood’ of this family? Why hasn’t Dad rushed to save you yet?” “Wake up! He wanted rid of you a long time ago. Either get out of this house, or learn to bow your head to me!” My eyelids grew heavy. I could no longer feel the biting cold; I could only feel my life force slowly, steadily slipping away. The voices around me began to fade into static. Slap! A stinging blow to my cheek snapped me back to consciousness. Hailey’s venomous face hovered inches from mine. “I’m talking to you! Are you deaf?” “Still stubborn, are we? I’ll make sure you understand exactly who rules this house!” I forced the words through my swollen, trembling lips. “Hailey… this house has room for only one of us. It’s either you, or me.” Hailey grabbed my hair and slammed my forehead against the marble floor. “What are you muttering under your breath? How dare you threaten me!” Blood trickled down my forehead, blurring my vision. My skin turned a dull, lifeless grey. The doctor suddenly looked panicked. “Miss Hailey… stop. She isn’t looking good. I think she might actually be dying.” Hailey stomped her heel onto my face, grinding it down. “She was just cursing at me a second ago! She’s an actress. She knows exactly how to fake it!” I stared unblinkingly at the grand foyer doors. Father… if you don’t get here soon, the Davenport luck is going to run out forever. Across the state, Davenport factories suddenly shuddered to a halt due to unexplained power grid failures. Multi-million dollar contracts were abruptly terminated by long-term partners citing sudden corporate restructuring. An anonymous whistleblower filed a devastating lawsuit, threatening to bring the entire empire to its knees. Seeing my silence, Hailey raised the silver paring knife once more. “Playing dead? Get up!” I couldn’t move an inch. I could only watch as the cold blade descended toward my chest. The tip of the knife was inches from my skin. Finally, the heavy double doors flew open. My father burst into the room, his coat unbuttoned, his face pale and drenched in sweat. I mustered every drop of strength left in my fading consciousness. My eyes locked onto his, filled with a cold, unforgiving lethalness. “Father… Hailey cannot coexist with me.” “Do you want Hailey? Or do you want your empire?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “460682”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the ultimate ghostwriter for a billionaire’s daughter. Bianca got to look gorgeous and live her best life, while I spent my days and nights replying to her endless stream of suitors. The desperate simps? I’d ignore them for three hours, then hit them with a dry “cool.” The brooding, tragic boys? A two-hour delay, followed by a soft, “Sorry, been so busy.” The delusional narcissists? Instant block. I had my system down to a science. Until I ran into a guy who defied every category. Not only was he completely unbothered, but he randomly sent cash gifts, shirtless gym selfies showcasing a perfect eight-pack, and face drops that belonged on a high-fashion runway. Behind Bianca’s profile, I couldn’t resist. I fell deep into a thrilling, late-night exchange with him. But all good things come to an end. Bianca suddenly announced her engagement to a wealthy heir and demanded I clear out her roster and hand over the work phone. Swallowing my tears, I cashed out the hundreds of thousands of dollars in commissions I’d accumulated over the past six months. Then, I cleanly deleted and blocked my favorite mystery guy, whispering a silent prayer: May our digital thread burn, and may we never, ever meet in the real world. But fate is a cruel writer. Three days later, I was standing in a dim, exclusive VIP lounge with Bianca when we ran right into him. The second Bianca spotted him, she leaned in, her voice hushed and urgent. “That’s Dean Elton. His family just got back from London, and his standards are impossibly high. Keep your head down, Gwen. Don’t breathe his way.” As I watched the heir march directly toward us with a thunderous look in his eyes, desperation clawed at my throat. “Too late,” I whispered. “I already breathed his way…” 1 Bianca turned to glare at me, her eyes dripping with condescension. “Are you out of your mind, Gwen?” “Someone like you belongs in the gutter with the rest of the trash. Dean Elton? You couldn’t even dream of him in your wildest fantasies.” My mother was the Caldwell family’s maid, and as her daughter, I had spent my entire life under Bianca’s heel. In her eyes, I existed solely to serve her whims. She despised me. She had no idea that just a week ago, the untouchable Dean Elton—the man she claimed was lightyears out of my league—had sent me a string of frantic, pouty messages because I hadn’t replied in ten minutes, asking if I didn’t love him anymore. I swallowed the bitter irony rising in my throat and forced a meek, submissive smile. “I only meant… a man like him might find someone of my status offensive. I don’t want to get in his way and make him angry.” Bianca let out a mocking laugh. “At least you know your place. Stand behind me then.” She shoved me backward. In the brief seconds it took to reposition myself, Dean had already reached us. Bianca elegantly swept her freshly blown-out hair over her shoulder and offered him her most practiced, radiant smile. “Mr. Elton. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Bianca Caldwell.” Dean stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. “Finally meet?” Bianca blinked, visibly thrown. “Have… have we met before?” Dean’s gaze darkened. Panic seized my chest. If this blew up right here, both of these powerful, ruthless people would destroy me. Thinking fast, I reached out and gently tugged at Bianca’s sleeve. “Miss Bianca, your fiancé is waiting for you in the private suite.” At the sound of my voice, Dean’s sharp gaze immediately whipped over to me. His eyes were intense, heavy with scrutiny and a quiet, probing curiosity. I didn’t dare meet his eyes. I kept my head bowed, staring at the polished floor, barely breathing. Then, he let out a cold, dry chuckle. “Excuse me.” He brushed past us, carrying a frigid aura that made it clear we were nothing more than a minor annoyance. He walked away as if he really had just been passing through. I watched his retreating figure, my heart hammering against my ribs. But before I could even draw a breath, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Bianca’s palm slammed into my face. “You useless bitch!” “Why did you bring up Wyatt in front of Dean? Are you blind? Couldn’t you tell I was trying to make a connection with him?” I cradled my throbbing, burning cheek. A sharp trickle of warmth told me one of the heavy crystals on Bianca’s manicured nails had sliced my skin. This pain was nothing new. Whenever Bianca was unhappy, her frustration was written on my skin. It had been this way since we were children. I took a deep breath, keeping my voice low and deferential. “I’m sorry, Miss Bianca. But you just got engaged to Wyatt. If rumors get out that you’re chasing Dean Elton, it could ruin your family’s reputation.” Bianca crossed her arms, her lip curling in disgust. “You idiot. If I could land Dean Elton, Wyatt Pendleton wouldn’t even be worth the dirt on my shoes.” She paused, studying me from head to toe with sudden, venomous suspicion. “Wait. You didn’t do that on purpose because you have a crush on him, did you?” “Let me warn you, Gwen. If you try to pull any pathetic little tricks behind my back, I will call the hospital and have them pull the plug on your mother’s ventilator by tonight.