Category: English

During dinner, Jordan suddenly set her fork down. She looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Who is Clementine Frost?” My hand froze, mid-air. My heart skipped a beat, then hammered against my ribs. Clementine Frost. That was a name Chase and I had invented during a bender one night, a fictional person born from a bottle of cheap bourbon. We’d made a pact: if one of us ever got into trouble—real trouble—and couldn’t be reached, we’d use “Clementine Frost” as a distress signal. Apart from the two of us, no one in the world knew that name existed. And Chase had been missing for exactly thirty days. He had gone to Tulum for a solo “soul-searching” trip. He never came back. I looked at Jordan’s face. She looked perfectly composed, almost bored. My stomach began to sink, a cold, heavy weight settling in my gut. How did she know that name? … We came up with the name Clementine Frost the night we graduated from college. We were sitting on the bleachers of the football field, halfway through a case of beer, watching the moonlight hit the empty turf. Chase had his arm around my shoulder, his speech slurred and thick. “Miles,” he’d said, “we need a code. A failsafe.” “A code for what, man?” “Just… life. If one of us goes off the grid, or if things get dark. If you hear that name, you know I’m in over my head. You know it’s time to move.” I’d laughed at him, calling him a paranoid action-movie junkie. But we spent an hour brainstorming anyway. We settled on Clementine Frost because it sounded like the heroine of a trashy airport romance novel—the exact opposite of our aesthetic. The only two people who knew the weight of those three syllables were me and Chase. And Chase had been gone for thirty-one days. Before he left for Mexico, he’d FaceTimed me from the airport lounge, shouting over the terminal noise. “Miles! What do you want? I’m bringing you back something ridiculous!” That was the last time I saw his face. After that, his texts went grey. The calls went straight to voicemail. His Instagram feed froze on a picture of a sunset over the Caribbean. I’d called the police. His parents had called the embassy. The Mexican authorities were “investigating.” But there was no body. No trace. Chase had simply evaporated. And now, my wife, Jordan—a woman who technically moved in different circles than Chase, a woman who rarely even liked his photos—had just dropped that name into the middle of a Tuesday night dinner. “What’s with the face?” Jordan asked, a small, playful smile touching her lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “It’s nothing,” I said, forced myself to look down, and shoved a piece of steak into my mouth. It tasted like cardboard. “Just never heard the name before. Where’d you get it?” “Oh, just something a colleague mentioned,” she said, taking a casual sip of her wine. “Just curious.” She pivoted the conversation to her office politics, her voice smooth and melodic. I didn’t hear a word of it. My mind was screaming. How does she know? How the hell does she know? After dinner, Jordan went to take a shower. I sat on the sofa, my palms slick with sweat. I listened to the sound of the water hitting the tiles, then stood up and walked toward her phone on the dining table. I knew her passcode. Our wedding anniversary. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through her messages, her call logs, her notes. Nothing. It was too clean. It was unnervingly clinical. No one’s phone is that pristine. I moved to her laptop in the study. She never kept it from me; our lives were supposedly an open book. I went through her browsing history, her downloads, her cache. Then, I opened a travel booking app. My heart stopped. A month ago, Jordan had told me she was going to Chicago for a three-day corporate retreat. I’d even driven her to the airport. But the booking record showed she hadn’t gone to Chicago. She had booked a flight to Cancun. She’d departed one day before Chase. She’d returned two days after he went missing. The shower stopped. I slammed the laptop shut, retreated to the living room, and pretended to scroll through TikTok. Jordan walked out, towel-drying her hair, glancing at me. “Still up?” “Yeah, just unwinding,” I said, flashing a smile that felt like it was cracking my face. She went into the bedroom and turned off the light. I stared at the dark doorway, my fingers digging into the upholstery of the sofa until my knuckles turned white. Jordan. What were you doing in Mexico? The next morning, I told Jordan a “fire” had broken out at a project site and I had to head out of town for a few days. She was putting on her earrings, not even turning around. “Where to?” “Atlanta.” “When will you be back?” “Three, maybe four days. It’s a mess.” She caught my eye in the mirror and smiled. “Be safe, Miles.” “You too,” I said. I didn’t go to Atlanta. I caught the noon flight to Cancun. When I landed, the air was a wall of heat and humidity that made my head spin. Chase’s last photo was taken in this city. A vibrant market, neon lights, the press of the crowd. He’d been standing in front of a taco stand, giving a thumbs-up, grinning like an idiot. I didn’t have time for grief. I went straight to his hotel. I’d seen the booking confirmation Chase had sent me before he left—a boutique place called The Lotus Courtyard on the edge of the jungle. At the front desk, I pulled out a photo of Chase and spoke to the clerk in hurried English. “This man stayed here a month ago. Do you remember him?” The clerk shook his head. “His name is Chase Reed,” I added. He checked the system and nodded slowly. “Yes. He stayed three nights. He never checked out. His luggage is still in our storage room.” My chest tightened. He never checked out. His life was still sitting in a suitcase in a basement. I swallowed hard and asked the question I was terrified to voice. “A month ago, was there a woman staying here? An American woman?” I handed him a photo of Jordan. The clerk looked at the screen, his expression shifting to something hesitant. “Yes. She stayed five nights.” Five nights. Longer than Chase. “What room?” “312.” “And Chase?” “315.” Same floor. Two doors apart. I stood there, the world tilting on its axis. My first thought was the most clichéd one imaginable: They were having an affair. They were in Mexico together, in adjoining rooms. But as soon as the thought formed, I rejected it. Chase hated Jordan. Not a polite, “I don’t really get her” kind of hate, but a vocal, visceral dislike. We’d had dinner once, the three of us, and Chase had gotten a few drinks in him and told me straight to my face: “Miles, your wife is a black box. There’s too much happening behind those eyes. Watch yourself.” Jordan’s face had turned to stone. They hadn’t looked at each other since. They weren’t here for an affair. So why was she in the room next to him? What was she doing? “I need to see your security footage,” I told the clerk. He looked uneasy. “Sir, I would need to ask the manager… and perhaps the police.” “My best friend is missing,” I interrupted, my voice low but vibrating with a terrifying intensity. “He’s been gone for a month. This is the last place he was seen. Do you want the police involved? Because I can make that happen very quickly.” The clerk went quiet. Then he picked up the phone. Twenty minutes later, the security head led me to a cramped room filled with monitors. He pulled up the footage from a month ago, starting with the day Chase arrived. I watched the screen, my heart in my throat. Day one: Chase walks in, dragging his battered duffel bag, chatting with the girl at the desk. Seeing him move, seeing the back of his head, made my throat ache. Then, in the bottom corner of the frame: A woman enters. White linen shirt, baseball cap, oversized sunglasses. It was Jordan. She didn’t go to the desk. She sat in the lounge, holding a magazine up to her face. But her eyes never left him. She watched him check in. She watched him take his key. She watched him enter the elevator. A cold shiver raced down my spine. “Fast forward,” I said. Day one, afternoon: Chase leaves the hotel to go for a walk. Two minutes later, Jordan follows. Same hat, same glasses. Keeping a steady twenty-yard distance. Day one, evening: Chase is eating at the hotel restaurant. Jordan is in the corner with a drink, positioned so she can see his every move. Chase never notices her. Day two: Chase goes to a local ruin. Jordan is there. Chase goes to the night market. Jordan is there. Chase stops to pet a stray dog; Jordan is across the street, pretending to check her phone. In every shot, every frame, she was a shadow. My hands started to shake. This wasn’t an affair. People having affairs don’t wear masks and stalk each other from twenty yards away. They hold hands. They share meals. She hadn’t spoken a single word to him. Chase had no idea she was even in the country. This wasn’t infidelity. This was hunting. “What about day three?” I asked, my voice cracking. The security guard pulled it up. Day three, morning: Chase leaves the hotel. He has a map in his hand and looks energized. He heads east, away from the beach. Two minutes later, Jordan exits through a side door, following the same path. And then, the footage ends. The hotel cameras only covered the perimeter. Beyond that fifty-yard radius, they vanished into the world. “Is there more?” I asked. The guard shook his head. “Only the street cameras, but you’d need the local police for that.” I stood there in the silence of the room. I opened the maps app on my phone. Chase had headed east. Following that road led through a small market, past a gas station, and finally to the coast. A cliffside overlooking the ocean. I stared at the map, my fingers ice-cold. He went there. She followed him. And then he was gone. I rented a scooter and drove the route. The road ended at a rugged stretch of coastline. The cliffs were high, the waves crashing against jagged rocks below. The wind was fierce, threatening to knock me off my feet. It wasn’t a tourist spot. There were no railings, just a dirt path overgrown with weeds leading to the edge. I looked down at the rocks and the thick brush below. If someone fell from here… I couldn’t finish the thought. I started asking around. There was a small fishing village nearby, just a few scattered huts. I showed Chase’s photo to anyone I could find. No one recognized him. I was about to leave when I saw a boy, maybe seven or eight, sitting under a large tree playing in the dirt. He was holding something. A phone. It had a black case with a tiny, faded sticker on the back. It was a photo-booth sticker Chase and I had taken the night of our graduation. Two idiots, squished together, grinning like morons. I had stuck it on his phone myself as a joke. My brain went numb. I walked over, trying to keep my voice steady. “Hey, kid. Where did you get that phone?” The boy looked up, instinctively hiding the phone behind his back. “Is it yours?” I asked softly, kneeling to his level. “No…” he whispered. “I’m not a bad guy,” I said, looking him in the eye. “That phone belongs to my brother. He’s lost, and I’m looking for him. Can you tell me where you found it?” The boy bit his lip. There was something in his eyes that shouldn’t be in a child’s—fear. Not of me, but of a memory. “Did you see something scary?” I asked. His lip trembled. He stayed silent. I pulled out a handful of pesos and held them out. “Tell me, and I’ll buy you something good to eat, okay?” He looked at the money, then at me. He hesitated for a long time. Then he whispered, “I found it at the bottom of the hill.” “Which hill?” He pointed toward the cliffs. My heart dropped into my stomach. “Did you find anything else?” The boy didn’t answer. He looked away. “You found something else, didn’t you?”

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My best friend set her sights on the most unattainable guy on the neighboring campus, stubbornly chasing him for weeks. He didn’t so much as spare her a single glance. Feeling the sting of fighting a one-sided battle, she decided she needed an accomplice. She shoved his equally intimidating best friend in my direction—me, the girl who spent more days navigating chronic illness than college parties. I pointed to my own bloodless, pale lips. “Betty, are you seriously asking me to chase a frat boy?” She pleaded with me, her eyes wide and desperate. “Consider it cardio. Flirting is good for your cardiovascular health.” Eventually, Betty decided to throw in the towel. Naturally, I dropped my end of the bargain, too. That was when the untouchable campus god sent Betty a frantic text, his usual icy demeanor entirely shattered: I’ll agree to go out with you. Just please, for the love of God, tell your best friend to unblock Jaxon. He’s crying so much my apartment is practically flooding. 01 Ever since my best friend, Betty, crashed a guest lecture at Northwood University last month, she had been thoroughly, hopelessly obsessed with Northwood’s resident golden boy, Cole. She made it her life’s mission to win him over. Weeks went by. She deployed every tactic in her arsenal, and the guy remained as impassive as a brick wall. Yet, rejection only seemed to fuel her fire. It was like a sickness. “This is exactly the kind of man I need, Harper,” she would declare, pacing our living room. “If he folded too easily, I’d lose interest. I need the chase.” Because of my precarious health, my parents refused to let me live in the dorms. They rented a quiet, ground-floor apartment for me off-campus, and Betty moved in to keep me company. It was past nine on a Tuesday, rain lashing against the windowpanes in relentless sheets. The front door burst open, and Betty trudged in, weighed down by shopping bags and radiating pure, unadulterated frustration. She kicked off her soaked boots, complaining the second she crossed the threshold. “Dammit all to hell. What is Cole made of? Teflon? I wore the revenge dress today, Harper. The red one. And he just sat there. I swear to God, the man is a monk.” I paused my movie, shifting my gaze to take in the sight of her. Even soaked in rainwater, shivering in a crimson strapless dress, Betty was stunning. “If he’s that impossible to crack, maybe look somewhere else?” I suggested softly, pulling my fleece blanket tighter around my shoulders. “It’s not like you have a shortage of guys lining up.” “No, no, no.” She marched to the fridge, yanked out a sparkling water, and threw herself onto the couch beside me, popping the tab. “Cole is different. When I look at him, my stomach actually drops. And…” She covered her mouth, a wicked, almost feral grin spreading across her face. “His body is insane. I went to his intramural basketball game last week. The v-line? The abs? It’s like he walked straight out of an Abercrombie catalog. Biting that man’s lip would be a religious experience.” I turned back to the TV. I would never understand the beautiful, agonizing mess of modern romance. “Hey!” She nudged my ribs, a sly glint in her eyes. “Look at this.” She unlocked her phone, tapped into her camera roll, and shoved the screen an inch from my nose. A guy stared back from the photo. His features were sharp, unapologetic, and aggressively handsome. He had the kind of dark, piercing eyes and sharp jawline that practically screamed trouble. Knowing Betty, she had definitely screenshotted this from Cole’s private Instagram. “What about him?” I asked. “Harper. Do you like him?” I had known Betty since we were in training bras. The moment her left eyebrow twitched, I knew exactly what kind of chaotic scheme was brewing in her head. I gestured to my own sickly complexion. “Betty, you want me to pursue him?” She grabbed my hands, her eyes sparkling with manic energy. “Harper, Cole and this guy are glued to each other. They’re a package deal. Someone needs to distract the best friend so I can get Cole alone. Besides, I’m dying out here playing a solo game.” She softened her voice, giving me her best puppy-dog eyes. “Just do it with me. Please? Plus, I read an article that said romantic adrenaline boosts the immune system.” On the screen, the heroine of my movie screamed, “I can’t believe I trusted your crazy ass!” It felt entirely too fitting. A second later, my phone buzzed. Betty had Airdropped me the guy’s contact info. “Trust me, Harper. You have to try. He… okay, he looks a little like he might punch a hole in a wall, but I hear he’s actually super nice!” I let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Fine.” “I could literally kiss you right now!” she shrieked, leaning in before freezing. “Wait, I have rain hair and I need a shower. But I’m kissing you on the mouth when I get out. Get to work, babe!” I just stared at her retreating back. While she was in the shower, I opened the contact to add him, only to pause. The screen told me I already had him in my contacts. Huh? I squinted at the guy’s profile picture. It was a vintage illustration of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. My own profile was embarrassingly nerdy. My display name was simply Sleepy. My picture was Hobbes the tiger, curled up and napping. It was a manifestation of my deepest desire: to just sleep, eat, and exist without anxiety or pain. His display name was Chaos. My thumb hovered over the screen. I figured anyone who used a classic comic strip for their profile couldn’t be a total monster. By the time Betty emerged from the bathroom, enveloped in a cloud of vanilla steam and wearing a silk slip, I had abandoned my live-action movie for Spirited Away. I didn’t have many hobbies, but getting lost in animation and cinema was my safe haven. “Did you add him?” she asked, aggressively towel-drying her hair. “Mhm,” I murmured, my eyes fixed on Chihiro crossing the bridge. Suddenly, a thought struck me. I scratched my head. “Wait, am I supposed to announce that I’m hitting on him? Is there a protocol?” “Hmm.” Betty paused, tapping her chin. “Start by asking him if he’s seeing anyone. If he says no, hit him with: Would you mind if I added myself to your roster?” “Ew, what?” My face scrunched up in visceral disgust. “That is so incredibly cringe. Is that how you flirt?” “Listen to me, modern dating is all mind games. When you come at him with something that brutally honest, that painfully uncool, it loops right back around to being charming. It makes you look innocent. Just do it.” “This is psychological warfare,” I muttered. Despite my better judgment, I typed into the chat: Hi. Are you seeing anyone right now? I assumed it would take hours, maybe days, to get a reply from a guy like that. I tossed my phone onto the blanket. Less than two seconds later, the screen lit up. Jaxon: ? “He just sent a question mark,” I said to Betty, panic rising. “What do I do?” Before Betty could answer, another text came through. Jaxon: No. I physically cringed. Betty lunged across the couch, peering over my shoulder. “Send the line, Harper. Send it now. I’m going to blow-dry my hair.” “Okay.” Jaxon: Why? I closed my eyes, took a breath, and typed: Would you mind if I started having a crush on you, then? The moment I hit send, I threw the phone to the far end of the sofa like it was an explosive device. God, that was humiliating. The phone remained completely silent. Grateful for the reprieve, I turned my full attention back to the Miyazaki film. Fifteen minutes later, Betty flopped down beside me, her hair a sleek, blowout perfection. “Status report?” “He left me on read,” I said honestly. She bit her lip, looking genuinely stumped. I thought she was going to analyze her terrible advice, but instead she shrugged. “Whatever. Totally normal. Cole didn’t text me back for three days the first time.” I remained silent. I wanted to tell her that Cole probably didn’t text her back because he was emotionally unavailable, whereas Jaxon didn’t text me back because I sounded like an AI bot programmed by a desperate teenager. Betty opened her laptop to work on a group presentation, and I grabbed my phone just to check the time. The screen was flooded. “Oh, by the way,” Betty said without looking up, “his name is Jaxon.” I looked down at the notifications. Jaxon: Wait, what does that mean? I don’t just let anyone crush on me. Jaxon: I have standards. Jaxon: Are you saying you want to ask me out? (Timestamp: One minute later) Jaxon: Actually, my standards aren’t that high. Are you hitting on me? Jaxon: I’m really easy to hit on. (Timestamp: Another minute later) Jaxon: Okay, if you like me, let’s just date. Jaxon: Sorry, I was trying to play it cool up there. It backfired. Jaxon: Are you busy? Can you reply? Jaxon: It’s been ten seconds, are you still busy? Jaxon: I messed up. I should be the one asking you out. Please text me back. Jaxon: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted tough. I just panicked and showed the text to my buddy, and he told me to act aloof. Jaxon: He said if I said yes too fast, you wouldn’t respect me. Jaxon: Baby, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. Jaxon: The truth is, I’ve liked you for a really long time, I just didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know you liked me too. … I stared at the screen, entirely deadpan. “What’s wrong?” Betty asked. “Did he reply?” I pressed my lips together in a tight line, letting the silence stretch. “Betty,” I asked slowly. “When you pursue a guy, the whole point is that they initially reject you, right? Like, for the thrill of the chase?” “Exactly.” Then what on earth was happening right now? A spark of inspiration hit me. I typed back: Reject me. If he rejected me, I could fulfill my duty to Betty by “chasing” him, keeping him distracted without actually having to date him. It was foolproof. Jaxon: [Crying meme] No. I don’t want to reject you. Jaxon: I’m so sorry. I want to travel back in time five minutes and punch myself in the face for trying to act like a badass. Jaxon: I shouldn’t have listened to my idiot friend. I’m sorry. You can yell at me, just please don’t ghost me. I massaged my temples. Me: No. You need to reject me, so I can chase you. This time, the reply wasn’t instantaneous. The little typing bubble danced at the bottom of the screen for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a message popped up, cautious and hesitant: Jaxon: Baby, is this a kink thing? Jaxon: Promise me you won’t actually ghost me. Jaxon: How long are you planning to chase me? I need a timeline so I can emotionally prepare. I glanced over at Betty, who was fiercely typing away on her laptop. Me: Undetermined. Jaxon: Okay. Baby, I reject you. Jaxon: (For the record, that rejection only applies to the roleplay, not to my actual feelings for you). Seeing that, I finally turned to Betty. “Good news. He rejected me.” Betty leaned over, patting my knee in solidarity. “It’s fine, babes. We are modern women; we can handle a little resistance. I’ll teach you the advanced flirting techniques tomorrow.” I then watched in absolute horror as she cleared her throat, shifted her voice into an unnatural, breathy register, and sent a voice note to Cole: “Hey… could you maybe save two seats for me and my friend tomorrow? I really want to be close to the court to watch you play.” I discreetly opened Safari and googled: How to flirt with a guy without losing your dignity. The top article listed a few cardinal rules: a. Push and pull. Don’t be too available. b. Mirror his energy. If he runs hot, run hot. If he goes cold, freeze him out. c. Maintain an air of mystery. d. Do not, under any circumstances, act desperate. I looked up at Betty. “Did you get your flirting techniques from the internet?” “Ha.” She flipped her hair with unwarranted confidence. “Please. I don’t need to steal other people’s material.” No wonder she was getting nowhere. My master was a complete amateur. 