Category: English

The moment the auction hammer fell, I thought that three-hundred-million-dollar necklace would end up around my neck. “Mr. Channing really does spoil Evelyn to the bone.” The whispers around us hadn’t even faded when Ethan Channing stepped right past me and walked straight toward the woman sitting at the far edge of the second row. He opened the velvet box himself, lifted out the Dream Tide necklace, and clasped it around her neck. “Ethan, you still remember I love stars.” The woman slipped off her sunglasses. Her eyes were faintly red. “Of course.” Dead silence fell over the room. Every gaze that had been full of envy when it landed on me shifted all at once into something unmistakably like pity. I sat in the VIP section, my fingertips digging into the ultrasound printout buried inside my purse. Six weeks. A tiny gestational sac. That piece of paper suddenly felt like a brand pressed against my skin. So it turned out he could toss me fifty million dollars for some painting without a second thought, and in the same breath, lift another woman onto a pedestal in front of everyone.

Evelyn’s POV New York’s most prestigious charity auction. Dazzling lights. The quiet rustle of silk and perfume. I sat in the front-row VIP section, my hand drifting almost unconsciously to the hidden pocket of my clutch. Inside was an ultrasound printout I had gotten that morning. Six weeks. You could already make out the tiny gestational sac. “Our next lot is Resting Light, a posthumous work by the celebrated autistic savant painter. Opening bid: ten million dollars.” The auctioneer’s voice echoed through the hall. I’d always loved that painting. I wanted to bid on it and hang it in the art therapy room at the special needs school. The man beside me, Ethan Channing, was leaning back in his chair with that lazy ease he always carried. He didn’t even glance at the stage. He just raised his paddle. “Fifty million.” The room erupted. Then came the whispers, thick with envy. “Mr. Channing really does spoil Evelyn rotten, dropping fifty million on a painting without so much as blinking.” “Who doesn’t know Evelyn is everything to Ethan? Seven years, and the man built her the best special needs school in all of New York from the ground up.” I turned to look at him as the murmurs swirled around us. His profile was sharp and composed. He noticed my gaze and turned toward me, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear with an ease that felt entirely natural. “Do you like it?” His voice was gentle. “Think of it as a warm-up for your seven-year anniversary gift.” Something warm stirred in my chest. I reached for his hand. I was finally about to tell him about the pregnancy. “Ethan, I actually have something for you too.” “Shh.” He closed his fingers around mine, but his eyes had already moved past me, toward the stage. “The closing lot is up.” It was the evening’s headline piece. The Dream Tide sapphire necklace. Opening bid: one hundred million dollars. Ethan let go of my hand and sat up straight. “Three hundred million.” His voice dropped into the silence of the room like a stone. Final. Unarguable. I froze. Three hundred million for a necklace? I never wore jewelry like that. Ethan knew that about me. The hammer came down. Ethan rose from his seat. Under the eyes of every person in that room, he accepted the velvet box from the attendant. I thought he was going to hand it to me. I’d already begun to smile. But Ethan simply stepped past me. He walked, long and unhurried, straight to a corner at the far end of the second row. A woman was sitting there. Slender. Dark glasses covering her face. Ethan stopped in front of her. The cool edge in his expression softened in an instant. He opened the box himself, lifted out the necklace, leaned down, and fastened it around her neck with his own hands. The woman slipped her sunglasses off to reveal a face that was delicate and pale. She looked up at Ethan, her eyes going pink at the corners. “Ethan, you still remember I love stars.” “Of course.” His voice was quiet, but it reached me clearly. That was Serena. Ethan’s first love, the one who had left for Paris seven years ago. The room went graveyard still. Every look that turned my way shifted in an instant from envy into pity, sharp and unconcealed. I sat where I was, the ultrasound printout in my bag pressing against me like a hot iron. So this was how it worked. He could casually throw fifty million at a painting and keep me gilded and displayed like something precious. And then, in the very same evening, he could grind what was left of my dignity into the floor for someone else, with the whole room watching. He gave me every material thing I could want. And then, in front of everyone, he delivered the cruelest blow imaginable.

Evelyn’s POV After the auction ended, Ethan drove home with me. He even held the car door open like always, leaned in, and buckled my seatbelt, as if everything that had happened in that hall was nothing more than a dream. When we got back to the apartment, I stood at the entrance and didn’t take my shoes off. “What’s wrong? Are you tired?” Ethan shrugged off his jacket and tugged loose his tie. He walked over and reached for me out of habit, the way he always did. “The painting, I already had it sent directly to the school.” I turned my head and stepped out of his reach. “Serena’s back, isn’t she.” His arm fell to his side. A slight crease formed between his brows. “Yes. She got back yesterday.” He moved to the kitchen counter and poured himself a glass of ice water. “Evelyn.” His voice was measured. “You’re smart. Don’t make a scene over something like this.” “Something like this?” I almost laughed. “You put a three-hundred-million-dollar necklace around her neck in front of everyone and made me look like a joke. Ethan, you think that’s just something like this?” He turned to face me, his expression calm. “That necklace is something she wanted seven years ago. She’s very sick right now. Severe depression, serious PTSD. Her doctor says she’s at risk of self-harm at any time. I bought it to stabilize her emotionally.” He crossed the room and placed both hands on my shoulders. There wasn’t a trace of apology in his eyes. “Evelyn, you’ve always been the kindest, most understanding person I know. You open your arms to children with severe disabilities every single day. Why can’t you extend just a little of that to Serena? Right now, I’m all she has.” The blood drained from my body. He was actually using my work, using my compassion, as leverage to make me accept his first love. “Ethan, I’m your girlfriend. Not your ex’s therapist.” I held his gaze. “If you feel that strongly about her, why don’t you just break up with me?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” His expression hardened. His voice took on a warning edge. “When did I say anything about breaking up? I’ve given you everything you wanted, the school, the funding, a life most people dream about. Serena just needs my support right now. She’s not a threat to your position. Don’t push your luck.” Not a threat to your position. So that was how he saw it. Love was something he could divide up and allocate. The title and the money went to me. But every ounce of his tenderness, every quiet act of care, every instinct to protect, all of that belonged to Serena. My hand was in my pocket. My fingers were pressing into that ultrasound printout so hard I felt it crumple, then fold, then collapse into a ball of nothing. “Okay.” I lowered my eyes. “I understand.” Ethan took that for surrender. He reached out and ruffled my hair, satisfied. “Good. I need to take Serena to her follow-up appointment tomorrow. If the school runs into a budget shortfall, just go through finance directly.” He disappeared into the bathroom. I stood there listening to the sound of the shower running. Slowly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled printout. I dropped it in the trash. This baby had chosen the worst possible moment to exist. The next morning, I was running a sensory integration session at the special needs school. Sammy was a six-year-old boy who was deaf. He’d just had his cochlear implant surgery and was still struggling to make sense of all the sounds suddenly flooding his world. I knelt on the floor beside him, patiently using sign language alongside spoken words to teach him the word sunshine. From out in the hallway came the crisp click of heels against tile.

Evelyn’s POV Serena walked in, flanked by a pair of security guards. She had on a floor-length white dress. She looked fragile, like something that might shatter in a breeze. “Ms. Hartley.” She lifted her sunglasses and gave me a soft, guileless smile. “Ethan says the environment here is wonderful. He thought it might do me good to visit. You don’t mind, do you?” I stood up, stepping in front of Sammy. “Ms. Blake,” I said, keeping my voice level. “This is a school for children with special needs. The kids here are very sensitive around strangers. Please don’t disturb them.” “I only want to help.” She pressed her lips together in a pout and moved toward Sammy before I could stop her, reaching out to touch his head. “Hey there, sweetheart. What’s your name?” Sammy startled at the sudden movement. He hadn’t heard her coming. He flinched backward on instinct and bumped into her leg. Serena let out a sharp cry and toppled, landing hard on the floor. “Serena!” A voice erupted from the hallway, rough with fury. Ethan came charging in. He shoved me aside and dropped to one knee beside Serena, gathering her carefully into his arms. “Ethan, I’m scared… he pushed me…” She curled against him, trembling, tears streaming down her face. Ethan turned and looked at me. His eyes were cold and vicious. “Evelyn. Is this how you run your school?” His shove had sent my lower back into the corner of a table. The pain was sharp enough to make me break into a cold sweat. I kept one hand on Sammy’s shoulder and met Ethan’s stare. “Ethan. She stumbled on her own. Sammy barely touched her.” “Enough.” His voice cracked through the room like a whip. “Serena has clinical depression. She cannot be startled or frightened. You stood there and let a disabled child knock her down. What happened to all that compassion you’re so proud of?” Disabled child. The words came out of his mouth with a contempt he didn’t bother to hide. I stared at him, unable to fully process what I was hearing. This was the man who had spent three months learning sign language to impress me. The man who used to say these kids were like his own. Now, for Serena, he was dismantling everything he had ever pretended to stand for, and he was using my students to do it. “Ethan. That was out of line.” My voice shook. “I’m out of line?” He let out a short, cold laugh and got to his feet with Serena still in his arms. “Evelyn, I think I’ve been too easy on you. You seem to have forgotten where the funding for this school comes from. Effective today, the new building expansion is suspended indefinitely. When you’ve learned to keep your students in check, we’ll talk about resuming it.” He looked down at me the way you look at a pet that’s disappointed you. “I built this school for you to enjoy. Not so your kids could bite people.” He turned and left without another word, Serena in his arms, neither of them looking back. I stood there and watched them go. I felt like something had been torn open in the center of my chest. The thing I had built my entire life around, my work, my purpose, the school, it was, to him, a toy. Something he had handed me on a whim. Something he could take back the moment it stopped being convenient. He could spend without limit when he loved me. But now that someone else had his heart, a single sentence was all it took to crack me in half. A week later, it was my birthday. Ethan had reserved the top floor of New York’s most exclusive rooftop restaurant for the evening. He seemed to know he had gone too far at the school. He was making an effort tonight, more attentive than he had been in months. He cut my steak himself and slid a signed document across the table toward me.

Evelyn’s POV “I’ve already had finance reinstate the funding for the building expansion.” He looked at me, his expression gentle. “Evelyn, I was too reactive that day. Serena’s condition is unpredictable, and I panicked. Forgive me this once. Please.” That was Ethan, exactly as he’d always been. One hand hits you, the other holds out something sweet. He was sure I couldn’t leave. Sure that a little humility from him and I’d fold back into his arms the way I always had. I looked at the document. I didn’t pick it up. A dull, dragging ache had started deep in my abdomen. These past few days, the emotional strain and exhaustion had been catching up with me. Something had felt wrong in my body for a while now. “Ethan, if-” I raised my eyes, choosing my words carefully. “If I were pregnant, would you want that?” His knife paused over the steak. He glanced up. His brow creased, almost imperceptibly. “Evelyn, we’re not married yet. I don’t want any surprises right now. And honestly, if Serena found out we were expecting, it would be a serious setback for her. Let’s hold off on that for a few more years.” My heart sank all the way to the floor. He didn’t want a baby. Not because he wasn’t ready. Because of how it might affect Serena. Then his phone lit up on the table, buzzing repeatedly. The screen read: Serena. He answered on the first vibration. His face went taut immediately. “Serena? What’s wrong? Where are you? San Diego? Why did you go to San Diego?” Through the phone came the sound of sobbing, raw, frantic, breathless. “Ethan, I’m so scared… it’s so dark here, and the thunder… I want to die, I actually want to die…” “Don’t do anything. I’m on my way right now.” He was already on his feet, jacket in hand, moving toward the exit. “Ethan.” I said his name. Quietly. Evenly. “Today is my birthday.” He stopped. He turned back and looked at me, and there was something in his expression, something impatient, something already half gone. “Evelyn. This is a life or death situation. Serena’s in crisis in San Diego, I have to go. Take this card and treat yourself to something. Be good. Don’t make this harder.” He dropped a black card on the table and walked out of the restaurant without looking back. I sat alone in the rooftop restaurant, watching the lights of New York shimmer beyond the glass. The ache in my abdomen was deepening. It had become something insistent, something that felt like it was slowly pulling away from me. I pressed my hand over my stomach. Cold sweat gathered at my temples. I didn’t touch the black card. I just sat there, looking at the perfectly cut steak Ethan had prepared for me before he left. Nausea rose in my throat. I pushed back my chair and made my way unsteadily to the restroom. In the bathroom stall, I looked down. There was a dark stain of red on my underwear. The first sign of a threatened miscarriage. I leaned back against the cold tile wall and closed my eyes. I didn’t go to the hospital. I went to a pharmacy instead, bought medication to help maintain the pregnancy and something for the pain, and got through it on my own. I didn’t tell Ethan. What would have been the point? The most likely response would have been just take care of it. I can’t have Serena upset right now. Ethan stayed in San Diego with Serena for three full days. On the fourth day, he brought her back to New York. Serena seemed more like herself again. She even offered to go to the school and apologize to the children. I didn’t try to stop her. I knew it wouldn’t have mattered. Serena spent ten minutes in the art therapy room. When she came back out, her face had gone white. “Ethan…”

Evelyn’s POV She grabbed his sleeve with both hands. Her voice was trembling. “My necklace is gone. The one you gave me at the auction. The Starfall.” Ethan’s expression darkened immediately. “You’re sure you were wearing it?” “I’m sure. I was only in the therapy room for a few minutes. I held that little boy, Sammy, for a moment, and then…” Serena bit her lip. Her eyes were glistening as they turned to me. “Ms. Hartley, I’m not accusing Sammy. But the necklace is worth three hundred million dollars. If it’s really gone…” Sammy again. I put my hand on his shoulder and looked at Serena with measured calm. “Ms. Blake. Are you suggesting that a six-year-old boy lifted a necklace off your neck while you were watching?” “I’m not saying that! But he was the only one who came close to me!” She burst into tears. Ethan stepped forward. His gaze settled on me, heavy and still. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t reach for me. He just spoke, in that cool, logical tone of his that always managed to sound reasonable no matter what he was saying. “Evelyn. Call the police. Let them search.” My whole body went rigid. “Ethan, he’s six years old. He can’t hear, he can’t speak. Children with special needs are emotionally fragile. If you bring police in here to search him, you could break something in him that never heals. The shame alone could scar him for life.” “Is his self-esteem worth three hundred million dollars?” He looked at me. There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen quite so nakedly before, a kind of ruthlessness that didn’t flinch. “Evelyn, don’t protect him at the cost of your own credibility. The more you cover for him, the more it looks like you put him up to it.” The words hit like something sharp and aimed precisely. He was actually accusing me. I pressed my teeth into my lower lip until I tasted blood. I stopped pleading. I turned around, in front of everyone who was watching, and upended my own canvas tote onto the table. Lesson plans. A red pen. A few individually wrapped pieces of candy, scattering across the floor. “I didn’t take it. Neither did Sammy.” I looked up and met Serena’s eyes directly. “If we’re searching, shouldn’t yours come out too?” Her face shifted. Her hands closed around her bag instinctively. “What are you implying? That I stole from myself?” “Open it.” I held her gaze and didn’t move. Serena looked to Ethan, her expression desperate. “Ethan, she’s…” Before he could respond, I reached over and took the bag from her hands. I turned it upside down over the table. A soft, clear sound. The sapphire necklace slid out and came to rest beside her compact powder case. It sparkled under the fluorescent lights like nothing had ever happened. The room went utterly still. I turned to Ethan. “Clear enough, Mr. Channing? Caught red-handed.” Something moved across his face, shifting, difficult to read. He looked at Serena, at the panic flickering through her expression, and then he let out a slow breath. He walked over to her. He put his arm around her. And then he looked at me. “Evelyn. The medication she’s on affects her memory. She wasn’t doing it deliberately. You don’t have to come at her like this.” Come at her like this. I almost smiled. I had fought with everything I had to protect my student’s dignity. And that was what it looked like to him, aggression. Unreasonableness. Of course. When someone stops loving you, even breathing becomes something you’re doing wrong. “Fine.” I nodded. Something inside me had gone very, very quiet. “I won’t push. You two should go.” That weekend, an unprecedented storm hit New York. The wind was savage. Rain came in sideways. It felt like the city might simply be ripped from the ground. The special needs school sat in a low-lying area. The old drainage system couldn’t handle it. Within two hours, the first floor had water over the ankles. And then the power went out.

Evelyn’s POV The darkness and the thunder sent the children into a panic. The sound of crying filled the building from end to end. I pushed through the cramping in my abdomen, grabbed a flashlight, and worked with the other teachers to get everyone up to the second floor. “Ms. Hartley, we have a problem.” The school director was sweating through his shirt. “The backup generator is in the basement. But the security door down there has an electronic keypad lock. With no power, it can only be opened by the mechanical override key or a master code. Mr. Channing has both.” My stomach dropped. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I hadn’t called in a very long time. It rang for a while before someone picked up. “Hello?” It wasn’t Ethan’s voice. It was Serena’s, light and sweet, with just a hint of a smile in it. “Ms. Hartley. Ethan’s in the shower right now. We’re in Hawaii. The rain here is something else too, actually. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t scared, so he’s been staying close. You know how he is.” My knuckles went white around the phone. “Put Ethan on. The school is flooded. I need the generator code right now.” There was a rustling sound. Then Ethan’s voice came on, taut with irritation. “Evelyn. What are you doing at the school in the middle of a typhoon? Why aren’t you at home?” “Ethan, the first floor is flooding. The power’s out. The kids are terrified.” My voice was shaking from the effort of holding it together. “Give me the master code for the generator. Please.” A short, humorless sound from his end. “Evelyn. If you’re making this up to get me to come back, it won’t work. I checked the New York news. There’s rain, yes, but nothing that would flood a school. Can you please stop using those kids as a prop every time you want to compete with Serena for my attention?” “I’m not making it up! The water is already inside!” I was nearly shouting. The cramp in my abdomen spiked so hard I almost couldn’t stand. “That’s enough.” His voice went flat. Absolute. “Serena needs me right now. If you actually want to help, figure it out yourself. Don’t call again.” The line went dead. I stood ankle-deep in cold, filthy water, listening to silence. Competing for attention. Dozens of children with disabilities. A baby barely holding on inside me. And to him, this was me acting out, trying to win a fight with Serena. I lowered my phone. I turned to look at the children huddled in the dark, shaking and crying. I breathed in slowly. “Keep everyone calm up there.” I handed him the flashlight and turned toward the staircase that led to the basement. The water in the basement was up to my knees. The cold cut straight through to the bone. Every step sent a jolt through my lower abdomen. The cramping had turned into something grinding and relentless, like something was being slowly dragged apart inside me. I swept the flashlight across the walls until I found the heavy security door. I searched the room by feel until my hand hit the fire cabinet in the corner. Inside: a rusted fire axe. Ethan. You wouldn’t give me a way through. So I’ll make one myself. The water in the basement was dark and freezing. I gripped the axe with both hands, filled my lungs, and brought it down hard on the keypad housing. The force of the impact traveled all the way up my arms. The axe nearly flew out of my hands. I locked my jaw and swung again. One. Two. Three. In the dark, there was only the scream of metal and the sound of my own ragged breathing. The cramping had gone past the point of endurance. Cold sweat poured down my face and mixed with the rain still dripping from my hair. I felt warmth spreading down my legs, disappearing into the freezing water around my feet.

