Category: English

I was three months pregnant, and it was the day before the promotion list was set to be officially announced. Behind my back, my colleague Jenny wasted no time leaking the news to our boss. Mr. Bennett called me into his office, phrasing it as tactfully as he could: “This role comes with immense pressure. Given your current condition, it might not be the best fit.” Later, Jenny cornered me in the breakroom, offering a smug smile as she cooed, “You’re about to be a mom, after all. Stop trying to snatch these opportunities from us younger folks.” I didn’t argue, nor did I throw a tantrum. During the evaluation meeting the next day, in front of the entire department, I voluntarily stepped aside and yielded the promotion to her. Fearing I might back out, Jenny urged HR on the spot to modify the official appointment letter right then and there. I simply smiled and reminded her: “Since you’re accepting the role, you should sign the transition documents as well.” Without so much as looking at the pages, she eagerly scrawled her name. Two weeks later, the company auditors walked in. Clutching the promotion letter she had fought so hard for, Jenny wept and begged me: “Please, can I give this position back to you?” 1 After the evaluation meeting adjourned, Jenny practically chased the HR director into the printing room. She was terrified I would change my mind. Or that Mr. Bennett would. Only minutes earlier, inside the conference room, her eyes had been brimming with tears as she looked at me. “Amy, I know how hard you worked for this. I feel so guilty taking this opportunity from you.” Yet the second the double doors swung shut, she pivoted on her stilettos and bolted after Brenda, our HR manager. “Brenda, will the official appointment letter be ready today?” Brenda glanced over her shoulder at me, looking slightly uncomfortable. “The standard protocol requires a multi-level approval. Tomorrow morning at the earliest.” Jenny immediately slid her arm through Brenda’s, offering a sweet, persuasive smile. “Can’t we make an exception for a special case? Mr. Bennett and the department heads were all present, and everyone heard Amy hand over the role. We should strike while the iron is hot, just to keep things clean.” She paused, turning her head to look back at me. “I don’t mean to sound untrustworthy, Amy. I just think the cleaner the company’s documentation is, the better it is for everyone.” She claimed it wasn’t about trust, but her eyes were sharp with paranoia. It was as if she expected me, a woman three months pregnant, to suddenly throw myself over her to claw back the promotion. I leaned against the hallway wall, one hand pressed flat against my stomach, trying to suppress the rising wave of nausea. Halfway through the meeting, my morning sickness had hit me like a wave, and I had been forced to suffer through the final twenty minutes in silence. Everyone in that room had noticed my pale face. And everyone had heard Jenny whisper, “Amy, given how you’re feeling, are you sure you can handle the pressure of this role?” She had kept her voice just loud enough for Mr. Bennett to hear. Mr. Bennett had immediately tabled the announcement slide he was about to project. He looked at me, his voice heavy with executive concern. “Amy, the company appreciates your dedication. But the role of Operations Manager isn’t just about sitting in an office signing papers.” “You have to run after clients, manage aggressive suppliers, and late-night emergency calls are the norm. Given your current situation, the company has to evaluate the operational risks.” Risks. I looked down at my flat stomach. The baby was only twelve weeks old, not even showing, yet in their eyes, I had already become a liability. Jenny had stood beside Mr. Bennett, her lower lip trembling. “Mr. Bennett, maybe we should forget it. Amy has prepared for this for so long, I don’t want to be the reason she’s unhappy.” The more she played the martyr, the more Mr. Bennett admired her maturity. “Jenny, there is no need to step aside,” he said firmly. “The company needs someone who can carry the weight.” And just like that, the promotion I had spent six months preparing for, pulling countless all-night sessions to secure, was handed over to Jenny. The hum of the industrial printer echoed from the room. Brenda walked out, holding a fresh, crisp sheet of paper. “Jenny, you are officially the Acting Operations Manager for Operations Department Two, effective immediately. The trial period is three months.” Jenny took the paper, her eyes gleaming as if she had just struck gold. She scanned the lines twice before turning to me with a look of mock concern. “Amy, you’re really not upset, are you?” “Do you want me to be?” I asked quietly. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly. “I just worry you might feel slighted. You put so much work into this transition.” “Not at all,” I replied, setting my laptop down on a nearby table. “My physical condition is delicate right now, and a lighter workload is exactly what I need.” Hearing this, she let out a visible breath of relief. She had finally gotten the validation she wanted: I was just a fragile pregnant woman who needed to step aside. In the next second, she waved the appointment letter toward a group of gossiping colleagues at the end of the hall. “I look forward to working with everyone in my new capacity!” A few people clapped. Others began to cheer. “Congratulations, Manager! You’ll have to look out for us now!” “Manager, you owe us a round of drinks!” Jenny giggled, covering her mouth. “Don’t call me that yet, it’s still just ‘Acting.’” But the smug curve of her lips remained. Looking at her face, I remembered the conversation I had overheard in the breakroom yesterday. She had been talking to two other girls from sales. “Pregnant women should act like they’re pregnant. The office isn’t her nursery, so why should a pregnant woman hoard a promotion?” I had been standing outside the door, holding a bottle of yogurt I had bought for her. When her stomach had flared up from stress last month, I was the one who took over her client meetings. When her boyfriend broke up with her, I stayed with her until eleven at night, rewriting her presentation slides. And now, she was telling people I was hoarding a spot. I suddenly felt a strange sense of peace. Some spots were indeed better left to others. As Jenny turned to head to her new desk, I called out to her. “Jenny, since the appointment is official, let’s complete the project handover today.” She stopped. “So soon?” I smiled. “Like you said, the cleaner the documentation, the better.” I opened my laptop and dragged a folder onto the shared drive. The title was simple: CareCore Project Handover. It contained eighteen subfolders, including client profiles, supplier contracts, payment milestones, outstanding issues, and risk assessments. Jenny glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing. “This is a lot of paperwork.” “The title of Manager comes with responsibilities,” I said smoothly. “And problems.” 2 Jenny’s first executive order was to move her desk. The manager of Operations Department Two had a small, private office: glass partitions, a window view, and a quiet space away from the open floor. That office had originally been reserved for me. Last month, facilities had even asked if I wanted a customized ergonomic chair. I had declined. Now, Jenny stood at the threshold, directing the office assistants. “Put the money plant by the window, yes, it brings good feng shui. Clear out all those old files on the desk, they look so cluttered. And change the blinds to a lighter shade, I hate dark rooms.” She patrolled the space like a queen surveying her domain. When she passed my desk, she paused. “Amy, have you compiled all the CareCore files? I’m holding my first department meeting this afternoon.” “The digital folders have been shared with your inbox,” I replied. “But I still need your physical signature on the transition ledger.” Jenny pulled up a chair beside me, lowering her voice. “Amy, are you still angry with me?” I looked at her. Her eyes immediately welled with tears. “I know this feels unfair, but it wasn’t my decision. Mr. Bennett was looking at the bigger picture. He felt your pregnancy made you a liability for high-intensity work. I was simply put in this position.” Her voice was pitched perfectly so that the surrounding desks could hear every word. Mike, a senior sales rep, immediately chimed in. “Amy, don’t take it personally. Being pregnant is a blessing, you shouldn’t be overworking yourself anyway.” Hazel from finance agreed. “Exactly, there will be plenty of promotions in the future. Your health comes first.” Another male colleague offered a smirk. “Maternity leave is six months long. By the time you get back, who knows what the company will look like? Taking a promotion now wouldn’t be fair to the team.” He seemed to think he was being incredibly clever. “Your primary target right now is delivering a healthy baby.” A few people chuckled. My grip on my mug tightened. Jenny looked down, a tiny, satisfied smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. When she looked up again, her face was once more a mask of sisterly concern. “Amy, they’re just looking out for you. Don’t take it to heart.” Listening to their endless stream of patronizing advice, my stomach churned. I hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint, yet they had already mapped out my entire existence. Pregnant. Fragile. Needs protection. Unfit for responsibility. Should step aside. During the afternoon department meeting, Jenny’s first order of business was to display her new organizational chart. On the projector, my name had been moved from CareCore Project Director to the bottom right corner of the slide. Beside my name was a note: Maternity Administrative Support. The meeting room fell silent. I stared at the slide, my fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on the table. Jenny smiled warmly at the room. “Since Amy is expecting, we naturally want to support her. I will be handling the heavy lifting and client negotiations from here on out.” She turned to me. “Amy, you don’t mind, do you?” Every eye in the room turned toward me. I shook my head. “Not at all.” Jenny’s smile widened. “Wonderful.” She clicked to the next slide. “The