02 The next afternoon, the moment our last lecture ended, Betty dragged me across the city limits to the Northwood University campus. By the time we walked into the basketball arena, the bleachers were already packed. The smell of floor wax and masculine sweat hit me like a wall. Betty’s eyes locked onto a target, her face lighting up. She waved frantically. “Cole!” I was still trying to get my bearings in the crowd when she grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the steps. Cole stood courtside, wearing a black and white sleeveless jersey, his expression aggressively neutral. I hadn’t actually seen him in person before, only in the blurry photos Betty obsessed over. Because of my chronic health issues, I rarely went to things like this. Crowds meant germs, exhaustion, and sensory overload. “Harper, if you feel faint or out of breath, you tell me immediately, okay?” Betty whispered fiercely, leaning down to my ear. “It’s stuffy in here. I’ll take you outside the second you need it.” “I’m fine,” I promised, giving her a reassuring squeeze. We were just about to walk over to the seats when I heard Cole call out to one of his teammates. “Where’s Jaxon?” “No clue, man. Haven’t seen him all day.” A second later, a guy near the entrance dropped his jaw and pointed. “Holy shit. Is that Jaxon?” The entire gym seemed to instinctively turn toward the doors. A tall guy was walking in. He had a fresh, sharp haircut—a modern fade that looked expensive—and a silver stud in his left ear. He walked with a loose, arrogant swagger that demanded attention. “What… what did he do to himself?” a guy near us muttered. “Did he skip practice just to get a blowout?” “Who the hell is he trying to impress?” From the moment Jaxon walked in, his eyes darted around the bleachers like a radar, before finally locking onto my pale pink sweater. I could practically see the gears turning in his head. Right, I have to play hard to get. His trajectory, which was initially aimed like a heat-seeking missile straight at me, aggressively veered off to the side. Betty was just about to pull me into our row when a girl stepped up from behind us and tapped Cole casually on the shoulder. “Hey, Cole. Where are the seats I asked you to save me?” The girl had a sleek, shoulder-length bob and an effortlessly cool, sporty vibe. A gaggle of her friends trailed behind her. “Who is that?” I murmured to Betty. The bright smile vanished from Betty’s face, replaced by a dark, stormy look. “Madison. They grew up together.” I didn’t socialize much, but I read an absurd amount of novels. It took me approximately two seconds to read the room. The casual shoulder tap. The proprietary tone. The implicit demand for priority seating. Ah, I thought. The ‘Pick-Me’ childhood friend. The ultimate female bro. “Hey…” Jaxon had clearly lost his internal battle and drifted over, desperate to talk to me. But before he could get a word out, Betty gripped my arm and yanked me down the aisle. “Out of sight, out of mind,” Betty muttered darkly, refusing to look back. I stumbled behind her, glancing over my shoulder. Jaxon was staring after me with the exact expression of a golden retriever who had just watched his owner leave for work. Pure, devastating betrayal. “Your seats are over there. Go sit,” Cole said, pointing Madison toward a row, completely oblivious to the tension. Jaxon, looking murderous, walked over and deliberately shoulder-checked Cole. Cole stumbled a step, looking bewildered. “What is your problem? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” Jaxon didn’t answer. He ripped off his warm-up jacket in silence. A couple of girls nearby tried to catch his eye, but he shut them down with a glare so cold it could freeze water. … Once we were seated, I tentatively nudged Betty. “What’s the deal with him and that Madison girl?” Betty looked at me, her jaw tight. “I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s just… wherever Cole is, she’s there. Always.” Speak of the devil. Madison and her entourage drifted over to our section. Cole, the absolute idiot, had saved an entire row of premium seats right next to ours. I swallowed my words. Truly, the people involved in a crush are always entirely blind to the dynamics around them. Right before the referee blew the starting whistle, my phone buzzed with rapid-fire texts. Jaxon: Why didn’t you talk to me? I thought you were supposed to be chasing me? Jaxon: Are you giving up? Can we switch? Can I chase you now? Jaxon: The game’s starting. You have to watch me. Please watch me. I glanced up from my screen. Right on cue, Jaxon was staring dead at me from the court. The girls sitting directly behind Madison started whispering loudly. “Omg, Jaxon keeps looking over here. Madison, is he looking at you?” “I am so jealous of you,” another girl cooed. “Growing up with two guys who look like that.” Madison flushed, a coy, practiced modesty settling over her features. “Oh, stop. It’s not like that at all.” Beside me, Betty let out an audible, venomous scoff. I calmly lowered my gaze back to my phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jaxon’s hopeful smile instantly flatline into a pout. Once the game started, I quickly realized I was going to be painfully bored. I knew absolutely nothing about basketball. The air was thick with the squeak of sneakers, the roar of the crowd, and the relentless chatter of the girls behind us debating whether Cole or Jaxon had better arms. Suddenly, Jaxon sank a brutal three-pointer from halfway across the court, and the arena practically detonated. He landed gracefully, his face flushed from the exertion. The muscles in his shoulders and arms jumped beneath the harsh gym lights, sculpted and defined. Instinctively, he looked straight up at my seat. The crowd around me shrieked again. “His girlfriend has to be sitting in our section, right?” a girl muttered behind us. “He keeps checking this exact spot.” Then, a voice dripping with syrupy sweetness aimed a question at Madison. “Maddie, honestly, if Cole and Jaxon both confessed their undying love to you tomorrow, who would you pick?” “They’re both so hot! That’s an impossible choice.” “Oh my god, you guys, shut up and watch the game,” Madison deflected, though her voice was laced with pure satisfaction. Betty turned to me, mouthing the word: Pathological. When the final buzzer sounded, Betty grabbed her bag. “Harper, stay right here. Don’t move. I’m going down there, I’ll be right back.” Before I could protest, she had grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and was sprinting down the bleachers. I noticed Madison’s seat was already empty; she had beaten Betty to the floor. I sat quietly, watching the tide of students file out. Against the current, a guy in a black-and-white jersey was taking the steps two at a time, making a beeline for me. I didn’t blink as Jaxon reached my row, dropping his massive frame into the empty seat beside me. He looked at me, a breathless, cocky grin on his face. “I thought you were pursuing me. Where’s my post-game water?” “Sorry,” I said, my voice soft, my eyes completely devoid of remorse. “First time chasing a guy. I’m a little rusty on the protocols.” Jaxon, still chest-heaving from the game, let out a raspy laugh. He tilted his head back, taking a swig from his own water bottle. I watched his Adam’s apple bob. He was objectively devastating to look at. With the sweat glistening on his collarbones and the faint red flush high on his cheeks, the whole “bad boy” aesthetic was dangerously potent. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaned in close, and dropped his voice to a low murmur. “Stop torturing me, baby.” “Let’s just drop the act and go public. Please?” He smelled intensely of adrenaline and cedarwood. The sheer force of his proximity made me instinctively lean away. “Sit back,” I ordered, pressing a single index finger against his chest to push him away. I tilted my head, studying him. “So. You like me?” He sat up perfectly straight, nodding with aggressive sincerity. “But…” I dragged the word out, pointing down toward the court where Madison was currently hovering near the benches in a pleated tennis skirt. “What exactly is your relationship with her? Because the rumor mill says you two have history.” Jaxon’s dark amber eyes locked onto mine, suddenly incredibly serious. “Cole, Madison, and I grew up in the same neighborhood. Our moms are close. But I swear on my life, she is nothing more than an acquaintance I’m forced to acknowledge on holidays.” “Really?” I asked softly. I shifted my gaze to look just over his shoulder. Madison had marched up the bleachers and was standing right behind him, her face thunderous. “Jaxon!” she spat, her voice trembling with indignation. “Where the hell did you go? I was looking all over the court for you. Unbelievable. You ditch your real friends the second you see a pretty face?” I watched the two of them without saying a word. Jaxon’s jaw clenched. He turned his head just enough to look at her over his shoulder. “I told you downstairs. I don’t accept drinks from anyone unless it’s my girlfriend.” “I… I’m not just ‘anyone’!” Madison’s eyes instantly pooled with weaponized tears. She looked like a wounded doe. “We grew up together! What’s wrong with me bringing you water? Just because you get a girlfriend means we can’t be friends anymore?” Madison turned her tear-filled, doe-eyed gaze on me, her voice trembling perfectly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you sitting up here. I didn’t know you were his girlfriend. I hope I didn’t cause a fight between you two.” Wow. She threw the grenade, pulled the pin, and played the victim all in one breath. Spending my whole life sick indoors meant I had read an ungodly amount of historical romance and contemporary drama. I was practically a scholar in the art of dismantling manipulative women in literature. I had just never had the chance to deploy it in the field. Until now. I practically rolled up my mental sleeves. But before I could speak, Jaxon beat me to it. His brow furrowed in genuine disgust. “What are you talking about? She hasn’t even agreed to be my girlfriend yet, but the way you’re talking to her is seriously pissing me off.” Madison’s face froze. The manufactured tears literally halted in her eyes. Right then, my phone rang. It was Betty. “Harper. Let’s go.” I picked up Betty’s tote bag from the bleacher, standing up to leave. Jaxon looked up at me, absolute panic in his eyes. I smiled, reaching into Betty’s bag and pulling out an untouched bottle of Evian water. I let my gaze slide lazily over to Madison, making sure she was watching. I held the bottle out to Jaxon. “Here.” Jaxon’s amber eyes lit up like Christmas morning. His large hand, veins faintly tracing the back, practically snatched it from my grip. “Hey, we’re all going out to get food after this,” Jaxon said breathlessly. “Do you and Betty want to come?” I stepped around the seats, stopping directly in front of Madison. Jaxon shadowed my every move like a bodyguard. I gave her a sickeningly sweet smile. “Excuse me. You’re blocking the aisle.” Madison’s jaw locked. She stepped aside. I walked down a few steps, then paused and looked back over my shoulder. I gave Jaxon a bright, genuine smile. “See you around, Jaxon.” When I reached the ground floor, I grabbed Betty—who was staring at me like I had grown a second head—and pulled her toward the exit. She kept looking back at Jaxon, who was standing at the top of the bleachers staring after me like a man who had just seen God, and then looked at me. “Holy shit. What… what did you do to him? He looks like a domesticated wolf.” “Trade secret,” I whispered.

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I’m a midnight driver. My business is… specific. My passengers even more so. It’s the kind of work that would break most people within a week. One evening, my mentor, Gus, told me to pick up an old friend of his. He described the man as a “heavyweight”—someone whose soul carried the weight of an empire. I didn’t take the assignment lightly. I’d prepared the traditional offerings—high-end spirits, artisanal cakes, the things that smooth the transition from this world to the next. I was driving through the quiet, wooded outskirts of Kingsport when I saw three figures waving frantically by the roadside. It was pitch black. No other cars, no streetlights. Against my better judgment, I felt a flicker of human pity. I thought I’d give them a lift to the nearest station. The second I pulled over, a man drenched in designer labels—from his Gucci loafers to his padded Moncler vest—shoved his way into the passenger seat. He didn’t say hello. He just slapped a thick roll of hundred-dollar bills against my cheek. “Downtown. The Royal Meridien,” he barked. “And stop at a CVS. I need a few boxes of Magnums.” His two friends piled into the back, trampling over the silk-wrapped gift boxes I’d placed carefully on the seat. “What is this junk?” one of them complained. “There’s no legroom with all these baskets.” Before I could protest, I heard the dull thud of my offerings hitting the asphalt. They’d tossed the expensive fruit and the hand-crafted cakes out into the dirt like common trash. My blood ran cold. The effort, the respect I’d put into this mission—discarded in a second. I felt my face tighten, my skin prickling with a heat that had nothing to do with the car’s heater. “Get out,” I said, my voice low. “I’m not taking you.” The man in the passenger seat barked out a laugh, as if I’d just told a hilarious joke. “You’re a cab driver, sweetheart. You don’t get to ‘not take’ us. One phone call and I’ll have your hack license shredded before sunrise. You’ll never work in this city again.” The two in the back joined in, their laughter sharp and jagged. “Do you even know who he is?” the girl, a blonde in a micro-skirt, sneered. “This is Barrett Huntington. You should be thanking him for the privilege of having his ass in your seat.” “He’s the guy who owns the skyline you’re driving toward, loser,” the other guy added. “Show some respect or start looking for a cardboard box to live in.” I gripped the steering wheel. I didn’t know much about the “Huntington” social circle, but I knew the Veil. And in my world, the living were the ones who didn’t belong. 1 “Did you hear me? Drive,” Barrett snapped. He reached over and slammed his palm onto the horn, the blare echoing through the silent woods. The girl, Tinsley, giggled. I cursed my moment of empathy. I’d invited a curse into my car. I forced myself to take a breath, trying to stay professional. “Look, I’m sorry, but this car is pre-booked. I have a VIP pickup. I can drop you at the gas station two miles up—it’s well-lit and easy to catch an Uber from there.” Silence followed, then a hand reached from the back and whipped a stack of bills across my face. The edges of the paper stung like a series of tiny papercuts. “The car is booked by me now,” the guy in the back said. “How much? Name a price. Everyone has one.” I pushed the money away, my heart hammering. “It’s not about the money. I’m on a schedule. The city isn’t on my route.” Suddenly, a heavy boot slammed into the back of my driver’s seat, jolting my spine. “I could crush you like an ant and not even lose sleep over it,” Barrett hissed, leaning into my personal space. “Drive. Now.” They weren’t leaving. And I couldn’t exactly pull out my Sanctum ID and explain that I was a courier for the dead without making things worse. I decided to get them to the gas station and handle it there. Within minutes, the cabin was thick with the acrid stench of expensive cigars. I started to cough, the smoke stinging my eyes. “Could you please not smoke in here?” The guy in the back let out a plume of smoke. “This cigar costs more than your monthly rent, honey. You’re getting the secondhand high for free. You should be paying me.” “Exactly,” Tinsley added, grinding her cigarette out directly onto the leather upholstery. The smell of burning hide filled the car. “If our Maybach hadn’t broken down, we wouldn’t even be in this piece of junk.” My heart ached. This wasn’t just a car; it was a custom SSS-Class Shadow Vessel, enchanted and rare. “What are you doing? You have no idea what this car is worth!” They erupted in another round of shrill laughter. “Worth? My family has sixty cars in the garage,” Barrett said, checking his gold watch. “Any one of them could buy your life ten times over. This bucket of bolts is filthier than my dog’s kennel. Stop acting like it’s a Ferrari.” My knuckles were white on the wheel. I had a job to do. I couldn’t let these parasites derail me. When we reached the gas station, I pulled over firmly. “This is it. You have phones. Call a car, call a friend, I don’t care. I’m not charging you for the ride. Just get out.” They exchanged a look and, surprisingly, piled out. I let out a long, shaky breath, thinking the nightmare was over. I stepped out for a moment to see if I could salvage any of the fruit from the trunk to offer as a gesture of apology to the VIP. When I walked back toward the front of the car, my heart stopped. Every window had been shattered. My phone, which had been on the dashboard, was a mess of glass and plastic on the pavement. Barrett stood there, twirling my driver’s license between his fingers, a smirk plastered on his face. “Well, well. It turns out our little driver is a fraud,” he said. “A ‘Gold-Tier Veil Courier’? What kind of delusional psych-ward bullshit is this?” 2 Panic flared. That license was my only protection in the darker corners of the city. I lunged for it, but Barrett was faster. He shoved me back, and I stumbled, my palms scraping against the grit of the parking lot. “Using a fake ID to run an illegal taxi? That’s a felony, isn’t it?” he mused, leaning against the ruined door of my car. “Maybe we should call the cops. See how they feel about your ‘Veil’ business.” Dealing with the living was so much more exhausting than dealing with the dead. I bit my lip, tasting copper. “What do you want?” Barrett pulled Tinsley close, kissing her deeply before looking back at me with cold, bored eyes. “Nobody says no to me. Not in this city. You tried to play tough, and now you’re going to pay for it.” He stepped closer, his breath smelling of expensive bourbon and malice. “You’re going to be my dog tonight. You go where I say, when I say. Right now, Tinsley wants to see the moon over the river. Get in.” “I can’t,” I whispered. “Please. I have somewhere I have to be.” He tutted, reaching out to slap me. I flinched away, and the movement seemed to trigger something feral in him. “You dare move?” he roared. “In Kingsport, I’m the closest thing to a god you’ll ever see. You should be crawling on your knees for the chance to serve us.” Tinsley and the other guy drifted closer, their faces twisted in mockery. “Look at her,” the guy said. “Driving an illegal cab with a crazy-person ID. She’s probably a high-end hooker who lost her mind.” “I bet if we check the back, we’ll find used needles,” Tinsley added. I hated myself for stopping. I hated my own kindness. But Barrett’s expression suddenly shifted into something disturbingly calm. “Tell you what,” he said, flipping my ID like a coin. “I’ll give you a break. Drive us to one more spot—just one—and then you can go back to your ‘VIP.’ If you don’t, I call the police, hand them this ID, and tell them you tried to rob us.” The location he named was, by some miracle, on the way to my original destination. I didn’t know what he was planning, but I was running out of time. Punctuality wasn’t just a professional habit in my line of work; it was a matter of spiritual life and death. Gus had recruited me because of my “unfortunate” disposition—I was born with a “Thin Veil” constitution. I saw things I shouldn’t. I was a magnet for bad luck until Gus found me. “Working for the Sanctum builds merit,” he’d told me. “Do this, and maybe in the next life, you’ll be the one in the back of the Maybach. It’s a government job, kid. Just… a different branch of government.” He was right. Usually, the powers that be on both sides of the line gave me a wide berth. I drove them to the spot Barrett requested—a secluded stretch of road near the cliffs. The moment I put the car in park, the night was flooded with light. A dozen black SUVs switched on their high beams, surrounding us. Before I could even process the trap, my door was ripped open. A hand tangled in my hair and dragged me out onto the cold hard ground. Barrett’s voice was like ice. “Total the car. And then, break her legs.” 3 My scalp screamed in pain. I felt the sting of gravel on my face, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. “You gave me your word!” I choked out. Barrett stood over me, looking down like I was a bug he was considering stepping on. “I said I’d let you drive us here. I never said I’d let you walk away.” Several men in dark suits approached my car with sledgehammers. The first blow shattered the hood with a sickening, heavy thud. Again and again, they swung. The enchanted metal groaned, the interior being ripped into shreds of leather and wire. And then, they doused it in gasoline. That car was a masterpiece of the Other Side, a vessel for souls. Watching it burn was like watching a living thing die. I tried to scream, to run toward the flames, but my arms were pinned behind my back. In the flickering orange light, Tinsley clapped her hands. “It’s so much prettier this way, don’t you think?” I looked at her, my eyes burning. “You have no idea what you’ve done. That car was for a Guest. If he isn’t picked up on time, the shadow he leaves behind will tear this city apart.” Barrett just laughed and tossed a titanium credit card onto my chest. “It’s a car. I’ll buy you ten of them.” “I don’t want your money, Barrett. Some things can’t be fixed with a check.” He pulled out my license again, grinning. “In this town, there is nothing I can’t fix. But you, Riley? You’re a special kind of crazy.” He signaled to one of the men. “Check her file. I want to know who this ‘Veil Courier’ really is.” A man with a tablet stepped forward. “Riley St. Claire. Her grandmother was a ‘spiritualist’ in New Orleans. Classic nutcase. Riley was kicked out of boarding school for claiming she saw ‘shadow people.’ Spent two years in Saint Jude’s Psychiatric.” I remembered Saint Jude’s. That’s where I met Gus. He was the only one who didn’t try to medicate the ghosts away. Tinsley rolled her eyes. “Great. We got a ride from a literal psycho. No wonder the car smelled like a funeral home.” I looked at them, a cold dread settling in my gut. They didn’t understand the debt they were accruing. “You should leave,” I said softly. “The clock is ticking.” Barrett knelt beside me. “I want to see if your knees are as tough as your car.” He wasn’t joking. I felt a shiver of pure, primal terror. I was outnumbered and broken. “Barrett, please,” I whispered, my pride dissolving into a desperate need to survive. “I’ll apologize. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me go.” I lowered my head to the dirt, the ultimate sign of submission. Barrett stayed silent for a moment, then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “A little late for that, isn’t it? But fine. If you take us to this ‘Guest’ of yours, maybe I’ll reconsider.” I shook my head violently. The Guest was not for the living. To bring these people into his presence would be a death sentence for their entire bloodline. “I can’t. For your sake, I can’t.” Barrett’s face twisted. He stood up and signaled to the man with the sledgehammer. The heavy iron swung down. I heard the crack of my own bone before I felt the pain—an agonizing, white-hot explosion in my knee. I collapsed, howling, my world narrowing down to the pulsing rhythm of the trauma. 4 “Take us there. Now.” Barrett was obsessed. He thought this was a game of status, a secret club he was being excluded from. He didn’t realize he was banging on the door of a tomb. I gasped for air, bile rising in my throat. “You won’t… you won’t like what you find.” Tinsley tugged at Barrett’s arm. “Barrett, let’s just go. She’s pathetic. Look at her.” Barrett ignored her and kicked me hard in the ribs. The air left my lungs in a wet wheeze. I spat blood onto his shoes. “Fine,” I managed to choke out. “I’ll take you.” I had warned them. I had tried to save them. But the universe has a way of balancing the scales. If they wanted to walk into the abyss, I would be their guide. They dragged me into the back of one of the SUVs. My leg was a twisted mess of agony, but I forced myself to stay conscious. I gave them the coordinates. A private, high-security hospice tucked away in the hills—The Evergreens. As we wound higher into the mist, Barrett’s bravado began to flicker. “This… this is where my grandfather stays,” he muttered. “He doesn’t see anyone. Not even the board members.” He turned to me, his eyes wide and suspicious. “Who are you, Riley? How do you know this place?” I didn’t answer. Suddenly, Barrett’s phone buzzed. He answered it, his face turning the color of ash. “Sir?” a voice crackled through the speakers. “Where are you? Your grandfather… he just passed. Ten minutes ago. Your mother is frantic. You need to get here.” The car became deathly silent. Tinsley whispered, “It’s just a coincidence, Barrett. She’s a stalker. She must have known he was sick.” I clutched my shattered knee, staring out at the dark trees. I knew better. When we pulled up to the main gates, a woman in a black designer suit—Barrett’s mother—was waiting. She saw Barrett first, her face a mask of grief and fury. “Barrett! Your grandfather is gone, and you arrive smelling like a bar? Have you no shame?” Then she saw me being hauled out of the car, my leg dripping blood. Her jaw dropped. “Miss St. Claire? What… what happened? You were supposed to be here an hour ago. We had an arrangement.” I looked at Barrett’s horrified face and felt a cold, sharp satisfaction. “You should ask your son, Mrs. Huntington,” I rasped. And then, a wave of oppressive, freezing air rolled out from the hospice doors. A darkness so thick it swallowed the porch lights began to bleed into the night.