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On our third wedding anniversary, he went on another “business trip.” Two days later, his foster sister Shea sent me a friend request. The moment I clicked on her profile, I saw the post. Him with his arm around her, watching the sunset on the beach. The caption read: “One phone call and he came running. Let that woman rot at home alone.” My hand trembled as I scrolled. Further down, Shea had posted a photo of a limited-edition handbag. “He bought this for me. The ugly bag that came with it as part of the bundle purchase? He just tossed that to the woman beneath us.” That bag was sitting on my vanity right now. My phone buzzed. A message from Xander: “Did you get my anniversary gift? Do you like it?” I stared at the message and felt something close to laughter rising in my chest. “Got it,” I typed back. “There’s a gift waiting for you too. You’ll receive it in a month.” Then I called a divorce attorney. Lora’s POV “Ms. Lora, I have sent the divorce agreement you asked me to draft to your email. Did you receive it?” I looked down at the freshly printed divorce papers in my hand and made a sound of acknowledgment. “Once he signs it, I will be in touch.” I hung up. The front door opened. Xander stepped into the entryway, tall, lean, composed, his face carrying the weariness of a long-haul flight. “What are you reading?” He pulled me into his arms without hesitation, his low voice settling near my ear, warm breath grazing my neck. “Who were you just on the phone with?” An unfamiliar perfume drifted off him. “All done with business overseas?” I didn’t answer his question. “Yeah, it was messy. I barely slept these past few days trying to get back to you sooner.” He buried his face against the curve of my neck and shoulder. “Sorry I missed our anniversary again.” He held out a luxury gift box like he was presenting treasure. “Take this for now. Whatever you want as compensation, just say the word. We’ll do a proper anniversary celebration another time.” I didn’t take it. I glanced at it once, then looked away. “I’ve had my eye on a lakeside villa. That’ll do. I just need your signature.” I handed him the last page of the divorce papers along with a pen, gesturing for him to sign. Xander paused, visibly caught off guard. In the past, whenever he had missed something important, he would offer to make it up to me, and I never asked for anything. He instinctively reached to flip through the document. “What? You don’t trust me? Think I’m trying to steal your money?” “Of course not.” Xander smiled, dropped the pages, and signed his name in one fluid stroke. “Everything I have is yours anyway.” Once, those words would have made me feel warm all the way through. Now they only made the cold in my chest sink deeper. “What did you get me for our anniversary?” Every year, I put careful thought into Xander’s anniversary gift. This year, I’d planned to give him my pregnancy test results. But that no longer felt right. A divorce filing would have to do. “To punish you for missing it again, you’ll have to wait a month.” I said it with a playful air of mystery. Xander let out a low laugh. “Fair enough. I’ll take my punishment.” Then his hands wandered under my shirt. My whole body went rigid. A wave of goosebumps swept over my skin. I was forcing down the urge to push him away, scrambling for an excuse, when his phone buzzed. Xander immediately let go of me and walked toward the balcony, already answering the call. Through the gap in the balcony door, fragments of the conversation drifted in: “Okay. I won’t touch her.” “Just you.” I pulled one corner of my mouth into a thin smile. No excuse needed after all. Because Xander would put himself in the guest room tonight all on his own. This had happened more times than I could count. The call was from Shea, his foster sister, and the point was to make sure he didn’t come near me. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Xander came back into the living room. “Sorry, something urgent came up at the office. I’ll be in the study tonight. Don’t wait up.” That evening, I sat alone by the bedroom window, and the past came rolling in like a tide. I grew up in a small, poor town in the middle of nowhere. When I was five, my parents left to find work in the city. On the winding mountain road leading away from home, their bus went off the road. They both died. I was left with my grandmother, who was already old and fragile. When I was thirteen, she got sick. I was ready to drop out of school. It was Xander’s financial support that gave me the chance to keep studying and eventually leave that town behind. From that day on, I made myself a promise: I would get into his university. I would not waste what he’d given me. I did. I got in with strong grades, enrolled in the same program he’d studied. My freshman year, Xander, who had by then taken over the family business, was invited back to campus as a distinguished alumnus to give a speech. Watching him on that stage, easy and assured in every movement, I understood for the first time what it felt like to fall for someone. Backstage, I went to give him flowers and thank him for his support. He accepted them and looked at me. “Lora. I remember you.” But I knew what separated us. I never let myself hope for anything more. Then one night, I ran into him at the bar where I worked part-time. He was alone in a corner, drinking in silence, a shadow across his face. I couldn’t help walking over. He looked up just as I reached him. “Lora. You have feelings for me.” He said it like a fact. I froze. My face went hot. “Then marry me.” He was looking at me like he could see straight through to whatever I was hiding. Three months later, Xander married me over his family’s objections. It was a grand wedding, the kind people talked about for years. In the circles he moved in, Xander was known as a rare and model husband. He didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, came home every night. He made me feel safe. No scandals, no rumors. Reporters couldn’t find a crack in him. He was generous too. Jewelry, bags, clothes. I lost count of the things he gave me. Everyone envied me. They said I must have saved the world in a past life. I believed it. Aside from working too much and being away constantly on business trips, I couldn’t find a single flaw in Xander. Yes, aside from the business trips. My birthday: emergency abroad, business trip. Valentine’s Day: important meetings overseas, business trip. Our anniversary: business trip again. Three years of marriage, and almost every significant day had been spent apart. Once, we planned a trip together. We made it all the way to the airport. Right before boarding, Xander took a call, apologized, bought a ticket to Paris, and left me standing there alone. I never complained. I only felt sorry for how hard he was working. Every time he came home from a trip, I cooked a full meal to welcome him back. Then came our third anniversary, and, no surprise, another business trip. Two days later, a profile under the name Shea sent me a friend request. I remembered Xander had a foster sister named Shea. She’d gone abroad a few years back and never returned. I accepted. What I found on her social media was three years of truth. Every so-called business trip had been spent with Shea. He’d had no time to take me to see the winter snowfall in Hokkaido, but in three years he’d taken her everywhere in the world. When Shea mentioned craving pastries from a shop she’d loved as a kid, he boarded a private jet that night and delivered them himself. They were still warm when they reached her. When Shea texted that she was upset and didn’t want him sleeping beside that woman, he moved to the guest room and worked through the night. Shea had also posted a screenshot of their messages. In it, Xander had written that he married me as a cover. That he had never loved me. The wife everyone envied, I was nothing but his shield. The happiness I thought I had was a lie, start to finish. I looked at the bag on my vanity, the one Xander had just given me. I had already seen it on Shea’s profile two days ago. It was a bundle item. Xander bought it to get the limited-edition bag Shea wanted, and this was the piece that came along with it, the one Shea called old and ugly and told him to get rid of. So he brought it home and gave it to me. I didn’t know how many of his other seemingly expensive gifts had come to me the same way. I picked up my phone and called the attorney again. “Mr. Brooks, the agreement’s been signed. How soon can we finalize the divorce?” The attorney on the other end seemed genuinely surprised the papers had gone through so quickly. A brief pause. “One month from now.” One more month. One month, and I’d be done with this three-way mess. Done with Xander’s world entirely.

Lora’s POV The next morning, I opened my eyes to find them swollen and red. I held a cold cloth to my face at the bathroom mirror before finally opening the door and stepping out. The smell of food was coming from the kitchen. I stopped. I was always the one who made breakfast. I walked over and found Xander at the stove. In three years of marriage, he had never cooked. Something flickered in my chest. Was this an apology for last night? He heard me come in and glanced back. “You’re up. Sit down, it’s almost ready.” He carried the plates to the dining table. French toast with smoked salmon, and a small dish of poached eggs drizzled with sauce. I found it odd. We always had milk and toast in the mornings. Xander knew that. So why the elaborate breakfast today? I was about to ask when he turned and went back into the kitchen, like there was still something to finish. I looked at the food in front of me. It wasn’t really to my taste, but I didn’t want to waste the gesture. I picked up my fork and knife and made myself eat. A few minutes later, Xander came out of the kitchen carrying a thermal container. He went straight to the entryway and put on his coat. I finally spoke up. “You’re not eating? What’s the thermal container for?” “Shea’s flying back today. I’m going to pick her up.” He grabbed his keys, voice casual. “The food on the plane isn’t great. I’m bringing her something.” The front door closed without hesitation. I sat there with my fork and knife suspended in the air for a long moment. He hadn’t been apologizing. The breakfast wasn’t made for me at all. It was made for Shea. And once again, I had been the accidental recipient. I dumped the rest of the food in the trash. Maybe it was that I wasn’t used to that kind of meal. A little while later, my stomach turned. My throat felt tight and itchy. I was worried about the baby. I didn’t want to wait. I called a car and headed to the hospital. In the ER, the doctor looked at my results and said, with an edge of reproach: “You’re pregnant and you’re still not watching what you eat? Where’s your family? You have a peanut allergy, a severe one. This could have killed you.” That’s when I realized. Xander had put peanut butter in the French toast. I had a serious peanut allergy. Xander knew. When we went out to eat, he always remembered to tell the server. But Shea was back, and his whole mind was on her. Everything he knew about me had slipped away. Lucky I’d barely eaten any of it. The reaction wasn’t severe enough to require admission. A few hours on a drip and I’d be free to go. By the time I walked out of the hospital, it was dark. I was making my way home alone when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned. Several figures were following at a steady, unhurried pace. The blood drained from my body. Cold sweat broke out across my back. I quickened my pace and pulled out my phone to call Xander. It rang three times before he answered. “Xander, someone is-” “following me” never made it out. He cut me off. “Hold on, my phone’s about to die. I’ll call you back later.” A beeping sound. He’d hung up. I called again. Straight to voicemail. The footsteps behind me were getting closer. The street was empty and quiet, and the lampposts stretched the shadows of the figures into something monstrous. I didn’t dare take the road home. That route was darker and more isolated. I kept to the main road, walking faster, almost running. A black Mercedes pulled up alongside me. The window rolled down. The man in the driver’s seat had a kind, middle-aged face. He leaned over and looked at me. “Hey, you need a lift? Where are you headed? We can drop you.” I glanced back at the figures closing in behind me, bit my lip, and pulled open the rear door. I got in and nearly jumped out of my skin. There was already a man in the back seat. The interior was dim. I couldn’t make out his face, but I could feel the sharp edge of his presence, as if the temperature in the car had dropped a few degrees just from being near him. “Relax,” he said. His voice was cool and even. “I’m not going to hurt you.” The force of his composure silenced me completely. Even the thank you I’d meant to say got swallowed. A brief quiet settled over the car. “Where do you live?” he asked. I gave my address quickly.

Lora’s POV Once I was home, I locked the door behind me, wrapped myself in a blanket, and curled up on the bed, still trembling. My phone lit up with a social media notification. I opened it. Shea had just posted a grid of photos. She looked polished and done up, wearing several different outfits, posing in various ways against the backdrop of a rooftop city skyline at night. Her caption read: “Someone spent the whole evening taking photos of me. Ran his phone battery down to zero. You’ve worked hard.” I stared at that line for a long moment, and felt something crack quietly in my chest. So that was it. His phone had died because he’d been out there photographing Shea all night. While I was being followed, not knowing if I was going to make it home safe, he was worrying about running out of battery for her. I reached up to wipe my face. My fingers came away damp. I let out a quiet, humorless laugh, then screenshotted the post and saved it. A while later, once Xander had apparently found a charger, he called. “What did you need earlier?” My voice was still slightly unsteady. “Nothing. Never mind.” He didn’t notice anything off. Because it wasn’t what he was paying attention to. He moved on immediately. “I’ve got to pull an all-nighter for work tonight. I won’t be coming home.” I looked down, voice quiet. “Okay.” After we hung up, I went through every door and window in the apartment and made sure each one was locked before I got back into bed. I didn’t sleep well. I dreamed the figures following me dragged me into an alley and I struggled and struggled but couldn’t make a sound. I dreamed Xander walked past me hand in hand with Shea, not turning back, telling me to stay away. I dreamed I was small again, and my parents were lying in a pool of blood on that mountain road, and I ran to them screaming but couldn’t wake them up. Before dawn, I gave up sleeping. I got out of bed with dark circles under my eyes, washed up, got dressed, and left. Less than a month now. Then I’d be free of this. I wanted to go somewhere far away, far outside the world Xander and Shea occupied. Before I left, I wanted to go back to my hometown one last time. To see the house I grew up in. It was a remote place, a small, poor town, but beautiful. Hills and water everywhere, a stream running right through the middle of it. My grandmother used to say the town was very, very old. The tragedy was that over the years the young people had all left, and the town had quietly fallen apart. The buildings had crumbled along with everything else. I’d always had one wish: to one day restore those old buildings, preserve the town, and let the world know it existed. Xander had once promised he would help me make that happen. But we were getting divorced now. That promise had nothing to do with him anymore. After a long journey, I finally stood at the edge of my hometown. What I saw stopped me cold. The town was rubble. Every building had been leveled. Bulldozers rumbled across the ground, churning up dust that hung in the air like a gray curtain. “What are you doing? Who authorized this?” I couldn’t keep the tears out of my voice. A man who looked like the site foreman came over and waved me off. “Move along, move along! This is a construction site! You want to get hurt?” I grabbed his sleeve. “What company are you with? Why are you destroying this place?” He yanked his arm and failed to shake me loose, then jabbed a finger irritably at the logo on the side of a bulldozer. “You blind? We’re with Hargrove Group. This whole area’s being turned into an amusement park. Now get out of here.” Hargrove Group. Xander’s company. My hand slowly fell away. Every bit of strength left my body. I remembered now. I had seen it on Shea’s social media, Shea saying she wanted her own private amusement park. But the world was enormous. Why here? He knew this was my home. He knew what this place held for me. He had stood in front of me and promised, out loud, that he would protect it. And he had torn it down to build Shea a playground. Tears ran silently down my face, mixing with the dust. I walked away from the ruins in a daze. Beyond the edge of town, on a small slope, stood three modest graves. My parents. My grandmother. I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I sank down in front of them and wept. “I couldn’t protect our home. The pear tree is gone. The house is gone. I don’t have a home left.” I was born in March, the year the pear tree in the yard bloomed full and white on every branch. My parents weren’t educated people. They named me Lora after the pear blossoms, hoping I would bloom just as freely. That tree was older than I was. My grandmother had planted it the year she got married. When I was little, my dad hung a rope swing from its branches. I would go higher and higher, and my mom would stand beside it laughing and telling me to slow down. On summer evenings, my grandmother would pull a wooden chair under the tree and sew by the last light of day, stitching me a canvas backpack, murmuring that someday I would carry it to college. When the pear blossoms fell, I would crouch in the grass and collect them one petal at a time, pressing them inside my textbooks as bookmarks. That tree was my childhood. It held everything I meant when I said home. Now my roots were gone. I knelt by their graves and cried until my voice gave out and I had no tears left. Finally, I wiped my face and pushed myself to my feet. The wind came through. I drew in a long, slow breath. I would not let this break me. My parents and grandmother were gone. I would carry their share of living, and I would carry it well.

Lora’s POV I caught a bus back to the city from the stop just outside town. The road out required a stretch on foot first. At a sharp bend in the road, a truck came careening around the corner from the opposite direction, out of control, and slammed head-on into the bus. My right leg was wedged into the gap between the seats. Blood ran freely. I couldn’t move. All around me there was impact, screaming, blood. The air reeked of iron and gasoline. People were strewn across the seats and the road, some moving, some not. Pieces of wreckage were scattered everywhere. I felt like I had been dropped back into the day I turned five. That year, my parents were heading back to the city after the holidays. Their bus took the same winding road. I hadn’t wanted to let them go. Before it was even light outside, I had slipped out of the house and run down the road to catch one last glimpse of them. I watched the accident happen. The tumbling wreck, the flying debris, my mother thrown from the window, those images had never left me. The same road. The same devastation. The nightmare I could never fully outrun. I’d woken from it dozens of times over the years, shaking and drenched in sweat. Xander had known. Whenever a nightmare woke me, he would wrap his arms around me and pat my back, slowly, over and over, and say quietly, “It’s okay. I’m here.” Slowly, I had gotten better. Now, surrounded by blood and broken metal, every memory I’d managed to bury came flooding back at once. The world began to tilt. My heart hammered like it was trying to break through my ribs. “No.” I couldn’t catch my breath. A cramping pain spread across my lower abdomen. Xander had once told me: the next time these memories came for me, I should call him right away. I shouldn’t try to get through it alone. I found my phone. Still intact. Still working. My hands shook as I pulled up the call screen and entered the number. It took me several tries to get it right. It rang for a long time before someone answered. “Xander.” But it wasn’t Xander’s voice. A light, cheerful voice came through instead. “You must be Lora? You’re looking for him? He’s in line getting me a drink right now. He’s busy. Bye.” The line went dead. My hand holding the phone slowly dropped. Then darkness. When I came back to myself, I was in a hospital bed. The doctor looked at me with an expression of quiet sorrow. “I’m sorry. You lost the baby.” I held the paper confirming the miscarriage, and what I felt, strangely, was something like relief. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe the universe had decided this child didn’t deserve to be born into a home with no love in it. I looked at the cold words on the page and murmured to myself, “Well. He’ll have one more gift waiting for him when the time comes.” I carefully tucked the report into the bedside drawer, then asked the hospital to preserve what had been lost, in case it was ever needed. I checked the time. Two full days had passed since I lost consciousness. Not a single message from Xander. I stayed in the hospital three more days. Five days total, and Xander had forgotten I existed. No calls. No texts. Shea’s social media, on the other hand, was thriving. Day one: Xander taking her to the movies, then shopping. Day two: cooking her an elaborate dinner himself. Day three: riding the Ferris wheel with her. They were doing everything couples do, and I mean everything. Shea posted a photo of a bed. Rumpled sheets. A man’s dress shirt thrown across the pillow. She was bare-shouldered, leaning against the headboard, a faint red mark at her collarbone. I knew she was posting it to get to me. I let out a short, humorless laugh, screenshotted it, and saved it. Then I tracked down her other profiles and went through them carefully, looking for anything useful. On the sixth day, Xander finally remembered he had a wife named Lora and called. “Why aren’t you home? Where are you?” My voice was steady. “The hospital.” His tone shifted immediately. “The hospital? Why? What happened?” Still calm. “Did you see the news? The highway pileup on the 26th? I was on that bus.”