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. If Bianca ever discovered that I had been virtually dating Dean Elton right under her nose, my mother wouldn’t survive the week. I had only one path forward: I had to make Dean utterly loathe Bianca. I had to make her so repulsive to him that he wouldn’t even bear to look at her face. That night, sitting in the dark of my tiny room, I created a burner account on a messaging app. I typed in the phone number I knew by heart—Dean’s private number. I sent the friend request with just one word in the verification box: [Babe.] It was the pet name we used during our online romance. Simple, direct, and something he absolutely loved. Given how icy he had been at the lounge, I didn’t expect him to accept easily. But barely a second later, my phone vibrated. He was added to my friend list. He accepted! My heart leaped. I opened the chat box, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. After typing and erasing several drafts, I settled on a single, evocative line: [Babe, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.] If I was going to play the villain, the first step was to reel him back in with devotion. 2 I waited and waited, but the message remained unanswered, sinking into the digital void. I began to wonder if he had only accepted the request by accident. But before I could figure out a way to handle Dean, the next evening arrived—the night of the Caldwell family’s charity gala. As always, my role was to stand beside Bianca in the most plain, shapeless clothes imaginable. I was her contrast; my dowdiness made her shine brighter, and I was there to serve as her hands and feet. “Bianca, you brought your little stray dog again?” “Honestly, I’m so jealous. It’s impossible to find someone so obedient these days. The girl my dad hired for me is completely useless.” Bianca’s friends giggled, throwing superficial barbs at me right to my face, as if I were a piece of furniture rather than a human being. Bianca smiled warmly, basking in their praise. “Well, loyalty is something you have to train from a young age. You can’t just pick it up later.” The group erupted into quiet laughter. I kept my head lowered, pretending to be deaf and dumb. It was the only way to survive among these monsters. Finding his lack of reaction boring, they quickly drifted to a more exciting topic. “I heard Dean Elton is actually showing up tonight.” At those words, both Bianca’s eyes and mine flared with interest. “Really? Do any of you know him well? Introduce us!” Bianca said, her voice laced with desperate eagerness. Her friends shook their heads with sighs of disappointment. But out of their line of sight, I had already slipped my phone from my pocket and typed out a message to Dean: [Babe, are you coming to the gala tonight?] [It’s so wonderful that I’ll get to see you again.] [It’s my fault… I’m trapped by this family arrangement, unable to speak to you. I can only watch you from afar. Babe, I love you so much, but we have to pretend to be strangers. It’s breaking my heart.] This time, Dean replied almost instantly. But his words had none of their former warmth: [So, you want me to be your side piece?] My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. Before I could formulate a reply, gasps echoed from the grand entrance of the ballroom. “Dean is here.” He strolled in alongside a friend, wearing a relaxed, tailored suit, chatting casually with an easy, effortless air. Most of the room turned to watch him, but his eyes didn’t linger on anyone—until he approached our circle. His dark, piercing gaze landed directly on Bianca. Usually so arrogant and self-assured, she blushed instantly under his look. But a second later, Dean’s eyes shifted and locked onto me. The intense, probing look from the lounge was back, striking my chest like a physical blow. My heart hammered wildly. He and his friend soon headed up toward the private suites on the mezzanine, but that single look had already stirred up a storm. “Did you see that? Dean looked at me!” Bianca squealed, clutching her friend’s arm. “He definitely wants to get to know me.” But one of her friends smirked, casting a malicious glance in my direction. “Actually, Bianca, it looked like he was staring at Gwen for a solid few seconds.” Bianca’s smile vanished. She subtly reached out, digging her sharp, acrylic nails deep into the tender flesh of my upper arm. “Why weren’t you standing behind me like you were supposed to?” she hissed under her breath. “Do you honestly think a man like Dean Elton would ever look at a piece of garbage like you?” Wincing at the sharp pain, I forced my voice to remain even. “Miss Bianca, he definitely wasn’t looking at me because of that. Look at what I’m wearing. I stick out like a sore thumb. You all look beautiful. I look like a peasant. He was probably just confused by why someone dressed like this is even here. Please don’t misunderstand.” Bianca scrutinized my washed-out, oversized t-shirt and faded jeans. My face was bare of makeup, marred by the fake freckles and mock scars she forced me to wear to hide my features. I looked worse than the catering staff. Satisfied, she finally let go of my arm. “True. You look like a freak. It’s natural people would stare.” Ever since she found a love letter from a boy in my backpack back in high school, Bianca had forced me to make myself ugly. Even though she hadn’t cared about the boy, she couldn’t tolerate anyone preferring me over her. My arm was already beginning to bruise, but inside, a much darker storm was brewing. I pulled out my phone and sent a deliberately toxic reply to Dean: [Would that be so bad?] [Babe, you love me so much. Wouldn’t you be willing to be my secret for a little while?] [Don’t worry. Once I’m married, I’ll give you Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. He can have the rest. Deal?] Asking a proud, old-money heir to be a secret side piece was perhaps the greatest insult he could ever receive. I didn’t have wealth or power, but from my dark little corner, I could chew away at the foundations of Bianca’s life like a mouse gnawing on a support beam. I would take away everything she ever wanted. 