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My brother is gay. Normally, that wouldn’t be a tragedy. But his decision to drag a clueless girl to the altar just to bleed my parents dry for a $150,000 “wedding fund” and a luxury house? That was where I drew the line. In my past life, I couldn’t bear the sight of my aging parents working their fingers to the bone, desperately liquidating their meager retirement accounts to fund his lie. So, I ripped the band-aid off. I outed him. I told them the truth about his secret life. They didn’t believe me. Instead, they branded me a jealous, toxic spinster who was just trying to sabotage my brother’s happiness because I didn’t want to help him buy a house. They disowned me on the spot. But Hunter didn’t stop there. He took to the massive extended family group chat, dropping deepfaked photos of me, claiming I was a high-end escort bankrolled by married sugar daddies. Blinded by a cocktail of rage and betrayal, I stormed out of the house. I just wanted to get to the airport. I just wanted to go home. I never made it. An 18-wheeler ran a red light. As my soul lingered over the asphalt, tethered to my mangled body, I watched the aftermath. I watched Hunter answer the phone call from the police. I watched his eyes light up. He didn’t shed a tear. Instead, he used my literal blood to extort a massive wrongful death settlement from the trucking company. The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was the sound of my brother, flush with my death money, calling his secret boyfriend. “Babe, the bitch got hit by a truck. We’re rich. I love you so much. I’m giving it all to you, and we’re getting the hell out of this country to get married.” Absurd. Vile. Unforgivable. But then, I blinked. And I was breathing. The phantom pain of crushed ribs and shattered femurs still hummed in my nerve endings, but I was sitting upright. I was in the stifling, wallpapered dining room of my childhood home in Ohio. I was looking right at Hunter, who was leading a pretty, doe-eyed blonde through the front door. My mother lunged forward, grabbing Hunter’s hands with tears of religious fervor in her eyes. “My boy. My beautiful boy! A son is a blessing, bringing a bride home to carry on the Gallagher legacy.” 1. “Not like your sister,” my mother continued, her voice sharpening into that familiar, grating pitch as she shot a disdainful glare in my direction. “Over thirty, completely unmarried, and not bringing a dime of value into this house. Nothing but a bad investment.” The smell of pot roast and the heavy silence of the room crashed into me. I gripped the edge of the dining table, my knuckles turning white. I stared at the scene unfolding before me, the realization washing over my panic like a bucket of ice water. I was back. I had been reborn into the exact moment Hunter brought his beard, Madison, home for the first time. This was the day he would casually ask for a hundred and fifty grand in cash to “secure” her, plus the down payment on a four-bedroom colonial in the suburbs. My parents, entirely middle-class and barely scraping by, wouldn’t hesitate. Desperate to see their golden boy procreate, they would agree to bleed themselves dry. I knew the truth. I knew my brother was sleeping with two, maybe three different men in the city. Last time, my heart had ached for my parents’ naive devotion. I hadn’t wanted Madison to be collateral damage in his twisted, closeted masquerade. So, I had spoken up. And the moment the words left my mouth, my father had backhanded me so hard I hit the floor, screaming at me to go to hell for spreading such filth. My mother had thrown her hot tea in my face, telling me to get out, get married, and give my brother my dowry. I remembered the cruel, mocking glint in Hunter’s eyes as I scrambled up from the carpet. “Natalie, I didn’t even want to mention that you’re whoring yourself out to rich men in New York, and now you have the nerve to project your sick fantasies onto me? Have you no shame?” My father had chased me out the door with a wooden chair, screaming that I was a stain on the family name. Hunter had stood on the porch, recording the whole thing on his iPhone to send to the relatives. And Madison? She had just crossed her arms, taking a deliberate step back from me as if my presence was contagious. “Just because no man wants to invest in a decrepit spinster like you doesn’t mean you have to ruin Hunter’s big day,” she had sneered. “You’re pathetic.” The memory of the truck’s grill smashing into my spine made me nauseous. But that was then. This time? I wasn’t going to say a damn word. If they wanted to burn their lives to the ground for their precious son, I would hand them the matches. 2. “What is wrong with you? Sit down!” my father barked, his face darkening the moment I abruptly stood up from my chair. “No manners. No grace. It’s a miracle any man can even look at you without wincing.” Hunter pulled Madison tighter against his side, flashing me a brilliant, teeth-baring smile. “Nat! Maddie and I are making it official. You’re gonna pitch in for the wedding, right? You’re my big sister. My favorite sister.” Favorite sister. Right. Growing up in a house where the sun rose and set on the son, I was nothing more than an ATM. His allowance came from my high school minimum-wage jobs. His private college tuition and his frat dues were quietly siphoned from my corporate salary. For years, I had harbored this pathetic, hollow hope that if I just gave a little more, paid a little more, my parents might finally look at me with an ounce of the adoration they saved for him. But dying changes a person. Dying violently, unloved and betrayed, burns the last of that pathetic hope into ash. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, forcing my muscles to relax. I slowly lowered myself back into the chair. “Sure,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I’ll make sure to get you a very special gift.” If he wanted to play house, I was more than happy to help set the stage for the explosion. Hunter’s smile faltered. My easy agreement clearly wasn’t enough. He furrowed his brow, perfecting his pout. “Just a gift? Come on, Nat. We need a house.” “Exactly,” my mother chimed in, practically tripping over herself to advocate for him. “Hunter is the heir to this family. You’re the older sister. You’ve been living it up in New York City making six figures for years. What’s buying a starter home for your brother? You’re family. Why are you being so stingy?” I dug my fingernails into my palms. I met my father’s threatening glare and kept my voice perfectly level. “Okay. I’ll handle the house.” Words were just wind. I just needed to survive this dinner without being chased out like a rabid dog. The moment this awful charade of a meal was over, I was booking a one-way flight back to JFK. They could rot for all I cared. The tension in the room evaporated instantly. My promise of real estate acted like a magic spell. For the rest of the evening, my parents fawned over Madison, promising her diamond rings and loudly praying she would pop out at least three strong boys. As they were finally leaving, Madison hung back in the hallway. She looked me up and down, her eyes swimming with a smug, misplaced superiority. “Woman to woman,” she whispered, her tone dripping with pity. “Seeing me this cherished… it must be driving you crazy, huh?” 3. “Hunter treats me like a queen,” Madison went on, inspecting her manicured nails. “My family only asked for fifty grand to help with the wedding, and he voluntarily bumped it to a hundred and fifty. He’s putting it in a trust for me. He respects me so much, he even insisted we wait until the wedding night. No premarital sex. He’s old-fashioned like that.” She looked at me like I was something she scraped off her shoe. “Honestly, Natalie? You’ll probably never meet a real man like him in your entire life.” I smiled. It reached my eyes this time. “I wish you both a very speedy trip to the altar.” A hundred and fifty grand? That was going straight into his boyfriends’ pockets. A new house? That was his new bachelor pad for his late-night hookups. No premarital sex? Honey, he physically cannot get it up for you. Disappointed that I didn’t break down crying, Madison huffed, turned on her designer heel, and marched out the door. My parents drove the happy couple back to their hotel. They didn’t even bother to say goodbye to me. They forgot I was even in the house. I was used to it. I checked the time, packed my overnight bag in utter silence, and called an Uber to the airport. By the time my flight touched down in New York, my lock screen was a chaotic mess of notifications. Dozens of missed calls. A sea of angry red text messages from my mother. [Where the hell did you go? Maddie was here and you didn’t even take them out to the city to celebrate!] [Your brother is young and needs liquidity. Wire him $20,000 right now so he can take her shopping. Don’t make him look broke in front of his fiancée.] [Why aren’t you answering me?! Are you really throwing a fit over twenty grand? He is the only one who matters to this family’s legacy!] [Ungrateful bitch! Selfish! I should have drowned you. You’re not worth half the dirt on your brother’s shoes.] It went on and on, devolving into pure vitriol. Then came Hunter’s texts. [You’re literally just an ATM for this family. Act like it.] [I can introduce you to one of Maddie’s creepy uncles if you’re that desperate. He’s old, but he’s loaded. I need the cash flow right now, Nat.] [Stop being a drama queen and sell yourself to someone useful. Looking at your miserable face makes me sick.] I read them all. I didn’t type a single word in response. Instead, I opened my browser and dialed the number of a high-end private investigator based in Manhattan. I gave him Hunter’s name, his favorite haunts, and a hefty retainer. If my family wanted a spectacle of a wedding, I was going to give them the season finale they deserved. For years, I had paid the mortgage on that Ohio house. I paid their utility bills. When my parents were sick, Hunter was out partying, and I was the one burning my PTO to fly back and spoon-feed them soup. Yet, to the outside world, my parents bragged only about their brilliant, upstanding son. A college grad. A straight-edge, perfect gentleman. Meanwhile, I was the cautionary tale. The cold, ungrateful, aging career woman. Why? This time, I absolutely refused to let them play parasite to my life. I didn’t block their numbers. I just left them on read. Let them sweat. Hunter, impatient and greedy, couldn’t handle the silence. He took it to the extended family group chat—over a hundred aunts, uncles, and cousins. [Natalie, what is your problem? Mom’s blood pressure is spiking and you’re ignoring us. Are you even human?] [If you’re too broke to buy the house, just say it. But ignoring Mom? You’re dead to me.] 4. In the Gallagher clan, Hunter was the firstborn son of the new generation. He was the messiah. The moment he fired the first shot, the rest of the family eagerly joined the firing squad. Uncle Tom: Natalie, seriously? You’ve always been a rebel, but tearing the family apart over money? Grow up. Aunt Susan: Oh, little Nat thinks she’s too good for us now that she’s in New York. Typical. Great Aunt Martha: Wretched girl. She’s been wild for years. She’s the older sister! Her only job from birth was to pave the way for her brother! Uncle Greg: Told your dad years ago, having a girl first was a curse. Useless. I watched the vitriol roll down my screen, sipping my coffee. It was fascinating to see it all laid bare. They truly believed I was a monster for simply… existing. Finally, my father dropped his heavy hand into the chat. Dad: Enough. Natalie, do you really want to air our dirty laundry to everyone? You have that apartment in Brooklyn. Sell it. The equity is more than enough to buy your brother his house in the suburbs. Dad: It’s settled. You have ten days to get the funds in order. Hunter needs to get married. I almost laughed out loud. I typed out my response, slow and deliberate. Me: I am never buying Hunter a house. Hitting send felt like tossing a grenade into a hornets’ nest. The chat exploded. The language turned vile—calling me a whore, a slut, a traitor to my own blood. Finally, my father delivered his ultimate ultimatum. Dad: If you do this, you are no longer my daughter. We are cutting you off. You are dead to the Gallaghers. Never come back. In my past life, that threat would have sent me spiraling into an absolute panic attack. The fear of being an orphan, of being totally unloved, had kept me in chains. Now? It felt like someone had just handed me the key to my own cage. Me: Deal. Have a nice life. I locked my phone and went to sleep, sleeping more soundly than I had in a decade. I woke up the next morning to absolute chaos. Hunter, desperate to ruin me, had escalated. He dropped the AI-generated photos into the massive family chat. Deepfakes of my face superimposed onto explicit images with older men. Hunter: Keep your filthy whore money, Natalie! I wouldn’t touch it if my life depended on it! He played the righteous, wounded brother perfectly. The comments beneath it were disgusting, reducing me to something less than human. And my parents? They didn’t defend me. They took screenshots of the chat, proudly declaring that they had already disowned the “harlot.” My phone rang. Hunter. “Say you’ll buy the house, and I’ll tell them it was a prank,” he hissed into the receiver. “You’re a fucking idiot,” I said, and hung up. Minutes later, an AI-generated video hit the group. Hunter texted me, I am going to destroy your life. I didn’t panic. I just sent one final message to the group chat. Me: All files have been saved and timestamped. My lawyer is submitting them to the NYPD for distribution of revenge porn and defamation. Then, I hit ‘Leave Group’. 5. It didn’t take two minutes for my phone to ring again. It was my mother. Her voice sounded ragged, stripped of its usual bravado. “Natalie… what are you doing? You can’t sue your own brother.” “He distributed pornographic material with my face on it,” I said, my voice like ice. “It’s a felony. Why wouldn’t I?” “He knows he went too far! He’s just stressed about the wedding. He’ll apologize!” “I don’t care about his apology, Mom. I’m pressing charges.” Seeing that I was completely immovable, her mask slipped. She began to screech, her voice piercing the speaker. She called me a shameless bitch, screaming that with the money I made, I must be sleeping around anyway. “The cops don’t care about family drama! You’re bluffing!” she shrieked, and in the background, I could hear Hunter laughing. It was an ugly, grating sound. Even though my heart had already calcified toward them, a tiny, buried part of me still ached. I didn’t argue with her. I just hung up, forwarded everything to my attorney, and told him to go for the jugular. For the next few days, my phone was a barrage of unknown numbers. Relatives begging me to drop it, telling me I was ruining a young man’s life over a “joke.” A joke? I tossed my SIM card in the trash and bought a new one. The next time I saw my brother, it was inside a precinct in Manhattan. I had refused mediation. The NYPD didn’t take kindly to interstate cyber-harassment and revenge porn. Hunter was detained. As I walked out of the precinct doors, my mother materialized from the waiting area, hurling her heavy iced coffee right at my head. It grazed my shoulder, splattering against the wall. “You little slut!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. “I should have strangled you in your crib!” A police officer immediately stepped between us. My parents glared at me with murderous intent, but they didn’t dare physically attack me with a cop standing right there. Madison was there, too. She was draped in a cashmere coat, a designer bag on her arm, and my grandmother’s vintage emerald necklace resting against her collarbone. She looked at me with pure disgust. “You’re so jealous you’re literally trying to put my fiancé in jail.” “I’m telling you right now,” she sneered, leaning in. “I don’t care what you do. We are still getting married. I’m going to live the dream life you’re too miserable to ever have.” “The second Hunter makes bail, we’re getting our marriage license. I hope you rot, Natalie.”