Lora’s POV Twenty minutes later, Xander came rushing into the room, forehead damp with sweat. He pulled me into his arms hard, his voice carrying both blame and relief. “Something this serious, and you didn’t call me? Are you hurt? Where? Where’s the doctor?” His panic was real. I could feel it. But I couldn’t feel anything in return anymore. “I did call. You were in line getting Shea a drink.” Xander went still. His eyes reddened. His voice came out rough. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lora. I didn’t know.” I didn’t say anything else. I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes. For the next several days, Xander didn’t leave the room. The other patients and the nurses kept saying what a wonderful man he was. How lucky I was. I smiled and said nothing. A tabloid photographer caught it. It made the headlines. “Hargrove CEO Stays by Wife’s Bedside After Crash, The Love Story That’s Breaking the Internet.” Two weeks later, I was discharged. Xander came to take me home. In the car, the unfamiliar perfume hit me the moment I got in. Shea’s things were everywhere, a blanket, a throw pillow, some stickers, her perfume. I found a corner to settle into and didn’t say a word. When we walked through the front door, I almost thought I had the wrong house. The place was a mess. Shea’s things were all over it. Shea herself was on the couch in Xander’s shirt, legs crossed, eating fruit. The juice dripped onto my hand-woven rug, the one I loved most. When she saw us come in, she rolled her eyes without bothering to hide it. Xander acted like he hadn’t noticed. He smiled. “This is Shea. She’s young, always getting into trouble. Easier to keep her close.” I didn’t bother to respond. It didn’t matter. I was leaving soon. After that, whoever lived here was none of my concern. I said nothing and went upstairs. Xander had been juggling Shea and the hospital visits on top of a neglected workload, so he gave a quick word of apology and headed out. I pushed open my bedroom door and stopped. The room had been torn apart. The wardrobe was completely emptied, every drawer pulled open, like the place had been ransacked. I didn’t need to guess. My heart seized. I pushed everything else aside and started searching. My grandmother’s necklace. I needed to find it. It had been passed down through generations, her grandmother’s before it was hers. The only thing she had left me. The jewelry box was still in the drawer. It was empty. The necklace was gone. “Looking for this?” Shea’s voice came from behind me. I turned. She was leaning in the doorway, holding the necklace between two fingers, letting it swing lazily back and forth. “Give it back.” I went for it. She sidestepped me easily. Shea smiled, something mean in it. “I figured, something this cheap, and you’ve been keeping it in a box like it’s precious. It must really matter to you.” My voice shook. “Shea, I’ve never done anything to you. Please give it back.” The smile dropped. What replaced it was cold. “You took him from me. And you have the nerve to say you never did anything? Don’t play dumb. I can see it. You’re in love with him.” I was barely holding together, my eyes fixed on the necklace. “I don’t love him anymore. Give that back to me, and I’ll leave Xander. I swear.” Shea didn’t believe a word of it. “You think I’m stupid? A girl like you, you climbed your way up to him, and you expect me to think you’d just walk away?” “You want it? Fine. Keep me happy today, and I’ll think about giving it back.”

Lora’s POV I closed my eyes. I had no other options. I had no home left, no family left. That necklace was the only thing I still had. “Fine. I’ll do it.” For the rest of that day, Shea made herself comfortable giving me orders.She deliberately spilled oil and sauce all over the floor, then made me get on my knees and wipe it up piece by piece. The moment I finished one spot, she’d stomp through it again and leave a fresh trail of prints. “You missed a spot. Right there. Can’t you see it?” She made me kneel beside her and hold out my hands to catch the grape seeds she spat from her mouth. Sometimes she’d do it fast on purpose, and the seeds would fly out with the juice and hit me in the face. She made me brew her coffee, but every single time I brought it out, something was wrong with it. Too hot, make it again. Too weak, make it again. Not enough foam, make it again. At one point she just poured hot coffee directly onto my arm. “You’re useless. You can’t even make a decent cup of coffee.” The slightest thing she didn’t like, she’d slap me. Before long, my knees had swollen from kneeling, and my face had swollen from the hits. Several times, I almost fought back. But Shea would dangle the necklace in front of my face. I’d look at it and think of my grandmother’s kind face, and I’d swallow it down. I could give up my dignity. But I would not give up the one piece of family I had left. I had been starved of love for so long. I wanted it so desperately. At one point, one of the housekeepers couldn’t take it anymore and carefully spoke up. “Miss Shea, she is the lady of the house. Maybe you shouldn’t-” Shea turned and slapped her across the face without a second thought. “She’s no lady of anything! Say one more word and I’ll have my brother fire you on the spot.” After that, nobody said anything. Shea only got bolder. She smiled with something vicious in it. “I’m sure you saw your precious little hometown. Every last bit of it, bulldozed flat.” “I told him I wanted that land for an amusement park, and he agreed on the spot. He didn’t even remember it was your home.” “Do you see that? You are nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. I can do whatever I want with you. People like you, you exist to entertain people like me.” It went on until evening, until Shea finally tired herself out and went quiet. I pushed down every last bit of humiliation and rage. “Had enough fun? Give me back the necklace.” Shea opened her eyes slowly, and the malice in them was at its peak. “Sure. I’ll give it right back.” She stood up and hurled the necklace as hard as she could into the decorative pond in the courtyard. I ran to the edge and watched my grandmother’s necklace hit the water and disappear beneath the surface. “Grandma.” The sound tore out of me. I had endured the entire day. I had told Shea outright I wasn’t going to compete with her over Xander. But Shea had never had any intention of giving the necklace back. She only ever wanted to break me. Even the most patient person has a limit. I was done being patient. I walked calmly over to Shea, looked at her satisfied face, and slapped her as hard as I could. I put everything I had into it. Half her face swelled up instantly. Blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. “You hit me?!” Shea shrieked and swung back. But she was a sheltered girl who’d never had to fight for anything, and I’d grown up rough. She had no chance. I caught her wrist. “Yes. I did.” I raised my other hand, ready to go again, when someone grabbed me from behind with iron force. Xander. He gripped my wrist so hard I thought the bones might give. His eyes were burning. “Lora. What the hell are you doing?” Shea burst into tears the moment she saw him and threw herself against his chest. “This is the wife you picked! She attacked me! She was going to kill me! Do something, hit her back!” Xander looked at Shea’s swollen face and her tearful eyes, and his fury ignited. “Lora. You want to die?” He raised his hand to strike back. I turned to face him squarely, and I didn’t step back. He saw my face. The bruises. The wreck I looked like. He went still. His hand hung in the air. “What happened to you?” Shea screamed, “What are you waiting for? Hit her!”

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He’d been my mate for three years and spoiled me rotten. Everyone called him the perfect mate. The pack’s full moon banquet had just ended when he stopped me at the door, begging: “Iris, I was drugged. Lily’s pregnant with my child.” I smiled and forgave him. Then I turned around, rushed to get my passport sorted, and rejected him. Before leaving, I took one last look at our home. He had no idea I’d already overheard him whispering to Lily: “Iris is so boring in bed. You’re way sexier.” He also had no idea that at this very moment, in a London airport, a man who’d been waiting five years for me was opening his arms wide. Charles, congratulations. Your dream of losing the love of your life is finally coming true. Iris POV Everyone said Charles loved me more than life itself. When I was eighteen, he saw me for the first time in London. He said one look was all it took for him to know I was his. Not just because I was his fated mate. But because he’d fallen in love with me. After that, he made me the most respected Luna in Shadowmoon Pack. He wouldn’t let anyone criticize me or talk back to me. He even pushed past everyone’s objections to give me command authority over every guard unit in the pack. In our three years as mates, we never once fought. The way he looked at me was always burning hot. But this same Charles betrayed me on the most important night for werewolves—the full moon banquet. The first time Charles begged me, it was because he’d been drugged at the pack’s full moon banquet and ended up sleeping with Lily. The next day, he canceled everything and came home, asking for my forgiveness. “Iris, I was wrong. Someone drugged me. I don’t even know how it happened with Lily… You can hit me, scream at me, anything. Just please don’t leave me.” He handed me a whip and told me to go ahead. I struck him a hundred times. His back was streaming with blood, but he never once cried out for mercy. He just looked at me with eyes pleading for forgiveness. In the end, I forgave him. I told myself it was just an accident. Charles wouldn’t really betray me. The next day, I caught Lily forcing a kiss on Charles in the garden. A second later, Charles shoved her off and slapped her across the face: “Lily, that night is settled between us. If you keep pulling this nonsense, I’ll have your father send you away!” He turned and walked off without looking back. I stood behind a tree, saying nothing. That night he was extra passionate. His blazing embraces and lingering kisses made it feel like he wanted to fuse me into his blood. I thought, Thank God. He only loves me. But that illusion shattered fast. Lily showed up at our door, clutching a pregnancy test. “Charles, I’m pregnant.” Charles froze, like every ounce of strength had been drained from him. He carefully scented Lily, confirming there really was a pup of his growing inside her. Then he stepped forward and pulled Lily tight against his chest. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry…” His apologies were so cheap. I thought to myself. After comforting Lily, Charles dropped to his knees in front of me. “Iris, I’m asking one thing of you.” His eyes were rimmed red. “Let Lily keep the pup. You’ll always be my only mate. There’s no future for me with her. After the pup is born, my grandmother will raise it, and Lily will be sent back to her own pack. She’ll have nothing to do with us. Please—just let this innocent pup live.” I looked down at him. He was kneeling at my feet, abject as a dog. But every word out of his mouth was begging me to accept the child another woman was carrying for him. I bit back the bitterness rising in my chest, ignored the panic in his eyes, pulled my hand away, and went back to the bedroom. I opened my laptop and clicked on an email I’d received three days earlier. It was from the European Werewolf Academy. They’d been inviting me for a month now to come on as a junior combat instructor. Because I’d graduated with top marks in every combat course, they thought I’d be perfect for the position. Back then I still had hopes for Charles, so I kept turning them down. Now… I typed out a few words and hit send. [I accept.] That afternoon, while Charles was at a meeting in the pack council chambers, I went to Linda’s place. Linda is my human friend—a medium. I needed her help to prepare a few things. I knew Charles would never accept a rejection. I needed a way to bypass him and complete the rejection ritual. Linda put together a contract document quickly. She said as long as Charles signed it, it would count as his consent to the rejection. I tucked it into my bag and went to find Lily. Lily was sunbathing in the courtyard. The moment she saw me, she switched on her fragile, wounded look: “Luna Iris, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I—” I cut her off and set the document on the coffee table. “Get Charles to sign this. I’m sure you can manage.” Lily paused, then dropped the innocent act and curled her lip into a scheming smile. She picked up the document, flipped through it, and the helpless softness vanished from her eyes: “Iris, you should’ve cleared out a long time ago. Charles and I grew up together. We were supposed to be married. But the Moon Goddess assigned his fated mate to be you instead of me!” I wasn’t angry: “Then you’d better hurry. Seven days. I’m giving you seven days. Handle it, and you’ll be Luna of Shadowmoon Pack.” Without bothering to look at Lily’s twisted expression, I turned and went home. Back home, I started packing. We’d only been married three years, so I didn’t have much. Important documents and certificates went in one box. Everyday items in another. I called a courier and shipped both boxes to the small apartment my parents had bought for me on this side of the country. Once that was done, I took a look around at all the luxury items in the house. Charles had been generous these past three years, I’ll give him that. Dozens of designer bags, a closet full of haute couture, three full glass cases of jewelry. Throwing it all away would be a waste, so I texted a secondhand dealer. Within two hours, they’d cataloged everything and said they’d come pick it up the next day. “Good,” I replied. “Once it sells, donate all the money to the children’s shelter.” The dealer paused, then quickly agreed. Just as I was about to rest, there was a commotion downstairs. I went out and saw Charles walking in with Lily, with Elder Luna Elizabeth right behind them. Elizabeth had Lily by the arm. When she spotted me, she rolled her eyes hard: “Charles, you’ve been married to Iris for three years and her belly’s still flat.” “Good thing Lily’s pregnant. Otherwise I’d start wondering if something was wrong with you.” Charles’s face darkened: “Grandma, don’t say things like that!” Lily’s cheeks flushed: “Don’t talk like that, please…” Charles pressed his lips together and said nothing. Listening to them call me barren, I stayed silent. After watching for a moment, I turned and went back to my room. I pulled out my phone and texted Lily: [Seven days.] After sending it, I tossed my phone on the bed and walked to the window. Outside was his garden. When we were eighteen, we’d planted roses there together. He told me our love would bloom like those roses. I stood there for a long time, until the sun finally sank. Seven days. They’d pass quickly.

Iris POV Everyone said Charles loved me more than life itself. But right now, the racket downstairs left me with zero desire to even step out of my room. I just had the housekeeper bring dinner up. When the knock came, I assumed it was the housekeeper. I opened the door to find Charles standing there with a tray in his hands. The apology in his eyes was practically overflowing: “Iris, Lily said being pregnant makes her emotional, that she didn’t want to be alone. That’s why she came over today… Just one day. I swear I won’t let her come back tomorrow.” I took the tray. “Why don’t you just have her move in?” Charles froze. A flicker of panic crossed his face: “Iris, are you upset? I didn’t mean for any of this. The baby is innocent, that’s all. She’s carrying my child, and you haven’t been able to get pregnant. I need an heir…” “I’m not upset,” I cut him off. “Go on.” I turned with the tray and started walking back inside, but Charles wrapped his arms around me from behind. His eyes were red. “Iris, I’m so sorry. I had no idea someone would drug her at the full moon banquet. I had no idea I’d grab her cup by mistake. It was all an accident. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” I looked at him and was about to speak. “Charles!” Lily’s voice came up the stairs. “My stomach feels weird. Can you come down for a sec?” Charles immediately turned and bolted for the door. He ran fast. Not a moment of hesitation. I stood there staring at the door he’d shut behind him. My chest felt like someone had drawn a thin blade across it. It didn’t hurt. It just went cold. After dinner, Charles sent the housekeeper up to tell me he had a last-minute patrol. I hadn’t planned on waiting up for him anyway. I just went to take a shower. The bathroom shared a wall with the guest room next door, and Lily was staying there tonight. I’d just turned on the faucet when all the strength suddenly drained from my body. Then I heard strange sounds coming through the wall. The sounds of two people kissing—wet, suggestive, mixed with stifled gasps. “I’m better than Iris, right?” Lily’s voice was thick and breathless. “Yeah, you’re way better.” Charles laughed—a flippant tone I’d never heard from him before. “Her? She’s a dead fish in bed.” In the steam-filled bathroom, I gripped the windowsill while pain spread from my stomach into my limbs. “If she weren’t so boring,” Charles continued, fabric rustling in the background, “I wouldn’t have had to come up with this whole plan to be with you…” Lily laughed, her voice silkier: “Oh? You just wanted to sleep with me? I’m pregnant, you know.” Charles laughed too: “You’re pregnant, then have it.” His laugh was light, but it sawed through my heart like a dull knife. Then more intimate sounds. Sounds I should never have heard. I closed the window and sank into the bathtub. The hot water rose past my shoulders, past my chest, past my chin. I closed my eyes and slid completely under. The world went silent in an instant. Only the pain in my body reminded me I was still alive. After a long time, I broke the surface, gasping for air. Suddenly I remembered the Charles I first met. He was so innocent back then. Every time he stole a kiss, his ears would turn red—red all the way down to his neck. Every time I teased him, he’d just stand there flustered, looking at me with eyes bright as a galaxy. “Iris, I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.” That’s what he said back then. I believed him. But thinking about it now, that promise rotted fast. Three years. That’s all. My innocence became some other guy’s “dead fish.” His eyes learned to lie. His arms could hold two women at once. I’d thought he was just being manipulated, that he was at least still a decent person. But tonight I finally understood. Charles was more disgusting than Lily. At least Lily put her ambition out in the open. Charles was treating me like an idiot! I climbed out of the tub and walked back to the bedroom, bracing myself against the wall. The sounds next door still hadn’t stopped. The moonlight outside was cold. I lay down and closed my eyes. I hoped Lily wouldn’t disappoint me.

Iris POV The next morning, I got up early. I was just stepping out of the bedroom when I ran straight into Lily coming out of the room next door. She was wearing a silk robe with the neckline cut low, the hickeys on her neck clear and ugly. “Morning, Iris.” Lily ran a hand along her neck, smirking at me. “Charles told me you’re the one who let me stay over?” I looked at her without speaking. “You really are generous.” Lily took a step closer. “But I guess that makes sense. Your status, your power—it all came from Charles. He loved you, so your words carried weight. Now that he doesn’t love you anymore, you don’t even have the right to speak in this house.” I looked at her: “Six more days.” Then I turned to head downstairs. Lily’s face went ugly the second I shut her down. The next moment, she lunged at me and shoved me hard. I stumbled, my world spinning. My hands flailed for something to grab, but there was nothing. My body slammed down step after step until I crashed onto the floor. Everything went black. When I woke up, I was lying in the master bedroom. I opened my eyes to find Charles sitting on the edge of the bed, holding my hand, his face full of concern. “Iris, you’re finally awake.” He leaned in, his voice thick with relief. “How could you be so careless? If Lily hadn’t found you at the bottom of the stairs, who knows what would’ve happened!” I looked at him, my voice quiet: “That’s what Lily said?” Charles frowned: “Why? Was there something else?” I looked away: “It’s nothing.” He kissed my fingers: “It’s just—how did you fall down the stairs and pass out?” Of course it was because I’d been tortured all night and my wolf was weak as hell. But I just looked at him and closed my eyes without answering. That afternoon, Charles suggested we go out to eat. He picked a high-end restaurant downtown. The moment we sat down, I heard Lily’s voice. I turned and sure enough, she was walking in with a heavyset man at her side. I knew him. Frank. A wealthy businessman and a notorious creep. The second he saw me, his eyes locked onto me. Lily came over smiling to greet us, while Frank stared at me the entire time. I frowned: “Let’s leave.” “What’s wrong?” Charles poured a glass of water. “These are all your favorites.” “Charles!” Lily suddenly walked up and rested her hand on his shoulder. “My stomach’s hurting all of a sudden.” Charles immediately stood, one arm wrapping around her, the other moving to her belly: “What’s wrong?” “It’s nothing, just discomfort,” Lily bit her lip, looking troubled. “I’d love for you to come with me to see the healer, but…” Her eyes flicked to me, then to Frank at the next table. Charles paused, then turned to me: “Iris, I’m taking her to the healer.” I stood up, ready to leave too, but he grabbed my wrist. His eyes were heavy: “Iris, help Lily entertain Mr. Frank.” My eyes went wide: “What?!” Charles looked away but kept his voice firm: “This deal Lily’s working on is huge. It involves a major investment from Bloodclaw Pack. If we both leave, she won’t be able to explain it to her side.” “Charles!” I was shaking with anger. “Do you even hear yourself!” There’s no way he didn’t see the disgusting look in Frank’s eyes! If I stayed tonight, who knew what would happen? Charles’s grip on my wrist tightened: “But—” “Charles,” Lily had gone paler, her voice weak as cotton. “I really don’t feel well.” Just then, Frank walked over, his eyes crawling all over me: “Well if it isn’t Alpha Charles. What’s going on here?” Charles dug his fingers into my hand and looked at Frank: “Mr. Jones, Lily isn’t feeling well. I need to take her to the healer. But Bloodclaw Pack is fully committed to this deal. Even though Lily has to leave, my Luna will take care of you.” He turned to me, his gaze heavy: “Iris, you’re the Luna of Shadowmoon Pack. You need to think of the bigger picture.” A chill ran through me. I looked at him as if I were truly seeing this man for the first time. Charles wrapped his arm around Lily and started walking out. After a few steps he stopped and turned back: “Just sign and come home. It’ll be quick.” Then he was gone. Frank let out a loud laugh: “Luna Iris, come on, let’s talk business.” He pulled a chair right next to mine and dropped his hand on my thigh: “Charles left you here. What’s there to be shy about?” I stood up to leave, and Frank yanked me down into his lap. The stink of alcohol mixed with bad breath hit me in the face. My stomach lurched. His hand was already at my waist, sliding under my shirt. I panicked, grabbed the wine bottle off the table, and smashed it down on his head. The bottle shattered. Wine and blood streamed down his face. He clutched his head and screamed, stumbling backward. I dropped what was left of the bottle, pushed open the door, and walked out. Outside the restaurant, the night air hit my face. I stood at the curb, my hands still shaking. I pulled out my phone and made a call. Two rings, then it picked up. “Mom,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “Where’s Dad? Tell him—next week, I’m coming back to Silverstream Pack.” There was a pause on the other end before my mother’s voice cracked and she answered immediately: “Yes, yes. We’ll be waiting.” Just six days left.