3 When the gala ended, Bianca lingered by the grand foyer, clearly waiting for someone. Finally, when most of the guests had departed, the man she was waiting for descended the spiral staircase. Bianca’s eyes lit up, and she took an eager step forward. But before she could utter a single word, Dean uttered a single, frigid command: “Move.” He didn’t even grant her a glance. Bianca’s hand froze mid-air, her face flushing crimson as a wave of sheer humiliation washed over her. I kept my head bowed, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing aloud. The insult had clearly stung Dean to his core, and it was working perfectly. But this was only the beginning. Later that night, I visited the hospital to see my mother. She lay motionless on the bed, deep in a vegetative state, unable to hear my voice. But I clung to the belief that she would wake up one day. She just needed time. I had saved enough money. I was just waiting for the right moment to slip away from Bianca’s grasp forever. My thoughts were interrupted by the harsh ring of my phone. Bianca’s name flashed on the screen. “Where the hell are you?” she demanded. Hiding my hatred, I kept my voice soft. “I’m at the hospital.” “Ugh, why do you waste your time on that vegetable? The Caldwell family pays for her room anyway. Honestly, it’s pathetic.” She tossed out the cruel words so casually it made my stomach turn. If it weren’t for her obsession with perfection, my mother wouldn’t be in this bed. Bianca had forced my mother to climb onto a high window ledge in the blistering summer heat just to wipe away a microscopic smudge. She had threatened to fire her if it wasn’t spotless, leaving my mother out there for two hours until she fainted from heatstroke and fell. Bianca treated the medical bills like a generous act of charity, completely ignoring that she was the architect of our tragedy. My lips trembled with suppressed rage. Bianca continued, completely oblivious. “Tomorrow is Wyatt’s birthday. Go to the Norton Hotel first thing in the morning. Book their top penthouse suite and decorate it. I want to give him a surprise.” She hung up without waiting for my reply. She knew I would obey like a well-trained dog. But she forgot that even the gentlest dog will bite when backed into a corner. The next day, Bianca didn’t make me tag along for her date with Wyatt. But I watched them from the shadows. I watched them arrive at the hotel, kissing passionately outside the door before disappearing inside. Once the door clicked shut, I stepped out from the corner, placed a spare room key on the hallway floor, and took a photo. I messaged Dean: [Babe, I was only joking yesterday. How could I ever let you be a side piece?] [I’ve decided to fight my family. Even if I have to give up my inheritance, I want to be with you!] [But before I do, can we please see each other? Without you, I don’t think I have the courage to go through with this. Please. I love you.] The message went through. I knew he wouldn’t block me. During our online relationship, Dean had never been this cold or aloof. It’s only when someone is genuinely invested that they reveal their softest, most vulnerable sides. I was betting that Dean still cared. I retreated back into the shadow of the corridor, waiting to see if my gamble would pay off. Thirty minutes later, the quiet ding of the elevator echoed through the hall. Someone stepped out. 4 I watched him walk down the hall toward suite 1880. He picked up the keycard I had left on the floor, swiped it, and pushed the door open. Immediately, the muffled sounds of passion spilled into the quiet corridor. He stepped inside. A moment later, Bianca’s terrified shriek pierced the air. “Ah! Who are you?!” “Dean?!” Hearing those words, a dark, victorious smile spread across my face. My gamble had paid off flawlessly. Dean emerged from the room moments later, his face dark with fury, looking like a volcano on the verge of eruption. He strode toward the elevator, but just before entering, he cast a sharp look toward the corner where I was hiding. My heart stopped. I shrank back into the shadows. Fortunately, it was only a brief glance, and he stepped into the elevator and disappeared. By the time Bianca ran out into the hallway, wrapped in a plush hotel bathrobe, Dean was long gone. She bit her lip, panic coloring her voice. “Why on earth was Dean Elton here?” Wyatt followed her out, adjusting his shirt. He looked at her frantic expression and frowned. “What are you so freaked out about? You look like we just got caught cheating.” Bianca stiffened, quickly forced a smile, and wrapped her arms around Wyatt’s neck. “I’m just worried about making a bad impression. Doesn’t your family have a major business deal with the Eltons coming up? I was just thinking of our future.” Wyatt’s suspicion melted. He pulled her close. “I didn’t know you cared so much about my business. Don’t worry, Dean’s a guy. He’s seen plenty of this stuff. He won’t care.” He pulled her back into the room. Seeing Bianca’s submissive expression, I felt a wave of disgust, recalling how she had sneered at Wyatt in the lounge. The Caldwell family’s finances were failing, and they desperately needed this marriage. Wyatt was her lifeline, which was why she had shut down her digital roster to focus on him. But now, with Dean in the picture, her greed had taken over. Could she really balance on two ships at once? Dean’s ship had already sailed, and I was going to make sure Wyatt’s ship sank too. As I walked out of the hotel, my mind raced with plans to expose Bianca’s infidelity to Wyatt. Lost in thought, I crashed straight into a firm, warm chest. “I’m so sorry,” I stammered, looking up. I froze. It was Dean. He stepped back, looking down at a cigarette that had fallen from his hand to the floor, his brow furrowed in annoyance. I knew he was in a terrible mood, and crossing him now would be dangerous. “Mr. Elton, I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. What brand do you smoke? I’ll replace them right away.” Dean didn’t answer. He just stared down at me, his dark eyes deep and unreadable. I felt a chill run down my spine under his intense gaze. “Mr. Elton? Is that okay?” I whispered. His voice was low and cold when he finally spoke. “You’re Bianca’s shadow, aren’t you?” I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes.” “And you want to make it up to me?” “Yes. If you don’t want cigarettes, I can do anything else.” A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Dean’s lips. “Anything?” He tilted his head toward the upper floors of the hotel. “Your boss just humiliated me by pretending to be my girl. If you help me ruin her, we’ll call it even. Can you do that?”