CareCore project is our most critical delivery this year. Some of our previous workflows might have been a bit too conservative, but under my management, we are going to streamline the process.” “I don’t believe in dragging things out. We sign what needs to be signed, we push back on what needs to be pushed back, and we collect our payments.” Mike immediately clapped. “Love the execution, Manager!” Jenny sat up straighter. “Unlike some people, I don’t believe in over-complicating things. A project shouldn’t take three years to close. If the client isn’t tired of the delays, the board certainly is.” Her words were a direct jab at me. I didn’t argue. I simply opened my notebook and wrote down her exact words: Sign what needs to be signed. Push back on what needs to be pushed back. Collect payments. At the end of the meeting, Jenny called me over. “Amy, email me the final CareCore sign-off report before you log off today.” “I can’t generate the final sign-off report yet,” I said. She frowned. “Why not?” “Because the client still has twelve critical bugs that haven’t been resolved, and the developers have two pending milestones. Signing off now would expose us to severe legal and financial liabilities.” Jenny let out a soft laugh. “Amy, you are far too cautious.” “No wonder Mr. Bennett said you are great at execution but lack the vision of a leader.” I stared at her. “Mr. Bennett said that?” Realizing she had let something slip, she quickly looked away. “My point is, the company needs results now.” I nodded slowly. “Then I will document these outstanding issues in the transition ledger.” Jenny’s tone turned frosty. “Amy, there’s no need to make everything sound so catastrophic. Every project has risks.” I closed my laptop. “Which is exactly why they need to be documented.” She stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. “Fine. Document them. I’ll sign.” “After all, I’m the manager now. The credit for closing this project will be mine anyway.” Her face was flush with ambition. I smiled. “Great. Just make sure you sign.” 3 The transition ledger I compiled was seventeen pages long. I wasn’t trying to make things difficult for Jenny. The CareCore project was simply a nightmare. The client had originally contracted us for a basic healthcare management portal. But over the months, they had demanded add-ons: a nursing module, a family portal, a real-time data dashboard, and integrations with three separate municipal hospitals. The project scope had changed over twenty times. Yet we had only signed two contract amendments. The development team had been replaced twice, and the budget had ballooned from eight million to thirteen million. To make matters worse, the client had only paid sixty percent of the contract value. The remaining forty percent was contingent on final sign-off. But we were nowhere near ready for final sign-off. The nursing module crashed constantly. The family portal had massive message delivery delays. The data dashboard failed to sync three major metrics in real time. And the worst part was the hospital integration: one of the three hospitals hadn’t even begun testing. I had flagged these issues in my weekly reports, but Mr. Bennett’s response was always the same: Push for sign-off first, we can patch the bugs later. Push. Patch. Later. This was how corporate disasters were made, hidden beneath layers of optimistic terminology. I had originally planned to use my promotion to freeze the sign-off process, audit the project, lay out the unresolved issues to the board, and get a realistic timeline. It would have been slow, but it would have saved the company from a massive lawsuit. But now, that responsibility belonged to Jenny. Let her handle it. At three in the afternoon, I printed the transition ledger. Jenny was in her new office, taking photos. She had her appointment letter displayed on the desk next to a cup of artisanal coffee and a vase of fresh lilies. On her phone screen, I could see her editing an Instagram post: Hard work always finds its way to the light. I knocked on the glass partition. Seeing the thick folder in my hand, her smile dimmed slightly. “Amy, did you really have to print out so much?” I placed the folder on her desk. “This is the index of project files, the list of outstanding risks, the client’s pending approvals, the supplier disputes, the financial milestones, and my personal handover statement.” Jenny flipped through a few pages, her scowl deepening. “Why did you write all this?” “It’s a handover.” “I know what a handover is,” she said, her voice sharp with impatience. “I’m asking why you made every little issue sound like a crisis.” “Because they are crises,” I said simply. She slammed the folder onto her desk. “Amy, what is your problem?” She had finally dropped the “sisterly” act. I looked at her calmly. “I don’t have a problem. You are the new manager; you need to be aware of these details.” Jenny sneered. “You’re just bitter.” Her voice was loud enough to carry through the glass. Several heads turned on the open floor. She stood up, her eyes flashing. “Amy, I know you think I stole this from you. But this was the company’s decision, not mine. Writing this list of fake disasters—are you trying to make it look like I inherited a sinking ship?” The office went dead silent. I looked at her. “So you admit it’s a sinking ship?” Her face froze. “I never said that,” I added quietly. “You did.” At a nearby desk, someone cleared their throat to hide a laugh. Jenny’s face turned scarlet. She raised her voice further. “Stop playing word games with me! You just want me to sign this so you can wash your hands of any future issues, don’t you?” I nodded. “Yes.” The silence in the office deepened. Jenny clearly hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. “A handover is meant to define boundaries of responsibility,” I explained. “You took the promotion, which means you took the projects, the assets, the risks, and the liabilities. This isn’t a trap, Jenny. It’s standard corporate protocol.” Jenny’s chest heaved with anger. Just then, Mr. Bennett walked onto the floor. “What is all the noise about?” Jenny immediately adopted a wounded expression. “Mr. Bennett, Amy gave me a transition ledger full of exaggerated issues. She’s refusing to cooperate with my transition.” Mr. Bennett picked up the folder, flipped through a few pages, and frowned. “Amy, why did you make this so detailed?” “The CareCore project is up for final sign-off next month,” I replied. “If we don’t document the risks now, no one will be able to trace the liability later.” Mr. Bennett closed the folder with a snap. “I am aware of these issues. No project is perfect, Amy. You’re pregnant now; you shouldn’t be worrying about these things.” He turned to Jenny. “Jenny, push forward with confidence. The company needs results.” Jenny nodded eagerly. “Don’t worry, Mr. Bennett. I won’t let this project gather dust like some people did.” Mr. Bennett smiled warmly at her. I watched their little performance without saying another word. I simply slipped another document onto her desk. “Then please sign this confirmation sheet.” She glanced at the header: Operations Department Two: Project and Asset Handover Confirmation. Beneath it was a line of fine print: Including historical data for CareCore, outstanding issues, pending client approvals, supplier disputes, and financial milestones. Jenny bit her lip. Mr. Bennett prompted her from the side. “Go ahead and sign, Jenny. Let’s get to work.” She grabbed a pen and scrawled her name. I looked down at her signature. Jenny. It was a beautiful signature. Very neat, and very rushed.

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I was the Harrington family’s designated bride. But at eighteen, forced to choose between the brothers, I was paralyzed. Christian was ice-cold; Ashton was pure wildfire. Ready to flip a coin, glowing text suddenly invaded my vision: [Why is this annoying side character hesitating? Both brothers despise her.] [She only throws her weight around because of that ‘chosen bride’ title. Nothing like our sweet female lead.] [The main trio would be perfect without this stupid side character ruining it.] [At least she dies in childbirth. Main characters get their happy ending. Otherwise, I’d puke.] Gasping, I looked up at my childhood friends. Beneath their calm masks, I saw it—faint, repressed disgust. Aunt Beatrice urged me gently. Chaos reigned in my mind until new text appeared: [Forget the brothers! Look at the incubus uncle!] [He hides his feelings because of the age gap.] [Pick him, and you skip the tragic death. You’ll be living your best life in his bed!] Panicked, I glanced toward the quiet corner. There sat the man with hawk-like eyes, staring intently right at me. 1 “Sisi, Christian and Ashton both grew up with you. Their feelings for you are unquestionable.” “But this is about your lifelong happiness. Who do you want as your future partner?” Aunt Beatrice’s gentle voice cut through the silence, and instantly, everyone’s eyes locked onto me. They were holding their breath, waiting for my decision. Because this decision would determine the future heir of the Harrington empire. I was originally the daughter of the Harringtons’ housekeeper. When I was five, my mother died saving Aunt Beatrice’s life. On her deathbed, her weak, sorrowful gaze had lingered on me. “Ma’am, I don’t regret saving you,” she had whispered, struggling to speak. “I just… I can’t bear to leave my little girl behind.” Aunt Beatrice had immediately clasped her hands, tears streaming down her face as she promised: “Do not worry. From this day on, Sisi is my own daughter. She will be my future daughter-in-law.” “The Harrington family will cherish and protect her for the rest of her life.” With those words, my mother closed her eyes in peace. And just as Aunt Beatrice had promised, I became the jewel of the Harrington household. From that day on, I lived a life of luxury, showered with affection. Aunt Beatrice’s twin sons willingly became my knights, shielding me from the world. The three of us were inseparable childhood friends. But now, I had to choose one of them to be my partner for life. Choosing one meant hurting the other. It was an impossible choice. I hesitated, my gaze shifting between the two brothers. Just as I was about to suggest a round of