Iris POV It was nearly midnight by the time I got home. The living room was lit only by a dim floor lamp. Charles had just come out of the guest room and was carefully closing the door behind him. When he saw me, his first words were: “Did you sign the contract?” I stood at the door, looking at him. He didn’t ask if I was hurt. Didn’t ask if Frank had done anything to me. Just the contract. “Iris?” He came over. “What did Mr. Jones say?” I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Charles’s head snapped to the side. It took him two seconds to register what had happened. “I—” He opened his mouth, seeming to realize he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, Iris, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just worried about pack assets…” I ignored him and walked straight upstairs to the master bedroom. Charles came to the door and knocked. I didn’t answer. He was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “I’m sorry.” I stood at the window, letting the tears run down my face. Iris, you’re so stupid. Three years of marriage. And I couldn’t even see what he really was. The next morning, I’d just come downstairs when Charles grabbed my wrist. His grip was iron. He dragged me to the living room. Lily was on the couch sobbing into a tissue, her eyes red and swollen. “Apologize.” Charles pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me down in front of Lily. I looked up at him. “Look what you did last night!” His face was livid. “Frank called this morning and canceled the deal. Do you have any idea how long Lily worked on this project? You ruined everything!” I tried to stand up. He slapped me across the face. I turned my head, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. “Charles!” Lily gasped and stood up. “Don’t blame Iris. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left something so important to her…” She started to walk out, but Charles stopped her. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pushed her back onto the couch and turned to me. His eyes were complicated—guilt, reluctance, but mostly resolve. “Your parents bought you three villas back then.” His voice was flat. “Transfer them to Lily. Consider it making up for her loss.” I was stunned. “What did you just say?” Charles’s throat moved. He looked away. “The damage you caused last night was massive. Even selling those three villas would only bring in two hundred million. It’s not even enough.” “Fine,” I cut him off. Charles froze and looked back at me. I stood up, wiped the blood from my mouth, and turned to go upstairs. I walked steadily, one step at a time, my back perfectly straight. Back in my room, I shut the door and pulled out my phone to make a call. It picked up almost immediately. A low voice: “What is it?” “Hey,” I said, leaning against the door. “I can’t keep those three villas. Initiate the asset protection protocol.” The other end was silent for a couple of seconds. “Did he hit you?” I didn’t answer. “Got it.” His voice went cold. “All paperwork will be done within three days. Iris, how many more days until you come back?” “Five.” “Okay.” A pause. “I’ll be waiting.” Lily’s crying and Charles’s low murmurs of comfort drifted up from below, fragmented and muffled through the door. I looked out at the sycamore tree outside. It had been there when I first came to Shadowmoon Pack at eighteen. Over these three years of marriage, it wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed him changing. I just never imagined a person could go bad this cleanly, this quickly, this completely. I dug out the three property transfer contracts and left them on the cabinet by the door. Then I went back to the bedroom. Soon there were footsteps coming up. They paused at the door for a few seconds, like he was checking the contracts. Then footsteps going back downstairs. Five more days. And then I could leave him.

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All of New York was talking about it — Lucas Hale, the guy who once won an international gold medal on the piano, was now nothing more than Serena Caldwell’s pet. The day the Hale family went bankrupt, I signed a three-year contract and sold myself to my ex-girlfriend, Serena Caldwell. Everyone assumed we’d rekindled our romance. Only I knew the truth — I was a servant she’d bought for three million dollars. She went through seventeen boyfriends, and every single breakup, she took it out on me. Slapping me across the face. Pouring champagne over my head. Leaking photos of me on my knees scrubbing her heels to the media. Spreading rumors that I’d sleep with anyone, that I’d clawed my way up by using my body. I fell from the top to the gutter and became the laughingstock of all New York. I endured all of it. Until one night, drunk and reckless, she made a bet and lost me to the girl next door — the one I’d watched over since we were kids, the one I loved like a little sister. Three days and three nights. The fingers I’d spent eighteen years training on the piano were broken, one by one. A deep, permanent scar was carved across my cheek from one side to the other. When I finally crawled out, Serena was sitting on the couch touching up her makeup, smiling like nothing had happened. “It was just a little joke. Don’t tell me you can’t take a joke.” Then she held the rest of the Hale family’s debt over my head, just like she had on every one of the previous one thousand and ninety-five days. I didn’t say a word. I just lifted my eyes to the clock on the wall. Seventy-two hours until the three-year contract expired. Serena Caldwell. Game over.

“Lucas, why the hell are you walking around with that look on your face?” A hand with dark red nails hooked under my chin and tilted it up. I met her eyes. The sting behind mine threatened to break through, but I forced it back down. Serena paused for just a moment. Then a thin, mocking smile curled at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, playing victim again? You think you’re still that precious little heir everyone used to fawn over?” I said nothing and turned my face away. Serena let out a cold laugh and wrenched my face back toward her. “Drop the tough-guy act. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to with those men. I’ve seen the photos.” The words landed with a sick kind of pleasure behind them. My whole body went rigid. Photos? What photos? Serena unlocked her phone and held up the screen. There I was — dazed, barely conscious, surrounded by a group of men. The memory of those three days came rushing back like a wave of filth. I clenched my fist until my nails bit into my palm. Serena grabbed my collar and let her eyes drag slowly over me. “Funny thing, Lucas. All those years with me, you acted like you couldn’t be bothered. But with them, you couldn’t wait.” Disgust flickered across her face. She raised her hand and cracked it across my cheek. The sting bloomed instantly, sharp and hot. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. “Miss Caldwell, Mr. White is here.” The butler’s voice cut through the room. One second ago Serena’s face was full of fury. The next, she softened completely, like someone had smoothed out every hard edge. She let go of me and turned to head downstairs. A cheerful male voice floated up from the entryway. “Serena, I missed you so much. You promised to take me somewhere good yesterday. How could you forget? I had to come all the way here myself.” Through the gap in the railing, I watched Serena’s expression shift into something warm and indulgent. There was a time she used to look at me that way. That time was long gone. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Want me to take you now?” Ryan White laughed softly. “No way. I want to eat here. I heard you’ve got a live-in servant who’s been around for three years and actually cooks pretty well. Why don’t we have him make us something?” Ryan’s gaze cut straight through the railing and landed on me, taking in every bit of the mess I was. Everyone in New York knew I was Serena’s ex — the one she kept locked up in her house just to have someone to punish. This was nothing more than Ryan planting his flag. Showing me who had the power here. Sure enough, Serena agreed without a second thought.

Fighting through the dull ache in my body, I walked into the kitchen and tied on an apron. Laughter drifted in from the living room. I glanced over. Ryan was draped against Serena’s shoulder on the sofa, his voice all soft and playful. “So when are you finally going to marry me? I can’t wait anymore.” Ryan wasn’t like the others Serena had cycled through. He was the only son of New York’s mayor. And by far the longest-running relationship she’d ever had. “When do you want?” “I don’t care, I just want it to be soon!” “Okay, okay. I’ll come to your parents’ place tomorrow. Happy?” “Now we’re talking!” Something clenched in my chest. The knife slipped. The blade caught my finger before I could pull back. Blood welled up immediately, a sharp, bright sting. I held my hand under the running water until the pain faded to a low throb, then pulled it back. I carried the food out, set everything on the table, and moved to leave. “Hey. Stop.” Ryan’s voice caught me at the doorway. He was smiling, just slightly. “Would you mind serving the rice?” I glanced at Serena. She gave nothing. I nodded and stepped forward. I set the bowl in front of him. He took one bite. Then, without warning, he swept the bowl off the table. Scalding rice scattered across my hand. “Are you trying to burn me?” His voice was flat and cold. “Taste it yourself. Tell me if that’s edible.” The back of my hand was already red and blotchy. I turned toward the kitchen. “Did I say you could go? Get back here.” I stopped. I bit down hard, then turned back around. “The rice was just cooked. It’s going to be hot right off the stove, Mr. White.” “So now you’re blaming me?” His face was expressionless. The look in his eyes treated me like something he’d scraped off his shoe. “No.” “Then apologize.” “I’m sorry.” Three years of this life had sanded down every sharp edge I used to have. But Ryan wasn’t done. He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “That’s it? One sorry and we’re good? Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get on your knees and pick up every grain of rice off that floor with your mouth. Do that, and I’ll let it go.” I went rigid. My head snapped toward Serena. She had no intention of stepping in. If anything, something like amusement had crept into her eyes. Her silence was the worst thing she could have done to me. I set my jaw. I bent my knees and lowered myself to the floor. “No hands. Head down. Eat it.” Ryan’s order made me freeze. I pulled my hands back. I bent forward, and one by one, I picked up each grain of rice from the floor with my mouth. The rice mixed with the grit from the tile. It scraped rough against my teeth. “God, this is exhausting. Can’t even enjoy a meal in peace. Serena, let’s just go out.” “Fine.” “You’re not upset that I put your guy in his place?” “Why would I be? He’s just the help.” The words drifted over me, light and unbothered, growing fainter as they moved toward the door. I slowly raised my head. I watched Serena walk out with her arm around Ryan’s, until they disappeared. Then I swallowed what was in my mouth.

Serena didn’t come home until late into the night. I went back to the servant’s room — barely a hundred and fifty square feet — and reached up to tear the page off the wall calendar. After tonight, two days left. Two days, and I could walk out of here. Somewhere between sleep and waking, a sound jolted me awake. My eyes flew open — someone was on top of me, pulling at my clothes. I shoved them off and scrambled to turn on the light. The moment the room lit up, I saw her face. “Vanessa!” “Caught me, huh?” She stepped toward me slowly, eyes fixed on me with something unsettling and obsessive. The memories crashed back in, dull and grinding, like a blade dragged slowly across skin. I lunged for the door. Locked. She’d locked it from the inside. “Save your energy. I made sure everyone else is gone. Your precious Serena is out there right now on a romantic date with the mayor’s son.” Vanessa Caldwell — Serena’s younger sister — spoke without hurry. “What do you want?” I forced my voice steady. She walked toward me, the smile on her face making my skin crawl. “What do I want? I’ve been in love with you for years. Why won’t you ever look at me?” “Tell me honestly — aren’t I better than Serena? At least I haven’t traded out a boyfriend every few months.” Her eyes were red at the corners. The obsession there was frightening. “Just be with me instead.” While she was talking, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and called Serena. Vanessa didn’t try to stop me. She just stood there and watched. The line rang for a long time. Then Serena’s voice came through, slightly breathless. “Hello.” Right after, faint in the background — a woman’s voice. “…softer…” The hand holding the phone locked in place. Then Vanessa plucked it out of my grip. She leaned close to my ear and lowered her voice. “Let me be honest with you. Tonight was Serena’s idea. How do you think I just walked in here without any trouble?” The words hit like a fist to the chest. Vanessa’s hand rested on my shoulder. She kept going. “There’s something else you probably don’t know. You ever wonder why your family went bankrupt so fast? Why your father killed himself in prison?” My head snapped toward her. “That was all Serena. She went to the prison herself and used your future — your whole life — as leverage against your father. He chose to end it so he wouldn’t drag you down with him.” My mind went blank with a sudden roar. The last thing that had kept me going through these three years — the final thread of belief I had held onto — snapped completely in that moment. I stared at her. “What did you just say?” “This has been an open secret in our circle for a long time. You’re the only one who was never told.” I thought of the way Serena’s expression would flicker — just barely, just for a second — every time my father came up in conversation. And suddenly the cold sank all the way through me.

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Five months into my pregnancy, I received a letter from my past self — written five years ago. The pages were filled with hope for the future. “Dear Serena, have you married Ethan, the one who loves you most?” “Are you two happy now? Do you have children?” “Do you still remember your most important promise to each other?” I stood there in a daze, unable to recall what that so-called promise even was. The sounds from the bedroom grew unmistakably clear. Ethan walked out with his arms around his secretary, her skin covered with marks. “Kiki doesn’t like the peach-flavored ones. Go downstairs and buy a new box.” He paused, his gaze dropping to my swollen belly. When he spoke again, there was something almost charitable in his tone. “Stop playing games. After you have the baby, you can still be Mrs. Whitmore.” I glanced down at the letter in my hand, picked up a pen, and wrote my reply to the girl I used to be. “Loving him was enough. There’s no reason to hold on to how it ends.” After all, the Ethan who had once emptied his savings to pull me back from the edge of death — that man had died the day he first cheated, two years ago.

“Ethan, my sister is still pregnant. Besides, something like this — how can you ask her to go buy it…” Chelsea wound herself around Ethan like a vine, her cheeks flushed, playing the picture of shy innocence. “It’s not like it’s the first time. Since when did you get modest? You weren’t exactly shy five minutes ago.” Ethan gave her a squeeze, his words growing uglier by the second. “I’ll go get them.” A wave of sickly-sweet perfume mixed with the smell of sex hit me in the face. My stomach turned. I swallowed the urge to gag, answered quietly, tucked the letter into my pocket, and started toward the door. His gaze snagged on the letter in my hand. A flicker of suspicion crossed his eyes. He crossed the room in a few long strides and snatched it from me. When he read what was written inside, his expression softened. His voice took on a rare gentleness. “Serena, if you just behave, I’ll make time to come to your next prenatal appointment…” I cut him off before I could stop myself. “Don’t bother.” The warmth on Ethan’s face vanished. “Serena, don’t push your luck.” Chelsea caught the shift in his voice. Her eyes darkened for just a moment before she drifted to my side, her tone turning sweeter. “Serena, are you still upset with me? I genuinely have feelings for Ethan. I don’t even care that I’m not his wife…” “And you’re pregnant right now. Ethan just doesn’t want to hurt you or the baby. But men have needs — that’s all this is between him and me…” Her face wore a pitiful expression, but her eyes held something sharp. Without warning, her manicured nails drove hard into my palm. The pain drained the color from my face. I yanked my hand away on instinct. Chelsea let out a sharp cry and stumbled backward, landing on the floor. Her eyes went red immediately, and she looked utterly helpless. “Serena, apologize to Kiki. Now.” Ethan gathered Chelsea into his arms with careful hands, eyes full of concern as he studied the scrape on her palm. When he turned back to me, his face held nothing but cold indifference. His stare cut right through me. Without thinking, I started to explain myself. “She was the one who —” The words died in my throat under his deepening glare. Of course. Ethan hadn’t believed me in a long time. The day I found out about his first affair — the day I bit that woman badly enough to leave scars — that was the day he stopped believing me. Thinking about it now, I felt something hollow settle in my chest. So I said nothing. “Ethan, it’s okay, it doesn’t hurt. Serena was probably just upset. Please don’t fight with her because of me…” Chelsea’s voice floated up again, and Ethan’s expression went completely cold. He pressed his lips gently to Chelsea’s forehead, his eyes full of tenderness. “Kiki, I know you’re easygoing, but you don’t have to put up with everything she does. She owes you an apology, and she’s going to give you one.” “Serena. Last chance. Are you going to apologize or not?” I stared at Chelsea, smug and satisfied in Ethan’s arms, and felt the man I’d spent ten years with become a stranger. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” “Unbelievable.” “Take Serena to the isolation room. She can stay there until she’s ready to apologize.” My eyes flew open. The color drained from my face.

“Ethan, I’m pregnant!” I stared at him in disbelief, my voice shaking. He stood there, expression completely blank. He knew I had claustrophobia. He knew — and he was still doing this. “Don’t want to go? Then apologize to Kiki.” His tone was flat. Non-negotiable. The memory of those days in the isolation room — the despair, the dark — flooded back all at once. Every muscle in my body went rigid. I searched his face, looking desperately for any trace of hesitation, any hint of mercy. There was none. I forced a small, hollow smile. My nails bit into my palm. And slowly, I lowered my head. “Ethan, please — don’t force her if she doesn’t want to go…” Chelsea’s voice wavered softly. “It’s too late for an apology now. You’re still going to that room. Think of it as a lesson. Next time, maybe you’ll remember to behave.” Ethan delivered his verdict without even looking up. Ten minutes later, two security guards dragged me down the hallway to the door of the isolation room. The darkness of that heavy door made me start shaking before I even touched it. Whatever composure I’d been holding together crumbled completely. I begged and struggled, but Ethan and Chelsea just stood to the side and watched with cold eyes. “It’s just being sent to your room. Why are you making such a scene?” Until I broke down completely, sobbing, and screamed: “Ethan, I want a divorce!” He laughed. He walked over, tilted my chin up, and gently wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. Something almost like pity moved across his face. “Serena, I gave you your life back. What exactly gives you the right to talk about divorce?” Then he let go of my chin, shook out his hand like he’d touched something unpleasant, and turned away. “Take her inside.” In the last second before the door of the isolation room slammed shut, I saw Ethan reach over and tuck a loose strand of hair behind Chelsea’s ear, his eyes soft and full of warmth. The heart that had already been broken a thousand times finally shattered for good. Ethan. Loving you is exhausting. I don’t want to do it anymore. As my consciousness faded, I found myself drifting back to five years ago. I had just graduated college. My parents had never paid much attention to me, but I had Ethan — a long-distance boyfriend who loved me fiercely. I thought we’d just keep walking forward together, happy and steady, for the rest of our lives. Then a routine check-up changed everything. I was diagnosed with stage-two lung cancer. Cancer. At twenty-three, it felt like a word that belonged to someone else’s life entirely. When my parents found out, they blocked my number. The last thing they said to me was: “Your brother still needs money for a wedding and a house. We don’t have anything left for your medical bills.” I gave up. I was ready to let go. It was Ethan who came back for me. He quit his job at a top firm, drove across the country, sold the condo his parents had bought him, and spent every dollar he had to drag me back from the edge. Watching his face grow more exhausted and hollow with every passing week, I couldn’t bear it. I tried to talk him into letting me stop treatment — more than once. He just pulled me close, quietly, and held on. “Serena, I’m going to get you better. We’re going to be together for a long, long time.” “Please don’t give up. Please.” His voice trembled. There was something almost like begging in it. His tears soaked through the thin fabric of my hospital gown.