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The day I graduated, my parents handed me their primary debit card. “Maren, honey,” my mom said, her voice thick with that practiced fragility she wore like a shawl. “You’re out there on your own now. We can’t do much, but this is our life savings. It’s our retirement fund—our safety net. We want you to have it.” I looked at that thin piece of plastic, feeling a weight in my chest that didn’t feel like gratitude. It felt like a debt. I knew how hard they’d worked, so I made a silent vow. Every month, I’d transfer fifteen hundred dollars back to them from my salary, just to make sure they were taken care of. That lasted until my younger brother, Tyler, decided it was time for him to get married. He didn’t ask. He demanded. “Maren, Mom and Dad gave you the entire family nest egg. I’m trying to put a down payment on a house and I’ve got nothing. You owe me sixty thousand dollars. Now.” I stood in their kitchen, drying a dish, and didn’t even turn around. “I don’t have it,” I said flatly. “Not a dime.” 1 Tyler exploded. He slammed his fork onto the table, the silver clattering against the porcelain. “Do you even have a soul, Maren? There was over a hundred and fifty grand in that account! I’m asking for sixty, and you’re acting like I’m robbing you!” “Don’t be greedy, Tyler,” I replied, finally turning to face him. My dad snapped then, glaring at Tyler. “Sit down! Who do you think you’re talking to? Your sister is a single woman living in a brutal city. That money was meant to be her protection.” “Dad, you’re being ridiculous! You’re totally playing favorites!” My mom reached over and swatted Tyler’s arm, though there was no sting in it. “Hush! A man provides for his own wife. Besides, didn’t we try to help you talk to the bank about a loan?” “Nobody’s lending right now!” Tyler shouted, pacing the linoleum. “I don’t care. Maren, you have the card. Give it to me.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “You want money? You’ll have to cut it out of me. Go ahead, Tyler. Give it your best shot.” “You—!” Tyler lunged forward, but Mom caught him by the waist. “Stop it! She’s your sister!” “She’s a hoarder! She’s sitting on our family assets while I can’t even start a life. That money belongs to me just as much as her.” My dad slammed his fist on the table, making the water glasses jump. “That money belongs to me until the day I’m in the ground! And while I’m breathing, I’ll give it to whoever I damn well please!” Tyler shrunk back, muttering under his breath. “Fine. But at least give me fifteen. For the earnest money. The good listings don’t stay on Zillow for more than a day.” I shrugged. “Like I said. Not a dime.” “You’ve changed, Maren. You’re obsessed with money. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars… five years of interest alone should be twenty grand. You’re crying poverty? No one believes you.” I smirked. “You don’t believe me? Fine. Let’s go to the bank tomorrow. We’ll pull the full statement.” “Fine! Let’s go!” Mom suddenly looked panicked. She grabbed Tyler’s arm and then reached for my hand, her palm sweaty. “Oh, stop it, both of you. Fighting over money like this… it’s embarrassing. What would the neighbors think?” I pulled my hand away. Dad stood up and grabbed Tyler by the ear, hauling him toward the back bedroom like he was ten years old again. I could hear Tyler’s muffled protests as the door slammed. I didn’t stick around. My apartment in the city was only a forty-minute train ride away. Within the hour, I was staring at my ceiling, the silence of my own space finally wrapping around me. Then, the phone rang. Mom. “Maren, don’t be hard on him. He’s just stressed about the wedding. His fiancée, Brittany… she won’t walk down the aisle without a deed in her hand.” “Sounds like a Tyler problem,” I said. “Maybe I should just give the card back to you and Dad.” “No!” Mom’s voice spiked, nearly a shriek. She caught herself quickly. “I mean… no, honey. We gave it to you. It’s yours.” I felt a chill go down my spine. “Well, it’s a shame,” I said, my voice dripping with irony. “Uncle Pete and the rest of the family aren’t exactly flush with cash either, or I’m sure they’d lend to you.” “Money is tight everywhere,” she sighed. “I hate that you’re being put in this position.” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice steady. “Actually, I can help. I’ll text you the numbers for a few private lenders and some personal loan officers I know. They can get Tyler the cash.” “Maybe you could even take out a second mortgage on your house. You’d get the sixty thousand easily.” There was a long, suffocating silence on the other end. “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she finally whispered. 2 “Why not? If the family won’t help, that’s the only way. Unless… you want the card back?” “No! Goodnight, Maren!” She hung up abruptly. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled up the family group chat and dropped the contact info for three high-interest lenders. @Dad @Mom, check these out. They’re legitimate lenders for quick cash. My dad replied almost immediately: What loans? Mom said you guys were struggling to find the down payment for Tyler. These guys are fast. The chat went silent for ten minutes. Then Dad: Forget about it. Just focus on your job. Your mother and I will figure it out. Mom added: I was just venting, Maren. Don’t worry. We would never touch your money. Then Tyler entered the chat like a wrecking ball. Maren, you’re a piece of work. Mom asks for help and you send her to a loan shark? Who does that? I typed back with a smile: You’ve got a clean credit score, Tyler. You could probably pull a hundred grand on your own. Then you wouldn’t even need a down payment; you could buy in cash. Try it. Tyler’s response was a sixty-second voice note. I didn’t even play it. I knew the tone: the high-pitched vitriol of a boy who had been told ‘no’ for the first time in his life. I silenced my phone and went back to my laptop. My coworker, Ben, looked over from the next cubicle. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve been in a war zone.” “My family wants sixty thousand dollars for my brother’s house,” I said, not looking up from my spreadsheet. “Sixty? God. I know you make good money, Maren, but that’s insane. Do they think you’re a bank?” I just shrugged. I let the information sit there. I wanted the people around me to know the situation—a preemptive strike in case Tyler decided to show up at my office and make a scene. I’d worked hard for my life. I had a condo, no husband, a six-figure salary, and a reputation for being untouchable. That made me a target for people like Tyler. I knew he wouldn’t let it go. I just didn’t expect them to show up so soon. That Friday, as I walked out of the glass lobby of my office building, there they were. Mom, Dad, and Tyler. Standing by the fountain like a welcoming committee from hell. “Must be nice,” Tyler sneered the moment he saw me. “Designer suit, corner office, playing the big-shot executive while your family rots.” I nodded. “It is nice. I worked sixty hours a week for four years to get that annual bonus. It was fifteen thousand this year. And you’re not seeing a cent of it.” Tyler looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. Dad grabbed his shoulder. “Knock it off. We just came to see your place, Maren. Tyler, if you can’t behave, get back in the car.” Tyler fumed but stayed quiet. I led them to my condo—a spacious, sun-drenched loft with floor-to-ceiling windows. Mom’s jaw practically hit the hardwood. “Maren… this is… how much does a place like this even cost?” “With the current market? Around eight hundred thousand,” I said casually. “Between my salary and the savings I’ve built up, the mortgage is manageable.” Tyler was spiraling. “Eight hundred thousand? You’re living in a million-dollar palace and you won’t give me sixty grand? You used Mom and Dad’s retirement to buy this, didn’t you? You thief!” 3 I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “You think so? Fine. You want the card? Take it.” I reached into my purse, pulled out the “nest egg” card, and tossed it at his chest. “Here. The PIN is your birthday. Go ahead. Go to the bank and see what’s in there. Get the full transaction history while you’re at it.” Tyler caught the card, stunned. “You’re… you’re serious?” “Dead serious.” The grin started to spread across his face, but Mom lunged forward and snatched the card out of his hand. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed at me. She tried to shove the card back into my purse. “Don’t listen to him, Maren. We just came to visit.” Tyler’s eyes went red. “Mom, stop it! You’re being so biased it’s sick! Brittany said if I don’t have a house, the wedding is off. She’s pregnant, Mom! Do you want your grandkid living in a rental? Do you want me to be a loser forever?” He actually sat down on my designer rug, looking like a broken child. Dad sighed, looking exhausted. “If we can’t afford a house, we can’t afford a house. People rent all the time.” Mom turned on Dad, then on me. “It’s because he isn’t like you, Maren. You were always the smart one, the capable one. Look at this place! Look at your life! And look at your brother…” Dad waved a hand dismissively. “Enough. Let’s not fight. Diane, go in the kitchen and start some dinner. We’re all hungry.” As Mom headed into the kitchen, I followed her to “help.” Outside in the living room, I could hear Dad trying to talk sense into a sobbing Tyler. In the kitchen, Mom leaned over the island, her voice a low, desperate whisper. “Maren, I know you’ve worked hard. But he’s your only brother. I’ve been thinking… I can scrape together ten thousand. If you could just find another fifty… maybe ask your boss for an advance? You said you got that bonus…” I looked at her. Really looked at her. I saw the desperation, but I also saw the calculation. “You want me to go into debt for him, Mom? I have a mortgage. I have bills.” “But you’re so successful! Please, Maren. For me?” I stayed silent for a heartbeat. “I’ll think about it.” Mom visibly deflated with relief. After dinner, while my parents were “napping” in the guest room, I pulled Tyler aside. I slid the debit card back into his hand. “While they’re asleep, grab their IDs from Mom’s purse. I’ll drive you to the bank right now.” “You mean it?” “Yeah. Let’s settle this.” Tyler didn’t hesitate. He was a greedy moth flying straight into a blowtorch. He swiped the IDs, and we were at the bank branch the moment it opened the next morning. He shoved the card into the ATM, his fingers trembling as he punched in his birthday. The screen flashed. Balance: $0.00. He whirled around, shouting in the quiet lobby. “Maren, you bitch! You played me! There’s nothing in here!” I feigned a gasp. “What? That’s impossible. I never touched that money. Get a printed statement, Tyler. We need to see where it went.” “You’re lying! You spent it on that condo!” He was screaming now. “The card was with you! Where else would it go?” “I didn’t take it,” I said, my voice calm and loud enough for the bank manager to look over. “Get the receipts.” He stomped over to the teller desk, demanding a printout. While the printer hummed, my phone vibrated. Mom. “Maren? Where are you? My ID is gone!” “We’re at the bank, Mom. Tyler wanted to check the balance. We’re getting the statements now.” A sharp, choked gasp came from the other end. “Who told you to do that? Stop! Stay right there, I’m coming!” I didn’t stop. I took the stapled pages from the teller and tucked them into my bag. Tyler sneered at me. “Acting’s over, Maren. Give me the papers.” “No. The money isn’t with me. If you think I stole it, call the cops.” “Fine! You think I won’t? I’m doing it!” He pulled out his phone, his face contorted with rage. “911? I want to report a theft. My sister stole a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from my parents’ retirement fund.” 4 He was howling in the middle of the lobby. Saturday morning customers were everywhere, their necks craning, their eyes wide with the kind of voyeuristic glee that only comes from watching a family fall apart in public. I just crossed my legs, leaned back on the velvet bench, and waited. A few minutes later, my parents burst through the doors, breathless and pale. They saw Tyler, then they saw me. Mom looked like she was about to faint. She grabbed Tyler’s arm. “What are you doing? Stop this madness!” Tyler’s eyes were bloodshot. “Mom, she took it! It’s all gone! Every cent of your retirement! She bought that luxury loft with your blood and sweat, and now she’s letting me rot! She’s a monster!” Mom’s hand flew out. Slap. The sound echoed through the bank. Tyler froze, his cheek blooming red. Mom’s lips trembled; she couldn’t find the words. She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw the sheer, unadulterated terror in her eyes. She knew. The crowd began to murmur. You could hear the judgment in their whispers. “Can you believe her? Stealing from her own parents like that.” “Look at that bag she’s carrying. Probably costs three grand.” “Typical. The successful child thinks they’re entitled to everything while the brother gets nothing.” I didn’t move. I just watched Tyler. Tyler, sensing the crowd was on his side, played it up. “They worked their whole lives for that money! They sacrificed everything so she could go to college, so she could have a career! And this is how she pays them back? By leaving them with nothing?” Mom grabbed his arm again, her voice a panicked hiss. “Tyler, shut up! This is family business! Let’s just go home!” “No! I want everyone to see what she is!” Dad tried to grab my arm to pull me up. “Maren, get up. We’re leaving.” I shook him off. “Why are you in such a hurry, Dad? Afraid of what the police will find?” “You’re being a brat! Your brother is emotional, but you—you should know better!” “I know exactly what’s going on,” I said. “And I’m not going anywhere.” Across the lobby, a teenager had his phone out, livestreaming the whole thing. I looked directly into his camera and gave a small, chilling smile. The comments on his screen were flying by: Toxic sister! Absolute gold-digger! Justice for the parents! One comment caught my eye. It was from a profile I recognized. A guy from my office. I know her. She’s a total ice queen. Always acting like she’s better than everyone. Figures she’s a thief. I pulled out my own phone, found the stream, and replied: I know you too, Dave. You’re the guy who asked me out, tried to make me pay for your $12 avocado toast, and then complained to HR when I said no. Keep talking. My phone buzzed. A text from my boss: Maren, what is happening? Fix this. Do not let the company’s name get dragged into a family spat. I replied: Don’t worry, sir. The truth is about to come out. Finally, two police officers walked in. Tyler ran to them like they were his saviors. “Officers! She did it! She stole the money! A hundred and fifty thousand!” The officers looked at me—the woman in the expensive suit looking perfectly composed—and then at the disheveled, screaming brother and the trembling parents. “Is this true, ma’am?” the officer asked. I stood up slowly. “No, Officer. I didn’t take a cent. But I do have the bank statements right here.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the stapled packet.

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The day Cole Bradley won the Grand Prix championship, I found a pair of black lace underwear wedged between the leather seats of his Aston Martin. That same night, I tipped off the tabloids and kicked down the door of a five-star penthouse at the Ritz, catching the golden boy of American motorsports in bed with his newest protégée. Amidst the blinding flash of cameras and my own hysterical screaming, Cole looked utterly panicked. Yet, in the chaos, his first instinct was to pull the duvet up, using his own body to shield Madison from the lenses. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment,” he pleaded later, his voice cracking. “She means nothing to me, Nat. Nothing.” It wasn’t until the internet ripped Madison to shreds, until the cyberbullying drove her into a manic frenzy that ended with her accelerating her car straight into me—killing the child growing in my womb—that I finally gave Cole an ultimatum. Send her to prison, or sign the divorce papers. Cole had stared at my flat, empty stomach, his eyes bloodshot. The very next morning, he handed over the dashcam and telemetry data to the district attorney. The evidence of Madison’s vehicular assault was irrefutable. After that, Cole walked away from the track. He transitioned to a background role in team management, dedicating every waking hour to pulling me out of the suffocating, pitch-black well of clinical depression. Years passed. We healed, or so I thought. When I finally saw the two pink lines on a pregnancy test again, my heart swelled with a cautious, desperate hope. I wanted to surprise him. But on my way home, passing an exclusive maternity boutique on Rodeo Drive, I stopped dead in my tracks. Inside, a young woman with a pronounced baby bump was casually pointing at displays, buying out half the store. “My husband knows I’m terribly indecisive,” she giggled to the clerk, “so he just told me to put the whole collection on his card.” “You guys deliver, right? Have it sent to the gated estate in Bel-Air.” The girl turned her head, catching the afternoon sun. I froze, the breath knocked entirely from my lungs. It was Madison. The girl who was supposed to be rotting in a state penitentiary. … The blood in my veins turned to ice water. The sales associate looked at Madison with starry-eyed envy. “Your husband must love you so much.” Madison rested a manicured hand delicately on her belly, a saccharine smile playing on her lips. “He really does. He was my mentor first, actually. A genius on the track. He’s been taking care of me since day one.” She sighed, playing with a lock of her hair. “When I first joined the racing circuit, I was so green. He was terrified the older guys would take advantage of me, so he taught me everything himself. Hand-over-hand on the steering wheel. He even had a custom blush-pink Porsche wrapped just for me.” Early in our marriage, I used to go to the paddock. I would stand in the deafening roar of the pit lane, waving his team colors, my throat raw from cheering. But eventually, he started meeting me after races with a cold, distant expression. He told me to stop coming. When I asked why, he simply said, “The track is too dangerous, Nat. It’s not a place for a wife.” It wasn’t that it was too dangerous. It was just that he couldn’t be bothered to waste his energy pretending I belonged in his world. “The other day, I just coughed a little from walking too fast,” Madison continued, her voice dripping with mock exasperation. “And he completely panicked. Had his private concierge doctor come to the house for a full workup!” Half a month ago, the morning sickness had hit me so hard I couldn’t stand. Cole had initially promised to drive me to my OB-GYN appointment. But as I was grabbing my purse, his phone buzzed. He told me an urgent sponsor crisis had come up. Go ahead without me, he’d said, kissing my forehead. I’ll come pick you up after. I sat in that sterile waiting room alone. I got my blood drawn alone. I waited in the hospital corridor for six hours. The only thing that came was a Venmo notification from Cole with a quick text: Caught up in meetings. Take an Uber Black home on me. Love you. Madison looked radiant. Suddenly, her phone chimed. “Oh, my husband is pulling up. Don’t forget the delivery instructions!” I shrank back against the corner of the brick storefront, my eyes locked on the curb. A sleek, black Maybach silently rolled to a stop. When the heavy door opened and Cole stepped onto the pavement, the world around me ceased to exist. He caught Madison as she threw herself into his arms, his voice laced with an affectionate reprimand. “You’re about to be a mother, Maddie. Why are you still running around like a teenager? What if you trip and hurt the baby?” Madison pouted, looking up at him through her lashes. “Are you getting tired of me? Do you think I’m just not as good as your boring, washed-up wife?” Cole’s tone softened into something I hadn’t heard in years. Pure, unadulterated devotion. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one could ever touch your place in my heart.” A physical agony ripped through my chest, sharp and breathless. When Madison hit me with her car, I was twenty-eight weeks pregnant. I had to deliver him. He was a fully formed little boy, a tiny, perfect, lifeless weight placed on my chest before being taken away forever. For months, I woke up screaming. I dreamt of a little voice crying out in the dark, begging me to save him. The grief mutated into a severe depressive episode. I tried to end my life more than once, and every time, Cole was the one who pulled me back from the ledge. To stay by my side, he retired at the peak of his career, walking away from millions in endorsements and the only life he knew. When his fans took to Twitter, blaming me for ruining his legacy, saying I was a psycho who didn’t deserve him, Cole issued his first and only public cease-and-desist. [My wife is my entire world,] his statement had read. [Caring for her is not a burden; it is the greatest privilege of my life. Anyone who speaks ill of her will hear from my legal team.] A wave of bitter acid rose in my throat. As if sensing the sheer weight of my stare, Cole abruptly turned his head toward the alleyway. I instinctively flattened myself against the brick wall, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What are you looking at?” I heard Madison ask. “Don’t ignore me! If you don’t tell me exactly why I’m better than that old woman, I’m going to make you sleep on the couch!” Cole chuckled, a low, helpless sound as he smoothed her hair. “You’re better than her in every way.” “I should start recording you when you throw these tantrums,” he teased gently. “Show the kids one day just how childish their mother really is.” Madison’s face flushed. “You want me to ruin my body having multiple kids for you? Keep dreaming!” Every syllable was a serrated blade, sawing slowly through the last remaining tethers of my sanity. A cold California wind swept down the street, and I shivered uncontrollably. Cole immediately guided Madison toward the open car door. “You shouldn’t be out in the wind in your condition. Let’s go home.” Watching the Maybach merge into traffic, a desperate, hysterical impulse took over. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. In the past, even if he was halfway across the world in Monaco, Cole answered my calls on the first ring. First attempt. Sent to voicemail. Second attempt. Sent to voicemail. By the third, the phone was turned off completely. I raised a trembling hand to my face, only then realizing my cheeks were entirely slick with tears. I floated back to our house like a ghost. When I pushed the heavy oak front door open, Cole was already sitting on the living room sofa, his jacket tossed over a chair. The moment he saw me, he stood up, crossing the room to pull me into his chest. His brow furrowed with familiar, practiced concern. “Nat? Are you okay? Is it the depression again?” I didn’t lean into his touch. I didn’t answer his question. I just stared straight into his dark eyes. “Do you want a child, Cole?” A microscopic flicker of unease crossed his face. “Your body… the doctors said your condition isn’t suited for pregnancy right now.” Was my body not suited for it, or did Cole just not want me to be the one carrying his child? I shoved hard against his chest, breaking his hold. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out the glossy photos I’d printed at a pharmacy kiosk on the way home—pictures I’d snapped of them outside the boutique—and slammed them onto the glass coffee table. Tears spilled over my lashes, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw ached. “You and Madison. Don’t you think I deserve a goddamn explanation?” Cole froze. For a second, he looked at the photos, and then the warmth bled out of his face, replaced by a glacial, defensive anger. “You’re stalking me?” He scoffed, a cruel twist of his lips altering his entire demeanor. “Is this why you were blowing up my phone today?” “What exactly do you want me to explain, Natalie? Yes, I cheated. I fell for my protégé. What happened back then… the crash, it was a tragic accident. She was so young, Nat. I couldn’t just let her rot in a cell and destroy her entire future over a mistake.” “I’ve kept her set up quietly. She knows her place. She has never bothered you. You’re the one forcing this out into the open, making a mess out of nothing.” His calm, calculated blame felt like a physical blow. He was rewriting history. Rewriting the murder of my child as a “mistake.” A visceral cramp seized my stomach, and I doubled over slightly, gasping in pain. Seeing me wince, muscle memory kicked in; Cole instinctively reached out to support me. I slapped his hand away with everything I had. “Don’t touch me! Keep your filthy, hypocritical hands off me. You make me sick!” Cole’s face darkened, his jaw ticking. He opened his mouth to snap back, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered it instantly, his eyes locked coldly on mine. “I’m leaving,” he said to me, pocketing the phone. “Take a pill and calm down.” He walked out with hurried, urgent strides. Driven by a morbid need to twist the knife in my own chest, I followed him in my own car. I watched from a distance as he stopped at a high-end grocer. He came out carrying a massive bouquet of imported Juliet roses and a small, delicate clamshell of organic strawberries. I remembered my first pregnancy. The morning sickness had been unrelenting, and one afternoon, I had an overwhelming, desperate craving for fresh lychees. Cole had been deep in prep for the Le Mans race, surrounded by engineers and press. He had his assistant send a massive, expensive fruit basket to the house. It was filled with exotic melons and berries, but not a single lychee. Now, I sat in my idling car and watched the man who couldn’t be bothered to leave the track for me step into a sprawling Bel-Air estate. Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, I watched him carefully wash the strawberries by hand, cut off the stems, and feed them, one by one, to Madison. The dam inside me finally broke. I got out of the car, ran up the driveway, shoved open the unlocked front door, and marched straight into the kitchen. Before either of them could react, I swung my arm back and slapped Cole across the face with a sickening crack. “Natalie, have you lost your mind?!” He instantly pulled Madison behind him, shielding her just like he had in that hotel room years ago. His eyes blazed with unchecked hostility. “Take your crazy out on me! Maddie has nothing to do with this!” I stumbled backward, the floor swaying beneath my feet. I couldn’t reconcile the monster standing in front of me with the man I loved. When I first told him I was pregnant all those years ago, Cole hadn’t cared that we were in the middle of a crowded restaurant. He picked me up and spun me around, tears in his eyes. Nat! I’m gonna be a dad! Before we even knew the gender, he had cleared out a room, filling it with model cars and tiny racing helmets, bragging to the press that he was raising the next generation of motorsport royalty. And now. “What do you want, Natalie? Do you want her to pay with her life?!” Cole’s voice boomed through the kitchen, but as he took in my bloodshot eyes and trembling frame, he lowered his tone, attempting a twisted sort of negotiation. “Once Maddie’s baby is born, you can be its godmother. We can all move past this.” Staring at the man who was bargaining away my grief to protect the woman who killed our child, my heart didn’t just break—it shattered into dust. Madison peeked out from behind him, stepping forward to grab my forearm. Her perfectly manicured acrylic nails dug viciously into my skin, pinching the flesh hard enough to draw blood, even as she put on a terrified, trembling voice. “I’ve always felt so guilty about what happened back then, Natalie… I just hope, one day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me—” “Get off me!” I yanked my arm back violently. I hadn’t pushed her, but Madison threw herself backward, collapsing onto the marble floor with a theatrical shriek. “My baby…!” She clutched her swollen stomach, her face contorting in faux agony, before letting her eyes roll back as she “fainted.” Cole’s face drained of color. He turned to me, a look of pure, unadulterated hatred in his eyes. “You know exactly what the pain of losing a child feels like, and you’re trying to do the exact same thing to Maddie?!” He shoved me. Hard. He didn’t look back as he scooped Madison into his arms and sprinted toward the door. I staggered backward, my heel catching on the edge of the luxury rug. I fell hard, my tailbone slamming against the unforgiving marble. But a second later, a deep, tearing agony ripped through my lower abdomen. “Cole… wait. Help me, I’m preg—” He paused in the doorway. Those dark eyes that used to look at me like I hung the moon were now cold and dead. “The doctors were very clear, Natalie. You can hardly get pregnant.” “Don’t try to manipulate me with cheap lies. You’re draining whatever love I have left for you.” He walked out. I lay on the floor, paralyzed by the pain, until a delivery driver found me through the open door and called an ambulance. At the hospital, the ER doctor’s voice was gentle but grave. Threatened miscarriage. I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears leaking down my temples and into my mouth, tasting of salt and copper. Behind my eyelids, all I could see was Cole’s broad back as he walked away from me. My phone buzzed on the bedside table. A photo message illuminated the screen. It was Madison, her maternity blouse unbuttoned, slipping off her shoulder. And there was Cole, his head bent over her chest, his lips approaching her breast. An audio file followed. I pressed play with shaking, icy fingers. Madison’s voice drifted out, breathless and cloyingly sweet: “It’s my first time pregnant, so my body is just so sensitive… Cole couldn’t bear the thought of me hurting myself with a mechanical breast pump, so… he offered to help clear the ducts himself…” A wave of pure nausea violently hit the back of my throat. My hands trembled so hard I could barely type, but I opened the Reddit app. I bypassed the racing forums and went straight to a major pop-culture subreddit. [IndyCar Golden Boy Cole Bradley knocked up the protégé he swore he dropped. The same protégé who killed his wife’s unborn baby. He’s housing her in Bel-Air.] I attached the photo she had just sent me, along with the ones from the boutique, and hit post. Within an hour, it was trending on X and TikTok. The internet exploded, tearing Madison apart, calling her a homewrecking sociopath. But the victory was short-lived. A massive PR firm stepped in. The hashtags were scrubbed, the posts shadow-banned, and in their place, a polished, official press release from Cole’s agency took over the trending page. [My former wife, Natalie Bradley, has long suffered from severe psychiatric delusions. We legally separated some time ago. The fabricated narratives circulating online are the tragic result of her declining mental health.] I slid down the hospital wall, collapsing onto the cold floor. When he proposed, Cole had gotten down on one knee in the rain, swearing to God he would never let a tear fall from my eyes. When I lost our baby, he swore he would never touch a steering wheel again, dedicating his life to doing penance by my side. Now, he told the world I was crazy. The vows of our youth were nothing but a punchline. My phone rang. It was Cole. When I answered, his voice dripped with exhaustion and profound disappointment. “Nat. Do you have any idea how hard Maddie has worked to get her life back on track? Do you really have to destroy her?” “She’s locking herself in the bathroom, threatening to end it. She’s young and hormonal, and I’m terrified she’s going to do something irreversible.” “Take down the posts, issue a retraction, and come here to apologize to her in person.” A jagged lump formed in my throat, choking off my air. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, forcing the tears back. “Me? Apologize? Who the hell is going to apologize to my dead son?!” “Cole Bradley, you are bending over backward to protect a murderer! How do you sleep at night?!” The child inside me seemed to contract, as if feeling the toxic rush of my despair. Despite my best efforts to hold onto my dignity, a ragged, animalistic scream tore from my throat. It was the sound of years of suffocated grief and betrayal finally clawing its way out. My breakdown seemed to shock him. The line went silent for a long, heavy moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow. “If that’s how you want to play it, fine. Don’t blame me for what happens next.” “You hurt Maddie. Actions have consequences.” He hung up. The next morning, an anonymous whistleblower post went viral across my university’s forums and local news outlets. [Tenured by Day, Escort by Night: The Truth About Professor Bradley.] The three-thousand-word expose was allegedly written by a former classmate. It claimed that to secure my coveted tenure-track position at the university, I had slept with my fifty-year-old department chair. Attached was a grainy photo from years ago. I was standing in a cramped office, and an older man’s wrinkled hand was resting inappropriately low on my waist. My brain short-circuited. I was a scholarship kid who clawed my way out of a dead-end town. I had no money, no connections. In grad school, my advisor had weaponized my vulnerability, assuming I’d be too terrified to report him, and subjected me to relentless sexual harassment. Even though I eventually fought back and he was quietly forced into early retirement for “academic misconduct,” the trauma had left deep, lasting scars. The only person in the world I had ever confided in about that was Cole. And now, Madison was on Instagram Live, crying to thousands of viewers. “Cole and I have known each other for years. He promised we’d be together. But Natalie trapped him… she spiked his drink at a party years ago and used a pregnancy to force him into a miserable marriage!” The internet turned its rabid attention toward me. [They let this whore teach college kids? Homewreckers should kill themselves!] [No wonder her baby died. Karma doing its job!] The sheer volume of the hatred was a physical weight, pressing the air from my lungs. A sharp, pulling ache radiated through my lower pelvis. Within an hour, I received an email from the Dean’s office. I was suspended, pending a full investigation. The sensation of drowning was total. I was still sitting numbly on the floor when my phone rang. It was my mother. “Natalie, what the hell is happening on the news?! Get over here right now and explain this mess to me!” Her voice was strained, breathless. She had a severe heart condition; any spike in her blood pressure was a death sentence. I dragged myself to her house. The second I walked through the door, a hand struck my cheek with blinding force. I stood there, ears ringing, holding my face. It was only then that I realized Cole was sitting calmly in her armchair. My mother was shaking violently, her face pale. “Get on your knees! Natalie, I did not work my fingers to the bone raising you just for you to become some cheap mistress destroying another woman’s home!” I opened my mouth, desperate to explain, but she cut me off. “Cole already told me everything! He told me how you’ve been blackmailing him, how you’ve been sleeping around behind his back!” I snapped my head toward Cole. He met my gaze, a faint, mocking smirk playing on his lips. Before I could form a word, my mother lunged, grabbing a handful of my hair. “Apologize! You apologize to Cole and Miss Madison right now! Or so help me God, you are no longer my daughter!” The crushing injustice of it all snapped whatever fragile thread was holding me together. I gritted my teeth against the pain in my scalp, refusing to break. “I didn’t do it! I am the victim here! Why should I apologize to the woman who ruined my life?!” “You… you want to put me in the ground, is that it?!” My mother gasped, her chest heaving. Suddenly, her eyes rolled back. She clutched her heart and collapsed onto the hardwood floor like a puppet with its strings cut. “Mom!” I threw myself toward her. Her lips were already turning a terrifying shade of blue, her breathing reduced to wet, rattling gasps. My hands shook violently as I fumbled for my phone to dial 911, but a hand shot out and snatched the device from my grip. “You can call the ambulance,” Cole said, his voice terrifyingly calm, “right after you apologize to Maddie.” I was hovering over the abyss of total madness. I screamed at him, my voice shredding my throat. “I’ll apologize! I’ll do whatever she wants! Just let me call the paramedics, please!” Cole frowned, looking slightly displeased by my volume, but he tossed the phone back onto the floor. The moment the ambulance arrived at the emergency room doors, Cole stepped in front of me, physically blocking my path to the sliding glass doors. “Kneel down and apologize to Maddie. Until you do, my private medical team won’t so much as look at your mother.” Madison had just arrived, chauffeured in one of Cole’s SUVs. Seeing me panic-stricken and covered in sweat, a flash of triumphant glee crossed her face. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted a rush of warm blood. Swallowing my pride, my dignity, and the last remnants of my soul, I dropped to my knees on the dirty concrete in front of Madison. “I’m sorry. I am the homewrecker.” “You stop when Maddie says she forgives you,” Cole dictated, his arms crossed. I bent forward, pressing my forehead against the pavement. One time. Two times. Three times. The concrete scraped my skin raw. Blood began to trickle down my brow, blinding my vision. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Cole’s brow furrowed, a flicker of something like discomfort crossing his face. “Enough. Go check on your mother.” He turned to walk inside. As he did, Madison leaned down, her lips brushing my ear. Her voice was pure venom. “I showed her the deepfake videos of you sleeping with those older men before she collapsed. She really didn’t take it well, did she?” My mother couldn’t take any more stress. My fragile grip on reality disintegrated entirely. I scrambled up, practically crawling through the ER doors toward the resuscitation bay. The attending physician walked out, slowly pulling off his surgical mask. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. The patient suffered a massive cardiac event. Given the delay in getting her here… there was nothing we could do.” The world went silent. My heart didn’t just break; it ceased to exist. My body began to convulse uncontrollably. A sudden, blinding agony tore through my abdomen, twisting my insides like barbwire. I looked down to see dark, crimson blood pooling around my legs, staining the sterile linoleum. They rushed me into emergency surgery. When the doctors initiated the D&C to remove what was left of my pregnancy, the physical agony was nothing compared to the violent severing of my spirit. I felt every scrape, every pull. My soul was being hollowed out, piece by bloody piece. “Your uterus has suffered significant trauma from the fall,” the surgeon murmured later, her eyes full of pity. “Coupled with the history of your previous loss… the scarring is severe. It is highly unlikely you will ever be able to carry a child to term. I am so deeply sorry.” I stared at the ceiling tiles, entirely numb. Dead inside. I arranged my mother’s cremation alone. I dragged my hollowed-out, broken body back to the house. This house was supposed to be our forever home. When we bought it, Cole had insisted on putting the deed solely in my name, a grand romantic gesture to prove I would always have a safe harbor. Looking around at the sprawling, empty rooms, I let out a dry, rattling laugh that quickly turned into sobbing. I signed the paperwork, slipped the medical documents into a manila envelope, and paid a courier for immediate, expedited delivery to Cole’s office. Then, I turned around, flicked open Cole’s silver Zippo lighter, and tossed it into the heavy velvet drapes. I stood by the second-story window, watching the flames lick the ceiling, turning the beautiful cage he built for me into an inferno. Closing my eyes against the heat, I whispered into the smoke. Cole Bradley, if there is a next life, I pray to God I never meet you. I stepped out into the empty air. … Meanwhile, miles away in a glass-walled corner office, Cole’s assistant burst through the heavy oak doors, breathless. “Mr. Bradley! A priority courier just dropped this off—” “It’s a medical diagnostic report… and a signed divorce agreement!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “407049”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Reid had been a genius since we were in pull-ups. When we were kids, I would stay up until one in the morning, nursing a cold cup of tea and highlighting textbooks until my eyes blurred, while he’d be out like a light by nine. And yet, every single time, he’d beat my scores by thirty points without breaking a sweat. In college, it was the same story. It took me a full semester of grueling library sessions to wrap my head around advanced calculus; he’d glance at the problem set once and solve it before the professor finished writing on the board. Even when I spent six months meticulously preparing for the state revenue service exams, he just flipped through the study guide a few days before the test. Predictably, he took the top spot in both the written and oral rounds. Luckily, there were two openings. I had placed second. I went to the HR department with him, my hand steady as I held my folder of certification documents, ready to sign my future into existence. But before I could reach the desk, Reid reached over, snatched my papers, and ripped them into a dozen jagged pieces. He didn’t even look at me. He just stared at the hiring manager. “You want me on your team? Fine. But Lexi comes with me.” The manager looked like he wanted to laugh, but the expression curdled into disbelief. “Do you realize she didn’t even pass the written exam? She’s not even on the list.” Reid let out a cold, sharp laugh. “That’s my condition. Either Lexi gets a desk next to mine, or your number one recruit walks out that door right now.” I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my own throat. He was a talent, sure. But in the sea of people clawing for a career in the public sector, talent was the only thing we had in surplus. Suddenly, I realized: if he walked, I wasn’t just second place anymore. I was the new number one. 1 The white scraps of my life’s work fluttered down like mocking snow, landing on my shoulders and the scuffed linoleum floor. My hands shook as I reached down to grab the remnants of my certifications. I looked up at Reid, my voice a strangled whisper. “You’ve completely lost your mind.” Reid ignored me, his gaze locked onto the manager with a chilling confidence. “Lexi goes where I go. If she’s not hired, I won’t accept the position. I’ll give you some time to think about it.” “Reid!” I finally found my voice, sharp and trembling. “Those were my papers! I earned the second slot. You have no right—” He turned to me then, flashing that signature, crooked smirk—the one that used to make my heart skip a beat when we were teenagers, back when I thought he was my protector. “Relax, Norah,” he said, his tone infuriatingly patronizing. “We grew up together; I know how much you hate being away from home. Lexi doesn’t like long-distance either. Just be a good girl and wait, okay?” “You—” The manager cleared his throat, his face a mask of professional restraint. “Mr. Scott, I’ve seen your scores. Your aptitude is undeniable. I truly hoped you would join us.” “And I will,” Reid said, leaning back. “As soon as you process Lexi’s paperwork.” “But Lexi Wells failed,” the manager snapped. “She is ineligible for public service. We cannot hire her.” “Then you don’t get me.” “I see.” The manager took a deep, steadying breath, his jaw tight. “Fine. If she doesn’t come, you don’t come? Message received.” He stood up, smoothing his tie. “You can leave now.” Reid’s eyebrows shot up. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with arrogance. “Thank you for understanding.” He tossed a smug look over his shoulder at me. “See you at home, Norah.” The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him. I stood there, clutching the shredded paper, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Sir…” The manager didn’t say a word. He reached into a drawer, pulled out a fresh set of forms, and slid them across the mahogany desk toward me. “Fill these out. Go get your documents reprinted and notarized,” he said, his voice level. “Since he’s declined, the top spot moves to you by default.” My breath hitched. A spark of pure, unadulterated triumph lit up in my chest. “As for the second opening,” the manager continued, “it will go to the candidate who placed third. Someone who actually wants to work.” I bit my lip to keep from grinning. “Thank you, sir.” I almost wanted to run after Reid and thank him. Did he really think the real world was like our prep school? Where the dean would bend every rule just to keep the ‘golden boy’ happy? He was about to find out that out here, everyone is replaceable. 