rock-paper-scissors to let fate decide, dense rows of glowing comments erupted before my eyes. 2 [Wait, why does this annoying girl look so conflicted? Is she seriously picking between them?] [Does she actually think the male leads are head over heels for her? If Mrs. Harrington hadn’t forced them into this, they wouldn’t have pretended to tolerate her for so many years.] [Exactly. She’s been acting like she owns the place just because of her mom’s sacrifice. She’s not half as cute or endearing as our female lead.] [I’ve been waiting forever to see the relationship between the three main characters, and she’s ruining it.] [Thank goodness she dies during childbirth in the end. Otherwise, I would have lost my mind!] The floating comments were vicious and biting, filled with nothing but hatred and contempt for me. I pinched my arm hard. It stung. This wasn’t an illusion. If this was real, then according to these comments, I was merely the villainous side character in a reverse-harem romance novel. A girl who used her mother’s sacrifice to force an engagement on one of the male leads. A girl who, after marriage, would be neglected by her husband, eventually dying a miserable death on the operating table during childbirth. Nothing but a tragic stepping stone in the sweeping romance of the main characters. I couldn’t believe it; my tragic end, and the revelation that my two childhood friends actually loved someone else. We had spent over a decade together. I had felt their genuine care and protection. How could it all be a lie? But when I turned to look at the brothers, my confidence shattered. 3 The older brother, Christian. The younger brother, Ashton. They shared identical, striking features, yet their vibes were entirely different. Christian was cold and reserved; Ashton was wild and untamed. But right now, without exception, both of their dark eyes held a deeply buried flicker of annoyance. Yes, it was disgust. A cold chill washed over me. Seeing my prolonged silence, Aunt Beatrice couldn’t help but urge me again: “Sisi? Have you made up your mind?” [Oh my god, the dark moment is finally here!] [Who is this annoying girl going to choose? Don’t tell me she wants both of them?] [She’ll probably choose the older brother. That’s what happened in the original story.] [And then Christian completely ignored her after the wedding. She kept lying to herself, thinking he was just being considerate because of her weak health, while he was actually hooking up with the female lead behind her back.] [Hahaha, talk about a clown!] Staring at the glowing words, my eyes widened in shock. In my memory, Christian was always steady and calm, rarely showing extreme emotions. Was he really that wild with the so-called female lead in private? And what about Ashton? [As for the younger brother? With Christian taking one for the team, Ashton was free to be with the female lead.] [But the female lead missed Christian so much she kept waking up from nightmares. To comfort her, Ashton actually agreed to act as Christian’s stand-in, letting his brother slip in to meet her.] The details in the comments grew more bizarre and shocking by the second. Ashton was incredibly proud, and he had hated being compared to his brother since we were kids. Yet, for his beloved, he was willing to become his brother’s body double. 4 “Sisi?” Aunt Beatrice’s gentle voice called me back to reality. I shook off the shock, looking at the brothers one by one. The moment Ashton met my gaze, he quickly looked away. He was terrified of being chosen. Christian was more subtle. He simply lowered his eyes without a word. But his complete, quiet rejection stung my heart. So, our engagement was nothing but a burden to them. I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the bitter ache in my chest. I turned to Aunt Beatrice, biting my lip as I spoke hesitantly: “Aunt Beatrice… can I… choose neither?” Aunt Beatrice froze. “Why, sweetheart?” Then, seeing the conflict and struggle in my eyes, she seemed to have a sudden realization and lightly tapped her own forehead. “Oh, how silly of me. I should have realized.” “The three of you grew up together. You care for both of them equally. Forcing you to choose one over the other must be so difficult.” “In that case, let’s leave it to fate.” “Butler, bring the drawing straws!” Throughout my life, Aunt Beatrice had perfectly filled the role of my mother. Even now, she was trying to find a way to spare my feelings. But vicious comments began to flood my vision: [Is this girl for real? She can’t even make a choice, so she’s forcing Mrs. Harrington to play the bad guy?] [No matter who draws the short straw, they’re going to resent their mother for it.] [Seriously, the girl’s mom was just as annoying. Saving a life is fine, but using it to guilt-trip a wealthy family for generations is just cheap.] [If her mom hadn’t dumped this burden on them on her deathbed, the brothers wouldn’t be in this miserable position.] They weren’t just insulting me anymore; they were dragging my late mother into it. That crossed the line. 5 I swallowed the tears threatening to spill over and raised my voice: “Aunt Beatrice, there’s no need!” “Actually, I don’t love Christian or Ashton. I’m already in love with someone else!” My words were like a sudden thunderclap, shocking everyone in the room. But to my surprise, the strongest reaction came from the twins. Ashton snapped his head toward me, his eyes locking onto mine as he snarled: “You’re lying!” “You spend every single day with us. You don’t even have the chance to meet outsiders.” “How could you possibly be in love with someone else?” Ashton’s presence was always intense, and his current fury genuinely startled me. I shrank back slightly, my voice trembling with a hint of tears. “I… the person I like… is also a Harrington…” Hearing this, the harshness in Ashton’s eyes softened into a mocking sneer. “A Harrington, huh?” “I’d love to hear who this is.” “Who could possibly have more charm than my brother and me to make your heart flutter like this?” His eyes were filled with amusement, completely convinced I was making it up. Even Christian, who had remained silent, slowly raised his eyes to stare at me, demanding: “Who is it?” Suddenly, the pressure in the room felt suffocating. I clenched my hands tightly, my eyes darting around the room as I desperately searched for a suitable candidate. 6 The Harrington family was an absolute empire, controlling a massive portion of the country’s business landscape. But because of the immense wealth, the different branches of the family fought viciously behind closed doors. As a result, the younger generation had been competing since childhood. They didn’t dare target Christian or Ashton, so they chose me, the easy target, to bully. Almost every cousin in my age group, boy or girl, had secretly mistreated me at some point. Because I was timid, I never said a word. Eventually, the twins discovered the bruises on my arms and, defying family rules, fought back on my behalf. From then on, everyone knew one absolute truth: the quiet daughter of the housekeeper was the twins’ red line. Cross it, and you pay. So Ashton knew I would never be foolish enough to fall for any of the cousins who had bullied me. But now… [What is she doing? Playing hard to get? Is she trying to use this pathetic method to get the twins’ attention?] [Using such a cheap trick to make them jealous? How pathetic.] [Can the person above shut up? I’ve tolerated you for so long. If she chooses a male lead, you complain. If she doesn’t, you still complain.] [Wait, does she really not like the twins anymore? Then look at our gorgeous incubus uncle!] [He heard her say she likes someone else, and now he’s practically dying to confess to her!] [Oh my god, he’s actually been in love with her for years, but he was too insecure because of the age gap, and because she was supposed to be his nephews’ girl, he never dared to say a word.] [If she picks him, she won’t end up on an operating table; she’ll be thoroughly spoiled in his bed.] As the side character, even doing nothing was considered a crime. I expected another round of insults from the comments. Instead, a few strange comments defending me popped up. But the direction of these comments was getting incredibly wild. The seductive uncle was in love with me? Spoiled in his bed? Each comment was more scandalous than the last. And the only person in the family who fit the description of “uncle” was Gideon Harrington, my grandfather’s youngest son. He liked me? Was that even possible? Highly skeptical, I turned my head toward the corner. There, sitting elegantly on the sofa, was the refined and handsome man. His dark, intense eyes were fixed on me like a hawk. Deep within those dark depths, a storm of repressed, burning passion was swirling, threatening to break free. 7 [This is the burning, silent love of our incubus uncle.] The floating comment summarized it perfectly. In an instant, my heart skipped a beat. It was as if I could actually see the molten lava of his love rushing toward me from his deep eyes. Unable to handle the intensity, I hurriedly looked away. Meanwhile, Christian pressed on, his voice dripping with cold authority: “Sisi, tell me. Who is it?” I didn’t understand. Since he and Ashton already loved someone else, wasn’t it a good thing that I didn’t want to marry them? Why were they pushing me so hard? Seeing my hesitation, Aunt Beatrice spoke with deep concern: “Sisi, did someone threaten you? Just tell me, and I promise I’ll handle it.” As she spoke, she swept a warning, dangerous gaze over the cousins from the other branches of the family. I quickly shook my head. “No! Aunt Beatrice, it’s not that.” “I was just… too afraid to say it because the person I like is far above me in both age and family rank!” I clenched my teeth, throwing caution to the wind. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the worst, too terrified to see anyone’s reaction. In the dead silence that followed, a sweet, innocent voice suddenly shattered the quiet: “Oh my goodness! Sisi, you don’t mean… you’re in love with Mr. Harrington, are you?” I opened my eyes. A slender, beautiful girl was standing at the entrance of the villa. She looked utterly shocked, as if she had just stumbled upon a scandalous secret, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.