That night, I cried under the covers until morning. There was still someone in the world who loved me like that. I had to keep living. Maybe the universe took pity on me. The cancer cells slowly stopped spreading. A year later, I walked out of the hospital. It felt like a miracle. To make sure I had the best possible care, Ethan had started a company with a few friends while I was still in treatment. He got busier. But he still cooked for me every day, reminded me to take my medication, and drove me to every follow-up appointment without fail. Everyone around me said I was lucky to have found someone like him. I believed them. His company kept growing. He proposed. We got married in front of the people we loved most. In our second year of marriage, I got pregnant. When he found out, he spun me around and around in his arms, laughing, his eyes bright with a happiness that made my own eyes sting. I thought there was probably no one in the world who could love me more than Ethan did. Then, in my third month of pregnancy, he cheated. I drove over and walked in on the woman climbing off him, her skin marked all over. In that moment, my mind went blank except for fury and devastation, and I threw myself at her. I bit her badly enough to scar her face. And the price I paid for it was — My three-month-old baby. Gone. Kicked out of me by Ethan in his rage. Afterward, Ethan apologized again and again. He made promises, over and over. But I had already changed. I became anxious, suspicious, unable to tolerate any woman near him. I would spiral even when he went to meet a business partner. The final straw came when I threw coffee in a client’s face. Ethan reached his limit. He locked me in the isolation room. “Serena, you need to calm down.” The darkness warped something inside me. I came out of that room with claustrophobia that never went away. A month later, I was finally let out. And, just as he’d wanted, I had become quiet. Obedient. After that, the women in Ethan’s life rotated in and out. I learned not to see them. No arguments. No scenes. “Why hasn’t this patient woken up yet? That doesn’t seem right.” Voices cut through the haze. I opened my eyes. I was in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses. “Ms. Reed, we couldn’t reach any of your family members. The security guard who brought you in paid the deposit and then left…” “Doctor, just tell me directly. I can make my own decisions.” My voice came out rough. The ache in my abdomen told me why they were all standing there. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Reed. The baby’s heart has stopped beating. Your own body isn’t in a suitable state to continue the pregnancy, and we need to perform a procedure to remove the fetus.” The doctor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He understood how painful it would be to deliver this news. “Okay. I understand. Please schedule the procedure.” “…Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” “I have.” “Your file shows you’re married. Would you like to discuss this with your husband first?” “No.” After the doctors and nurses left, the room went quiet. I pulled back the blanket and found myself reaching down, touching the curve of my belly without thinking. Even though I had no choice, a dull, deep pain kept moving through my chest in slow waves. This was my baby. It should have been born safe. It should have grown up healthy. But now… The tears came before I could stop them. The evening before I was discharged, Ethan called. His voice was measured, almost soothing. “Things have been hectic at the company this week. I’ll come pick you up when you’re discharged.” I answered the way he liked. “Okay.” But discharge day came and went. I waited from sunrise to dark. He never showed. I should have known. But there had still been that small, stubborn thread of hope I couldn’t quite cut. I took a cab back to the estate. As I reached the front door, the housekeeper met me with a complicated expression and handed me a small stack of envelopes. The sender: myself. The recipient: also myself. I knew immediately. Letters from the girl I had been five years ago. I folded each one carefully and tucked them into my pocket, then walked toward the door. I hadn’t even made it inside when I heard the sound of shattering glass. My chest tightened. I moved quickly toward the noise. Chelsea was standing at the wooden display cabinet. A crystal urn lay in pieces at her feet. And the ashes I had once gathered, piece by piece, with my own hands — my baby’s ashes — were now ground under her heel. I went completely still. My eyes locked on the floor. My vision went red.

“Who told you to touch that?” “Ethan said he needed the cabinet cleared out for my shoe collection. You might want to find somewhere else for your stuff, Serena.” Chelsea’s eyes were full of contempt. “You’re going to pay for this.” The hatred rose up so fast I couldn’t contain it. I thought of that baby who never got to take a single breath. My hand came down hard across her face. She staggered back and fell onto the floor covered in broken glass. By the time Ethan rushed in, I was on top of Chelsea with my teeth sunk into her wrist. Blood ran down the corner of my mouth. “Serena! Are you insane? Let go!” “Ethan! She’s going to kill me! She’s going to kill me — help me, please!” Chelsea was too terrified by the look in my eyes to even scream properly. She held her voice in until she saw Ethan, and then she completely fell apart. In the end, I bit down and didn’t stop. Chelsea passed out from the pain. I didn’t pay attention to the chaos erupting around me. I just walked slowly to the cabinet and began carefully picking up what remained of the ashes scattered on the floor. That was my first child. Half an hour later, Chelsea’s wounds were finally under control. Only then did Ethan seem to remember I existed. He looked at me — still kneeling on the floor, still gathering ashes one by one — and his expression darkened further. “Serena. Give me a reason.” Silence. “Tell me why!” Still nothing. He grabbed the small urn from my hands. I spun around instantly, my face changing, panic breaking through. “She destroyed our baby’s ashes!” “Ethan… that was our child…” How could he expect me not to hate her? Tears were running down my face. I couldn’t form words anymore. Ethan froze. The urn was still in his hand. For a moment, his expression went completely blank. After a long pause, he slowly crouched down and placed the urn back in my hands. “Serena… we can still have another child. You need to let yourself move forward…” I looked down at the urn. The doctor’s words came back to me. My tears fell without a sound. Ethan. We won’t have another child. Not with you. Not ever. After that day, Ethan’s attitude toward me softened. With his tacit approval, I was given more freedom than I’d had in years. I kept writing back and forth with my past self. Ethan caught a glimpse of the letters a few times and said nothing about it. He probably assumed it was just some personal journaling habit — harmless and odd. I told my younger self everything. Every detail of the five years that had passed. “Ethan is going to change. He’s going to stop loving you.” The last letter I received from her asked a single question: “Why doesn’t Ethan love you anymore?” Why doesn’t he love me anymore? “That’s a question you’ll have to ask him yourself.” Half a month later, I went to the hospital alone for the procedure. Just before they wheeled me through the doors, I heard urgent footsteps in the hallway, and then Ethan’s voice, sharp and breathless. “Doctor, I don’t consent. I am Serena’s husband — I do not consent to this procedure.” He grabbed my hand. His grip was tight, his voice running fast, with an edge of fury underneath it. “Come home with me. We can talk about this. The baby is innocent in all of this.” He looked like he genuinely cared about the child. But it was already too late. The baby had no heartbeat. “Ms. Reed, a procedure like this does require a family member’s signature. Is there someone who —” “I’ll sign.”

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On my thirtieth birthday, I walked out of prison. Waiting for me were three letters — written by three men a decade ago. The first was from Ethan: Ten years from now, I’ll have married the only woman I’ll ever love. That woman will be you. The second was from Sebastian: If you choose him, I’ll throw everything away to stop that wedding. I can’t stand the thought of you belonging to someone else. The third was from Caleb: Even if you don’t love me, I’ll spend my whole life protecting you. That’s the one thing I’ll never give up on. I’d barely finished reading the opening lines when I looked up. All three of them were standing right there. They stared at me with cold, hard eyes, surrounding me like I was some kind of dangerous criminal. “Two years ago you fabricated lies to hurt Yvonne, left her disabled, and got yourself thrown in prison. Have you learned your lesson?” I looked up at the three men who had once sworn they would love me forever. Slowly, I rolled up my pant leg and revealed my prosthetic. “Yes. I’ve learned my lesson.” What they didn’t know was that Yvonne’s legs were perfectly fine. The one who was truly disabled now was me. Whatever love they once had for me had died the moment Yvonne appeared. And now, I didn’t need any of them anymore. A voice rang out inside my head — the system’s voice. Task complete. Do you wish to leave this world?

Before I went to prison, I had shown them the prosthetic, just like I did today. They hadn’t believed me then either. “You’re a dancer. If you were really an amputee, you’d have nothing to live for — you’d be better off dead. You don’t have the guts for that. It’s fake.” To get back at Yvonne, Ethan pulled strings and deliberately arranged for me to share a cell with a convicted killer. The woman didn’t dare take my life inside those walls, but she found every other way to make me suffer. A dislocated jaw. A broken nose. Patches of scalp torn away. That was just a normal week for me. Doctors would treat my wounds and keep me alive. Then they’d send me right back. The cycle never stopped. But the official report always read the same: Inmate #44 — status: satisfactory. The fact that I made it out of there breathing was nothing short of a miracle. Sebastian grabbed me by the hair — right at the spot where my scalp had never fully healed. The pain was blinding. Tears burst from my eyes before I could stop them. He startled and quickly let go, but a second later his brow furrowed again. “What, do you think you’re royalty? I barely touched your hair. Don’t be so dramatic.” I could feel the scalp slowly seeping blood, the pain settling into a deep, numbing ache. I didn’t want to waste another second on them. I just wanted to find a clinic, get the wound treated, and then do what the system had set out for me — leave this world behind. I’m a traveler. I move between parallel worlds, completing missions. And these three — Ethan, Sebastian, and Caleb — were the strangest targets I’d ever been assigned. I didn’t have to chase them down or strategize. The moment they met me, they flipped the script and came after me instead. Thinking back on those absurd, almost comical memories, I let out a dry, self-mocking laugh. I’d traveled through so many worlds. I’d met men far better than these three. So how on earth did I end up getting burned by them? But clearly, the three of them had no intention of letting me walk away. Caleb grabbed my wrist, his eyes flat and cold. “Yvonne knows you’re out today and she’s not doing well. Come with us to apologize to her. Get down on your knees and make it right.” A sharp crack cut through the air. My wrist had just fractured. Ethan looked mildly confused. “Why didn’t you hold back?” Caleb pulled his hand away in a panic, his expression equally baffled as he stared at me. “I barely used any force.” He really hadn’t. The problem was that the killer in my cell had already snapped that wrist once before. Even after it healed, it never fully recovered. One wrong move and it broke all over again. “It’s just a fracture. It’ll heal.” Ethan waved it off like it was nothing. “Let’s take her to Yvonne first.” At that point, Sebastian reached over and snatched up the three letters. He skimmed them quickly, exchanged a glance with the other two, then dropped all three into the trash. The love letters they had written to me with their own hands — apparently the sight of them made these men sick. “If I could do it over, I wouldn’t waste a single second on you. Only Yvonne deserves that.” My scalp was still bleeding. My thoughts were starting to blur at the edges, and my vision wasn’t far behind. Caleb was the first to notice something was wrong. “Why is there blood on her forehead?” Blood from my scalp was trickling down my face in a slow, steady stream, dripping onto the floor — each drop hitting the concrete and blooming into a small, dark flower. My body swayed. I was relieved they’d finally noticed. Maybe now they’d take me to a clinic first. But instead, Ethan let out a cold laugh. His voice dripped with contempt. “That trick’s already been used once. We’re not falling for it again.” “Kayla, you’re not the same person you were at twenty.” “All these years, under our protection — and instead of staying the person we knew, you just got crueler with every passing year.”

Ethan’s mention of my twenty-year-old self pulled me straight back into the past. At twenty, I was the kind of girl other women envied. My family had money, and I’d been told more than once that I was beautiful. On top of that, I had three remarkably good-looking men who never left my side. Ethan, Sebastian, and Caleb — lifelong best friends who had grown up practically joined at the hip. Maybe because their lives had always run on the same track, their taste in women ended up nearly identical. All three of them fell for me at the same time. Strangely enough, they didn’t fight over it. Instead, they made a pact — fair competition, no dirty moves. They each had their own way of pursuing a girl. At twenty, I was obsessed with those over-the-top romance novels about powerful, possessive men who swept women off their feet. I couldn’t resist Ethan’s bold, unapologetic approach. So I chose him. The whole campus assumed that once I was taken, Sebastian and Caleb would finally shift their attention to other girls. They didn’t. They stayed by my side as they always had. If Ethan ever slipped up even slightly, neither of them needed me to say a word — they’d handle him themselves. The four of us existed in a dynamic that was complicated, but somehow it worked. That life lasted until I was twenty-six. That year, my family’s business collapsed. My parents moved back to their small hometown. The pampered girl I used to be was gone. I turned down all three of their offers to help and found work on my own — performing as a dancer at a local theater. At a dinner one evening, I crossed paths with a young woman named Yvonne, who was being harassed by her boss. She was four years younger than me, fresh out of college, and she looked completely lost. I had never been able to stomach watching someone get pushed around. And having been sheltered and spoiled my whole life, I had a tendency to act first and think later. I grabbed a bottle off the table and smashed it over the man’s head. He let go of Yvonne — but then turned his attention to me. The situation dissolved into chaos. I fought back, and by the end of it my face was bruised and swollen. Fortunately, Ethan and the others showed up in time. Dealing with a paunchy middle-aged man was effortless for the three of them — like handling a child. Once the man was gone, Yvonne dropped to her knees in front of me. She pressed her forehead to the floor, her eyes full of tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you got hurt because of me.” I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with her. I thought that would be the end of it — a brief encounter, nothing more. But while I was recovering at the hospital, Yvonne showed up with fruit she’d bought on sale. I was in the VIP suite Ethan had arranged. Yvonne looked visibly out of place, fidgeting with her hands. “Kayla… that night, if you hadn’t stepped in, I don’t know what would have happened. I asked Ethan what you liked, and he said durian, so I bought some. I really hope you feel better soon.” The durian she brought had gone partially bad. I didn’t want to make her feel worse, so I ate it anyway. The spoiled fruit wrecked my stomach. I was sick for days. Ethan and the others scolded me first for being too soft-hearted, then went and yelled at Yvonne. The poor girl had never been on the receiving end of anything like that. She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. Between tearful apologies to me, she vented about being let go from her internship. Back then, I just thought she was sweet and a little naive. I liked her. I wanted to help her. So I got her a position at the theater and took her on as my personal assistant. It was the decision I would regret most in my entire life.

“Hey. Stop spacing out.” Ethan snapped me back to the present and pushed me into the car. All four of us in one vehicle — it felt strangely like those old days when there was no tension between us, when everything was easy. I felt exhausted. I leaned against the window, closed my eyes, and tried to rest through the pain. The car was sealed. The thick, metallic smell of blood spread quickly through the enclosed space. Caleb’s brow furrowed slightly. He spoke carefully, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. “Is that… blood I’m smelling?” Ethan, behind the wheel, frowned hard. “Ask her,” he said. Caleb nudged me. I nearly blacked out. But I forced my eyes open and looked at him, not quite focused. Caleb lightly pressed his fingertip to the blood on my forehead, then studied it. “Since when do they make stage blood this realistic?” Looking at his expression, I couldn’t help but let out a small, humorless smile. “What’s funny?” he asked. I shook my head and said nothing. I was laughing at how stupid they were. No — that wasn’t right. All three of these men were intelligent. Highly intelligent. They had simply decided, before they ever looked at the facts, that I was the villain. I stayed quiet, and they didn’t push. They figured the blood was fake and left it at that. The car pulled up in front of a sleek high-rise apartment building not long after. The moment I saw the building, it hit me like a physical blow. I had grown up here. My family lived here — before everything fell apart, before my parents were forced to sell the unit to pay off the debt, before we had to leave. From the passenger seat, Sebastian offered a flat explanation. “Don’t look so surprised. Yvonne said she loved this place, so we bought it for her. A gift.” A bad feeling settled over me. Standing at the door of the home I had grown up in, I finally couldn’t hold it back. I looked at the three men who had once promised to protect me always. “You knew I was saving up to buy this place back. That was the whole point — I wanted to give it to my parents. And you gave it to Yvonne as a birthday present?” My parents had never really let go of that apartment. Too many memories lived inside those walls — the three of us, back when life was whole. That was why I had refused to take their money at twenty-six. I wanted to earn it back on my own terms. The place wasn’t cheap. I didn’t want it handed to me by a man. I had almost saved enough when they put me in prison. And sometime during those two years, the apartment went to Yvonne. Something small and aching stirred in my chest. The three of them exchanged a glance. Something shifted in their eyes — not quite guilt, just a kind of settled certainty. Then they answered me, as if the matter were perfectly obvious. “It was Yvonne’s birthday wish. Of course we made it happen.” “There are other units available in this building. If you want one that badly, just buy a different one.” “Besides, you’re the one who put Yvonne in a wheelchair two years ago. Giving up a little for her is the least you can do. Think of it as making amends — we were actually doing you a favor.” And what — I was supposed to thank them for that? It was almost funny. Just then, the front door opened. A girl appeared in the doorway, her face pale and delicate as porcelain. She was wearing a long white dress and sitting in a wheelchair. When she saw me, Yvonne let out a soft, startled sound and turned her face away. “She’s… why did you bring her here…” The tears came right on cue, sliding silently down her cheeks. Two years, and nothing had changed. Yvonne could still cry on command. If I had known how this would all unfold, I never would have made her my assistant. I should’ve pointed her toward acting — she clearly had the talent for it. Maybe none of this would have happened. Yvonne’s distress flipped a switch in all three of them. They turned to look at me with hard, watchful eyes, as if they expected me to lunge at her any second. The crying made my head throb even worse. I looked at Yvonne’s legs — completely hidden beneath the long hem of that white dress. Those supposedly ruined legs. I spoke first. “Why don’t you lift your skirt and show them the prosthetics?”