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It was the Labor Day weekend rush when my car got rear-ended just before the toll plaza. When I went to the police precinct on Monday to sort out the paperwork, the entitled jerk who hit me didn’t even bother to apologize. Instead, he whistled at the Porsche crest on my steering wheel. “Hey, gorgeous. Sugar daddy buy this for you? Give me your number. I’ll cover the repairs, and maybe we can grab dinner tonight. My treat.” He reached out, his fingers brushing toward my cheek, but before he could touch me, a large, calloused hand clamped around his wrist like a vice. With a sharp click, a pair of silver handcuffs slammed onto the metal desk. Lieutenant Willie, sharp in his tailored dress blues, stared him down with a gaze that could freeze water. “Hit-and-run coupled with sexual harassment. You can have your dinner in a holding cell.” The guy’s knees practically buckled. Willie turned to me. When he spoke, his voice softened, carrying an almost pleading tone. “Are you okay? Did he scare you? Wait until my shift ends—I’ll drive you home.” The nearby officers stared, their jaws practically dropping. After all, Lieutenant Willie was famously cold, a man who kept everyone at arm’s length. I pulled a wet wipe from my bag, meticulously cleaning the sleeve where the man’s fingers had brushed against my coat. I didn’t even look up. “Thank you, Lieutenant, but my husband is already on his way to pick me up.” Willie’s face went entirely bloodless. I suppose he’d forgotten. Three years ago, he was the one who pushed me down a flight of stairs, causing the miscarriage that ended our baby’s life, before telling me to get the hell out of his. 1 The air in the precinct lobby seemed to freeze solid. Willie’s towering frame went rigid. He stared at my hands as I wiped my sleeve, his chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic breaths. “Paula. What did you just say?” I tossed the used wipe into the nearby trash can. “You’re too young to be losing your hearing, Lieutenant.” I finally met his eyes, my gaze perfectly flat. “I said, my husband is on his way.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the veins tracing hard, angry lines over his knuckles. He took a step toward me, reaching out. “Paula, stop this. Please.” His voice was a tight whisper. “I know you’re still angry about what happened three years ago. But making up a marriage just to hurt me? It’s childish.” I took a step back, effortlessly slipping out of his reach. The sheer arrogance of him—believing with absolute certainty that I was still desperately in love with him—turned my stomach. Three years apart, and his ego hadn’t shrunk an inch. Before I could tell him exactly where to go, a soft, delicate voice drifted from around the corner. “Willie, honey, I warmed up your tea for your stomach.” Una stepped into the lobby, holding a stainless steel thermos. She was wearing an oversized police patrol jacket over her shoulders—Willie’s jacket, obviously—which made her look impossibly small and fragile. When she saw me, her steps faltered. A flicker of genuine panic crossed her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a thin, triumphant smile. “Paula? Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?” She hurried over to Willie, her hand wrapping naturally, possessively around his forearm. “It’s been three years. How have you been?” I stared coldly at her hand on his sleeve. Three years ago, those same hands had clutched at Willie’s collar, painting her as the ultimate victim. And because she looked so helpless, Willie had lost his mind. With bloodshot eyes, he had shoved me backward. We were in our second year of marriage. I was three months pregnant. As the warm, terrifying rush of blood ran down my legs, he was already lifting a “fainting” Una into his arms, racing toward the ambulance without looking back. The woman named Paula died on that cold hardwood floor that night. “I’m here to file an accident report,” I said, my voice empty of any feeling. “It has nothing to do with either of you.” Una glanced out the window at the gleaming black Porsche parked in the precinct lot. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, wow. A Porsche. Paula, you used to save up for months just to buy a nice handbag. What kind of job did you get after you and Willie split? How can you afford something like that now?” She blinked her wide, innocent eyes, but her voice was pitched perfectly to carry across the quiet lobby. The desk officers began whispering among themselves, their glances shifting from me to each other. Even Brad—the guy who had rear-ended me—smirked, sensing a vulnerability he could exploit. “Told you so,” Brad sneered. “A girl that young driving a hundred-thousand-dollar car? Definitely riding some old guy’s wallet.” Willie snapped his head toward him, his eyes murderous. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure you spend the next five years in county jail.” Brad shrunk back, instantly silencing himself. Willie turned back to me, his brow heavily furrowed. He took in my tailored silk dress, then looked out at the luxury car. “Paula, what have you been doing with your life these past three years?” His voice was thick with a self-righteous sort of grief. “You used to have so much pride. Why are you throwing your dignity away just to spite me?” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. I pulled the police report from my clutch. “My money is clean, Willie. If your mind is too filthy to imagine a woman earning her own living, I suggest you get professional help.” I turned to take the paperwork to the claims desk, but Una suddenly let go of Willie’s arm and blocked my path. Her eyes were already rimmed with red, tears spilling down her cheeks on cue. “Paula, please don’t be mad at Willie. He’s just worried about you. What happened back then… it was my fault. I shouldn’t have let my heart condition get in the way. If you still hate me, you can hit me, you can scream at me. But please, don’t ruin your life with some old married man just to get back at him.” She sobbed softly, putting on a masterful performance of a concerned sister trying to save a fallen woman. The murmurs in the lobby grew louder. The stares felt like a hundred tiny, poison-tipped needles pricking at my back. 2 I watched her performance with an empty expression. She had perfected this routine years ago. Back then, all it took was a single tear for Willie to abandon all logic and take her side. I raised my hand, intending to push past her shoulder. But Willie was already moving. He lunged forward, throwing his arm in front of Una, shielding her from me. “Paula, what are you doing?” he barked, his eyes filled with defensive hostility. “Una has a congenital heart defect. She can’t handle stress. You already hurt her once—are you trying to repeat what happened three years ago?” Looking at his fierce, protective stance, a