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Every time my chauffeur drove me to the office, he brought his girlfriend along. Since it was supposedly on the way, I never made a fuss about it. That was until the morning I opened the door to my Maybach and found a sticky note slapped right onto my reserved backseat. “Broke hitchhikers keep out.” I ripped the paper off the leather and looked at my driver. “What is the meaning of this?” His little girlfriend was sitting shotgun. She twisted around and glared at me, her voice dripping with venom. “Are you illiterate? You try to hitch a ride in my boyfriend’s car every single day. Have you no shame? If you can’t afford an Uber, stay home. I absolutely loathe cheap freeloaders like you!” I stared at her in sheer bewilderment. My driver instantly scrambled out, rushing to my side and lowering his voice to a frantic whisper. “Boss, she doesn’t know I’m your chauffeur. She’s just a little possessive. She put that up because she loves me. Listen, she’s really uncomfortable sharing a ride with you. Let me drop her off first, and I’ll come right back to pick you up.” Before I could even process his audacity, he hopped back into my car and sped off, leaving me eating his dust. I stood frozen on the pavement for a few seconds. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed the police. “Hello, I’d like to report a grand theft auto. A man and a woman just stole my vehicle. Please send officers immediately.” 1 I never imagined that as the CEO of a publicly traded corporation, I would be pointed at and called a broke freeloader. Especially while standing outside my own multimillion dollar ride. Twenty minutes after I made the call, a police cruiser pulled up to the curb. The two officers had barely stepped out to take my statement when Connor came screeching around the corner in my sleek black Maybach. He slammed on the brakes right in front of us, stumbling out of the driver’s seat with a face as white as a sheet. “Boss, what is going on? Why did you call the cops?” I gave him a freezing look and kept my mouth shut. One of the officers looked him up and down. “Are you the individual Ms. Cathy reported for taking her vehicle without permission?” Connor completely panicked. “No, Officer, no! This is a massive misunderstanding! I’m her chauffeur! I drive her every single day. I just dropped someone off on the way and got delayed by a few minutes. I didn’t steal anything!” He gestured wildly toward my car, forcing a pathetic, apologetic smile. “Look, I brought the car right back, didn’t I?” The officer glanced between the two of us. “Ms. Cathy, do you still wish to press charges?” I was just about to tell them to arrest him when Connor practically folded himself in half, whispering desperately into my ear. “Boss, please. For the sake of the years my dad drove for you, let me off the hook this one time. You know how sick my old man is. Finding a girlfriend was the only way to give him some peace of mind. I only drove off like that to keep my relationship intact. I didn’t have a choice.” Hearing him bring up his father made a knot form in my chest. Henry had been my chauffeur for six years. He was an honest, hardworking man who never caused a sliver of drama. In all those years, he was never late, never broke a traffic rule, and even tried to refuse the holiday bonuses I slipped him. Three months ago, Henry was diagnosed with a severe lung condition that required permanent rest. He had no choice but to step down. On his last day, he stood in my pristine office, wringing his calloused hands together. After agonizing over his words, he finally asked if I could give his unemployed son a chance. Henry had lived his entire life without asking anyone for a favor. That was his first and only time. Out of deep respect for him, I nodded. Connor actually did a decent job for his first two months. He wasn’t the sharpest employee, but he showed up on time, drove safely, and kept the car immaculate. But everything changed last month. One morning, I walked out to find a woman caked in heavy makeup sitting in the passenger seat. Seeing my confusion, Connor quickly opened my door and whispered an excuse. “Boss, this is my girlfriend, Tiffany. Her workplace is right on the way to the corporate headquarters. I’m just giving her a quick lift.” I simply nodded. Giving someone a ride on a shared route wasn’t a fireable offense. But as the days bled on, I started realizing how twisted the situation was becoming. 2 That so called quick lift turned into an ironclad daily routine. Every morning, Connor would pick Tiffany up before coming to get me. At first, she just liked snapping selfies in the passenger seat, posting videos to flaunt that she was riding in a Maybach. I brushed it off. Young girls have their vanity. But what I couldn’t wrap my head around was the absolute disgust in Tiffany’s eyes whenever she looked back at me. She glared at me like I had personally bankrupted her family. A few times, right after I got into the backseat, she pulled out a bottle of overwhelming perfume and sprayed it frantically in my direction. “God, it is so annoying,” she would complain loudly. “How does a car this expensive always reek of cheap, poor desperation?” I genuinely thought she smelled something foul from the streets, so I even ordered Connor to take the car in for a deep clean and sterilization. But her antics only escalated. She started wiping down the backseat with sanitizing wipes the second I stepped out. Then, she progressed to tossing cheap, disposable seat covers onto the premium leather before I got in. When I demanded an explanation, Connor would pull me aside and offer a pathetic, sheepish smile. “Boss, Tiffany is just a clean freak. She’s terrified the seats might get your expensive designer suits dirty, so she goes overboard with the hygiene.” I didn’t have the bandwidth to overthink it. I was managing billion dollar acquisitions and endless board meetings. I did not have the energy to wage war against a petty twenty something girl. It wasn’t until this morning, when I saw that sticky note treating me like a stray dog, that all the pieces finally clicked together. Tiffany literally thought I was a pathetic hitchhiker mooching off her boyfriend’s ride. My initial plan was to teach both of them a harsh lesson right then and there. But looking at Connor practically groveling at my feet, begging for mercy… “Boss, I swear on my life, this will never happen again. I will tell Tiffany the truth today. She will never ride in this car again. Please, look at how sick my dad is. Just forgive me this once.” Thinking of old Henry, I let out a heavy sigh. “Forget it. I’m dropping the charges.” Once the police drove away, Connor exhaled a massive breath of relief. He bowed over and over, his attitude suddenly angelic. I ignored his theatrics, got into the car, and told him to take me to work. To his credit, Connor behaved himself for a while after that. The passenger seat remained empty. The interior smelled like fresh leather again, and the sticky note residue was scrubbed completely clean. The only issue was his sudden inability to be on time. He was perpetually late, and he always had a tailored excuse ready. “Boss, I am so sorry, there was a massive pileup on the highway.” “Boss, my sincerest apologies, my phone died and the alarm didn’t go off.” “Boss, a pipe burst in my apartment and I had to deal with the downstairs neighbors.” His excuses were flimsy at best, but since he remained excessively polite, I let it slide. I thought that was the end of the drama. Until one weekend, I spontaneously decided to spend a couple of days unwinding at my private estate out in the countryside. I called Connor. “Where are you? I need to go somewhere. Bring the car around.” He stammered on the other end for a painfully long time before answering in a strained voice. “Boss, I woke up to a blown tire this morning. I’m sitting at the repair shop right now, and the mechanic says it won’t be ready until tomorrow. Where do you need to go? Should I call a premium black car service for you?” I frowned, not wanting to deal with the hassle. “Never mind. I’ll get an Uber.” I hung up and ordered a ride to the Whispering Pines Estate. But the moment I stepped out of the Uber at the grand iron gates, I froze. My black Maybach, without a single flat tire in sight, was parked perfectly in my private driveway. I stared at the license plate for a solid five seconds to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. My blood turned to ice. I marched straight up to the massive front doors. The heavy mahogany door was cracked open. I pushed it wide and took one look at the inside. My mind went completely blank. 3 The pristine living room of my sanctuary was a literal landfill. Empty liquor bottles, fruit peels, sunflower seed shells, and cigarette butts littered the imported marble coffee tables and the custom hardwood floors. My multimillion dollar velvet sofas and handwoven rugs were stained with muddy footprints. Worse, I could see dark, charred burn holes chewed into the fabric from careless cigarettes. My fists clenched so hard my manicured nails bit into my palms. I bought this estate specifically to escape the chaos of the city. I had personally designed every inch of the interior. I treated this home like a shrine. And now, a pack of wild animals was tearing it to shreds. I swept my gaze across the room and locked onto the center sofa. Tiffany was lounging there like a queen holding court. A crowd of loud, obnoxious people surrounded her. “Tiffany, you seriously hit the jackpot. I can’t believe you locked down a billionaire.” “Right? He’s loaded and he treats you like royalty! You said you were craving a pastry, and he literally ran out the door like a puppy to go buy you one.” “When you officially become the lady of the manor, do not forget about us little people!” Tiffany’s lips curled into a smug, arrogant grin. She opened her mouth to soak up more praise, but her eyes flicked upward and landed on me standing in the doorway. Her smile vanished. She practically leaped off the sofa, her stilettos clicking sharply against my marble floors as she marched up to me with her chin in the air. Smack! Without a single word of warning, she slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. “You absolute psychotic bitch! You stalked my boyfriend all the way to his house?” The sheer shock of the blow left me rooted to the spot. The music died. The room went dead silent as her friends gaped at us. “Tiffany, what is going on?” someone asked. Tiffany pointed a perfectly manicured finger at my face, her expression twisting into pure revulsion. “This is that pathetic little stalker I was telling you guys about! The one who constantly tries to hitch a ride in my boyfriend’s Maybach. Hitching rides wasn’t enough for her, so now she’s trying to crash his private estate!” I stared at her, my cheek burning, completely unable to comprehend her delusion. “Who on earth told you this house belongs to Connor?” Tiffany scoffed loudly. “He told me himself, you idiot.” She crossed her arms, looking me up and down like I was trash on the sidewalk. “You pathetic little homewrecker. You found out my boyfriend is the CEO of Apex Industries, and now you’re doing everything in your power to seduce him. Forcing your way into his car every morning to get alone time wasn’t enough, so now you show up at his mansion to throw yourself at him?” She leaned in closer, spitting her words at me. “Let me spell it out for you. Connor told me the only reason he ever drove you to work is because you’re a low level employee at his company and he didn’t want to make a scene. Know your place and back off!” Connor actually fed her this garbage? Suddenly, her psychotic behavior in the car made perfect sense. In her twisted little world, Connor was the billionaire CEO who owned the Maybach and the estate. And I was just a desperate, bottom feeding intern working under him. She honestly believed I was mooching rides to seduce her rich boyfriend. It was beyond absurd. Tiffany spun around to face her audience, raising her voice to make sure everyone heard. “Do you guys know how shameless this woman is? She literally glued herself to my boyfriend’s car and refused to leave! I even left her a note telling her to back off, and she threw a massive tantrum and called the cops, claiming my boyfriend was abusing his employees! She made such a massive scene that Connor had to start picking me up early, dropping me off, and then driving all the way back just to shuttle her around so she wouldn’t ruin his company’s reputation!” My eyes widened in realization. No wonder Connor had been late every single day this month. He was secretly playing billionaire, chauffeuring her around the city first, and then rushing back to do his actual job. Well played, Connor. Since you want to treat me like a clueless pawn in your little fantasy, do not blame me for tearing your world apart. 