2 By the time I got back to campus, the news had already traveled through the grapevine. A group of seniors was huddled near the career center, their voices loud with excitement. “Did you hear? Reid basically forced the State Revenue Department to hire Lexi! Oh my god, that is literally like something out of a romance novel!” “I’m so jealous. Here I am, getting rejected by every internship, and Lexi gets a government job handed to her on a silver platter because her boyfriend is a genius. I need a Reid in my life.” I pulled my backpack straps tighter and tried to walk past them, but they spotted me. “Norah? Hey! Didn’t you take the exam too? Why are you at the career fair? Didn’t you get in?” “Of course she didn’t,” a familiar, sugary voice rang out. Lexi stepped out from the crowd, her arm linked with Reid’s. She looked at me with a pitying smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Norah. I guess it’s another win for me. It seems like history is repeating itself. Just like your mom couldn’t keep your dad from my mother… you just can’t seem to beat me, can you?” I turned my gaze to Reid. He knew. He knew everything. My father’s betrayal, the way he walked out on my mother and me to start a ‘real’ family with Lexi’s mom—it was the defining trauma of my life. When it first happened, Reid was the one who held me while I cried. He was the one who skipped class to stand outside Lexi’s house, shouting at my father for being a coward. Until the day Lexi finally opened the door. I remember the moment clearly. Reid had frozen mid-sentence, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of Lexi’s face. From that second on, he never said another word against her mother. He shifted his allegiance so fast it gave me whiplash. Now, he just stood there, watching Lexi bait me with a lazy, satisfied smile. I didn’t lose my temper. I didn’t scream. I just smiled back. “Why would I compare myself to you, Lexi?” She blinked, caught off guard. In the past, I would have dropped my bags and fought her tooth and nail. “Instead of looking for a cheap ego boost here,” I said calmly, “you should probably focus on polishing your resume. You’re going to need a backup plan.” Lexi’s face twisted. She turned to Reid, her lip trembling. “Reid! She’s being mean to me!” Reid laughed, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Don’t mind her, babe. When someone fails as hard as she did, they tend to get bitter. She’s just jealous that I’m taking care of you.” Lexi smirked, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I guess I can let it slide since you’re so pathetic. Good luck finding a job that pays more than minimum wage, Norah. You’ll need it.” I didn’t say another word. I just watched them walk away, basking in the sunlight of their own delusions. Over the next few weeks, they went into full ‘celebration’ mode. While the rest of us were grinding through finals and final interviews, my social media feed was flooded with photos of them at beach resorts and high-end restaurants. The whispers in the hallways turned into muffled snickers whenever I passed. “What’s the point of being a straight-A student if you can’t even land a job?” “I heard the department didn’t want her because she’s a total stiff. No social skills.” I stayed silent. I did my work. I waited for the moment the hammer would drop—the moment they realized the offer letter they were waiting for was never coming. But before the truth could reach them, fate threw a curveball. The director of the Federal Bureau of Finance reached out to Reid directly. “We heard you declined the State Revenue Department. We have a prestigious opening here. Are you interested?” 3 Reid was, objectively, a brilliant candidate on paper. It wasn’t surprising that other agencies were headhunting him. When he saw the email, he frowned. He typed back a reply with the casual arrogance of a man who thought he held all the cards: I didn’t decline. I simply stated that I will not accept an offer that doesn’t include my partner. If you can accommodate us both, we can talk. The reply came back almost instantly: But the State Revenue Department already filled their vacancies with the second and third-ranked candidates. Haven’t you seen the public notice? Lexi was leaning over his shoulder. Her eyes widened as she read the screen. She looked at Reid, her voice small and uncertain. “The manager didn’t agree to let me take Norah’s spot?” Reid scoffed, reaching up to pinch her cheek playfully. “Of course he didn’t—not yet. My scores were leagues above the others. This is just a tactic. They’re trying to scare me into thinking I’ve lost the spot so I’ll come crawling back. It’s a classic negotiation move.” Lexi’s face cleared, and she beamed at him. “I knew it. You’re the best.” Reid typed his final response: Sorry, but my partner and I have our hearts set on the State Revenue office. We’ll wait for their call. The Bureau responded after a long pause: We’ve reviewed Lexi Wells’ file. While she doesn’t qualify for the analyst track, we have a clerical position in our regional office that she could fill. If you’re willing to relocate to the Bureau, we can create a spot for her. When I heard about this through mutual friends, I was stunned. The Bureau. That was the big leagues. Even the “clerical” spot they were offering Lexi was something thousands of people would kill for—a job that usually required passing a rigorous screening she had failed. If I hadn’t been so focused on staying local to help my mom, I would have applied there myself. But a week later, more news trickled down. Lexi had decided the Bureau’s office was too far from the mall and her favorite yoga studio. She made Reid turn it down, insisting they hold out for the State Revenue job because it was “closer to home.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Finals ended. Graduation passed. My bags were packed, and my career was set. I decided to head back to my hometown for a week before my start date. But the moment I walked through the door, my mother looked like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 4 “How could you let that girl win again?” My mother broke down in tears the moment she saw me. When she said “that girl,” she meant Lexi. And by extension, she meant Vanessa—Lexi’s mother, the woman who lived in the upscale development across the park with my father. My mother’s voice was thick with suppressed rage and heartbreak. “It was bad enough when that woman took your father. Now her daughter is taking your future! Lexi isn’t half as smart as you, yet Reid Scott is carrying her into a government career while you’re coming home with nothing! Do you have any idea how Vanessa is gloating? She’s telling everyone you’re a failure!” My younger sister, Chloe, poked her head out from the hallway, her eyes wide. “Norah, everyone at school is saying you’re just a bookworm who couldn’t cut it in the real world. They say Lexi is the one who really won…” “Go do your homework, Chloe!” my mother snapped, rubbing her temples. She looked at me, her face lined with exhaustion. “You should probably go back to the city. Start looking for something—anything. A retail job, maybe?” I set my suitcase down and looked at her. “Go back for what, Mom?” “To find a job! You’ve already lost to Lexi. Are you just going to sit here and let them bury us?” I let out a soft, tired laugh. “Mom… is it possible that I’m actually the only one who got the job?” 5 My mother froze. She looked up at me, blinking through her tears. “Mom,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m the only one going to the Revenue Department. Reid and Lexi? Neither of them got in. They’re unemployed.” She stayed paralyzed for a long moment. Then, a bitter, hollow laugh escaped her lips. “You’re lying to make me feel better. You’ve never been a good liar, Norah.” She reached onto the sideboard and shoved a thick, cream-colored envelope into my hand. I recognized the handwriting immediately. It was my father’s—elegant, bold, and utterly devoid of remorse. In celebration of our daughter Lexi Wells and our dear family friend Reid Scott on their prestigious appointments to the State Revenue Department. We cordially invite our friends and neighbors to a gala in their honor. The date was set for this Friday. “They’ve already booked the ballroom at the country club,” Mom whispered. “The whole neighborhood knows. How could it be a lie if they’re throwing a party?” I looked at the ink on the paper, a cold smirk spreading across my face. I tucked the invitation into my pocket. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go to the party. I want to see how this ends.” 6 I stayed at the house for the rest of the week. My mother didn’t understand, but she stopped crying. I spent my days sleeping in and catching up on my reading, enjoying the quiet before the storm. Then came the afternoon I ran into them. I was walking back from the local market, carrying a heavy gallon of water for my mom, when I turned the corner and saw a crowd gathered near the park entrance. At the center were Reid and Lexi. My father was there, too. He had his arm around Lexi, his face beaming with the kind of pride he used to reserve for me. Seeing him like that—the same way he used to carry me on his shoulders when I was five, telling everyone, “This is my girl! Isn’t she the smartest?”—it felt like a physical blow to the stomach. I tightened my grip on the handle of the water jug and tried to slip past. “Norah.” Reid’s voice cut through the air. The crowd went silent, all eyes turning toward me. He looked at me with a strange mix of pity and disapproval. “You don’t have a job yet,” he said loudly. “Why are you back in town so early? You should be out there pounding the pavement.” The neighbors started whispering, their eyes scanning me like I was a cautionary tale. I stopped and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me, Reid. I’ve got my future sorted. Maybe you and Lexi should spend more time checking your own status instead of worrying about mine.” “Norah!” My father stepped forward, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What right do you have to speak to them like that? Lexi and Reid are starting careers that people dream of. You’re just… well, you’ve always been a bit of a recluse. Don’t let bitterness ruin your character.” Vanessa, Lexi’s mother, stepped up next to him, smoothing her expensive silk dress. “Oh, Robert, let her be. Some people just can’t handle losing. She’s just like her mother—all pride and no substance. Norah, honey, Lexi isn’t heartless. If you’re struggling for rent next month, I’m sure she’d find a way to help you out. Wouldn’t you, Lexi?” I felt my knuckles turning white. Lexi stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with triumph. She reached out to take my hand, her voice a mock-whisper. “Sister, it’s okay. The job market is hard. It’s not your fault you’re not as… connected as we are. Besides, a girl doesn’t really need a career if she finds the right man to take care of her, right? If you need anything, just ask.” She squeezed my hand. I felt a surge of pure, white-hot fury. “Let go.” “Norah, are you upset?” she asked, her voice rising so everyone could hear. “I was only trying to be nice—” “I said, let go!” I yanked my hand back, pulling the heavy water jug toward me for leverage. Lexi let out a theatrical gasp. She didn’t just let go—she threw herself backward, stumbling over her own feet and landing hard on the grass with a muffled cry. “What is wrong with you!” Reid reacted instantly, shoving me aside so hard I nearly fell. He dropped to his knees, pulling Lexi into his arms. He looked at her tear-streaked face and then glared at me, his teeth grit. “I’m the one who took the spot, Norah! If you’re mad at someone, be mad at me. Stop taking it out on her!” My father pushed me, too, his eyes cold and full of shame. “Get out of here, Norah. Look at what you’ve become.” I started to laugh. It was a jagged, ugly sound. “I pulled the jug toward myself. She threw herself backward. Are you all actually blind, or just choosing to be?” “Enough!” Vanessa snatched the water jug from my hand and, in a fit of calculated rage, poured the entire gallon over my head. The cold water soaked through my clothes, clinging to my skin. She stood over me, trembling with fake sobs. “So what if you can’t find a job? Does that give you the right to assault my daughter? My Lexi was trying to help you! You’re a monster, Norah. Just like your mother!” The neighbors swarmed in, offering tissues to Lexi and glares to me. “She needs to learn some manners.” “Sad. All that education and she’s still a failure.” I wiped the water from my eyes, ready to lung at Vanessa, but a hand caught my wrist. It was my mother. She had seen the whole thing. Her face was bright red, her eyes brimming with tears of humiliation. She didn’t say a word to them. She just dragged me back toward our house. Once the door was shut, she turned on me. “Can’t you just let me have some peace? Just once?” “Mom, she faked it—” “I don’t care!” she screamed. “They’ve won! They have the jobs, the money, the reputation! We just have to stay quiet and wait for them to leave. We are not going to that party tonight.” “No,” I said, my voice like ice as I stripped off my soaked shirt. “We are absolutely going to that party.” 7 The ballroom was packed. It wasn’t just the neighbors; my father had invited everyone—his business associates, old college friends, even the local press. He wanted to cement his new family’s status as the town’s elite. Lexi had even invited a dozen people from our graduating class. My mother and I sat at a small table in the back. She was mortified, her face flushed as people whispered around us. “Isn’t that the girl who was supposed to be so smart? Guess Lexi really showed her.” I ignored them, calmly pouring my mother a glass of juice. Lexi spotted us from across the room and sauntered over, a glass of champagne in her hand. “Oh? You actually showed up? I thought you’d be too busy crying into your textbooks.” One of her friends chimed in, snickering. “Give her a break, Lexi. She probably just wants to soak up some of your success by osmosis.” Lexi laughed, her eyes flashing with malice. “Success is earned, sweetie. You can’t just wish for it. I’d offer you some of this good luck, but I don’t think you’d know what to do with it.” The table erupted in laughter. Someone called out, “Hey Lexi, Reid! Tell us again—which department did you guys get into? Was it the State Revenue office?” Lexi tossed her hair back. “The State Revenue Investigative Division. Reid already talked to the director. We start Monday.” A guy from our class, a quiet kid named Leo who was always on his phone, suddenly frowned. “Wait, really? I just checked the official state portal for the final roster. I didn’t see your names.” Lexi’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about? Reid handled everything.” “But the public notice is up,” Leo said, holding up his phone. “It’s on the main landing page.” He tapped the screen and read aloud: “Candidate Reid Scott has officially withdrawn his application for personal reasons. The final appointments for the State Revenue Department are as follows:” The room went deathly silent. “1. Norah Scott.” “2. Silas Thorne.”

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I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw the digital invitation. Lydia—now Lydia Thorne, apparently—was getting married on March 15th. In the kitchen, Mike was humming to himself, stirring a pot of slow-simmered bone broth he’d insisted on making for my “sensitive stomach.” Our mutual friends were already flooding the comments with heart emojis and rowdy plans for the bachelorette party. I leaned against the kitchen island, tilting my phone toward him with a tight smile. “Lydia’s wedding is this weekend. Are you going?” Mike didn’t even look up from the stove. “Of course not,” he said easily. “We have your twenty-week anatomy scan this weekend. I wouldn’t miss seeing the peanut’s first ‘real’ photos for anything in the world.” I wanted to believe him. Lydia had spent five years pining for Mike, a fixation so intense it had nearly derailed her engagement to Wyatt more times than I could count. But that night, when I got up to use the bathroom, I saw Mike standing on the balcony. The glow of his cigarette was a lonely red spark in the dark. He was staring at nothing, lost in a place I couldn’t reach. I opened my mouth to call his name, but my phone buzzed in my hand. A panicked voice note from our old college group chat screamed through the silence: “Guys! Lydia just jumped! She’s at Memorial Central in the ER right now!” In the next heartbeat, Mike was gone. He didn’t look back. He didn’t grab a jacket. He just shoved past me, his eyes bloodshot and wild, and disappeared into the night. I stood in the hallway, the cold air from the open door settling deep into my bones. … Outside the ICU, Mike didn’t look like the calm, collected therapist I had married. He looked like a man possessed. He swung a fist, catching Wyatt square in the jaw, sending him sprawling against the linoleum. “How could you do this to her?” Mike roared, his voice cracking. “The week of your wedding? What did you do?” Wyatt wiped a smear of blood from his lip, letting out a jagged, hollow laugh. “Oh, now you’re the hero? You’re the reason she called it off, Mike. Don’t act like you don’t know why she did it.” Mike froze. His shadow flickered against the sterile white walls. “We’re just friends, Wyatt. We were classmates. That’s all.” Before he could finish the lie, the “In Progress” light above the surgical suite flickered off. Mike moved faster than I’d ever seen him move. When the surgeon finally emerged and whispered the words “she’s stable,” I watched the tension drain out of Mike’s body so violently he nearly hit the floor. That’s when Wyatt noticed me standing in the corner. He looked at me with a pity that felt like a slap. “Nicole,” Wyatt said, his voice dripping with venom. “Your husband says they’re just friends. Do you believe him?” Mike stiffened. He didn’t turn around. Did I believe him? I asked myself the same question. Mike and I had been “Mike and Nicole” for twenty-three years. Childhood sweethearts, the gold standard for everyone we knew. When Lydia’s obsession became public knowledge back in college, people whispered that a “soulmate” was no match for a “predator.” I’d been terrified then, too. But Mike had shut her out. He’d promised me, over and over, “Nicole, it’s only ever been you. We’re building a life. We’re going to be happy forever.” But watching him now—watching the way his hands shook with relief for a woman who wasn’t his wife—the foundation of that “forever” began to crumble. On the drive home, the silence was a third passenger. Mike tried the usual script. He said Wyatt was just a jealous prick, that he was making something out of nothing. But all I could hear was Wyatt’s voice. Do you believe him? The next morning, Mike was up at 5:00 AM making artisan breakfast dumplings from scratch. “Sweetheart, wake up. You need to eat,” he called out, his voice a perfect imitation of the man I loved. I stared at the steaming bowl. “You didn’t have to do all this. I could have just had cereal.” He took my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles with a tenderness that felt almost like an apology. “Store-bought is full of sodium. You’re eating for two now. I’ve already mapped out your nutrition plan for the trimester. I’m taking care of you, Nicole. Always.” Despite the knot in my stomach, I felt a flicker of the old warmth. Then, his phone buzzed. “Hey, Mike, the group is headed to the hospital to see Lydia. You and Nicole coming?” our friend’s voice echoed through the speaker. Mike looked me in the eye, his expression firm. “No. I’m taking Nicole to her ultrasound. I don’t have time.” I blinked, surprised. “I mean, we could go for a bit after.” “No,” Mike said, his gaze unwavering. “You and the baby are the only things that matter. Today is the first time I get to see our child’s face. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” The doubt from the night before began to evaporate. He was here. He was choosing us. But an hour later, as I was sitting in the OB-GYN waiting room, his phone rang again. It was his clinic partner. A “high-risk patient with severe depressive tendencies” was in crisis and needed him immediately. He stood up, looking tortured. “Nicole, it’s an emergency. I have to go. Do the scan, record it for me? I’m so sorry.” He didn’t wait for my answer. He turned and ran. A cold, sickening intuition took hold of me. I didn’t wait for my name to be called. I followed him. Mike didn’t drive back to his office. He went straight back to the hospital. I stood in the doorway of the recovery wing and watched Lydia throw herself into my husband’s arms, sobbing into his chest. My last shred of hope withered and died. “I couldn’t do it, Mike,” Lydia wailed, her voice thick with calculated misery. “I can’t marry him when I’m in love with you. It hurts so much. I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to die…” Lydia’s mother stood by the bed, her eyes red-rimmed. “Mike, she’s loved you for five years. I don’t care that you’re married. She’s my only daughter. You can’t just leave her like this. You’re a doctor—fix her.” Mike didn’t say a word. He just held her, his face a mask of agonizing pity. I watched them from the hall, feeling like an intruder in my own life. If it weren’t for me—if it weren’t for twenty-three years of history—maybe they would be the ones planning a nursery. The air in the hallway felt thin. I couldn’t breathe. I walked into the room. Mike’s face went white. He shoved Lydia away instantly. Lydia, ever the actress, forced a weak, pathetic smile. “Nicole… don’t be mad. Mike was just… checking on me. I’m okay now. You guys should go.” Her mother snapped. “Okay? How is she okay? My daughter is suicidal because of you people! I don’t care about your marriage. You owe her, Mike. You have to take responsibility!” I found my voice, though it sounded like it belonged to someone else. “And how exactly should he do that?” The mother didn’t blink. “Leave your wife. Be with my daughter. Save her life.” Mike flinched, his jaw working but no words coming out. Lydia grabbed her mother’s hand, looking at me with wide, tearful eyes. “Mom, stop. You’re joking. Nicole, ignore her. Please.” A bitter laugh escaped me. It wasn’t a joke. It was a roadmap. When we got home, Mike buried himself in his home office and didn’t come out. By 7:00 PM, I was lightheaded with hunger. I knocked on his door. “Mike? What are we doing for dinner?” He didn’t look up from his laptop. “Order something on DoorDash, okay? I’m swamped. I’m drafting a specialized recovery protocol for Lydia. I don’t have time to cook.” I walked over and shut his laptop. “You promised me this morning you’d cook every meal. And you shouldn’t even be her therapist, Mike. It’s an ethical nightmare. It’s—” “Nicole, enough!” Mike snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. “Lydia is in a critical state! Her depression is a direct result of her feelings for me. I am the only person who can reach her right now. If she actually kills herself next time, could you live with that? Because I couldn’t.” I felt like he’d doused me in ice water. Mike saw my expression and immediately softened, reaching out to pull me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. I’m just stressed. I’m trying to save a life here…” I leaned into him, but my eyes drifted to his computer screen. The file labeled Pregnancy Nutrition had been minimized. The active window was a document titled Lydia – Comprehensive Recovery Plan. Just then, his phone lit up on the desk. [Mike, thank you for agreeing to see me professionally. But I feel terrible. You’re going to be a father soon. Go be with Nicole. Don’t waste your time on someone as broken as me.] Mike sighed, closing his eyes. “Forget it. Let’s go get some air. Let’s go to dinner.” “I’m not hungry anymore,” I said, turning for the bedroom. He caught my arm. “Nicole, please. It’s my fault. Hate me, yell at me, but don’t starve the baby. Our little guy needs to eat.” I looked down at my stomach and nodded, the guilt for my unborn child winning out over my pride. At the restaurant, Mike’s phone was a buzzing insect on the table. Lydia. Lydia. Lydia. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t turn it off. He just flipped it face down. “Just take it,” I said, staring at my salad. “In case it’s an emergency.” He shook his head. “No. You’re right. There have to be boundaries. If I’m going to help her, I have to be her doctor, not her crutch. The most important thing right now is you and the baby.” For a moment, the cloud lifted. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe his “savior complex” was just hitting overdrive. We were waiting for the check when my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered it, and a piercing, jagged scream filled my ear. “Where is Mike? Put him on! Put him on right now!” “She cut her wrists! Lydia’s bleeding out! Please, just let her have him! Please save my daughter!” Mike’s face drained of all color. He stood up so fast his chair toppled over. “Nicole, take an Uber home,” he said, his voice trembling. “I have to go. I have to go right now.” I sat there, frozen, and watched him run out of the restaurant. Mike didn’t come home that night. He didn’t answer my texts. He didn’t answer my calls. I spent the night staring at my phone until I saw Lydia’s latest post. It was a photo of Mike’s back as he stood by a hospital window, the sunrise hitting his shoulders. The caption was a single line: [You are the light at the end of my tunnel.] I closed my eyes and prayed. Please, Mike. Don’t destroy us. Please don’t let me down. The following weeks were a blur of loneliness. Mike was a ghost. He left before I woke up and came home long after I was asleep. The promises of homemade meals and “taking care of me” were gone, replaced by lukewarm takeout and distracted apologies. “Lydia’s case is complicated, Nicole. She’s only responding to me. I just need to get her through the woods, then I can step back.” Part of me felt for her. I knew what it was like to love someone so much you felt like you were drowning. But I also knew that if she died, she would become a martyr in Mike’s mind forever. I wanted him to fix her so she could finally go away. The next afternoon, I went to Mike’s clinic to drop off his lunch. The elevator was crowded. A couple of delivery guys were moving office furniture, shielding me from view in the back corner. Then, I heard two voices that made my heart stop. “Sweetie, this office is incredible,” Lydia’s mother said, her voice bright and energized. “Mike is doing so well for himself. Much better than that loser Wyatt.” Lydia let out a soft, melodic laugh. “I told you, Mom. Once Mike heard I was ‘depressed,’ he forgot all about his perfect little domestic life. It’s only a matter of time now.” There wasn’t a hint of sadness in her voice. No heaviness. No trauma. Just cold, sharp ambition. I stood paralyzed as the elevator doors opened. By the time I regained my senses, they were halfway down the hall. I scrambled out, shouting her name. “Lydia! Stop!” She turned, startled. I caught up to them, my chest heaving. “You’re faking it. You’re lying to him. You aren’t depressed at all, are you?” Lydia’s eyes darted around for a split second, then, as if a switch had been flipped, her face crumpled. She burst into violent, racking sobs. Her mother instantly pulled her into her arms, glaring at me with practiced fury. “How dare you?” the mother screamed. “My daughter is fragile, and you’re attacking her? You’re a monster!” Mike stepped out of his office, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” The mother turned the theatrics up to eleven. “Mike! Your wife is accusing Lydia of faking her illness! She’s saying Lydia is trying to ruin your marriage! She told us to get out and never come back!” Mike looked at me, his eyes dark with a disappointment that cut deeper than any blade. “Nicole,” he said quietly. “When did you become so cruel? Lydia is sick because of me. It is my responsibility to help her.” “Mike, listen to me,” I pleaded, my voice shaking. “I heard them in the elevator. They were laughing. They admitted it was a game to get you back—” “Enough!” Mike’s voice boomed in the hallway. I flinched. In twenty-three years, he had never raised his voice to me. Not once. Lydia stepped between us, looking like a broken bird. “It’s my fault! Please, don’t fight. I’ll go. I’ll just go.” “You aren’t going anywhere,” Mike said, grabbing her arm to steady her. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. “Lydia is in this position because of my choices, Nicole. When did you become so petty? You’re so blinded by jealousy that you’d rather see a woman die than lose a little bit of my time? I don’t even know who you are anymore.” His words were poison. I turned and ran, the tears blinding me. I made it as far as the curb outside the clinic. I didn’t see the courier on the electric bike speeding through the red light. The impact sent me sprawling onto the pavement. A sharp, hot pain exploded in my abdomen. I looked down and saw a dark, terrifying stain spreading across my jeans. I fumbled for my phone, my hands slick with blood. I called Mike. “Mike… please… I fell… something’s wrong. The baby… Mike, help me…” There was a long silence on the other end. Then, a weary sigh. “Nicole, stop it. I love you, okay? You know that. But Lydia is my patient, and I am in the middle of a session. Please stop these theatrics. It’s beneath you.” He hung up. I wanted to laugh, but all that came out was a sob. Mike was a brilliant therapist. He could spot a manipulation a mile away. But the guilt had blinded him so completely that he’d broken every ethical rule in the book—and in the process, he’d stopped being able to see the truth. He wasn’t saving Lydia because of guilt. He was saving her because he wanted to be the hero in her story. When I woke up, the world was white and smelled of bleach. The doctor’s face told me everything before he opened his mouth. “You’re young,” he said, his voice heavy with a rehearsed kindness. “You can try again. You should call your husband. You shouldn’t be alone for this.” I touched my stomach. It was flat. Empty. This had been our miracle. We’d spent five years trying. Countless doctors, failed rounds of IVF, the bitter taste of herbal supplements that did nothing. Mike had once held me while I cried and told me, “Nicole, it’s okay. If it’s just us, you’re enough. You’re my only girl.” I had believed him. I had stopped feeling broken because of him. I didn’t call him. And he didn’t call me. I lay there for hours, wondering if Mike had ever actually loved me, or if I was just a habit he hadn’t known how to break. I thought of Wyatt’s words again. I sent Wyatt a message. I need to know the truth. A minute later, he sent a video file. [See for yourself.] I clicked play. The timestamp was from the night before my wedding to Mike. In the video, Lydia is on her knees in front of Mike, sobbing. “Mike, you’re getting married tomorrow. I know I’ve lost. But just give me one night. One night to say goodbye, and I promise I’ll never bother you again. Please.” In the video, Mike tries to push her away. He stands up to leave. Lydia collapses on the floor, a heap of misery. But then, Mike stops. He turns back. He picks her up, and then he kisses her—a desperate, hungry kiss that didn’t look like “just classmates.” My heart didn’t break; it shattered into dust. I remembered our wedding day. Mike had looked exhausted. I’d thought it was just the stress of the planning. I’d spent the whole day trying to take care of him. Wyatt sent another text: [They met up again right before Lydia and I were supposed to get married. I think you can guess the rest.] [The suicide attempt was a play. The depression was a lie. She didn’t want to marry me; she wanted to force Mike’s hand.] The screen blurred. I had been so confident. I thought our history was a fortress. But the night Mike ran out of the house because she “jumped,” I should have known. You don’t run like that for a friend. You run like that for the person who holds your heart. The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital. Mike arrived home at noon, carrying a bouquet of lilies—my favorite. He probably thought a few flowers would fix the “fight” we’d had. When he saw I wasn’t in bed, he called me, his voice sounding annoyed. “Nicole, enough is enough. Where are you? You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be wandering around—” A nurse from the ward, who had stayed over to help me finish my paperwork, snatched the phone out of my hand. She’d seen me crying all night. “What kind of husband are you?” she snapped into the receiver. “Your wife was brought in yesterday after an accident. She lost the baby. Where the hell were you?” I heard the sound of something shattering on the other end of the line. Mike’s voice came through, a ghost of a whisper. “What? What did you say?”

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While sitting on my sugar daddy’s lap acting cute, I suddenly became self-aware of the plot I was in. I was the cannon fodder bedmate for several powerful young heirs in New York’s elite circle, destined to die from exhaustion in bed. Terrified, I grabbed Liam’s hand, which was roaming my waist, my voice trembling: “Maybe we shouldn’t…” Liam was indifferent: “If we don’t do it now, I’m going to the airport.” Today was the day his adopted sister was returning to the States. I asked tentatively: “Are Cole and the others going too?” Liam sneered: “They can go if they want. I hope they get run over on the way.” I was thrilled. With the beloved “White Moonlight” returning, I wouldn’t have to die in this bed! 1 Liam wasn’t angry that I rejected him. He just lowered his eyes and gave me a lazy, dismissive glance. Thinking about his adopted sister’s return must have put him in a good mood lately. So, he simply got up, grabbed his phone, pushed open the suite door, and left. He didn’t look at me again. I stared at his tall, lean back. In the original plot, this is where things went wrong. Not only did I sleep with Liam, but I got carried away and went too far. It made Liam miss picking up his adopted sister from the airport. Liam was worn down by me and agreed to stay, so Cole and the others went to pick her up instead. They even went to a hot spring resort together. And that very night, Liam’s adopted sister, Chloe, accepted a confession from one of the other guys. Then Liam went crazy and blamed everything on me. Later, Chloe broke up with that guy. Liam became pathologically obsessed with Chloe on one hand, while tormenting me in bed on the other. Just when I couldn’t take it anymore. Cole, the only heir in that circle who hadn’t had an improper relationship with me, descended like an angel. He gently and calmly pulled me into his arms, “You shouldn’t be treated this way. Be with me.” And then… Cole was even more of a fucking psycho! In the end, my two-timing was exposed. That night, in bed, can only be described with one word: Despair. Honestly, I was completely broken. If someone in the underworld asked: How did you die? I’d answer: I was f***ed to death. … Damn, that’s too horrifying! Even if I have to die, I refuse to die in such an incredibly humiliating way! I absolutely will not follow the original plot. Starting right now, I’m going celibate. The love stories of these rich heirs and heiresses have absolutely nothing to do with me. I just want to survive. I sniffled and went to look in the mirror. A necklace around my neck, bracelets on my wrists, and even an anklet. Although wearing so much was a bit tacky, they were all sparkly, and I really liked them. If I hadn’t become self-aware, I probably would have acted just like in the original plot: arrogant, spoiled, and overly confident because of the favor shown to me. After all, in my eyes, Liam truly spoiled me. Because of his indulgence, I overestimated my place in his heart. Normally, if other pretty girls got even a little close to him, they were chased away, and he would just hold me and smile lazily. So I didn’t know that his adopted sister was the only one truly special to him. And I was just a distraction he was somewhat satisfied with. I even used to throw my weight around in front of those other heirs, relying on Liam’s backing. Thinking about it now, they probably thought I was ridiculous. Just a plaything, yet so full of myself. 2 Liam’s usually empty Instagram feed featured a photo for the first time. It was a group photo with Chloe. Liam must be really happy. He didn’t miss it like in the original plot. My eyes uncontrollably fell on the center of the photo. Brown, slightly wavy long hair, the woman wore a red maxi dress, heels, and a bright smile. The powerful young heirs I saw as golden boys and masters of the universe looked like obedient, well-behaved little brothers next to her. From beginning to end, they belonged to the same world. A sour feeling spread in my heart. I silently turned off my phone. Then, I started packing my bags. Some bags, some jewelry… I planned to sell them. Then, use the money I saved to buy a small, first-floor apartment in my hometown, plant some flowers, and take care of a garden. That was my childhood dream. But later, the glitz and glamour wrapped me up so tightly. And I forgot. After packing. I dragged my suitcase to a hotel, slept until I naturally woke up, and then leisurely strolled down to the hotel’s public lounge area. And then I spotted a few familiar silhouettes. I froze instantly. And immediately turned around. Only to be stopped by a smiling voice: “Maya? Why are you leaving without saying hi when you see people you know?” Several pairs of eyes locked onto me at once, making my skin prickle like needles on my back. That obnoxious flirt, did he really have to have such sharp eyes? I wiped my face, forced a difficult smile, and turned around: “Hi, what a coincidence!” My eyes met Liam’s. He tilted his head back slightly, downing the liquor in his glass in one gulp. He didn’t say a word. Instead, it was Cole who smiled slightly, his voice magnetic and calm: “What brings Ms. Price here?” Oh, interrogating me about why I’m at a hotel? I haven’t even asked what several men and one woman are doing at a hotel together. I also smiled: “Waiting for my boyfriend.” The air went silent. Only the smooth English pop music played in the background. Liam gave me a cold glance and poured himself another drink. Right, in front of Chloe, he and I were always strangers. Chloe’s beautiful almond eyes narrowed slightly, “You all know each other? Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Still silence. Because no one knew how to introduce me. After all, I never had an official title, not even as their friend. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself any further, so I said: “You guys carry on, I’m going to head out.” I turned and walked a few steps before a pair of cool hands grabbed my wrist. A pair of captivating, flirtatious eyes leaned in close to my face. “Maya, come hang out with us.” That obnoxious, big-mouthed flirt. He had just called me out, and now he wouldn’t let me leave. He used to be like this too, forcibly dragging me out to party. If I didn’t play along, he’d say I didn’t love him, only for me to end up watching him—Julian—flirt and drink with other beautiful women. Seeing my lack of reaction, he blinked. Then softened his tone: “Maya, why don’t you bring your boyfriend along too?” I remained expressionless. Julian’s face was handsome in a different way from the others; he had a knack for bewitching people. Callous yet incredibly charming. He knew his physical advantages and was accustomed to using his face to get what he wanted. Just like right now. His high nose bridge gently brushed against my cheek, and he whispered: “But Maya, we’ve been to this hotel before. Staying here with your boyfriend… won’t that make you think of me? Or perhaps, you don’t actually have a boyfriend?” I took a step back. Julian smiled, the end of his sentence light as a feather: “Hmm?” A sticky, oppressive feeling. I stared at him steadily for a few seconds. I hated Julian’s know-it-all attitude. I raised my hand and slapped him. The sound was loud and crisp. He turned his head slightly, a red handprint blooming on his pale skin. “Stay away from me.” I took a napkin and wiped my hand. “You’re dirty.” 3 After returning to my suite, I felt bored again. If nothing unexpected happens tonight, Chloe is going to get confessed to. But with Liam here this time, will the confession be successful? Maybe two guys will compete to confess. Then we’ll see which one Chloe graces with her favor tonight. Wait. I sat bolt upright in bed. The young heir who confessed to Chloe in the original plot… I didn’t see him tonight. And shouldn’t they be at a hot spring resort? Why are they at a hotel? I pulled out my phone and opened the chat with that particular heir. Our last conversation was half a month ago. [Where are you?] I asked. A few seconds later. [?] Then he sent an address. A freaking library. I was shocked. Why was this deviating from the plot? I sent him the hotel address. [Hurry, your future wife is here, quick, quick, quick.] If you don’t hurry, the wife that was originally yours will be gone. Even though they were going to break up later, I just couldn’t stand seeing Liam take advantage of the situation. [Okay.] he said. About ten minutes later. [Open the door.] I stayed silent for a few seconds, typing slowly: [Whose door?] He didn’t reply. Then I heard a commotion outside. The suite had great soundproofing; if I could hear it like this, it must be really loud. I pushed the door open. Liam stared straight at me: “Why is he here?” I turned my head numbly and met another pair of dark eyes. Me: “…I don’t know either.” Liam turned his head coldly, “Got the wrong room?” The other guy: “…” Liam was already used to this. He frowned tightly, about to say something else. But he was called away by a phone ring. After walking two steps, Liam received a message. He returned with a very displeased look on his face, grabbing the guy next to him and dragging him away. “My sister told you to come too.” Under my watchful eyes, the two tall figures left this floor. I paused, then closed the door. Well, everything is getting back on track. I didn’t expect that a few minutes later, Liam sent a message, still as condescending as ever: [Why was he at your door?] Me: [Oh, he’s the boyfriend I was talking about.] [.] Liam didn’t believe it. [Wait for me tonight.] he added. [You aren’t staying with your sister?] I frowned. Liam paused for a long time on his end before replying: [I don’t need to stay with her. She has someone she likes.] I froze for a second. It seems that, just like in the original plot, Chloe and the late-arriving heir liked each other. Sure enough, those two words were sent to the wrong person. They weren’t for me; they were for Chloe. I hugged a throw pillow. I’m so jealous. Jealous of being liked by everyone, respected by everyone. I expressionlessly texted Liam back: [Does that mean I need you?] Liam: [? Then who do you need, Julian? He’s the same with all women, don’t flatter yourself.] I paused, realizing something. He didn’t know about what happened between me and Julian. He thought Julian leaning in tonight was just because he saw a woman and wanted to flirt… However, Julian, the playboy, really did treat every woman the same. I had self-awareness regarding this point. So. In Julian’s eyes, the beautiful and capable Chloe was the only bright red rose among a bunch of ordinary flowers. Liam’s rivals were far more numerous than he imagined. I let out a slow sigh. I suddenly received a message on Poshmark. A pink avatar. [How much is the bracelet?] I replied instantly: [20k, massive discount. Local pickup only.] [Can do.] The other side sent an address over. I stared at the address. [I’m actually here right now, sister.] The other side seemed very shocked: [What a coincidence. Should we meet in the lobby? Or the public bar?] I thought about it. If I were seen by Liam in a public area, he would probably kill me for selling the bracelet he gave me… I probably wouldn’t get a moment of peace the entire night. [Sister, would it be convenient for me to come to your door, or you to mine for the transaction?] The other side quickly fired back a room number. We were on the same floor. I just knocked once, and the door opened. A casually slouched man leaned against the wall, wearing a bathrobe that exposed half his chest. He hooked the bracelet from my hand with a smile, wagging his index finger, “Little girl, are you lost?” Me: “…” “Psycho.” I cursed, trying to grab it back, but got pulled into the room instead. Julian leaned down, asking lazily: “Why are you selling off your belongings? Planning to make a run for it?” I paused, gritting my teeth: “None of your business.” He showed no sign of anger from the slap I gave him earlier tonight, still wearing a smiling face. He even proactively explained, “This bracelet is a limited edition. A friend of mine has wanted it for a long time. You sold it too cheap.” “A friend? More like a lover.” I sneered, having him completely figured out. Julian raised an eyebrow, not denying it. He slowly pinched my chin. “What should we do, Maya? You delivered yourself right to my door.” I turned my face away, my voice turning cold, “If I’m not back in my room in half an hour, the hotel robot will call the police.” Julian let go regretfully, “Oh, half an hour really isn’t enough.” I couldn’t stand it anymore: “Can you stop acting like you’re so great? You’re actually terrible in bed. Aren’t you supposed to be a playboy? To be as bad as you are, you really have nothing going for you except your face!” Although his face was indeed incredibly stunning. The room fell silent. Julian was quiet for a moment, his tone sounding a bit hurt: “Really?” I answered stiffly: “Really.” “So who is good in bed?” he threw out the question the next second. Me: “…You’re the worst.” Silence again. “Hearing you say that really hurts me.” Julian sighed softly, grabbing my hand and pressing it against his chest. “My heart is crying.” Even though I had heard these kinds of cloying words many times before, they still made my teeth ache. Despite his chest feeling quite nice, I silently pulled my hand back. “So, what’s the market price for that bracelet?” “Around eighty or ninety thousand.” Julian smirked slightly. I took out my phone and updated the price online. After modifying it, I waved it in front of him. “Pay up, pretty boy.” After personally confirming Julian’s payment and receipt of goods, I pushed the door open. “Pleasure doing business with you. Goodbye, pretty boy.” The next second, I was locked in a staring contest with Liam, who was standing right outside my door. Julian even had the nerve to lean half his body out, his voice dripping with sweetness: “Make sure you dream of me tonight, Maya. I hope the me in your dreams gives you a better experience.” Me: “…” Liam: “?” I awkwardly covered my face, “Haha, what a coincidence, hahaha.” After saying that, I sprinted toward the door of my own room. I was grabbed by the back of the neck by Liam. He pulled me back with a dangerous smirk, “Care to explain?” I couldn’t help but recall the miserable fate in the original plot after being caught two-timing. I involuntarily shrank back a little. I turned around. Julian, whose bathrobe seemed to be tied even looser now, leaned against the wall like he had no bones. Seeing me look over, he even waved, “Hi, we meet again, babe.” Liam’s face grew even darker. His almond eyes narrowed slightly as he cursed at Julian without holding back: “Stop acting like a f***ing slut every day.” Julian feigned innocence: “You can’t just get mad because my charm is greater than yours.” Liam sneered, “Are those illegitimate kids of your dad’s not keeping you busy enough? You have the free time to harass people here?” Julian lifted his eyelids, meeting Liam’s gaze. “Don’t end up losing out on the company shares,” Liam lifted his eyes carelessly, “and