cold wave of absurdity washed over me. Three years ago. Una had come to our apartment while Willie was on shift, smirking, telling me how he had spent the previous night holding her hand at the hospital. I did nothing but tell her to get out. She had immediately collapsed onto the hardwood floor, clutching her chest, pretending to gasp for air. When Willie burst through the door, he didn’t even look at me. He just shoved me out of his way to get to her. I went flying backward, tumbling down the steep wooden steps. He never gave me a chance to explain. He had already pronounced me guilty. “Willie, if you aren’t using your eyes, you should donate them,” I said, staring at his protective huddle. “I didn’t even touch her. What are you screaming for?” Una shrank behind his back, her fingers clutching the hem of his uniform. “Willie, don’t blame Paula. She was just moving her hand. My heart is fine… please don’t fight with her because of me.” Her soft-spoken act made me look like an unhinged harpy. Willie’s expression softened as he spoke to her, but when he turned back to me, his face hardened with deep disappointment. “You’ve changed, Paula. You used to be stubborn, but you were never this cruel. Look at you now—dripping in designer clothes, bitter, cold. Where is the girl I fell in love with?” He was trying to use his moral high ground to crush me. I didn’t even want to argue. I moved to walk around them. At that moment, the glass doors of the precinct burst open. A heavy-set woman in her mid-fifties stormed in like a heat-seeking missile. It was Brad’s mother. The moment she saw Brad standing by the desk, she rushed over, wailing and clutching his face. Brad, seeing his backup arrive, immediately pointed a finger at me. “Ma, that’s her. The bitch in the Porsche. She’s demanding I pay for everything, and she’s got this cop trying to lock me up.” The woman spun around, her eyes locking onto me with pure venom. She marched over, thrusting a manicured finger directly in my face. “You’re the little home-wrecker bullying my son? You think because you drive a Porsche you’re special? God knows how many men you had to sleep with to buy that car! Drop the charges right now, or I’ll tear that fake face of yours off!” She lunged at me, clawing. I stepped back quickly, her nails narrowly missing my cheek. Two desk officers rushed forward to pull her back. The lobby dissolved into chaos. I was backed into the corner near a filing cabinet, my jaw clenched. Willie stepped between me and the shouting woman. “Ma’am, watch your language. This is a police station, not a circus.” His voice was firm, finally displaying a sliver of his authority. But the woman didn’t care. Seeing his uniform, she threw herself onto the floor and began to wail. “Police brutality! The cops are taking the side of a high-class whore over tax-paying citizens!” Her shrieks echoed off the tiled walls. Una, seeing her cue, suddenly clutched her chest, leaning heavily against the drywall. “Willie… my chest. It hurts… I can’t breathe…” Instantly, Willie’s attention snapped away from the screaming woman. He grabbed Una by the shoulders, panic written all over his face. “Una? Do you have your inhaler? Your pills?” Una shook her head weakly, looking at the crying mother and son with watery eyes. “Willie, they look so desperate. Paula has so much money… the repair bill is nothing to her. Why is she doing this to them? Why is she ruining their lives?” Though her voice was weak, it carried clearly across the room. The mother on the floor picked up on it instantly. “See? Even the officer’s family knows what’s right!” Willie looked from a distressed Una to me, trapped in the corner. He let out a long, heavy sigh and walked over to me. “Paula, please. Just apologize to them and drop the claim. Una needs a quiet environment. If this keeps up, she’s going to have an attack.” 3 I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Willie wanted me to apologize to a man who had hit my car and sexually harassed me? All so his darling, fragile “little sister” could have a quiet room to recover in? I stared at him, feeling a wave of physical nausea. “Willie, are you out of your mind?” My voice shook, but I kept it sharp. “I’m the one who got hit. I’m the one who was harassed. I’m the one being screamed at by his mother. And you, a police officer, are telling me to apologize to the people who did this?” My knuckles turned white as I gripped my bag. Willie’s frown deepened. He stepped closer, dropping his voice so only I could hear. “Paula, I know you’ve been wronged here. But these people are trash. If you keep fighting them, you’re the one who’ll end up looking bad. I’ll write you a personal check for the repairs. Just let it go, okay? Stop making a scene.” That condescending tone—like he was doing me a favor—was the final match thrown onto a lifetime of dry tinder. He had always been like this. Every time Una targeted me, he would tell me to take the high road, to be the bigger person. Because I was his wife, I was expected to swallow every insult to feed his savior complex. “Keep your charity to yourself,” I said, shoving his reaching hand away. “They are paying for every cent of damage. And I’m not apologizing to anyone.” I turned to leave. The air in this room felt toxic. But as I went to pass Una, her knees buckled again. She went limp, falling directly toward me. I tried to dodge, but her hands clamped onto my purse strap with surprising, desperate strength. With a loud rip, my bag was torn from my grip and crashed to the floor. Lipsticks, keys, and a deep blue velvet box spilled across the linoleum. The brass latch on the box popped open. A flawless pink diamond ring rolled out, catching the harsh fluorescent lights of the precinct. Gideon had bought it at a private auction in London. It was one of a kind. Una hit the floor hard, landing directly on top of my things. “Ow!” she squealed, scrambling to sit up. As she scrambled, the sharp metal heel of her boot ground directly into the face of the pink diamond. The sound of metal scratching stone made my heart stop. I pushed her aside with a force I didn’t know I possessed, dropping to my knees. I scooped up the ring. The once-perfect, brilliant surface of the diamond now had a jagged, deep scratch running across the face, and the platinum band was slightly warped. Gideon had placed this on my finger. I rarely wore it, terrified of losing it. I had only tucked it safely into my bag today because of the accident. My hands shook as I squeezed it in my palm. I stood up, staring down at Una. Sensing the sheer rage in my eyes, Una shrank back, tears streaming down her face. “Paula, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just got dizzy… please don’t look at me like you want to kill me. You’re scaring me.” Willie immediately stepped in front of her, pulling