4 I pulled out my phone right then and there, dialing the head of my legal department. “Get a team down to the Whispering Pines Estate immediately…” Before I could finish the sentence, Tiffany lunged forward, snatched the phone out of my hand, and smashed it onto the marble floor. The screen spiderwebbed into a thousand pieces. “God, you are such a phenomenal actress!” she screamed. “Your estate? This is my boyfriend’s house, you psycho!” Her friends snapped out of their shock and started hurling insults at me. “What a shameless whore! She hasn’t even bagged the billionaire yet, and she’s already claiming his real estate as her own?” “Some women are just born cheap. The second they smell money, they spread their legs and beg on their knees. It makes me sick.” “You are way too nice, Tiffany! If some stray dog tried this with my man, I would have ripped her hair out!” Fueled by her friends’ toxic hype, Tiffany grew even bolder. She grabbed the collar of my silk blouse and yanked me forward. “Do you hear them? Everyone knows exactly what you are.” Suddenly, her eyes darted down to my throat. A greedy spark lit up her face. “This vintage emerald pendant doesn’t look cheap. Did you buy this by selling yourself to other rich men?” Before I could even blink, her hand shot out. She hooked her fingers around the delicate gold chain and ripped it right off my neck. The violent pull burned my skin. By the time I reacted, the necklace was dangling from her grip. The blood drained from my face. “Give that back to me right now!” Seeing my sheer panic, Tiffany smirked. “Aw, getting defensive? This must be worth a fortune.” I took a desperate step forward. “It has no monetary value, but it means everything to me. Give it back.” I reached out to grab it. That emerald pendant was the only thing I had left of my mother. She had traded her life for it. I was born sickly and frail. When I was four years old, I fell into a coma. The hospital gave up. The doctors told my parents to start making funeral arrangements. My mother refused to accept it. Desperate and broken, she went to a remote monastery deep in the mountains to beg for a miracle. To prove her devotion, she climbed the brutal, jagged mountain trail in the middle of a scorching summer heatwave. She took one step, then dropped to her knees and bowed, repeating the process for miles. She crawled until her knees were shredded to the bone. She bowed until her forehead was cracked and bleeding, her vision completely blurring. Only then did the monks bless that emerald pendant for her. Maybe the heavens actually listened to a mother’s bleeding heart. Against all medical logic, I woke up. But my mother never recovered. The brutal climb destroyed her frail body. Before she passed away, she placed that pendant in my tiny hands and begged me to never lose it. I treasured it more than my own life. I wore it every single day. It was the only armor I had in this cutthroat world. I would not let anyone defile it. “The more you want it, the better it will feel to destroy it,” Tiffany sneered. Before my fingers could even graze the gold chain, Tiffany raised her arm and hurled the necklace onto the marble floor with all her strength. A sickening, sharp crack echoed through the room. The heirloom emerald shattered into pieces, sending jagged green shards skittering across the floor. “No!” I stared at the broken pieces of my mother’s soul. It felt like a knife had just been twisted directly into my heart. All the air vanished from the room. “You absolute monster!” Blinded by grief and rage, I swung my arm and slapped Tiffany across the face with every ounce of strength I had. “You bitch! Did you just hit me?” Tiffany shrieked, clutching her burning cheek. “Teach this whore a lesson! Whoever beats her the worst gets a hundred thousand dollars from me!” Hearing the promise of cash, her friends’ eyes turned feral. They swarmed me, shoving me to the floor and raining kicks down on my body. “You dare touch her? She’s about to be the lady of Apex Industries! You are nothing!” “So what if she broke your little necklace? You probably bought it with dirty money anyway. Go sleep with a few more men and buy a new one! Stop being so dramatic!” “You dare strike the future wife in her own house? You’re asking to die!” I lay curled up on the cold floor, shielding my head from the blows, my entire body trembling with an icy rage. I gritted my teeth, tasting blood in my mouth. “You are all going to regret this.” The room erupted into roaring laughter, as if I had just told the funniest joke in the world. “Oh my god, I am terrified! Her boyfriend is the CEO of a multi billion dollar empire. Who the hell are you to make us regret anything?” “You are literally just a bottom feeding intern begging for attention. You sell your body for a living and you think you can threaten us?” “Know your place, trash. When you get beaten, you stay down and take it.” They pinned me down, their vicious insults washing over me. Tiffany pushed through the crowd, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back. “Regret?” She laughed darkly. “I have never regretted a single thing in my life. I cannot wait to see how a pathetic little bitch like you is going to make me regret anything!” The moment the words left her mouth, a convoy of sleek black SUVs roared up the driveway, slamming their brakes right outside the grand entrance.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459958”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Three years of marriage, and Ava despised any form of romantic gesture. Even buying her a single rose was enough to get me locked out of our home. So, we never celebrated anything. Until I was hospitalized with an acute stomach hemorrhage, only to scroll through her social media. She had rented out the entire Coastal Cove Amusement Park, setting off a million-dollar display of fireworks for her depressed male subordinate. I didn’t lose my temper right then. Instead, at her company’s annual investment summit the next morning, I lit those multi-million-dollar contracts, which I had secretly signed on her behalf, on fire, page by page. “You always did love a grand gesture,” I said. “How does a ten-million-dollar firework look?” She stayed silent, but her subordinate lost it. “Mr. Ashford, you’re just a househusband living off Ava’s hard work. You know nothing. How dare you make a scene here!” “You just ruined everything she worked for. You’ve crossed the line!” I didn’t get angry. “You’re fired.” My wife, who always prided herself on being rational, slammed her glass down and screamed at me. “Jack, what right do you have to fire my people?” I just shook my head. Once a woman stops listening, there is no point in keeping her around. Worst case, I’d just fund another company and build up someone who actually knows how to behave. … At one in the morning, I was curled up on a hospital bed, cold sweat dripping from the agonizing pain in my stomach. The doctor said it was acute stomach bleeding. I needed to be admitted immediately. I called Ava for the fifth time. It went straight to voicemail again. The nurse adjusting my IV sighed, her brow furrowing. “Where is your family? You shouldn’t be handling this alone.” “She’s busy,” I managed a weak smile. “Extremely busy.” The nurse shook her head and walked out. Staring at the sterile white ceiling, my mind drifted back to our wedding day. Standing outside the courthouse, Ava had grabbed my sleeve and said, “Jack, I absolutely despise useless, superficial gestures. Don’t buy me flowers, don’t plan anniversaries, and don’t do surprises. That’s garbage only brainless, show-off rich people care about.” I believed her. For three years, I didn’t even dare buy her a birthday cake. Last Valentine’s Day, I made the mistake of bringing home a bouquet of roses. She didn’t even let me in, her voice cold through the door: “Leave them outside. The petals will mess up my clean floors.” The next morning, those roses were in the trash. I genuinely thought I had married a career-driven, low-maintenance woman. Until, out of sheer boredom, I opened my phone. The top post on my feed was from Ava, posted thirty minutes ago. A grid of nine photos, filled with brilliant fireworks exploding over the city’s largest amusement park, Coastal Cove. The caption read: May the rest of your life be free of shadows, burning as bright as these fireworks. I tapped the first photo. Ava was laughing like a carefree teenager, her arm wrapped around a slender, pale young man. He had delicate, almost fragile features, looking up at the sky with a melancholic, sickly beauty. Tristan. Her new executive assistant, hired barely a month ago. Just a few days back, Ava had casually mentioned him to me: “The kid suffers from severe depression. Be patient with him.” The comment section was already flooded. “Wow, Ava is so generous to Tristan! Rented out the entire Coastal Cove!” “A half-hour firework show… how much did that even cost?” Someone in the comments posted the exact figure: rental fee plus custom fireworks, three point eight million dollars. Staring at those numbers, the burning in my stomach suddenly vanished. Instead, my chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. I scrolled through my chat history with Ava over the last three years. Me: Let’s have dinner together tonight. Her: Busy. Me: Want to catch a movie this weekend? Her: No time. Stop wasting energy on pointless things. Me: It’s our anniversary today. Her: Jack, how many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing up these useless dates? And yet, here she was, spending three point eight million dollars on fireworks for an assistant she had known for less than a month. Just to make him “burn bright.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips, sending another sharp spasm through my gut. The nurse rushed back in, holding me down. “What are you doing? Don’t move!” I ignored her, my eyes glued to the photo. “It’s fine,” I muttered. “I’m just done being the perfect, supportive husband.” The nurse stared at me, thoroughly confused. I ignored her and dialed my best friend, Justin. He picked up after two rings. “Jack? Man, it’s the middle of the night…” “Justin, first thing tomorrow morning, bring all the original investment contracts Ashford Group holds in Aura Financial to the International Convention Center.” A long silence stretched over the line. “Jack… you’re finally waking up?” “Yeah,” I said, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve played the part for three years. I’m done.” “Also, have the market research team look for new targets. Within three months, I want a company that can completely replace Aura Financial.” “Understood.” I hung up and closed my eyes. Ava, did you enjoy the fireworks? Tomorrow, I’ll show you a much bigger show. 2 The next morning, I discharged myself against medical advice, signing the waiver form before the doctor could protest further. Today was Aura Financial’s annual investment summit, an event Ava had spent over six months preparing for. The biggest players in the financial sector would all be there. And the highly praised “star projects” Aura had secured over the past two years, totaling nearly thirty million dollars in investments, were actually funded by me through the Ashford Group, channeled through seven layers of offshore shell companies. She had no idea. She genuinely believed she had married an average guy who relied on her for financial support. At last year’s company gala, she had raised her glass and joked to the crowd, “My husband’s greatest talent is knowing how to cook.” The room had erupted in laughter. I had sat there in the audience, smiling and clapping for her. What a pathetic fool I was. At the International Convention Center, crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant glow over flowing champagne. The staff at the registration desk recognized me instantly. As the CEO’s husband and the punchline of last year’s gala, I was