not even having enough money to buy a girl dinner.” Liam was pretty crazy. As far as I knew, many of the rich heirs were afraid of him, afraid that if he went crazy, he’d do things that hurt others a thousand times over, even if it cost him a hundred. Julian wore a smile on his lips, but his amber eyes turned flat, looking over without any emotional fluctuation. Liam pulled me into the room and closed the door. He scanned me up and down: “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?” I scratched my head: “No.” Liam clicked his tongue, “Stay away from him. That guy is trouble.” I nodded: “Okay.” I added: “Then can you stay away from Chloe in the future?” Liam raised his eyelids, “What do you mean?” Perhaps it was the lingering resentment from the original plot, or perhaps it was my annoyance at Liam thinking he controlled all our relationships. I said lightly: “She doesn’t like you anyway. Why humiliate yourself?” And in the process, dragging others down as collateral damage. He treated me as a plaything to be summoned and dismissed at will, but his feelings for Chloe weren’t exactly pure and flawless either. Liam’s thin lips pressed together, his dark eyes fixed intensely on my face. This was a precursor to him losing his temper. After all, the sister he loved was calling other men to sleep with her tonight, and he could only buzz around like a headless fly. It’s understandable. Liam pinched my cheek, his voice slightly cold: “Julian looked at you a few more times, and your mind is wandering? Or did Cole calling you ‘Ms. Price’ tonight really make you think you’re someone important?” Seeing me stay silent, Liam increased the pressure on his hand. He smirked coldly and sarcastically, “Including Ezra showing up at your door, that was my sister telling him to go find her, and he got the wrong floor.” Liam callously told me: I was just a clown who thought too highly of myself and took myself too seriously among those arrogant heirs. I really didn’t. I smiled calmly. Whether in my past life or in the original plot, the only place I took myself seriously was with Liam. And paradoxically, it was where I mattered the least. Just as I took a deep breath, about to throw Liam back outside. There was a knock on the door. A voice as clear as a mountain spring, not very loud through the thick door, drifted in: “Open the door, Maya.” The heir who was supposedly called away had returned to stand outside my door. The message I received on my phone saying [Open the door], it turned out it wasn’t sent to the wrong person. Realizing this, I opened my eyes wide in bewilderment. After a long silence, there were two more rhythmic knocks on the door, neither rushed nor impatient. The person knocking was extremely patient. The temperature around the man beside me plummeted almost to the freezing point. Liam pulled the door open, shattering the illusion I was trying to maintain that I wasn’t there. The next second, Liam grabbed Ezra’s collar, emphasizing every word: “Do you know whose door you’re knocking on?” Ezra’s face was calm: “I know, Maya.” He seriously spoke my name. “Why aren’t you at my sister’s?” Liam demanded. Ezra frowned, “I came looking for Maya, from the very beginning.” “Who told you to come?!” Liam roared, the veins on his temples bulging. “Do you know who she belongs to?” I spoke before Ezra could: “I told him to come. I’m the one who told him to come. Stop acting crazy, Liam.” I paused, slowly starting to smile. “You act like you don’t know me in front of your adopted sister, and now what right do you have to be here interrogating someone else?” Liam smirked fiercely, his eyes full of icy intent: “What right? The fact that the clothes on your back were bought by me. What, do you want to take them off?” I looked at him quietly for two seconds, my hand moving to the zipper on the side of my dress. “That’s enough.” Ezra pressed his hand over mine, using his other hand to make a phone call: “Send a few sets of clothes up.” This hotel was owned by the Vance Group. No wonder Ezra knew my room number; he never went to the wrong floor from the start. 4 A sharp punch landed precisely on Ezra’s pale face. Although Ezra spoke little, he wasn’t the type to just take a beating. The dull thud of bone hitting bone made me stumble backward. The two fought fiercely. Even a passing robot concierge was kicked aside, falling crookedly to the side, beeping pitifully in its robotic voice. Until I had nowhere left to retreat, my shoulder pressed against a man’s hard chest. A faint floral scent surrounded me as the man loosely pulled me into his embrace. As expected, Julian never missed a good show. The commotion had drawn him out. Julian at this moment seemed much more normal. I instinctively grabbed his arm. “Why are they fighting?” Julian chuckled lightly, “Because of you, Maya?” His voice trailed off like a little feather, very seductive. I didn’t speak. It was probably because of Chloe. I didn’t want to flatter myself again. Julian continued talking as if to himself: “If they keep fighting, it won’t end until one of them is crippled today.” My fingertips trembled slightly, and I reached for my phone to call the police. Julian’s long fingers covered my phone. “If this ends up at the police station, they won’t let you off easily.” The Sterling family and the Vance family. Regardless of whether these two heirs were fighting over me or Chloe, if the two families pursued the matter, I would be the only one to suffer. My lips moved, and I managed to squeeze out: “…Make them stop.” The two guys really looked like they wouldn’t stop until they beat each other to death right here. Hotel staff and security were already gathered around, but without Ezra’s order, they didn’t dare to make a move. Julian lowered his face with a smile, “Alright, kiss me, and it’s a deal.” I gritted my teeth, just about to lean in. His index finger gently pressed against my lips, “If it’s something that makes you uncomfortable, forget it.” The next moment, he stepped forward with his long legs. This time Julian wasn’t wearing a bathrobe. He had changed into a loosely fitted satin shirt, looking very much the part of a wealthy aristocrat. He leisurely took out his phone and aimed it at the two fighting. Me: “…” Julian’s magnetic voice provided commentary for this scene: “As everyone can see, the two mad dogs currently losing their minds are from the Sterling family—” Liam’s next punch immediately changed direction, smashing hard into Julian’s face. Ezra stepped back a few paces, calmly turned around, took a few bags of clothes from the hotel staff, and handed them to me. His voice was slightly hoarse, but still sincere: “If you don’t like them, I’ll take you to buy more.” I took them silently. Julian, who was standing beside me, wiped the blood from his mouth, lowered his eyes, and sneered, “Come again.” Julian diverted the fire but had absolutely no intention of fighting back. Liam completely disdained a one-sided beating. The situation at the scene temporarily calmed down. I turned and pushed open the room door. Liam pulled out a cigarette box. Ezra: “She doesn’t like the smell of smoke.” Liam’s fingers twitched. A box of cigarettes was crushed under his hand, falling onto the hallway carpet. Until the door closed completely tight. Liam straightened up slightly, lifting his eyes mockingly to scan the two people beside him: “Pardon me for asking, but when did you two develop a habit of poaching?” Liam’s face was quite bruised, but his tone had fewer fluctuations than before. This meant he was already mad with anger. Ezra didn’t speak. Julian slowly unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, “Hurry up and go be a good little dog for your sister. Stop barking here.” “Who wants him to be a dog?” A woman’s crisp, pleasant voice rang out, echoing in the wide hallway. Chloe’s long, wavy hair rested on her shoulders, swaying slightly as she approached, a half-smile on her face. Liam’s face changed instantly. After a long while, his lips barely moved: “…Sis.” The man who arrived with Chloe wore a polite smile. He had gold-rimmed glasses resting on his high nose bridge. Although he looked gentle, he subtly exuded an oppressive aura. Cole calmly scanned everyone present: “Why is everyone gathered here?” The atmosphere eased a bit, and the staff finally went to set the fallen robot upright. The robot chimed: “This is a public place, this is a public place! No fighting, fighting is not allowed!” “…” “What fight?” Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Nothing.” Liam spoke before anyone else could, with a hidden warning: “Looks like this robot needs to be replaced, otherwise we’ll get customer complaints. Don’t you think, Ezra?” Ezra glanced at him, not taking the bait. Julian chuckled. Cole smiled: “Where is Ms. Price?”

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I went to the local grocery store to pick up some produce. When I got to the register, the owner suddenly looked at me and said: “Yesterday, you and your boyfriend walked out without paying for your groceries, right?” I told him I hadn’t even been there yesterday. But the owner stubbornly insisted it was me and my boyfriend. Left with no choice, I called my boyfriend to come over. The owner, however, just smirked: “It wasn’t this guy. It was another one. An older man.” I let out a cold laugh. “Actually, Mr. Barnes, I saw you in a video online.” “You were holding a gallon of oil and half a watermelon.” A few young women standing nearby immediately started nodding. “Yeah! We saw it too!” 01 “I’m ready to check out.” I placed my vegetables on the counter. The middle-aged owner was staring at a poker game on his phone, furiously tapping the screen, not even bothering to look up. I raised my voice. “Excuse me, I’m ready to pay!” “Hold your horses, lady!” He impatiently lifted his head, but his eyes suddenly locked onto my face. “It was you, wasn’t it?” I looked at him, completely baffled. “What was me?” The owner slapped his phone face-down on the counter, a disdainful smirk creeping onto his face. “Oh, don’t rush to deny it!” “Yesterday, around this exact time! Right as the sun was setting! You were wearing a white dress. The guy with you—tall, skinny, wearing glasses, right? “You two picked through my aisles, filled a whole basket, even grabbed the most expensive box of strawberries! Then, while I went to the back to move some stock, you sneaked out!” 02 I took a step back. I instinctively tried to recall what I was doing after work yesterday. No way. Yesterday after work, I went straight to the movies with my best friend. I was nowhere near this store. I quickly explained, “I wasn’t even at your store yesterday! And I didn’t wear a white dress!” “Are you sure you aren’t mistaking me for someone else?” “Mistaking you?” The owner let out a weird, mocking laugh. “I’ve been running this store in this neighborhood for almost eight years. I have a photographic memory for faces! “Alright, fine,” he waved his hand dismissively, acting as if he were being incredibly generous. “You’re a young woman, you’re embarrassed to admit it. I get it. “How about this? We’ll add yesterday’s total to what you’re buying today. Let’s round it to an even hundred bucks. Pay it, walk away, and I’ll pretend nothing happened. Saves you some dignity, how about that?” 03 Hearing this, I was already pulling out my phone to call the police. But then I remembered something my mom had mentioned recently. Last month, our area had massive flooding from a hurricane, and a lot of expensive inventory in his basement storage was ruined. He lost tens of thousands of dollars. His wife had also been in poor health and was recently hospitalized for surgery. That was probably why he was so desperate to track down the shoplifter. Trying to be patient, I opened my phone and pulled up my movie ticket receipt from the night before. “Yesterday after work, I went to the movies with my best friend. That theater is almost ten miles away from here. “It is physically impossible for me to have been in your store at that time.” The owner’s gaze swept over the screen, and his eyes definitely flickered for a second. But it was only for a moment. He crossed his arms. “Who knows who actually went to that movie? Maybe you bought the tickets for someone else? “Look, I saw what I saw. You and your boyfriend walked out without paying!!” 04 “There’s no point in arguing about this,” I said, pointing to the security camera on the wall. “Let’s check the footage! “If I actually stole from you yesterday, I’ll pay you three times the amount! “But if you’re falsely accusing me, I want a handwritten apology posted on your front door for three days!” The owner waved me off. “Forget it. “All my regular customers know my cameras are terrible. You can’t even make out a person’s nose or eyes on that thing. “Even if I pull it up, you wouldn’t admit it! What’s the point?” Just then, a middle-aged man who had been smoking in the corner put out his cigarette and spoke up slowly. “Listen, lady, I live in the complex behind here. I’ve known Barnes for years. He’s got a great memory! There are hundreds of people in this neighborhood, and he remembers a face after seeing it once! He even remembers what groceries people like to buy! If he says it’s you, he definitely remembers it!” The commotion was starting to draw the attention of the other shoppers in the store. Two of them were older women who lived in my apartment building. My mom even went to Zumba classes with them! If I didn’t clear this up today, I would be the neighborhood scandal by tomorrow morning. I stared coldly at the owner. “You just said my boyfriend is tall, skinny, and wears glasses, right?” The owner nodded with absolute certainty. “Exactly! I remember it perfectly!” “Wait right here. I just texted him to come over! “When he gets here, use that ‘photographic memory’ of yours and take a really good look!” 05 A few minutes later. The front door swung open. My boyfriend, Noah, rushed in and crossed the store in a few large strides. He was wearing gym clothes. He had a broad, athletic build, his arm muscles clearly defined. “Aria, what’s wrong? What happened?” I stepped aside, leaving Noah standing directly in front of the owner. “Take a good look. This is my boyfriend! “Is this the guy who supposedly shoplifted with me yesterday afternoon? Is he the tall, skinny guy with glasses?” Honestly, the moment Noah had walked in, the owner’s face had already frozen. Noah doesn’t wear glasses. He’s built like a tank. One look and you know he practically lives at the gym. He looked absolutely nothing like the description. 06 The owner’s eyes darted around the room before he forced a casual laugh: “Oh, no, no… not this one. It was a different guy.” “That one was a bit older! And balding!” Even though Noah didn’t fully understand what was going on yet, hearing the owner say that made his face instantly darken. “What the hell does that mean?” Catching sight of Noah’s clenched fists, the owner immediately switched to an overly earnest, concerned expression. “Hey, buddy, don’t do anything crazy! There are a lot of people here. Let me just give you a piece of advice, man to man.” Saying that, he half-pushed, half-pulled Noah a few steps outside the store entrance. “Yesterday, it was definitely your girlfriend! Wearing a white dress! She was with a guy in his fifties. They were standing real close in the aisles, and the guy was even tucking her hair behind her ear!” He clicked his tongue. “One look and you could tell they were more than friends! Buddy, you better go back and ask her some hard questions! Don’t be an idiot and let someone play you for a fool!” Noah’s fists were still clenched, but his brow furrowed deeper. He looked at the owner, then shot a quick, messy glance back at me standing in the doorway. Seeing that Noah wasn’t immediately defending me, the owner figured his seed of doubt had sprouted. He patted Noah’s arm. “Think about it!” Then, he turned and walked back into the store. 07 Only Noah and I were left by the entrance. I walked up to him and looked him straight in the eyes. “You believe him?” “I don’t!” Noah retorted immediately, his voice raising, but the urgency sounded hollow. “Aria, in my heart, I want to believe you!” His tone was full of inner conflict as he finally dropped the bomb: “You said you went to the movies with Chloe after work yesterday… but I ran into Chloe at the gym this afternoon. She told me she was working late at the office yesterday! Until almost ten PM!” I stood entirely frozen. Working late? Impossible! Yesterday after work, Chloe and I literally watched a movie together. There had to be some misunderstanding! I pulled out my phone without hesitation. “I’m calling her right now to clear this up!” 08 To prove my innocence, I put the call on speaker. The phone connected quickly. “Hey, Aria?” Chloe’s voice came through. She sounded completely normal, maybe even a bit relaxed. “Chloe!” I skipped the pleasantries, my voice tight with a tension I hadn’t even realized was there. “Noah just told me… he ran into you at the gym today, and you told him you were working late last night? Until ten?” The line went completely dead. A suffocating, terrifying silence. My heart started to sink, inch by inch. “Oh?” Chloe’s voice finally returned, but she was noticeably hesitating. “Working… late?” “Did Noah mishear me? I was at the movies with you after work yesterday!” Her ambiguous, stammering attitude only fueled Noah’s suspicions. “Chloe, what movie did you guys watch yesterday?” Another agonizing silence from the other end of the line. “Oh, um, I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie…” Chloe stammered. “So I don’t really remember!” I cut off her incoherent excuses. “Chloe, why are you doing this?” “We literally talked about the plot over dinner afterward, and now you’re telling me you don’t remember?” I quickly explained the entire ridiculous situation I was currently facing with the store owner. “Chloe, I need you to tell the truth right now!” Chloe’s voice suddenly spiked in volume, laced with a heavy dose of guilt: “Aria, can you leave me out of your drama with Noah? Figure it out yourself!” And with that. Click. She hung up. 09 A chilling sensation shot up from the soles of my feet, spreading through my entire body. An overwhelming sense of absurdity left me trembling. Why would Chloe say that? Before I could even process it, Noah let out a cold sneer, turned on his heel, and started walking away. I took a deep breath. “Noah, if you walk away right now, we are done!” Noah nodded, his voice eerily clear. “Then we’re done.” The store owner, who had somehow sneaked back to the doorway, leaned half his body out. “Breaking up over this? Oh man, all over a few bucks!” “It’s my fault too! I’m just too stubborn! Honestly, it wasn’t even about the money, I just wanted to prove my memory was right! I didn’t mean to air out all your dirty laundry!” “Look, lady, forget the money! Just go! But let me give you a piece of advice: when you have a good, young boyfriend like that, stay away from the sugar daddies…” A few onlookers started chiming in. “Just leave, sweetie. Making a big scene is only going to ruin your reputation!” “Mr. Barnes means well, he’s just a bit stubborn about the rules!” I laughed coldly. Leave? Why the hell should I leave? From the moment this started until now, I had fallen into the trap of constantly trying to prove my own innocence. Because I was scared. I was terrified of becoming another cautionary tale. I remembered a true-crime podcast about a girl who just went to pick up a package one afternoon. The bored clerk at the shipping station made up a malicious rumor about her, claiming she was having an affair. It completely derailed her life. She spent two years fighting for justice… She lost her job, her relationship, her reputation. She fell into a severe depression. By the time she finally got justice, the damage was irreversible. Right now, I was standing on that exact same cliff. The owner clearly knew he had the wrong person. But to save his own face, he was willing to invent a disgusting rumor that could ruin my life rather than simply apologize. And the bystanders? They didn’t care about the truth. They just wanted to eat popcorn, watch the drama unfold, and throw in their own two cents. At this moment, I woke up. Self-defense is a bottomless pit. The best defense is a relentless offense. I stood outside the door, staring dead at the owner, and smiled: “Actually, I saw you in a video online.” “You were holding a gallon of oil and half a watermelon.” “Tsk…” At that exact moment. A group of young women inside the store suddenly squeezed in next to me, eyeing the owner up and down. Almost in unison, they declared: “Yes! We saw it too!” 10 They exchanged a look, as perfectly synchronized as if they had rehearsed it. “It is him, isn’t it? I thought the owner’s voice sounded super familiar!” “I know him! He’s a regular on Ruby’s page! Ruby really likes him!” “Oh, now that you mention it, I remember too! Doesn’t he like to bring sunflower seeds to snack on?” “Yep~ Oh man, that video~ Tsk tsk tsk!” A girl with a ponytail pulled out her phone and waved it around. “I even saved the video on my phone!” My nose suddenly stung. These complete strangers were giving me the ultimate backup. Meanwhile, the owner’s face flushed crimson. He slammed his hand down on the register counter: “What kind of garbage are you spewing! I don’t know any Ruby!” The ponytail girl scoffed. “You’re wearing a white tank top today. The guy in the video was wearing a white tank top. How could it not be you?” The owner tugged at his shirt. “I bought this shirt yesterday!” A girl with short hair immediately fired back: “Where’s the proof?” “I bought it at the market next door! The vendor there knows me!” I jumped right in: “Who knows if you didn’t just collude with the vendor to get your story straight?” “A man your age, doing that kind of stuff, and getting posted all over TikTok!” “If your neighbors see that, how will your kids ever show their faces in public again?” An older woman standing nearby, who clearly didn’t use TikTok and was desperate for the gossip, scratched her head anxiously. “Oh my goodness, who is this Ruby you all keep talking about?” The short-haired girl explained: “Ma’am, Ruby is this drag queen influencer on TikTok. She posts a lot of videos with older men… you can search it up yourself!” “Mr. Barnes here is quite the player. Snacking on sunflower seeds while…” She intentionally trailed off, leaving the rest to the imagination. The older woman’s eyes widened in shock. “Barnes, you were with a man in drag? And you let them film it?!” 11 The owner was literally jumping up and down in a panic, the veins on his forehead popping. “Bullshit! If you girls dare say one more word, I’ll kill you!” I immediately pulled out my phone and pointed the camera at him. “Look, everyone! The owner is reacting like this. If that’s not a guilty conscience, what is it?” The older woman looked at me, then back at the owner. “Barnes, what exactly were you doing that day?” The owner slapped his thigh in frustration. “It really wasn’t me!” “Then why did so many different people all say they saw you in the video?” “They’re starting rumors!” The owner frantically grabbed his phone to make a call. “Yes! They are starting rumors! I’m calling the police!” I looked at him sideways, a mocking sneer on my face. “Save your breath. I already called them. The cops are on their way!”

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