her into his arms. He looked at the warped ring in my hand, a flicker of shock crossing his eyes. Even a novice could tell that stone was worth a fortune. But he quickly masked it, pulling his wallet out and slamming a black credit card onto the desk. “It’s just a ring, Paula. Una apologized. Are you going to keep badgering her until she collapses? There’s fifty grand on this card. Go buy yourself a better one.” The absolute arrogance of his gesture felt like a blunt knife sawing at my chest. I looked at the card on the table and let out a cold laugh. “You think your petty cash can fix this, Willie? You couldn’t afford this ring in ten lifetimes.” I pulled out my phone and dialed Gideon’s private number. It rang twice before he picked up. His deep, velvet voice filled my ear, instantly soothing. “Hey, sweetheart. Are you finished?” “Gideon,” I said, my voice cracking despite my best efforts. “Someone broke my wedding ring. And they’re telling me it doesn’t matter.” The line went dead silent for a beat. Then, I heard a cold, quiet chuckle that made my spine tingle. “Stay right where you are,” Gideon said. “I’d like to see who in Chicago thinks they can touch my wife’s things and get away with it.” 4 I hung up the phone. Carefully placing the damaged pink diamond back into the velvet box, I slipped it into my coat pocket. Willie watched the soft, familiar tone I had used with Gideon, his face turning an ugly shade of gray. A bitter, mocking laugh escaped his lips as he took a step toward me. “Paula. Are you seriously playing make-believe now? You hired some actor to pretend to be your husband just to get a rise out of me?” He reached out, trying to grab the box from my pocket. I was ready. I slapped his hand away, stepping back. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands.” Una watched this from the floor, a tiny spark of excitement dancing in her eyes. She scrambled up and grabbed Willie’s sleeve, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “Willie, please don’t be mad at Paula. Maybe she… maybe she really hit hard times after the divorce. That’s why she’s doing this… selling herself to some old businessman. Don’t you have friends in the Vice division? Maybe they can help her get out of that life.” Every word was designed to paint me as a high-class call girl. Brad’s mother joined in instantly, barking a laugh. “I knew it! A cheap streetwalker. Officer, you should lock her up for soliciting! She’s a public nuisance!” Willie’s face was dark. He stared at me, a dangerous mix of possessiveness and jealousy burning in his eyes. “Paula, you’re coming with me.” He grabbed my wrist. His grip was so tight my bones practically clicked under the pressure. “We are going somewhere quiet, and you are going to tell me exactly what you’ve been doing these past three years. If you need money, I’ll give it to you. Just stop humiliating yourself in public.” He began dragging me toward the exit. The sheer, arrogant force of it was exactly like three years ago, when he had tried to force me onto my knees to apologize to Una. I struggled, my heels screeching against the polished tile floor. “Let go of me, Willie! My husband is coming! This is kidnapping!” I grabbed the doorframe with my free hand, the wood scraping under my nails. But Willie didn’t care. He was entirely trapped in his own delusions, convinced I had ruined my life just to hurt him. “You’re getting in the car, Paula.” He dragged me out into the gravel parking lot. But just as he opened the door of his unmarked Ford patrol sedan, a deafening engine roar shattered the afternoon quiet. A sleek, custom black Rolls-Royce Phantom tore into the precinct lot. The driver swung the massive car around, the tires screaming and kicking up a cloud of grey dust and white smoke. The Rolls-Royce came to a halt inches from Willie’s patrol car, completely blocking him in. The desk officers and half the people in the lobby ran outside to see what was happening. The heavy rear door of the Rolls-Royce clicked open. A pair of immaculate, hand-crafted leather shoes stepped onto the gravel. Gideon stepped out of the car. He was wearing a charcoal, bespoke three-piece suit that clung perfectly to his broad shoulders. He was tall, striking, with sharp features and a quiet, terrifying gravity that only came from holding immense power. The midday sun caught the hard lines of his jaw. Gideon Blackstone. The undisputed king of Chicago’s financial elite. His dark, piercing eyes swept over the crowd and locked onto Willie’s hand, which was still gripping my bruised wrist. The temperature in the parking lot seemed to drop thirty degrees. Gideon walked toward us, his strides slow, deliberate, and heavy. With every step he took, the air grew tighter. Willie froze, seemingly paralyzed by the raw, dangerous aura radiating from the man. His grip on my wrist loosened slightly. Gideon stopped directly in front of us, looking down at Willie like he was looking at dust on his shoe. He parted his lips, his voice a low, lethal rumble that echoed across the concrete lot: “Let go of my wife.”

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On my wedding day, my fiancé slid the diamond ring meant for me onto my sister’s finger right in front of my eyes. I stood there, frozen, watching Toby cup Daphne’s face and press a tender kiss to her lips. My mind went completely blank. Before I could even process the sight, Toby took Daphne by the hand and walked out of the bridal boutique. “Stop!” I lunged forward to chase after them, but my parents stepped in, blocking my path like a wall of cold stone. My father’s voice was devoid of warmth. “Toby’s heart has always belonged to Daphne.” My mother sniffed, her eyes scanning me with disdain. “You’ve barely been back with the Clifford family, and already you’re trying to steal your sister’s man?” I stared at them, the shock hollow out my chest. “Mom, Dad… I’m the one who’s engaged to Toby. I’m his fiancée.” “You flatter yourself,” my father countered coldly. “Only a true daughter of the Clifford bloodline is fit for a Dwight. Daphne is the only one who belongs with Toby.