let in without a single question. Ava stood on the stage in a sharp red blazer, looking radiant and confident. Standing right beside her was Tristan, the delicate young man from last night’s post. Tristan, dressed in a tailored suit, was eagerly handing her documents, occasionally leaning in to whisper in her ear. The crowd murmured in approval. Holding a glass of champagne, I walked up the side stairs and onto the stage. Every eye in the room immediately locked onto me. Ava’s face darkened instantly. “Jack, what are you doing here? Who let you up?” “I brought you a gift.” I signaled to Justin. He immediately stepped up and handed me a thick stack of original contracts. With the entire audience watching, I pulled a silver lighter from my pocket. The click of the ignition echoed as a flame flickered to life. I lit the first contract. “Jack! Are you insane?!” Ava’s voice cracked, her composure shattering. “Those are company contracts! The originals!” Ignoring her, I set the second one on fire. “Didn’t you say you hated superficial gestures?” The third one caught fire. “Didn’t you say only brainless, show-off rich people throw money away?” The fourth one turned to ash. “Does a three point eight million dollar firework show count as brainless?” The flickering flames illuminated Ava’s face, turning it incredibly pale. I spoke directly into the microphone, my voice so calm it even surprised me. “Tell me, Ava. Was the multi-million-dollar show beautiful?” The room fell into a dead silence. The contracts burned to ashes, fluttering down onto the crimson carpet. Ava’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She was a businesswoman first and knew she couldn’t lose her temper in public. But Tristan couldn’t help himself. His eyes welled with tears. He pushed past Ava and rushed in front of me, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “Mr. Ashford, who do you think you are?” “You’re just a kept man living off Ava’s hard work! What do you know about investments? What do you know about business?” “Ava poured six months of her life into this! This is the livelihood of hundreds of employees! Can you even begin to pay for the damage you’ve caused?!” “You are incredibly out of line!” His spit practically flew in my face. I tilted my head, looking down at him coldly. “And who are you? Did I speak to you? Know your place.” Tristan froze. I turned my gaze back to Ava. “By the way, your beloved assistant is fired.” Tristan’s face flushed red. “Fired by you?! You think you have the authority? Who do you think…” A sharp crash cut him off. Ava slammed her crystal glass onto the stage, sending shards flying everywhere. She marched over, shielding Tristan behind her, her eyes icy as she glared at me. “Jack.” “What right do you have to fire my people?” 3 I stared at her. This was the woman I had protected and cherished for three years, the woman whose favorite shampoo brand I still memorized. And here she was, in front of the city’s most prominent investors, smashing a glass to defend an assistant who had been with her for less than a month. A soft chuckle escaped me. “Ava, are you sure you want to make a scene here?” “You started this!” she hissed, her teeth clenched. “You will apologize to Tristan. Right now, in front of everyone!” An apology. While I was lying in a hospital bed with internal bleeding, she was setting off fireworks for him. And now, she wanted me to apologize. “Ava, you are the one who needs to apologize today.” “Me?” Ava let out a mocking laugh. “Jack, you just burned thirty million dollars worth of contracts and ruined a summit I prepared for six months. And you expect me to apologize?” She looked me up and down, as if examining an ungrateful stranger. Tristan immediately put on a display of fragile vulnerability, tugging gently at Ava’s sleeve. “Ava, it’s fine… it’s my fault. Mr. Ashford, I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry.” He kept his head low, his shoulders trembling slightly as tears pooled in his eyes. “Quite the actor, aren’t you, Tristan?” I said. Tristan snapped his head up, his expression instantly shifting to wounded innocence. “Mr. Ashford, I’m a diagnosed depression patient who has been with this company for barely a month. Your constant targeting… I really can’t take much more of this.” As he spoke, real tears began to stream down his cheeks. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. “Ava’s husband has a terrible temper.” “I heard the assistant is sick… why is he bullying him like that?” “Well, that’s what happens when a guy lives off his wife for too long. He gets insecure.” I didn’t look at them. I kept my eyes on Ava. “Ava, do you hear that? Everyone thinks I’m the one picking on your little assistant.” Ava’s lips curled into a cold, contemptuous sneer. “Jack, you aren’t just insecure from living off me. You’ve gotten so used to it that you actually think you’re someone important.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word felt like a blade. The crowd chuckled in agreement. Despite the sharp pain in my stomach, I smiled. “Good.” I gestured to Justin, who handed me another document. I slammed the paper onto the podium. “Tristan, you are fired.” Tristan let out a sharp laugh. “Mr. Ashford, you’re firing me? You don’t have the authority.” “Whether I do or don’t,” I looked at Ava, “is up to her.” Every eye in the room turned to Ava. She stared back at me, her eyes locking onto mine for three long seconds. Then, under the watchful gaze of the entire room, she slowly reached out, picked up the paper, and tore it in half. The shredded pieces drifted to the floor. “Jack,” her voice was like ice. “Tristan’s employment is none of your business. In this company, I make the decisions.” “Who are you? You’re just my husband.” A mocking smile touched her lips. “I let you come today out of respect. Don’t push your luck.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. Tristan kept his head lowered, his shoulders shaking, but I caught the smug, victorious grin stretching across his face. Looking at this woman who had just publicly stripped away the last shred of my dignity, the pain in my stomach intensified, yet my smile only widened. “Excellent, Ava. Very well.” Without another word, I turned and walked off the stage. Behind me, Ava was already smoothly explaining to the investors, “Apologies for the distraction, everyone. Just a minor domestic dispute. The summit will proceed as planned.” Her tone shifted back to professional efficiency so quickly, as if the entire incident had been nothing more than a minor, irritating blip. And I was barely even that. As I reached the corridor outside, the frantic click of high heels sounded behind me. Ava caught up, grabbing my arm with a tight grip. “Jack, have you had your fun today? Just tell me what you want. Name your price.” Name your price. She wasn’t trying to resolve things. She was dismissing me like a pet throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want your money, Ava. I want a divorce.” Ava froze for a split second. Then, she laughed. It was a laugh of disbelief, mockery, and ultimately, relief. “A divorce? Are you serious, Jack?” “Completely.” “Fine.” She let go of my arm, shaking me off as if I were a piece of dirty laundry. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for a long time.” She pulled out her phone and dialed her lawyer right in front of me. “Robert, draft a divorce agreement and have it delivered to my place tonight.” “Yes, Jack leaves with nothing. No house, no car, no savings. If he refuses to sign, we’ll see him in court.” She hung up and looked down at me coldly. “Jack, don’t think for a second that today’s stunt will make me regret this. If anything, you’ve saved me a payout and a very awkward conversation.” “I can’t wait to get you out of my life.” “Oh, and make sure your things are out of my house by tonight.” With that, she took Tristan’s arm and walked away without looking back. 4 I didn’t go back to the house we shared. Justin drove me to my private penthouse in Riverview, owned by the Ashford Group. No one had lived here for three years, but a cleaning service maintained it weekly. The mahogany floors were polished to a mirror shine. After a hot shower, I walked into the living room, where Justin had already laid out a file on the coffee table. “Jack, I ran the background check you wanted on Tristan.” His expression was deeply unsettled. “You might want to sit down for this.” I picked up the file and flipped it open. Page one: Tristan’s resume. Flawless, with a master’s degree from a prestigious European university. Page two: Family background. His mother was Ava’s high school classmate; the two families had been close for decades. Page three. My fingers froze. Tristan and Ava had been legally married three years ago. They had divorced exactly one month before Ava and I were set up on our blind date. “Are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “Absolutely,” Justin said quietly. “I pulled the records directly from the city archives myself.” “Also, that luxury riverfront condo Ava bought two years ago? The deed is in her name, but Tristan has been living there the entire time. Ava pays for everything; utility bills, HOA fees, even Tristan’s personal training sessions.” I closed my eyes. Three years. Every time she claimed she was working late, every business trip, every client dinner. It turned out that every single time she said she wasn’t coming home, she was with her ex-husband. And while I was lying in a hospital bed with acute internal bleeding, she was throwing him a three point eight million dollar firework show. Me, the heir of the massive Ashford Group, spent three years playing the doting, domestic husband, only to be a placeholder for her ex-husband’s transition period. A dry, mocking laugh escaped me, triggering another spasm in my stomach. What a joke. My phone vibrated. An unknown number. It was a screenshot of a wire transfer: fifty thousand dollars. A message followed. “Mr. Ashford, Ava asked me to send you this. She said you worked hard these past three years, and this fifty thousand should help you get by. Please don’t harass her anymore, and don’t try to interfere with the company.” Sender: Tristan. A second message popped up almost immediately. “Let me be frank with you, Mr. Ashford. Ava looked into the funding of those contracts. They came from the Ashford Group.” “She doesn’t know what low-level job you have there; running errands or pouring coffee, but you’d better know your place.” “The real owners of a conglomerate like Ashford could crush you with a single finger.” “You used your position to embezzle Ashford funds to get back at Ava. If this gets out, you’ll be the first one they throw under the bus.” “Out of pity for your time together, Ava gave you fifty thousand dollars to run. She expects you to be smart, show up at the courthouse tomorrow to sign the papers, and leave quietly.” “As for your threat to fire me today? Ava told me to tell you: an outsider trying to play these petty games is just pathetic.” I stared at the screen, completely dumbfounded for three seconds. Then, a loud laugh burst from my chest, causing my stomach to ache all over again. So, in Ava’s mind, the mysterious investor behind her success couldn’t possibly be me. She had traced the funds to the Ashford Group and assumed I was just some low-level employee who had embezzled company money to make his wife look good. A useless husband trying to play savior. And she had generously had her little lover send me fifty thousand dollars as a pittance to skip town. I typed back two simple words. “Sounds good.” I tossed the phone onto the sofa and walked into the study. I spun the dial on the safe, and the heavy door clicked open. Inside lay a single document: the true ownership structure of Aura Financial, controlled by the Ashford Group. Fifty-one percent of Aura Financial’s shares, held through seven layers of offshore companies, ultimately belonged to one name. Jack Ashford. Which meant that the CEO seat Ava had occupied for three years belonged to me. The entire company belonged to me. And that three point eight million dollar firework show was paid for with my money, thrown for her ex-husband. I picked up the file, a slow smile spreading across my face. Ava, you want me to sign the divorce papers tomorrow? Fine, I’ll show up. But the man signing those papers won’t be your penniless, useless husband. It will be the actual owner of Aura Financial.