The words had barely left my mouth before Ethan’s hand came across my face. My ears rang. His expression was full of disgust. “Do you have to keep pushing her? What happened to you?” It would’ve been almost funny, if my ears hadn’t been ringing so badly I could barely make out what he was saying. Yvonne didn’t have to do anything. All she had to do was sit in that wheelchair and cry, and these three men would march into battle for her without a second thought. When she first came to work for me, Yvonne was practically glued to my side — twenty-four hours a day, diligent and eager. Whenever I spent time with Ethan and the others, Yvonne was always there too. The balance the four of us had built over the years began to crack. My dance career was going well. Within a year, I was headlining solo tours. That meant I spent more and more time away from the city. Yvonne always found a reason to stay behind. She never came on tour with me. I wasn’t happy about her work ethic, but I let it go. Then, little by little, I noticed the group chat the four of us had shared for years going quiet. It didn’t take long to figure out why. Yvonne had started a separate group chat with all three of them. They were more active in that one than they’d ever been in ours. I could accept Yvonne becoming part of our circle. What I couldn’t accept was being the one pushed out of it. Especially when one of those three people was my boyfriend. I picked a fight with Ethan. Desperate and furious, I pulled a stupid stunt — fake blood, trying to scare him into paying attention. When he saw through it, the look in his eyes was like looking at a stranger. “Funny. I never noticed how unhinged you were until now.” After that, Ethan and I fell into a cold war. I stopped talking to Sebastian and Caleb too. Then came another tour. Yvonne refused to come, as always — but this time I didn’t give her a choice. I made her come with me. That rehearsal was when everything went wrong. My opening number required me to descend on a wire harness from nearly fifty feet up. When Yvonne helped me check the rigging, something felt off. I told her multiple times to tighten it. She kept insisting it was fine. The rest of the crew had left for their dinner break. It was just the two of us in the theater. “Kayla, if you’re scared, I’ll go up with you,” she offered, her voice sweet. She strapped into a harness, but she never actually rose with me. I went up alone. At the top, the rigging gave way — exactly as I had feared. The safety lock had come undone. I fell from that height — five stories up — and hit the stage. I didn’t die. But it felt like every bone in my body had come apart. My screams echoed through the entire theater. Yvonne called a cab and dragged me into it, taking me to a hospital on the far end of the city. The fall was severe. The delay made it worse. My legs couldn’t be saved. The amputation happened on my twenty-eighth birthday. The only person with me that day was Yvonne. She told me Ethan and the others were busy. That they couldn’t make it. I was devastated, but I was too far gone in grief to dwell on it. Two days before I was discharged, Yvonne disappeared. I came home on prosthetics, and the police were waiting for me. Ethan, Sebastian, and Caleb had turned me in — together. Their story: driven by jealousy, I had attempted to kill Yvonne. The attempt failed, but left her permanently disabled. I was drowning in grief and had no way to prove anything. Before they took me away, I showed them the prosthetics one last time. They weren’t moved. They mocked me instead. My head was spinning now. My vision was going white at the edges. Blood loss. A body that had never really recovered. I passed out on the spot. As the darkness closed in, I heard Ethan’s voice — lazy, contemptuous.

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The day we moved into our marital home, Rodriguez asked me to set the door lock code. I typed in our wedding anniversary: 052 He glanced at it, then casually changed it to a different string of numbers — 0912. “This one’s easier to remember.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. It was only later that I started noticing 0912 everywhere. The door lock, the safe, his phone, delivery payments — all 091

Eventually I found out: that number was his ex-girlfriend Hector’s birthday. And on my own birthday, he stumbled home in the middle of the night reeking of alcohol. “Sorry, work thing ran late tonight. Forgot it was your birthday.” While he was in the shower, I saw his phone light up. A message from Hector’s mom: Thank you so much for coming to Hector’s birthday party. She had the best time. I let out a cold laugh. Every lock in this house needed to be changed. 1. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Ellis. “Joel! Happy birthday! What did your husband get you? Spill everything!” I stared at that 59-second voice message for a while. I typed back: All good, I’ll tell you tomorrow. Sent it, then flipped my phone face-down on the kitchen counter. The shower turned off. The blow dryer hummed from the bedroom. I picked up my phone and read the message again. Rodriguez — thank you so much for coming to Hector’s birthday party tonight. She was so happy. — Hector’s Mom. I turned off the living room lights and went upstairs. Rodriguez was propped up against the headboard scrolling through his phone, hair still damp, blanket pulled up halfway. My instinct was to grab a towel for him. My hand touched the edge of the bed. I stopped. I sat down beside him. “Rodriguez.” “Mm.” “Today is my birthday.” His finger paused on the screen. “I know. Didn’t I say I’d make it up to you?” He hadn’t said that. I remembered clearly. “You never said that.” “Well, I’m saying it now. I’ll take you somewhere nice this weekend.” “You went to Hector’s birthday party today.” He locked his screen and turned to look at me, brow furrowing. “Her mom called three times. I’ve known their family for over ten years. I couldn’t just blow them off.” “You could’ve come home for dinner first and gone after.” “Do you know what time it is? You were already asleep.” “I wasn’t asleep. I had four dishes on the table from six o’clock to eleven. I was waiting for you the whole time.” He didn’t respond to that. A few seconds passed, then: “Okay. I get it. I’ll make it up to you next week.” I watched his phone screen light up again. “All your passwords are 0912.” “I told you, I just typed something easy to remember.” “My birthday is September twelfth.” His finger went still on the screen. The second hand on the wall clock in the living room ticked through several beats. “Well then that works out perfectly — it’s the same day. It’s not like I don’t know that.” “You know. But you went to celebrate hers. You didn’t come home to celebrate mine.” Rodriguez set his phone down on the nightstand with a sharp thud. “Joel, what do you actually want from me? You’re going to keep bringing up one birthday? I said I’d make it up to you — what more do you want?” I looked at him for a moment. The crease between his brows was deep, like he’d been putting up with me for a long time. I didn’t say anything else. I turned off the light, lay down, and turned my back to him. He rolled over. Two minutes later, his breathing was steady. I lay there in the dark with my eyes open, completely still, counting to a hundred and twenty. Then I picked up my phone, turned the brightness all the way down, opened the browser, and searched for nearby rentals. I scrolled for twenty minutes and saved three listings. Then I went to my contacts and found a number I’d saved last month. Osman. Attorney. Too late to call. I’d do it tomorrow. I put the phone down and closed my eyes. Every lock in this house still had the same set of numbers. It’s the same day, he’d said. It’s not like I don’t know. But when two women share a birthday, he only remembered to celebrate one of them. The next morning when I came downstairs, he was already putting on his shoes. “Running late.” He pulled the door open. The lock screen flashed. “Wait — you said you’d make it up to me. When?” “Saturday, maybe. I’ll book somewhere.” “Not French food. I won’t eat it.” He glanced at me. “Fine.” The door closed. The lock screen glowed for two more seconds. I called Attorney Osman and made an appointment — tomorrow at three in the afternoon. He told me to bring the property deed, the marriage certificate, and bank statements. I texted Ellis: Are you free the day after tomorrow? I need to see you. Ellis messaged back immediately with a string of questions. I replied: I’ll explain in person. I sat down at the kitchen table and drank a glass of water. At the bottom of the glass, barely visible, was a faded letter — H. I looked at it for a moment. Then I put the glass back, grabbed my bag, and went to work. 2. Attorney Osman flipped through the documents and jotted a few notes. “Ms. Joel, I’ll be direct with you. From a financial standpoint, this marriage offers you very little protection.” “Are you certain you want to proceed with a divorce?” “Yes.” “If this goes to litigation, we’ll need evidence of irretrievable breakdown. Would you be comfortable sharing the grounds?” I thought for a few seconds. “Every password in our home is his ex-girlfriend’s birthday. The door lock, the WiFi, the safe, his phone, payment accounts — all 0912.” Attorney Osman looked up. “How long has this been going on?” “Three years. From the first day we moved in.” “Did you ever bring it up with him?” “Twice. He said it was just easy to remember, and that I was being too sensitive.” Attorney Osman drew a line across his notepad. “Good. I’ll have a preliminary draft of the agreement to you within three to five business days.” “Thank you.” I left the office at four in the afternoon. I walked past a bakery. There was a small cake in the display case, nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, with a single thin candle on top. I looked at it for a few seconds. I didn’t buy it. When I got home, Rodriguez wasn’t back yet. I changed into my slippers and stood in the middle of the living room. For the first time, I really looked at this place. The sofa was dark gray. I liked warm tones. The curtains were cool white. I liked linen. The bookshelf had a row of French novels, never opened. I didn’t read French. When we moved in, the whole apartment was already furnished. Rodriguez said there was no point redoing everything. I knelt down and pulled the safe out from under the bed. Typed in 0912. It clicked open. Inside: the marriage certificate, the property deed, a few insurance documents. And at the very bottom, pressed down under everything else, a small black jewelry box. I took it out and opened it. A silver ring. On the inner band, engraved in small letters: 0912. Our wedding rings, Rodriguez kept off his finger and on the nightstand year-round. But this ring was in the safe. Locked away. Buried at the bottom. I closed the box, put it back, shut the safe, and pushed it back under the bed. I opened Rodriguez’s side of the closet. In the far corner was a canvas tote bag. I unzipped it. Inside: a stack of postcards and a few letters. The top postcard had neat, delicate handwriting. Rodriguez — Paris is beautiful. Come back with me next time. Signed with a single letter: H. I went through them one by one. Paris. London. Iceland. Every one signed the same: H. The last postmark was four years ago. They’d broken up five years back. He hadn’t thrown out a single one. I put them back in order, zipped the bag, and pushed it into the corner of the closet. Ellis had sent another voice message. Answer me or you’re not sleeping tonight. I typed back: The safe password is 0912. There’s a ring inside. His ex’s name and birthday, engraved on the band. Ellis replied with a voice message. “What the actual fk.”

At lunch I met Ellis at the noodle place near my office. She grabbed my hand the second she sat down. “Don’t say a word yet. Eat first.” She ordered me a bowl. I pushed it to the side and told her everything — 0912, the ring, the postcards, and that whole night on my birthday. She didn’t say anything the whole time. “He didn’t change a single thing before you got married?” “Said it wasn’t worth the hassle.” “The couch, the curtains — do you even like any of it?” “No.” Ellis leaned back in her chair. “This apartment was decorated when he was still with Hector, wasn’t it?” “He finished the renovation the same year they broke up.” “So the passwords are hers, the furniture is hers, the safe has her ring, the closet has her letters.” “You didn’t marry Rodriguez, Joel. You moved into a shell that Hector left behind.” I squeezed the crumpled napkin on the table. “I know.” “You know?” “I’ve known for a while. This isn’t new.” Ellis studied me, her expression complicated. “Then why did it take you this long to get here?” “I kept thinking it would get better with time. But it’s been three years and he hasn’t changed a single password.” Ellis’s eyes went glassy. “What did the lawyer say?” “Draft agreement in three to five days.” “What about the apartment?” “He bought it before we were married. It’s his.” “So you get nothing.” “I don’t want anything.” She pressed her lips together hard. “You’re moving in with me.” “Not yet. There’s one thing I want to do first.” “What?” “He said he’d make up my birthday this weekend. I want to see where he books.” Saturday at five, Rodriguez sent me a pin — a Japanese izakaya in the city center. When I arrived, he was already looking over the menu. “You pick — get whatever you want.” I ordered two dishes. Rodriguez added a carafe of sake and a salmon sashimi platter. When the food came, I picked up my fork. “Have you been here before?” “A few times. Food’s good.” “With who?” His hand paused on the carafe. “Work dinners.” I pulled out my phone and searched the restaurant’s review page. The top review had six photos. The last one was a selfie — Hector. At the end of the review: We come here every anniversary. The owner knows us by now. Thank you for bringing me, Rodriguez. Four years ago. Username: Cat On The Moon. I turned my phone screen toward him. Rodriguez’s face shifted. “You dug that up on purpose?” “It was the first review. I didn’t have to dig.” “That was a long time ago.” “So you brought me here to make up my birthday, and ordered the same things you used to order with her.” He set down his fork. His voice dropped. “Joel, are you ever not exhausted by this? I came here because the food is good. What does it matter who else I’ve been here with?” “Name one thing I like to eat.” He looked at me. “What?” “Just one. What do I like?” The tables around us hummed with conversation, the clink of glasses, laughter. Our table was the quietest corner in the room. Rodriguez’s mouth opened slightly. “You’re not picky.” “Okay, different question. What don’t I eat?” He didn’t answer. “I don’t eat anything raw. No sashimi. I told you that the first month we moved in. You just ordered the salmon sashimi.” “You never really emphasized it.” “I did. You just didn’t remember. Your memory is reserved for 0912.” His jaw tightened. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I set down my fork, picked up my bag, and stood. “I’m done.” “Joel.” I didn’t look back. “Do you need to make a whole scene before you’re satisfied?” I walked out. A light rain was falling outside. I stood under the awning and waited for my ride. My phone lit up. Rodriguez. Such a bad attitude. It’s just dinner, was it really that serious? I muted his notifications and got in the car. Rain slid down the window in long, slow streaks. I texted Ellis. I have all the confirmation I need. Can you make up the guest room?

Sunday morning, Rodriguez left to play basketball. I pulled a suitcase out of the closet, unzipped it, and started packing. Clothes, skincare, a few books — not even half a suitcase. In my jewelry box: one pair of earrings and a necklace. Both things I’d bought myself. I scanned the bedroom one last time. That was everything that belonged to me. Three years. Half a suitcase. I wheeled it to the front door, put on my shoes, and looked back one more time. The wedding photo on the coffee table — I left it. I walked to the door and opened the lock panel. Found the password change option. Old password: 0912. I looked at the blank input field and paused for a second. Then I typed four digits. The password I’d set the first day we moved in. Our wedding anniversary. The one he changed right in front of me. I changed it back. Confirm. The lock beeped. The screen flashed. I wheeled my suitcase out, and the door clicked shut behind me. I took a car to Ellis’s place and rolled the suitcase into the guest room. Ellis helped me make the bed. Halfway through, she stopped. “You okay?” “I’m okay.” “Do you need to cry?” “No.” She finished pulling on the pillowcase and smoothed it flat. “Are you hungry? I made soup.” “That sounds good.” I was sitting at Ellis’s kitchen table drinking soup when my phone started buzzing. Rodriguez called three times. I didn’t pick up. Then texts. Where are you? Why won’t the code work? Joel, answer me. I picked up the last call. “What the hell are you doing?” He was loud. He’d probably been standing at the door for a while. “I changed the password.” “Changed it to what?” “I’m not telling you.” “This is my apartment. You changed the lock and you’re not going to tell me?” “You’re right. It is your apartment.” Silence on the line. “Where are you?” “I moved out.” “Stop this and come home. Change it back.” “I’m not coming back.” “Over one dinner you’re really going to do this?” I held my bowl. The soup was still steaming. “It’s not about the dinner.” “Then what is it about?” “Because that was never my home.” “You lived there for three years.” “The passwords were her birthday. The safe had her ring. The closet had her letters. You took me to dinner at your place with her. I lived there for three years and never once felt like I’d actually moved in.” He went quiet. “Call a locksmith. I won’t give you the new code.” I hung up. Ellis sat across from me and didn’t say a word. After a while she said, “Your soup’s getting cold.” “Right.” I drank it. My phone buzzed a few more times. I put it on silent and flipped it over. About half an hour later, the screen lit up again. Rodriguez. He’d gotten a locksmith. The door was open. I changed your password too. I took a screenshot and saved it to a new folder. “Changed it back?” Ellis glanced over. “Probably back to 0912.” She sighed. “He can change the number. He can’t change what he lost.” Outside, the sky was going dark. The light in Ellis’s living room was warm yellow. I sat on the couch and noticed it for the first time. Three years in Rodriguez’s apartment, and I never once registered what color the lights were.

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In my life, I’ve been someone’s mistress twice. The first time, I was young and naive. I got involved with a ruthless mob boss. Back then I was soft and foolish. I thought if I was good enough, he’d give me his heart in return. When I realized he only saw me as a toy, I walked away without looking back. The second time, I wised up. I got with Julian Rhodes, a legendary figure in high finance. In the three years we’d been married, Julian spoiled me rotten. Wherever I went, he had bodyguards shadowing my every step. I told myself I’d finally earned real love on my own terms. Then came a vacation earlier this year. I went with Julian to visit his grandmother at her estate in Harbor City. Standing outside on the villa terrace, I heard his grandmother let out a long, heavy sigh. “Years ago, the eldest daughter of the Churchill family looked down on you for being illegitimate. She nearly got you killed. You swore then that you’d never love her again.” “And yet here we are. Isn’t your current wife just a copy of what Chelsea Churchill looked like before her surgery?”

Julian went quiet for a long moment. “Grandma,” he finally said, “don’t let Nora hear you say that.” I was standing on the other side of the terrace. My fingers gripped the railing so hard my knuckles went white. “Why are you out here alone in the wind? You’ll catch a cold.” Julian’s warm voice came from behind me. He draped a jacket over my shoulders and slipped his arms around my waist from behind. My whole body went rigid. His grandmother’s words kept echoing through my head. Julian took my hand. “Nora, why are your hands so cold?” He brought my fingers to his lips and breathed warm air against them. I turned around and pulled my hand back, keeping my face blank. “Julian,” I said, “who am I to you?” Looking into his tender eyes, I couldn’t stop the memories of the past three years flooding back. Every single night, without fail, he’d bring me a warm glass of milk before bed. When my cramps were bad, he’d cancel billion-dollar deals just to stay home and rub my stomach all night. And all of it had been for another woman? He reached up and touched my hair. “Silly girl. Do you really have to ask? You’re my wife. The love of my life.” I opened my mouth to speak, but his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. His expression didn’t change. “Nora, something’s come up in Europe. I need to take a video call in the study.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Be good. Go to sleep without me.” I stood there, numb, watching him disappear. I went back to the bedroom alone. On the nightstand, the tablet Julian used to read financial news suddenly lit up. A chat window popped open. No name saved for the contact. A photo came through. The background was a high-end hotel somewhere in Harbor City. In the photo, a woman was wearing a black lace slip dress, her eyes soft and liquid. Her features were sharp and carefully sculpted. But even so, I could see it. The shape of her face carried an echo of mine. Chelsea Churchill. The eldest daughter of the Churchill family. Before I could even react, the chat log vanished. Julian had wiped the messages from his end. Less than a minute later, I heard footsteps in the hallway, deliberately quiet. Then the sound of an engine fading into the distance. I pressed both hands flat against the bedsheets. After a moment, I took a slow, deep breath. I used the hotel logo barely visible in the background of the photo to track down the location, and called a cab.