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “Are you saying I’m a fake?” “Daphne grew up under our roof, in our warmth,” my mother said, her chin tilting up. “The bond we share with her isn’t something that can be replaced by twenty years of you drifting out there in the world like a stray. You had better behave yourself. No tears, no scenes. The prestige of the Clifford name was given to you by us, and we can strip it away just as easily.” The silence stretched between us. Slowly, the tension left my shoulders. I smiled, letting the corners of my mouth curl upward. “Fine. Then I hope they grow old together and rot.” … I pulled off the tulle veil with an indifferent flick of my wrist and tossed it into the stainless-steel trash can beside the mirror. The boutique manager’s face twitched. She cleared her throat, her voice tight with anxiety. “Miss Clifford… that veil is a custom piece. It’s highly expensive…” “Bill them,” I said, pointing a lazy finger toward my parents. Perhaps pricked by a tiny, lingering shred of guilt, neither of them argued. My father simply gestured for the manager to put it on their corporate account. Stepping out of the air-conditioned boutique into the humid city air, I raised a hand to hail a cab. My father’s heavy footsteps sounded behind me. “We know this is hard for you, Flora. But it’s the reality of things. Even if you don’t want to accept it, you have to.” “Exactly,” my mother chimed in, catching up. “You probably think we’re just favoring Daphne, but the truth is, Toby never loved you in the first place.” I turned my head, looking at them through narrowed eyes. “No need to explain. And please, don’t waste your breath comforting me. I accept the outcome. I really don’t care.” They had expected a breakdown. They had expected me to scream, to tear at my dress, to lose my mind over the betrayal of my sister and my fiancé. They never could have anticipated this hollow, chilling silence. What they didn’t know was that I had lived this life once before. And more importantly… I didn’t even belong to this world. In my previous life, my soul had been inexplicably pulled into this parallel universe. I had woken up bewildered, only to be “found” and reclaimed by the wealthy Clifford family as their long-lost eldest daughter. But it was a trap. Under Daphne’s meticulous, cruel machinations, I had been tormented, isolated, and eventually driven to a painful death. That death, however, had triggered something unexpected: a “Vengeance System.” The system didn’t just bring me back to life; it gave me a mission. And this time, I had a cosmic shield. My parents stood on the sidewalk, staring blankly as I slid into the back of a black sedan and drove away. I gave the driver the address to my apartment, but the car didn’t head toward the city center. Instead, the streets grew narrower, the buildings sparser, until we were speeding toward a sprawling, half-abandoned construction site on the desolate outskirts of town. Looking out at the skeletal concrete structures overgrown with weeds, I didn’t panic. I merely frowned, meeting the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Why did you bring me here?” The driver let out a harsh laugh. “Miss Daphne’s orders. You’re taking a little vacation for the next week. Hand over your phone, Miss Clifford, and let’s make this easy. No need to get hurt.” I didn’t argue. I nodded, pulling my phone from my pocket and placing it in his outstretched hand. He had me step out of the car, then used a thick nylon rope to bind my hands and feet. I remained perfectly still, offering no resistance. Once I was secured against a concrete pillar, he dialed a number. “It’s done,” he said into the receiver. “She’s secure. Under complete control.” After hanging up, the driver hauled a large cardboard box out of his trunk. It was packed with instant noodles, bottled water, and canned goods—provisions meant to last. “I’ve got water and food here. If you get hungry, let me know,” he said, his voice dropping into a flatter, more professional tone. He dragged a folding chair over to the entrance of the unfinished room, sitting down to keep watch. For a long time, we simply stared at each other. Perhaps unnerved by my absolute calm, the driver shifted uncomfortably, looking away. “Look, Miss Clifford, as long as you cooperate and stay quiet this week, I won’t lay a finger on you. I promise.” “Thank you,” I replied softly. There was no anger in my voice, no trembling fear. I actually sounded grateful. The driver blinked, completely thrown off. “Your name is Frank Dolan, right? Your daughter is very sweet,” I said. Frank’s entire body went rigid. He snapped his head back toward me, his eyes wide and wild. “I met her once,” I continued, my voice steady, carrying softly through the empty concrete hall. “We talked for a bit. She told me her dad was the greatest man in the whole world. It’s a shame. She doesn’t know her hero is actually a kidnapper.” Frank scrambled out of his chair, lunging toward me until he was hovering inches from my face. “When did you see my daughter?” “Her name is Gracie, isn’t it?” “You…” Frank’s face drained of color. If he had any doubts before, the mention of her name shattered them. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. I really knew his little girl. “I know about her medical bills, Frank. I know you’re doing this dirty work for Daphne because you need the cash for her surgery. But have you thought about what happens when she gets better? What happens when she grows up and realizes her life was bought with the blood money that sent her father to a federal penitentiary?” My voice softened, dripping with quiet pity. “How is she supposed to live with that? She’ll carry that guilt like a stone in her chest. It’ll drive her mad.” “Stop it!” Frank roared, his voice cracking. “Enough! Don’t talk about her!” He slammed his hands over his ears, pacing back and forth, his face twisted in an agonizing struggle between desperation and morality. “I know it’s wrong!” he screamed at the empty walls. “But what choice do I have? I can’t just sit by and watch my little girl die in a hospital bed! Even if she hates me for being a criminal, even if she never wants to look at me again—if she’s alive, it’s worth it!” With a ragged breath, Frank turned and bolted out of the building, unable to bear the weight of my gaze. But less than ten minutes later, his footsteps echoed back into the concrete shell. He stood before me, his eyes bloodshot, his fists shaking. “You win, Flora. I can’t do this. I won’t let my daughter spend her life ashamed of me. I won’t let her be the girl whose father is in prison.” He knelt down, slicing through the nylon ropes with a pocketknife, then gestured toward his car. “Get in. I’m taking you back to the city. If you want to call the police, do it now.” He pulled my phone from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. I looked at his pale, trembling hands, then quietly slid the phone into my pocket. Frank stared at me, bewildered. “Miss Clifford… you’re not calling the cops?” “No need.” I paused, looking him dead in the eye. “You realized your mistake. I’m willing to give you a chance to make it right.” Frank’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t stupid; he knew mercy in this world always came with a price. “What do you want me to do?” I smiled. “Come with me to the wedding. Tell everyone exactly what Daphne made you do.” Frank immediately shook his head, stepping back. “No. Absolutely not.” “Why?” “Miss Daphne has been incredibly generous to my family,” Frank