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1 On the eve of our fourth anniversary trip, Jonah was in the bathroom taking a shower. His phone screen suddenly lit up on the nightstand. The message was brief: [Dr. Beckett, my sister just got her divorce finalized. She is alone in the psychiatric ward and she is in a really bad place. Please, you have to come see her.] The sender’s number belonged to Toby, the younger brother of Aria, the girl Jonah had once loved with a fierce, self-destructive passion. She was the ghost that had haunted our relationship from day one. The hum of the shower died down. When Jonah walked out, towel drying his hair, I handed him the phone. I turned my back, not wanting to see the expression on his face. Within seconds, Jonah wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin gently on the crown of my head. “Don’t worry, I’m not going,” he murmured. “I promised I’d take you on this trip, and I’m keeping that promise.” Just as my racing heart began to settle, another message flashed on the screen: [She has been sobbing for hours. She keeps repeating one thing over and over: Jonah, I regret it.] The arms wrapped around my waist stiffened. It was funny how the future we had spent four years building could be derailed so easily. The past only had to wave its hand, and he was already turning back. “Jonah,” I said softly. He did not hear me the first time. Only when I called his name again did he seem to snap out of his trance, his eyes instantly clouding with guilt. “Sorry, Nell. Things at the hospital have been so hectic lately, I keep zoning out.” He reached out to pull me into his chest, just like he always did, but I stood frozen. Noticing my stiffness, his voice grew tense. “Are you feeling okay? Are you sick?” I looked into his eyes, keeping my voice quiet and even. “If you want to go to the hospital to see her, we can reschedule our trip.” “I am not going,” he replied instantly. He even managed a small laugh, reaching out to gently tap the tip of my nose. “Silly girl, stop overthinking. I’m a doctor, not her private caretaker.” He said it lightly, but I knew Jonah. He was never a man to hesitate or lose focus. He was always decisive, except during his college years when he was dating Aria. Back then, he used to wear that exact same vacant, distracted look. I knew that look because I used to look up at Jonah the exact same way he looked up at Aria. We hit a quiet stalemate that night. Jonah apologized repeatedly, trying to soothe the unspoken tension between us. “Nell, I admit I got distracted, but you’re the only one in my heart now,” he said, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “I don’t love her. I haven’t loved her for a long time.” His gaze was so earnest that I almost believed him. Almost. But Jonah had once been so reckless for Aria. Even though I had been with him for four years, her shadow still loomed over us, cold and insurmountable. Late into the night, he finally managed to soothe me to sleep. Through the haze of slumber, I felt him slip out of bed. A moment later, the muffled sound of a tense conversation drifted in from the balcony. His voice was cold and sharp. “I am a doctor, yes, but I am not the only psychiatrist at that hospital.” He sounded nearly impatient. “The nurses can handle her. Stop calling my personal number. My girlfriend is going to misunderstand.” The weight in my chest finally lifted. Beneath the covers, I let out a quiet breath, smiling at my own insecurity. Soon, the bed dipped as he climbed back in. He pulled me flush against his chest, his warm breath tickling my ear. “I love you, Nell,” he whispered. I woke up early the next morning. Jonah had to finish a morning shift before his vacation officially started, so I packed our bags and headed to the airport ahead of him. Looking at our detailed travel itinerary, I could already picture the snow falling on our shoulders in Aspen. I waited at the gate until noon, when a text from him finally arrived: [Sweetheart, hang tight. Just wrapping up my last patient and then I’ll head straight to the airport.] I texted back a quick confirmation with a heart emoji. At the time, I had no idea that the last patient he referred to was Aria. The hours ticked away. The departure boards in the terminal flickered, updating constantly. All the daytime flights to our destination had already departed, leaving only the final red-eye of the night. If we missed this one, the winter storm forecast for tomorrow would ground all flights, and our fourth-anniversary trip would be completely ruined. Jonah still had not arrived. I called him multiple times, but my calls went straight to voicemail. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. My first instinct, ridiculously enough, was to worry that he had been in a car crash on his way to the airport. 2 Finally, my phone buzzed. I answered it immediately. “Jonah? Are you okay?” “Hello? Who is this?” a soft, delicate female voice answered. My throat went dry. It was Aria. “If you’re looking for Dr. Beckett, you’ll have to wait a moment,” she said calmly, her tone completely devoid of malice. “He went to get me some of his homemade potato soup.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Potato soup. Jonah had spent nearly an hour in the kitchen this morning, slow-cooking it and leaving it in a thermos for me. He had once told me: “I only learned how to cook because of you, Nell. I only want to make these things for you.” I had always believed that this soup, this small gesture, was the one thing that set me apart from Aria. The line went quiet for a few seconds before Jonah’s voice came through. “Hey, Nell. I’m so sorry. Something urgent came up at the hospital today. It looks like we’ll have to push the trip back.” He apologized over and over, but he never mentioned Aria’s name. If she was just a patient, why the lie? What did his promise last night even mean? “I’m coming to the hospital,” I said, my voice eerily calm. There was a brief pause on the other end. “…Okay.” The sterile scent of disinfectant hung heavy in the hospital corridor. I stood outside the door of ward three. Through the small glass window, I saw Jonah sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a warm bowl. He carefully blew on a spoonful of soup before feeding it to Aria. Her movements were a bit sluggish, but she complied, swallowing quietly. Then, she picked up a half-eaten apple from the bedside table and offered it to him. Jonah smiled, leaned down, and took a bite right from the spot she had bitten. My breath caught. Jonah had mild germophobia. He was a man who politely declined when I tried to feed him with my own fork, yet here he was, sharing a half-eaten apple with another woman without a second thought. A dull, throbbing pain bloomed in my chest. There was nothing special about me. The rules he broke for her were the rules he rigidly kept with me. It was never about the action; it was always about the person. When I pushed the door open, Jonah froze. He hastily set the bowl and the apple down on the table. Aria did not look at me. Like a tired bird, she tilted her head and naturally rested her cheek against Jonah’s chest. He did not pull away. Jonah stood there and let her lean on him. I stood in the doorway, watching them. I felt like an intruder who had walked into someone else’s movie, making even my breathing feel like an inconvenience. “Nell,” Jonah said, finally standing up. Aria swayed slightly, losing her support. His face was a mask of guilt. “You can see how she is. The trauma affected her mind, she is acting like a child right now. Please don’t take it to heart, okay?” How could I not? My lips curved into a bitter smile, but the only word that escaped me was a hollow, “Okay.” Just as I was trying to force myself to accept his explanation, Aria looked up. Her eyes were vacant, but her voice was as soft as a feather. “Jonah, I like you so much.” Jonah went rigid, his expression turning incredibly complex. “Hold me, please?” She reached out her arms, her eyes wide and innocent, like a child who knew no boundaries. But this time, Jonah pushed her hand away. He quickly walked over to me, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me out into the corridor. “She is sick, Nell. She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” he said, closing the door behind us to shut her out. He repeated the same empty phrase: “Don’t take it to heart.” Seeing my silence, he let out a heavy sigh and cupped my face with both hands, forcing me to look into his exhausted eyes. “She is in a terrible state, Nell. Her ex-husband abused her for years, and she finally snapped when she caught him cheating,” he explained, his voice thick with emotion. “I had no intention of seeing her this morning, I swear. I remembered my promise to you. But her ex-husband showed up at the clinic, trying to drag her away. She was huddled in a corner, screaming my name. With all my colleagues watching, I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. Just this once, Nell, please understand.” The desperation in his voice felt so real. It seemed as though he was just a good man carrying a burden he could not shake. 3 For a second, I almost relented. But then the image of him biting that apple flashed in my mind, the ease with which he threw away his principles for her. “Jonah,” I said, my voice dry. “The last flight is at nine tonight. Our trip.” He smiled, ruffling my hair the way he always did, momentarily dispelling the gloom. “We don’t have to wait until nine. Let’s go now.” “Dr. Beckett, the test results for bed three are in,” a nurse called out from down the hall. Bed three. Aria. “I’ll look at them right away,” Jonah replied instantly. The smile had barely left his face, but his body was already turning toward the nurse. My agreement died in my throat, shattering silently. And so, I ended up waiting at the hospital while he ran tests for her. By the time I checked my watch, it was six in the evening. If we did not leave for the airport now, we would miss the flight. “It’s six o’clock,” I said, standing by his desk, my voice quiet. Jonah was buried in paperwork, his brow furrowed as he reviewed Aria’s thick medical file. “Almost done. Just give me a few more minutes.” He did not even look up. Looking at the towering stack of files, I knew that “almost done” was a lie. My patience finally wore thin. “Aria is asleep now, Jonah. She isn’t going to wake up and demand you stay. Can’t another doctor on duty look at these files?” “No, they can’t,” he snapped, his pen never pausing. “Why not?” The question hung in the silence of the office. “Nell, can you please be quiet for a second? You’re distracting me, and I can’t get this done if you keep talking,” Jonah said, his forehead creasing with irritation. A wave of hurt washed over me. It was our anniversary trip, yet somehow I was the one being unreasonable. Perhaps seeing the tears welling in my eyes, Jonah softened. He sighed, walked around the desk, and took my hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just incredibly tired today, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” His grip was warm and familiar. “But Aria’s case is highly complex, and