I didn’t storm in and cause a scene. Instead, I did something almost like self-punishment. I checked into the room right next door. The walls were thin. Or maybe they just didn’t bother to keep quiet. The sounds coming through the wall were unlike anything I’d ever heard from him. That kind of intensity, that abandon. With me, he was always gentle. Always restrained. Chelsea’s voice came through, thick with tears. “Julian, three years ago you were furious at me for what I did. For leaving you out there in the water…” “Tonight, I’m giving myself to you. Does that make it even?” Whatever she said next was swallowed up by the sounds that followed. I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood. I pushed down every instinct screaming at me to act. I pulled out my voice recorder and saved everything. Nausea clawed its way up my throat. I pocketed the recorder and stumbled out of there. I walked alone through the streets. Cold wind mixed with a light drizzle hit me full in the face. My phone screen lit up. A message from Julian. “Nora, this case is getting complicated. I’ll be late. Get some rest. Don’t wait up.” I tilted my head back. I tried to hold the tears in, but my vision blurred anyway. I had believed I was the luckiest woman alive. The evidence in front of me had just slapped that belief clean off my face. I don’t remember how I made it home. I picked up the wooden carving by the entryway and walked to the display shelf in the living room. The whole shelf was lined with small female figures, carved in wood. For three years, I’d seen them as proof of his love. I used to be obsessed with wood carving. So Julian had cleared his entire schedule to take classes with me. He’d wrap his arms around me from behind, guide my hands, and carve stroke by stroke. He said he wanted to capture every moment of me. I walked to the centerpiece, the figure I loved most, a half-length portrait. Something in my chest told me to move it. I did. There was a hidden compartment underneath. I opened it, and my hands started shaking before I even fully understood what I was seeing. Inside was an old photograph, yellowed at the edges. A girl with a wild, defiant smile. Something melancholy in her eyes. It was Chelsea Churchill. Before the surgery. I held the photo up next to the carving. The eyes. The expression. The shape of the face. It wasn’t me. I was never the subject. I was just a reference point. A stand-in for what Chelsea used to look like. That’s when I heard the front door unlock. Julian was home. “Still awake? Were you scared being here alone without me?” He came toward me, reached up out of habit to touch my hair. I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I stepped back from his hand and threw the photograph at his face. “So everything you did for me these past three years was a lie?” “You were just looking at her through me?” Julian glanced down at the photo. A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. He bent down, picked it up, and brushed the dust off it carefully. Not a trace of panic. No guilt. No shame. “Nora, your place as my wife is permanent. That will never change.” “Chelsea is just something I need to work through. A fixation from when I was young. I need a little time to put it to rest.” I let out a cold laugh. “Put it to rest? In her bed?” Julian looked up at me, eyes narrowing. “You followed me?” He crossed one leg over the other. “She has severe depression. I’m not going to stand by and watch someone fall apart. You of all people would understand that. You care about every stray cat and dog you come across. This is a human life.” Then his phone lit up on the table. A voice message from Chelsea. Julian didn’t even flinch. He hit play on speaker.

Chelsea’s voice came through lazy and satisfied. “Thanks for remembering I love pink diamonds. Oh, and I prefer strawberry flavored. Don’t mix it up next time.” The pink diamond bracelet. The one he’d bid an outrageous price for at an auction last year. He’d said he bought it for me. It had been for her all along. He extended his hand toward me. “That bracelet was low quality anyway. I’ll have my assistant find a better one tomorrow. Consider it an apology.” I stood up. “Julian. I want a divorce.” The moment the words left my mouth, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. He didn’t squeeze hard, but the warmth in his eyes was completely gone. “Stop making a scene. I don’t like you like this.” “Where exactly do you think you’d go without me? Back to that mob boss?” “Let go of me. Where I go is none of your business.” I stared coldly at his hand wrapped around my wrist. Julian’s expression darkened. Slowly, he loosened his grip. He exhaled, and his face shifted into something patient and tired, like he was indulging a child throwing a tantrum. “Nora, you’re being emotional. I promise I’ll see her less from now on.” Then the private cell phone in his pocket rang. The special number. The one he’d set up just for me, so I could always reach him in an emergency. Julian’s brow creased slightly. He answered. Chelsea’s voice, on the verge of tears. “Julian, I’m scared.” Julian’s whole body tensed. “What? You cut yourself?” He turned around without a second’s hesitation. “I have to go. Get some rest.” “Julian.” A sharp pain hit me low in my stomach. I pressed my hand over it on instinct and reached out to grab the edge of his sleeve. He looked back at me with barely concealed impatience. “Nora, don’t play games right now. This isn’t the time for jealousy.” “She’s in a dangerous state. I have to go.” One by one, he pried my fingers off his sleeve. He didn’t look back at me again. He was out the door in three strides. I sank down onto the floor, cold sweat soaking through my shirt. I got myself to the hospital alone. I lay in a narrow bed under the fluorescent lights. I held the thin slip of paper from the test and ran my fingers over my still-flat stomach. Baby, I’m sorry. Your timing couldn’t be worse. I curled my hand into a fist. But you’re here. And I’m going to take you with me. I’m going to raise you. I called my lawyer. After sending over the evidence, I got up to leave. That’s when I saw them. Julian was carefully guiding Chelsea out of the private ultrasound suite, one hand steadying her elbow. Chelsea had a cartoon bandage on her finger. Julian was leaning close, saying something soft to her. His face was gentle in a way I recognized. Chelsea looked up and her eyes found mine. She stopped walking. She reached over and tugged on Julian’s sleeve. Julian followed her gaze. Something shifted in his expression. Chelsea pulled free of his hand and walked straight toward me. She studied my face. “Strange, isn’t it. Even I almost forgot what I used to look like. And here you are.” That light, breezy sentence hit me like a slap across the face. She raised her hand and reached toward my cheek. I turned my head away. “Don’t touch me. I’m not you.” When I pulled back, she swung her palm across my face. The sting blazed across my cheek. I raised my hand and hit her back. Julian crossed the space between us in seconds and stepped in front of Chelsea. “Nora, she’s unwell. Let it go.” I turned and hit him across the face instead. He didn’t react with anger. His eyes dropped to the test results still in my hand. He reached over and took the paper. He scanned it.

His brow furrowed. “Nora, we can’t keep this baby. Not right now.” “Chelsea is pregnant too. Her depression is severe. Any kind of stress could push her over the edge.” I stared at the man in front of me like I was seeing him clearly for the first time. She was pregnant too? So they’d been together long before any of this. A wave of nausea hit me and I couldn’t hold it back. He rubbed my back. I shoved him off. “This is my child. This has nothing to do with you.” Julian reached up and wiped the involuntary tears from the corners of my eyes. “Be reasonable. We’ll end this one.” He sighed, the way you do when you’re trying to calm down someone who doesn’t understand the situation. “We can have more later. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” I stepped back out of his reach. “I told you. I want a divorce. And this baby is mine.” Behind me, Chelsea pressed a hand to her chest right on cue and let out a soft, pained gasp. Julian’s expression went cold. He turned and signaled to the bodyguards behind him. “Take my wife to the surgical suite. Get the best doctor on staff.” Several bodyguards stepped forward immediately and seized my arms. I fought with everything I had. It made no difference. In the end, I was locked inside a private room to wait for the procedure. Tears ran down the sides of my face. Fear and helplessness swallowed me whole. The door opened. Chelsea. I glared at her with everything in me. She smiled at me, slow and cold. “Did you really think a woman like you, a mistress who got thrown away by a crime lord, was going to carry on the Rhodes family line? Keep dreaming.” “If you hadn’t been born with a face like mine, you never would have gotten near Julian in the first place.” Before the last word left her mouth, she swung at me again. This time I sank my teeth into her hand and didn’t let go until I tasted blood. She screamed for a doctor. “No anesthesia.” The procedure began. I screamed. I felt my child being taken from me. The pain was beyond anything I’d known, body and soul torn apart at once. I choked up blood and went dark. When I came to, cramps were tearing through my lower stomach in waves. I stared up at the ceiling as tears ran silently into my hair. My baby was gone. Through the wall, I could hear Julian and Chelsea laughing together, talking about the new life they were expecting. I wiped my face dry. I made a phone call. “I’m ready to work with you. Meet me at the beach.” I went home feeling hollowed out and walked straight to Julian’s study. I pulled a small USB drive from my pocket and plugged it into his private computer. I thought for a moment, then typed in a number. Correct password. It was the date Chelsea had nearly gotten him killed in the water. But there was a second password. I tried several combinations. None of them worked. Then, on a strange impulse, I typed in our wedding anniversary. The screen unlocked. I laughed despite myself. What a pathetic kind of devotion. The progress bar ticked through the Rhodes Group’s most sensitive files. I drove out to the beach on the edge of the city alone. That’s where I always went when things got to be too much. Then I heard footsteps nearby. “Knew it was you, Nora. My contact wasn’t lying.” A man’s voice, oily and too familiar. I turned around, and my blood ran cold. Rex Fowler. The crime lord. The man I’d left. The one who’d treated me like I was nothing. My body moved before my mind caught up. “How are you here? Why are you here?” Rex looked me over slowly, a predatory smile spreading across his face. “Nora. It’s been a while. Leaving me clearly agreed with you.” “Word is Julian tossed you out. Why not come back to me? I’ll make sure every single day is worth your while.”