explained, his voice thick with conflicted loyalty. “She paid for Gracie’s first surgery out of her own pocket. I’ve already failed her by letting you go, and I feel sick about it. I can’t go on a stage and publicly destroy her. I just can’t. I’ll drive you back to the city center, but after that, I’m out.” He turned toward the driver’s side door, but before his hand could touch the handle, the roar of multiple engines shattered the quiet of the wasteland. Three dark SUVs tore through the dirt, kicking up clouds of yellow dust as they swerved to box Frank’s car in. The doors flew open, and a dozen rough-looking men armed with heavy metal pipes stepped out. The lead thug, a brute with a scarred jaw, dragged Frank and me out into the open. “Who the hell are you guys?” Frank gasped, clutching his bruised arm. Before the leader could answer, I looked at the pipes in their hands and whispered, “They’re Daphne’s cleanup crew. They’re here to make sure neither of us speaks again.” The leader chuckled, a cold, dry sound. “Well, aren’t you a clever girl, Miss Clifford?” He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. “But you know what they say about clever girls. They don’t live very long.” Frank’s eyes went wide. “No… Miss Daphne wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t order a hit!” “Are you really that naive, Frank?” the leader sneered. “Miss Daphne knew you were soft. She knew a guy like you, acting out of desperate love for his kid, would eventually fold. That’s why she kept us on standby. Just in case you messed up.” Without another word, the leader raised a hand and gave a sharp, downward flick of his wrist. His eyes gleamed with a chilling finality. “Make it clean. No witnesses.” The thugs lunged forward. Frank reacted instantly. “Get in the car and lock the doors!” he screamed, throwing himself into the path of the nearest man. He fought like a wild animal, driven by pure survival instinct, but he was outnumbered and outmatched. Within seconds, a pipe caught him across the ribs, and he went down, coughing up dark blood as the boots kept coming. The leader turned his attention to me, walking with slow, deliberate steps. “Miss Clifford,” he sighed mockingly. “You spent twenty years living in the gutter. Why did you have to come back and try to take what belongs to Miss Daphne? You got nothing out of it. And now you’re going to lose your life. It’s almost tragic.” He reached out, his thick, dirty fingers aiming for my throat. But I didn’t back down. My arm, which had been hidden behind my back, swung forward with everything I had. Crack. The jagged, heavy concrete stone I had scooped up from the ground smashed squarely into his temple. He hadn’t expected me to fight. He certainly hadn’t expected a girl in a wedding dress to strike with lethal, calculated precision. With a sickening groan, his eyes rolled back, and his massive body crumpled to the dirt. A thick, crimson stream began to pool rapidly from the gash on his head. I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to my knees, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled his upper body up, holding the sharp, blood-smeared stone directly over his eye. “Tell them to stop!” I yelled. But the leader’s head lolled to the side. He was completely unconscious. The other thugs were still brutally kicking Frank. Seeing that their boss couldn’t call them off, I realized I had to handle this the hard way. I stood up, gripping the bloody stone, and threw myself into the fray like a woman possessed. I didn’t care about form or safety. I fought with the frantic, terrifying energy of someone who had already tasted death once. I lunged at the nearest man, smashing the stone into his face, then swung wildly at another who tried to grab my arm. After three of them fell to the ground, howling in agony as blood splattered across the dirt, the remaining men stopped. They took a collective step back, their eyes wide with sudden, gripping terror. “You’re just getting paid for this,” I panted, my voice low and trembling with adrenaline. “Is it worth your lives? Step forward. Try me. I will paint this concrete with your brains.” My once-white wedding dress was now ruined, stained with dirt and splattered with dark, fresh blood. Combined with the manic fire in my eyes, I looked less like a victim and more like a specter of vengeance. Without their leader to guide them, and facing a girl who looked ready to tear them apart with her bare hands, the remaining thugs hesitated. After a tense, breathless silence, they scrambled to drag their bleeding comrades and unconscious boss back into the SUVs. The engines roared to life, and they sped away, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. The moment they were gone, Frank collapsed onto the dirt, clutching his chest and gasping for air. I dropped the stone and ran to help him up, hauling him toward the passenger seat of his car. “Hang on. I’m getting you to an emergency room.” Frank shook his head weakly, spitting blood onto the dashboard. “No… no hospital. Take me to the Dwight Hotel. Take me… to the wedding.” I paused, my hand hovering over the gear shift. “Are you sure you can make it?” “I have to,” he wheezed, his eyes burning with a desperate, fatherly rage. “Just drive.” As the car tore down the highway toward the city, Frank leaned his head back against the headrest and began to speak. He told me a secret. A secret that I had never known, not even in my previous life. When we finally pulled up to the glittering five-star hotel, I helped Frank out of the car. He was coughing violently, the metallic scent of blood heavy in the air. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, my brow furrowing as I looked at his pale, sweat-slicked face. “I’m fine,” he muttered, gritting his teeth. I didn’t waste any more time. Supporting his weight, I guided him through the polished glass doors of the lobby. The guests and hotel staff we passed froze, their conversations dying instantly as they stared at the two blood-drenched figures marching toward the elevators. We rode the elevator up to the 18th floor, where the grand ballroom was located. Through the double doors, I could hear the muffled sound of music and laughter. Toby and Daphne’s wedding was in full swing. As we approached, two security guards stepped forward to block us. “You can’t go in there without an invitation—” “This is my wedding!” I snapped, my voice cutting through the corridor. “Get out of my way.” I shoved past them, throwing the heavy oak doors open. My voice wasn’t exceptionally loud, but the sheer sight of me caused a ripple of silence to cascade through the room. One by one, heads turned. And just like that, the girl in the bloody wedding gown became the absolute, undeniable center of attention.

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