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Noah and I grew up absolutely unable to stand each other. He always said I was a firecracker, bursting into flames at the slightest spark. I told him he had a venomous tongue, never knowing when to let things go. We bickered like that for over a decade. That was until our senior year of high school, when the new transfer student, Kitty, confessed her feelings to him. He cast a careless glance my way, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Sorry about that. You just aren’t my type.” The crowd around us immediately started hooting and hollering. “Don’t tell me you’re actually into a girl like Scarlett?” Noah let out a soft chuckle, his tone dripping with a relaxed drawl. “Yeah, I like a girl who gives it to me straight. Got a problem with that?” Later on, we went to college together, got married, had kids, and spent a lifetime loudly arguing our way through love. Right before he passed away from his illness, he held my hand, his eyes crinkling with a peaceful smile. “Look at you. Your temper is so awful, and you always put too much salt in the food. In my next life, I am definitely finding someone gentle and sweet.” My eyes stung with tears as I lightly punched his shoulder. “Fine. You go find someone gentle, and I will find a guy who doesn’t argue with me every single day.” When I opened my eyes again, I was standing right back in the middle of our senior year. Right on the very day Kitty confessed to him. 1 “Noah, I really like you. Could you give me a chance?” Noah lifted his gaze, sweeping his eyes over me for a split second before looking away. The corner of his mouth tipped up into a relaxed, easy smile. “Sure, let’s give it a shot.” Kitty’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, the edges of them turning a soft, teary pink as she stared at him. “Are… are you serious?” Noah hummed in agreement. “You have a really sweet personality, and you look nice and clean. I appreciate that.” I dug my nails into my palms, my fingertips trembling slightly. The sound of mocking laughter erupted from the students surrounding us. “Wow, Noah, so you actually go for girls like Kitty! We all thought you were secretly pining after Scarlett.” Noah lazily lifted his heavy eyelids, that careless smirk still resting on his face. “Who would ever like her? Her temper is a nightmare. She throws hands over nothing. A grown bull couldn’t survive one of her punches.” The classroom exploded into louder laughter. “I mean, Scarlett is gorgeous, but she goes off like a landmine. Who could deal with that?” “Exactly. Guys just want a girl who is gentle and actually knows how to behave.” I stood frozen in the middle of the room, an icy chill seeping into my bones. At this exact moment in our past life, Noah had rejected Kitty without a second thought. He had stood in front of everyone and declared that he liked girls who were straightforward. My heart had beaten so fast that day I thought it might leap right out of my throat. I had spent that entire night tossing and turning in bed, completely unable to sleep. The next morning, I had stumbled downstairs with massive dark circles under my eyes, only to find Noah leaning against the porch railing, waiting for me. He had looked me up and down, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Scarlett, were you out robbing banks last night?” I had snapped at him, but he just laughed. After graduation, he finally asked me out. He told me that even though I had a terrible temper, he was pretty crazy about me, and he wanted to know if I would be his girl. I remembered lightly punching his arm, telling him no one in their right mind would want to be his girlfriend. He had just grabbed his shoulder and laughed, teasing me for acting tough when I clearly felt the same. He said I had been using that same stubborn defense mechanism since we were kids. Then came college. We were just like any other ordinary couple. We took walks in the pouring rain and kissed under golden sunsets. We got married right out of school and had a son and a daughter. Through all those years, we bickered constantly, but we never truly crossed a line. The worst fight we ever had resulted in a month-long cold war where we flat-out refused to speak to each other. People around us started whispering, assuming we were finally heading for a divorce. But whenever someone brought it up, Noah would just glare at them. He would tell them to mind their own business, claiming that fighting was just how he and his wife showed affection. Then he would turn right around, flash me a cheeky grin, and start sweet-talking me into forgiving him. He kept bickering with me right up until his dying breath. He told me he was going to find a sweet, gentle woman in his next life. I thought he was just trying to rile me up one last time. I never expected him to actually mean it. I pulled myself out of my chaotic memories, forcing my gaze up to meet Noah’s. I steadied my voice the best I could. “You say that like anyone actually wants you. Your mouth is pure poison. Just listening to you speak is exhausting.” Then I shot a glare at the boys who were laughing the loudest. “You guys have a lot of nerve judging other people. Have you ever considered looking in a mirror?” Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel and stormed out of the classroom. If I stayed in there for even one more second, I knew I was going to cry in front of everyone. Once I reached the restroom, I aggressively splashed freezing water onto my face. Drops of water slid down my chin, soaking the collar of my shirt and resting cold against my collarbone. I stared at the eighteen-year-old face looking back at me in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot. This was not a dream. Both Noah and I had come back to the year we turned eighteen. Only this time around, he had no intention of choosing me. 2 When I walked back into the classroom, Kitty was sitting in my seat. My voice came out like ice. “Get up.” She bit her bottom lip, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Noah told me I could sit here.” Right on cue, Noah strolled into the room holding a thermos filled with hot water. “I told her to sit there. She is my girlfriend now, so naturally, she should sit next to me.” He casually pointed toward the empty desk where Kitty used to sit. “You can take her spot.” When the teacher had assigned seats at the beginning of the year, Noah had begged and pleaded until they let him sit next to me. He had joked that my temper was so bad I would definitely bully anyone else, so he had to sacrifice himself for the greater good. I didn’t say a single word. I walked straight to Kitty’s old desk, grabbed my backpack, and hoisted it over my shoulder. Under the shocked stares of the entire class, I walked all the way to the very last row in the back corner. “What is she doing? Is she really going to sit next to Rowan?” “She can try, but there is no way Rowan will let her.” Even Noah furrowed his brows, shooting a displeased look in my direction. I knocked my knuckles against the desk in the back row. The boy sleeping with his head buried in his arms slowly lifted his face. His eyes were cold and distant, laced with heavy irritation at being woken up. “Can I sit here?” He stared at me for a long moment, completely silent, before closing his eyes and dropping his head back down onto his arms. I pulled out the chair and sat down. Whispers erupted all around us. The chatter didn’t die down until the bell finally rang for class to start. I pulled out my textbook, but my mind was a total mess. My eyes kept drifting toward the front of the room, drawn to Noah against my will. He had his chin propped on his left hand, his gaze fixed entirely on the side of Kitty’s face. The corner of his mouth was curved up into a soft, genuine smile, and his features were completely relaxed. He used to stare at me exactly like that during class. He used to tell me that I looked the most beautiful when I was intensely focused on a lecture. When we finally started dating, he kept doing it. He would whisper that I looked so pretty he just wanted to lean over and kiss me. Even after we got married, nothing changed. He would look at me with that same soft expression and promise that he wanted to be with me in this life, the next life, and every life after that. A small pack of tissues suddenly landed on my desk. I looked down, realizing for the first time that a dark, wet patch had spread across the pages of my textbook. Rowan had already pulled his hand back. He was leaning casually against his chair, deliberately looking away from me. His voice was a low, raspy drawl. “People are going to think I’m the one making you cry.” If you added my two lifetimes together, I was almost a hundred years old. Yet here I was, crying in front of an eighteen-year-old boy. The sadness instantly vanished, replaced by an overwhelming wave of embarrassment. I genuinely wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. When the final bell rang that afternoon, Noah walked over, carrying Kitty’s backpack in one hand. His tone was completely flat. “Walk home by yourself today. I am taking Kitty home.” He took two steps away before pausing and looking back over his shoulder. “And don’t tell my parents I have a girlfriend.” With that, he looked down at Kitty. The bright smile on his face was impossible to hide. “I am taking you to this amazing food truck. They have the best spicy street tacos in the city.” Noah loved those tacos more than anything. In our past life, he dragged me there every single day after school. But now, he had someone else to share them with. I had spent the entire afternoon wallowing in misery, but I had finally made up my mind. Even if he had treated me like a queen in our past life, that was all in the past. I needed to let it go. I needed to move forward. I turned my head to look at the brooding, untouchable boy sitting next to me. “Do you want to go get some ghost pepper wings? I know a dive bar that makes them perfectly.” Rowan gave me a weird look, grabbed his bag, and walked right past me. He dropped a single, freezing sentence as he left. “Are we supposed to be friends or something?” 3 After being ruthlessly rejected, I walked out of the school gates all by myself. It felt incredibly strange. Ever since kindergarten, Noah and I had walked home together every single day. In college, he always walked me to the door of my dorm before heading to his own. When we were married, he would wait outside my office building so we could commute back to our house together. How could a man who loved me that deeply change so fast? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I swung my foot and violently kicked a loose rock on the sidewalk. “Two-timing bastard!” The rock flew through the air and hit the guy walking in front of me directly in the back of the head. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around. My heart dropped straight into my stomach. Rowan stared at me, his eyes as cold as absolute zero. “Who did you just call a bastard?” I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, my brain scrambling for an excuse. I pointed a stiff finger at a stray dog loitering near the alleyway. “Him.” The large yellow dog rested its chin on its paws, giving me a deeply innocent look while lightly wagging its tail. A smirk tugged at the corner of Rowan’s mouth, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “You curse at dogs by throwing rocks at them?” “My foot just slipped.” He took a few slow steps toward me until he was standing right in my personal space. He was a full head taller than me, forcing him to tilt his head down to meet my eyes. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. “Scarlett, are you sure you weren’t talking about me?” I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, I swear! I was cursing out Noah.” He stayed silent for a few seconds, his gaze turning thoughtful and slightly amused. “What were you calling him?” “A… two-timing bastard.” Rowan raised a single eyebrow. “Let me get this straight.” “Noah dumped you, you called him a bastard, and somehow the rock ended up hitting my head?” I completely choked on my words. From an outsider’s perspective, I suppose it did look exactly like I had been dumped. The moment I realized I had been reborn, I had wanted to jump for joy. I thought I had been given a miracle. A chance to see Noah again and spend another lifetime loving him. Who could have predicted this? The love of my life was currently feeding street tacos to his sweet, gentle new girlfriend! I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I was not dumped. We were never even dating. Besides, he is a fickle, promise-breaking, backstabbing jerk who ruined our friendship. I wouldn’t like a guy like that if he were the last man on earth!” Rowan let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Right. Well, you still owe me an apology.” I dropped my head in defeat. “I am really sorry. I genuinely didn’t mean to hit you. Do you need to go to the nurse or a clinic?” “No.” He turned around and started walking away. Without thinking, my feet moved on their own, trailing right behind him. “How about I buy you dinner to make up for it? Those ghost pepper wings I mentioned earlier are seriously amazing.” He stopped walking. He didn’t turn around, but two icy words floated back to me. “Lead the way.” We destroyed a massive platter of insanely spicy wings, followed by fries and shakes. The heavy, suffocating anger that Noah had planted in my chest finally began to melt away under the sheer comfort of junk food. When I finally turned onto my street, I spotted Noah immediately. He was sitting on the stone bench near my driveway. A white takeout bag from the taco truck was resting next to him. The moment he saw me, he stood up. His face was thunderous. “Scarlett, did you forget how to walk home? Why the hell did it take you so long?” I rolled my eyes, stepping around him to head toward my front door. I kept my voice incredibly casual as I brushed past him. “I went out to eat with Rowan. It took a little longer than expected.” A hand clamped down hard on the strap of my backpack. Noah’s explosive voice rang out behind me. “What did you just say? You went out with Rowan?” He forcefully spun me around. His face was a mask of pure disbelief. “You don’t even know the guy! Why the hell are you eating dinner with him?” I yanked my strap out of his grip, my voice dripping with ice. “Is that any of your business?” “My business?” Noah let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Wow, Scarlett, you are really feeling yourself today, aren’t you?” “When have I ever not made your life my business? When we were kids and you were still hungry, I gave you half my lunch! When you lost that fight in the first grade, I was the one who went back and beat the kid up for you!” He was practically shouting, venting all his chaotic frustration. I watched him lose his temper, and for a second, I found it almost funny. “Who I eat with is my choice. You are just my neighbor, Noah. You are overstepping.” “If you have this much free time, you should be on the phone with your sweet, gentle girlfriend.” Noah ground his teeth together. “You are just being stubborn, Scarlett.” “I only agreed to date Kitty because…” “…I know. Because she is sweet and gentle.” I cut him off before he could finish. “I only went out with Rowan because he is gorgeous, and it looks good having a guy like that walking next to me.” “Oh, and he has broad shoulders and an amazing waist. Not like you. You’re built like a beanpole.” Noah’s face turned so dark he looked like he might actually spontaneously combust. I ignored him, turning my back and walking straight up to my house. I only made it two steps before the familiar burning sensation returned to my eyes. Moving on was obviously going to be a lot harder than I thought. 4 The next morning, I walked into the classroom to find an iced latte and a toasted bagel sitting on my desk. They were exactly how I liked them. Kitty was standing next to my desk, flashing me a soft, timid smile. She spoke with an apologetic sweetness. “Scarlett, Noah accidentally bought too much breakfast this morning. You can have this one.” Before I could even open my mouth, Noah’s voice drifted over from the row behind us. “Kitty, don’t waste your breath on her. Just leave it there. If she starves, she starves.” He walked over, grabbed a second iced latte, popped the straw in, and held it right up to Kitty’s lips. His eyes were overflowing with affection. “Drink this one. I added extra syrup. It’s as sweet as you are.” Kitty blushed violently and took a sip. The rest of the class immediately started catcalling them. “Damn, Noah, you got moves!” “Since when were you the romantic boyfriend type?” Noah raised a brow, his gaze flicking toward me for a fraction of a second. A smirk played on his lips. “Depends on the girl.” I reached out, grabbed the latte and the bagel, and dropped them straight into the trash can. The smug smile on Noah’s face completely shattered. When lunchtime rolled around, I grabbed my tray and sat down at an empty table. Almost instantly, two people sat down directly across from me. Kitty pressed her shoulder right up against Noah’s. He was picking the best pieces of chicken from his plate and placing them gently onto hers. His voice was disgustingly tender. “You are way too skinny. Eat more.” Kitty shook her head, her cheeks flushed pink. “It’s too much. I can’t finish all of this.” Noah just laughed. “If you can’t finish it, I will eat it for you. It’s not like I haven’t eaten your leftovers before.” That sentence caught the attention of the surrounding tables. “Noah, you guys are moving way too fast!” “Seriously, get a room. We’re trying to eat here.” My grip on my fork tightened until my knuckles turned stark white. In our past life, Noah was always the one eating my leftovers. I was an incredibly picky eater, and he constantly lectured me about wasting food. He would complain endlessly while reaching over, taking my plate, and finishing every last bite. I dropped my head, shoveling food into my mouth as fast as I could. I stuffed my cheeks full, swallowing hard to force down the bitter lump rising in my throat. Noah suddenly looked up at me, a mocking edge to his voice. “Why are you eating all by yourself, Scarlett? Where is your broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted desk mate? Why isn’t he keeping you company?” “None of your damn business.” I didn’t even look up. “Wow, still got that terrible temper, I see.” He chuckled, turning his attention back to Kitty. “See? I told you she was vicious. She doesn’t have half your manners.” The second the words left his mouth, a tray slammed down onto the table. Rowan slid into the seat right next to me. Mutters and whispers broke out across the cafeteria. “Since when does Scarlett hang out with Rowan?” “I have no idea. Didn’t they just become desk mates yesterday?” Rowan acted like the whispers didn’t exist. He calmly picked up his fork, took a bite of his food, and chewed at an agonizingly slow pace. His broad frame completely blocked my view of Noah. I had no idea what expression my former husband was making. All I heard was the loud, violent clatter of silverware hitting a plastic tray. “I lost my appetite.” Noah grabbed his tray, turned around, and stormed off. Kitty scrambled out of her seat in a panic, chasing after him as fast as her legs could carry her. Half the cafeteria was staring at our table. I kept my face completely blank, finished the rest of my meal, and finally looked at Rowan to say thank you. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, his voice as aloof as ever. “You owe me a meal.” “Didn’t I just buy you wings yesterday?” “One favor equals one meal.” I stared at him in sheer disbelief. Who the hell kept score like that? But honestly, he had just saved me from a deeply humiliating situation. “Fine. I will buy you food some other time.” He stood up, grabbing his tray. “Don’t go back on your word.” When school let out, I bumped into Noah at the main gates. He was leaning against the brick wall holding a bottle of water. The moment he saw me, he stood up straight. “Scarlett.” I didn’t break my stride. I kept walking. He caught up to me in three long strides, stepping right into my path to block my way. “What do you want?” He looked down at me, his lips parting and closing a few times before he finally squeezed out a sentence. “Why aren’t you taking the bus today?” “I am walking. I need the cardio.” “Then I am walking with you.” “I don’t need you to. Shouldn’t you be walking your little girlfriend home?” He choked on his words, averting his eyes. “She had something to do today. She left early.” I didn’t reply. I just stepped around him and kept walking. He followed right behind me. It took less than three seconds for him to start running his mouth. “When did you and Rowan get so close? You have sat next to him for exactly two days, and he is already sitting with you at lunch?” “Scarlett, don’t tell me you actually have a crush on him.” His tone was starting to sound incredibly frantic. “Guys like him are a nightmare to deal with. He walks around with that freezing look on his face like the whole world owes him money.” I stopped so abruptly that he almost crashed right into my back. “Noah, what exactly are you trying to say?” He stood there in the fading twilight, looking deeply uncomfortable. It took him a long time to finally mutter his next words. “Stay away from him.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459946”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I scored a vintage iPod on Depop. Plugging in my cheap wired earbuds, I expected to hear some nostalgic Lana Del Rey. Instead, a low, husky male voice filled my ears: “Avery forgot her umbrella today. So stupid.” I flipped through the photo gallery. It was entirely filled with candid shots of me from high school. Turning my head, I saw the top trending topic on Twitter: #JudeSinclairPolice #AssistantTheft. Two minutes later, the Depop seller sent me a private message: [That belongs to me. Fifteen grand. Give it back.] I sneered and let my fingers fly across the keyboard: [Meet me in person, or I’m turning this over to the cops.] The next afternoon at a coffee shop, I stared at the fully disguised Jude Sinclair sitting across from me and hit the send button right in front of his face. “Ding.” The crisp notification sound erupted from his pocket. 1 Opening that package was a heart-stopping experience. Here is what happened. I had recently gotten into the retro aesthetic and spent thirty bucks on Depop for a vintage iPod Classic. The seller’s description read: “Battle-scarred condition. Powers on. No returns.” I figured thirty bucks for a piece of nostalgia was a steal. The second I got it, I plugged it into the charger and shoved in my two-dollar bargain bin wired earbuds. The screen lit up, lagging for three seconds before loading the main menu. There was no Coldplay. No Taylor Swift. There was only a single hidden folder named “A”. Curious, I clicked on it. It contained a few abrupt audio files and dozens of blurry photos. I casually tapped the first audio track. A crackling static noise hissed through the earbuds, followed instantly by a deeply low, slightly youthful male voice. “Avery wore her hair in a ponytail today. Kinda want to tug it.” My scalp tingled. I nearly dropped the iPod on the floor. What the hell? I swallowed hard and with a trembling finger, tapped the second track. “Avery got a C on her Calculus mid-term. Idiot. I explained that exact equation to her three times.” “It is pouring. Avery forgot her umbrella again. Dummy.” Fuck. I would recognize that voice anywhere. I hastily backed out to the main menu and opened the photo folder. A grid of photos flooded the screen. The pixel quality was laughably bad, but the subject of every single picture was me. There was a side profile of me drooling on my desk during study hall. A shot of my back as I sprinted across the track field in an oversized hoodie. There was even a candid of me hiding in the stairwell, secretly stuffing a breakfast burrito into my mouth. It was a total creepy-secret-admirer POV. My coworker Zoe walked by with her coffee, caught a glimpse of my screen from the corner of her eye, and immediately leaned in. “Whoa, Avery, who took these crusty photos? From high school? The quality looks deep-fried.” My brain was buzzing. I brushed her off with a random excuse. “No idea. Probably just bought some creep’s secondhand junk.” Zoe did not pay much attention. She pulled out her phone to slack off, but a second later, she slapped my thigh hard. “Oh my god! Huge drama!” “Look at the number one trending topic!” I gasped from the stinging slap and leaned over to look at her screen. The top hashtag had a dark red “Trending” icon next to it. #JudeSinclairPolice #AssistantTheft The timeline was in absolute chaos. “Holy shit, Jude actually snapped! Called the cops on his own assistant?” “Word is the assistant listed a super personal, beat-up item he has carried for years on a secondhand app. Jude literally smashed a glass on set!” “What kind of item is that precious? Bypassing PR to call the cops directly? That assistant is dancing on a minefield.” Zoe scrolled through the comments, clicking her tongue in amazement. “Assistants these days are wild. Jude is famous for being an untouchable, arrogant ice king. He never even has dating rumors. For him to blow up like this is insane. Avery, what do you think he lost? A love token from his secret girlfriend?” I said nothing. Because my phone just buzzed. A new notification popped up from Depop. It was a message from the seller who sold me the iPod. [That belongs to me.] [I did not sell it willingly.] [Fifteen grand. Give it back.] I stared at the words on the screen, a massive question mark forming in my head. Fifteen grand? I paid thirty bucks for a piece of junk, and it costs fifteen grand to ransom it back? Are scammers getting this brazen nowadays? I scoffed, my fingers flying across the screen. [Nice scam. I am the Queen of England. Send cash.] He replied instantly: [I am not joking. That item is extremely important to me.] [As long as you return it, name your price.] I raised an eyebrow. Judging by his tone, the guy was anxious enough to crawl through the internet connection. I wanted to see exactly what kind of trick this scammer was trying to pull. [Fine. Meet in person. Tomorrow at 3 PM, Starbucks on the third floor of the Galleria mall.] [If you do not show up, I am calling the cops and handing this over as stolen property.] After sending that, I closed the app and locked the burning-hot iPod in the bottom drawer of my desk. His reply came quickly. Just one brief word. [Okay.] Right after lunch, my department manager Valerie stormed into the office, her heels clicking aggressively against the floor. “Everyone, drop what you are doing!” “We just landed the promotional campaign for Jude Sinclair’s new album. His team will be downstairs in ten minutes. Avery, print three copies of this brief and come with me to Meeting Room One!” I was mid-sip of my water and nearly choked to death on my keyboard. “Cough… Valerie, me? Am I not just the administrative assistant?” “I told you to go, so go! Stop whining, look sharp, and do not embarrass the company!” I reluctantly gathered the stack of documents and followed Valerie toward the meeting room. Truth be told, Jude Sinclair and I were not complete strangers. We had shared a homeroom for two years in high school. The Jude Sinclair back then was a completely different person from the dazzling superstar on today’s billboards. He was dirt poor. His father was a deadbeat gambler. Jude always wore a washed-out, oversized hoodie, kept to himself, and had the gloomy aura of a lone wolf ready to bite anyone who got too close. Nobody in class dared to mess with him, and nobody wanted to talk to him either. I was the class president. The thankless job of collecting homework always fell on me. Every time I stood at his desk, tapping on the wood to ask for his assignment, he would not even lift his eyes. He would just spit out two cold words: “Didn’t do it.” How did we end up getting familiar? It was probably that one day after school. I was cutting through the alley behind the gym and saw him cornered by a group of loan sharks. He was bleeding from his lip, yet he did not make a sound, fiercely protecting a broken Walkman in his arms. My brain short-circuited. I screamed “Cops are here!” and grabbed his wrist, dragging him away as fast as I could run. Since then, I would occasionally find a strawberry Starburst sitting in my desk drawer. And I made a habit of conveniently leaving an extra umbrella on his desk on rainy days. But right after our senior year started, he abruptly cut all ties with me. With a frozen expression, he threw the umbrella back into my arms and told me to mind my own business. A few days later, he vanished from school completely. He did not even show up for graduation. The next time I heard his name was years later. He exploded in popularity after an indie film and became the globally adored Jude Sinclair. A click of the meeting room door snapped me out of my memories. I followed Valerie inside and immediately spotted the man sitting at the head of the table. Jude wore a minimalist black windbreaker and a baseball cap. The brim was pulled low, but it still could not hide his immaculate bone structure. He leaned back in his chair, radiating a chilling, do-not-approach aura. His manager was pacing beside him, aggressively barking into his phone. “Find it! You know how many years he has carried that thing? If that leaks, you and I are both finished!” My footsteps faltered, and I guiltily tightened my grip on the folders. “Mr. Sinclair, it is a pleasure.” Valerie instantly plastered on a bright smile and approached. “I am the director for this campaign. Here is the preliminary proposal we prepared.” She turned and shot me a look. I quickly took two steps forward and offered the documents. “Mr. Sinclair, your files.” Jude had been looking down, twisting a plain silver ring on his thumb. Hearing my voice, his movements abruptly stopped. He slowly looked up. Our eyes met. The air in the room seemed to freeze for a split second. His dark pupils shrank sharply. A flash of extreme shock and poorly concealed panic crossed his eyes. But in the span of a breath, he forced it down, replacing it with a perfectly calm, unreadable facade. “Thank you,” he said, without looking at me. His voice was freezing cold. I cursed his arrogance in my head. Pretending we do not know each other? Fine. “You are welcome, Mr. Superstar.” I deliberately emphasized the last two words. Jude’s back noticeably stiffened. As he reached out to take the files, his fingertips accidentally brushed against the back of my hand. They were freezing. And they were trembling slightly. With my sharp eyes, I noticed the tips of his pale ears turning a violent shade of red right in front of me. The meeting lasted thirty minutes. Jude barely spoke the entire time, leaving his manager to do all the talking. His gaze seemed locked on the projector screen, but I constantly felt a heavy stare sweeping over the top of my head. When the meeting ended, I escorted them downstairs. Reaching the lobby, I realized a torrential downpour had started. Sheets of rain crashed against the glass doors with a deafening rattle. I did not have an umbrella. The manager’s car was already waiting at the entrance. Jude put on his black mask and prepared to step out into the storm. Suddenly, he stopped, turned around, and cast a deep look at me. It was such an intense look I almost thought he was going to say something. But ultimately, he stayed silent and ducked into the SUV. I stood by the lobby doors, sighing, preparing to wait out the rain before making a run for the subway. Two minutes later, the building’s security guard walked over with a massive black golf umbrella, handing me a brand-new clear umbrella. “Miss, the gentleman who just left asked me to give this to you,” the guard said with a warm chuckle. “He also told me to remind you not to stand around looking dumb when it rains.” I gripped the handle of the clear umbrella, slightly stunned. The handle still held a faint trace of body heat. That bastard. So much for playing it cool. That evening, I went to a high school reunion. Mr. Harrison, our old homeroom teacher, was retiring this year, and everyone got together for a farewell dinner. The private room was loud and smoky. After a few rounds of drinks, the conversation inevitably drifted to the most successful person from our class: Jude Sinclair. “Who would have thought the poorest, quietest kid in our class would end up as an A-list celebrity?” The old sports captain yelled, letting out a drunken burp. “Yeah, remember when he got publicly shamed at assembly because he could not pay his tuition?” A girl sitting nearby lowered her voice, looking secretive. “Do you guys remember why he actually dropped out senior year?” I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth, listening closely. “I heard his deadbeat dad borrowed from a loan shark and ran off. The debt collectors came and trashed his apartment. His grandma already had a bad heart, and the shock killed her that very night.” “Holy shit, that is awful.” “Right? He could not even afford a proper burial. He went to work at a construction site hauling cement for half a month straight just to survive. How could he possibly take his final exams?” The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew heavy. Mr. Harrison sighed, lifting his glass for a small sip. “That kid had a hard life. He was bright. It was a damn shame.” Sitting in the corner, my throat felt like it was blocked by wet cotton. I could not swallow, and I could not speak. The sports captain turned to look at me, slurring his words. “Avery, you did not know? The night before he dropped out, it was pouring rain. I saw him standing outside your apartment building for half the night with my own eyes. He was soaked like a drowned rat, just staring up at your window.” “I asked him why he did not just go up and knock. His eyes were red, and he told me his life was pure garbage now, and he could not drag you down into the mud with him.” With a loud clatter, my glass hit the table. Water spilled everywhere. My brain was buzzing. So, his sudden coldness back then. Throwing the umbrella back at me. Telling me to mind my own business… It was all an act? He thought he was not good enough for me, so he chose to shoulder his ruined life alone and quietly roll out of my world? I bit my lower lip hard, taking a deep breath to force myself to calm down. Jude Sinclair, you self-righteous bastard. The next day, at 2:50 PM. I arrived exactly on time at the Starbucks on the third floor of the Galleria mall. The weekend crowd was massive, and the coffee shop was nearly packed. I ordered an iced Americano and found a secluded booth near the window. My mind was still replaying the words I heard at the reunion last night. A fire was burning in my chest. Just then, from the corner of my eye, I spotted someone strange. Sitting in the furthest booth of the cafe was a man in a black hoodie. Not only did he have the hood pulled up over his head, but he was also wearing oversized thick-rimmed glasses and a black medical mask. He was bundled up tightly, only his eyes visible, looking around nervously. Dressed like that in the middle of the summer, he was either a celebrity or an armed robber. And that posture. That build. I would recognize him anywhere. I squeezed my iced coffee cup tightly, condensation dripping through my fingers. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and marched straight toward that corner. The man seemed to sense someone approaching. His body tensed, and he instinctively pulled the brim of his hood lower. I stopped at his table, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat down without hesitation. He jumped, his head snapping up. Through his glasses, I locked eyes with those familiar, deep pupils. “Excuse me, miss, this seat is taken,” he said, deliberately lowering his voice, trying to play it off. I ignored him. Expressionless, I pulled out my phone, opened the Depop app, and navigated to the chat with the seller who thought he could scam me. I typed. [I am here.] [Where are you?] [Look up.] Staring dead into the man’s eyes, I pressed my thumb down hard on the send button. “Ding.” The extremely crisp system notification sound erupted from the phone sitting on the table in front of him. The noisy chatter of the coffee shop seemed to fade away completely in that instant. The man’s pupils violently trembled. Those eyes that were always so calm and unbothered finally revealed a stark, unmistakable panic.

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