the board is monitoring it. Because of our history, I know her psychological triggers better than anyone else. But I promise you, I will make this up to you.” With that, he shut the file, handed it over to the resident on duty, and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. His lips curved into a smile. “Come on, let’s go catch that flight.” “Dr. Beckett! The patient in bed three says—” another nurse ran up to us. “I’m off the clock,” Jonah interrupted her, his voice firm and clear. “Dr. Vance is taking over her case. I am taking my fiancée on vacation.” He pulled me by the hand, leading me past his colleagues and out of the hospital doors. The cold wind whipped against my face, but my cheeks felt hot. I asked myself if I was being too petty. She was just an old acquaintance who needed help, right? Only a month ago, Jonah had knelt on one knee and asked me to marry him. We were going to spend the rest of our lives together. The past belonged in the past. I forced myself to believe it as we boarded the flight to Aspen. During the flight, he adjusted my blanket and reclined my seat, talking and laughing just as he always did. But when he looked out the window at the heavy clouds, I saw the emptiness in his eyes. We landed, checked into our hotel, and everything went according to plan. The next day was filled with ice sculptures, skiing, and hot springs. The hospital drama felt like a minor bump in the road. Until that night, while Jonah was in the shower. His phone lit up on the nightstand with a stream of messages: [Dr. Beckett, Aria is doing a bit better, but she refuses to take her medication. She keeps crying and asking for you. Please, just call her.] [She just called me, Jonah. Don’t you want to know how much she has missed you all these years?] The sender was Toby. The timestamp was five minutes ago. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the delete button for a long time. In the end, I put the phone back down. I was gambling. I was gambling our four years of history against his lingering feelings, hoping the scale would finally tip in my favor. 4 Jonah stepped out of the bathroom, water dripping from the ends of his hair. He picked up his phone, glanced at the notifications with a neutral face, and tossed it onto the sofa. He sat down, scrolling through social media and occasionally letting out a soft laugh. But that night, he was desperate. He kissed me with a frantic intensity, as if trying to leave his mark on every inch of my skin. Then, in the heat of the moment, a soft murmur escaped his lips: “Aria.” The name shattered the room. I froze, my body turning cold. In the darkness, the only sound was our heavy, ragged breathing. Jonah froze too. A second later, he scrambled to pull me back into his arms. “Nell! I’m so sorry! I…” He held me from behind, his hands trembling as he covered my clenched fists. “I zoned out, I swear! I was just thinking about the neurological patterns of her case! It’s a highly unusual medical phenomenon, and the hospital is putting a lot of pressure on me. I would never do anything to hurt you.” “Enough,” I whispered, my voice cracked and dry. I did not want to hear another word. Four years. More than a thousand days and nights, wiped out by the return of an old flame. Did he know that a tiny life was currently growing inside me? A secret that belonged to the two of us? The words rushed to the back of my throat, but I swallowed them down, bitter and cold. “Jonah,” I said, staring into the dark room. “I am so incredibly disappointed in you.” He fell silent. After a long pause, his voice returned, low and steady, but each word cut like glass. “I told you, I am only taking care of her because of my duty as a doctor. I didn’t have a choice in the beginning, but I left everything behind to come here with you. What more do you want from me, Nell?” Jonah had always been a gentle man. Even during our worst arguments, he had never spoken to me with such cold impatience. But ever since Aria got divorced and came back, everything had changed. Beside me, he turned over, his back to me. Though we were inches apart, he felt miles away. I closed my eyes, praying for sleep, but my tears soaked the pillow. Meanwhile, his breathing soon became deep and even. He had actually fallen asleep. When I woke up the next morning, the space beside me was empty and cold. His suitcase was gone. His shaving cream, his toothbrush, everything was missing from the bathroom. It was as if a sudden gust of wind had swept through the room, erasing every trace of his existence. He had left. Between me and Aria, he had made his choice without leaving so much as a note. Outside the window, the snow we had planned to watch together was still falling, beautiful and silent. But the man who had promised to watch it with me was gone. I calmly unlocked my phone and booked an appointment at an OB-GYN clinic back home. I packed my bags alone, navigated the crowded airport alone, and boarded the flight back to Boston alone. The day of my appointment, some morbid curiosity drew me to the psychiatric wing of the hospital first. The door to ward three was slightly ajar. Aria’s laughter drifted out, completely different from her usual fragile, childish demeanor. “Don’t worry, I’m doing great here. Jonah is taking perfect care of me.” “Of course he still cares. I knew he could never truly forget me.” “Even when I pretended to mistake him for my ex-husband and held onto him, he didn’t push me away.” It was all an act. Anger flared in my chest, burning away my remaining sanity. I thought of Jonah, a man who prided himself on his clinical objectivity, being played like a fool. Before I realized what I was doing, I pushed the door open, my voice trembling with rage. “You are still lying to him, Aria. Have you forgotten how badly you destroyed him the first time?” Aria gasped, staring at me in shock. Then, in the blink of an eye, tears welled in her eyes, and she shrunk back, looking fragile and defenseless. “What are you talking about?” She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling as she looked past my shoulder. “Jonah, I’m scared.” Jonah rushed into the room, his face tight with tension. “What’s going on here?” “I’m sorry,” Aria sobbed, beating me to the punch. “I shouldn’t keep troubling you. Nell must have misunderstood. But Jonah, you know I can’t handle people raising their voices at me. My condition…” She whimpered, timed to perfection. Jonah immediately stepped between us, shielding her with his body. He glared at me, his voice cold as ice. “I am the one who insisted on overseeing her treatment, Nell. If you have a problem, take it out on me. Her condition is finally stabilizing, and she cannot handle any emotional distress. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” He rubbed his temples, looking thoroughly exhausted. “I know you’re angry that I left the hotel without telling you. Just go wait in my office, and I’ll handle this.” He actually thought I had traveled all this way just to pick a fight over him. An explanation? What was left to explain? I bit my lower lip so hard the taste of blood filled my mouth. I turned and walked straight toward the elevator, pressing the button for the OB-GYN wing.

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1 My husband bought a pair of black-rimmed glasses, claiming they were high-tech. He wore them while cooking, while reading the paper, and he even fumbled to put them on in the dark when he got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. I told him, “You don’t even need glasses, Arthur. Why do you keep wearing those things?” He just smiled, keeping his mouth shut, but when he looked at me, there was a softness in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in years. I wondered if the old man was going through some late-life spring awakening. So, while he was asleep that afternoon, I slipped them off his nightstand and put them on. The world looked exactly the same. Until I walked past the hallway mirror. Standing in the mirror was a young woman. I froze. The girl looking back at me was Vivian. His first love from forty years ago. I pulled the glasses off, and my own sixty-two-year-old face reappeared. I put them back on, and there she was again. Standing before the glass, I took them off, put them on, off, on. Before I knew it, hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. I cried in silence until the middle of the night. Once my chest stopped aching, I quietly placed the glasses back on his nightstand. The next morning, I went about my usual routine of making breakfast. Arthur leaned against the kitchen doorframe, studying me. “Why aren’t you wearing that white silk blouse today?” He asked, those new black-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. My hand holding the spatula froze for a fraction of a second. “It’s too tight, Arthur. It constricts my shoulders when I’m working in here.” “Go put it on,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was incredibly tender, a tone he hadn’t used with me in decades. “You look beautiful in it.” I turned my head to look at him. Behind those dark lenses, his eyes weren’t focusing on the deep crow’s feet framing my eyes, nor were they looking at my soft, aging waistline. His gaze was level, but it felt empty, as if he were looking right through my physical form to see someone else entirely. He was looking at the twenty-two-year-old Vivian. “Fine,” I murmured, turning off the stove and untying my apron. In the bedroom, I reached into the very bottom of the closet to pull out the white lace-trimmed blouse he had insisted on buying for me last week. A sixty-two-year-old woman squeezed into a style meant for a twenty-something girl. The intricate lace collar pressed against my sagging neck, looking entirely ridiculous. I looked in the full-length mirror. A thin, aging woman stared back. But I knew that through Arthur’s high-tech lenses, I was a radiant, ponytail-wearing girl in the prime of her youth. I walked back to the kitchen. He was still leaning by the door, and as my footsteps neared, he spun around. A massive, delighted smile spread across his wrinkled face. “Absolutely beautiful,” he whispered, reaching out to gently smooth the lace on my collar. “Just like when you were twenty.” I stared at the deep lines around his own eyes. “Arthur,” I said softly, testing the waters. “Do you even remember what I looked like at twenty?” He stiffened, his eyes darting away behind the lenses. “Of course I do. You were so bright and full of life back then.” “We didn’t meet until we were twenty-three, Arthur,” I said, my voice completely flat. His hand froze in midair. The kitchen went dead silent. After a tense couple of seconds, he let out a dry cough, withdrew his hand, and adjusted his glasses. “Old age is getting to me, I guess. Mixing up the years. Either way, you’re always young in my heart.” He was lying. Forty years ago, when he was twenty-two, the girl by his side was Vivian. She was his first love, the one who had allegedly drowned in a tragic accident after moving out West for work. I turned back to the stove and lit the burner to fry the eggs. “Arthur, I woke up late and couldn’t get any green onions. I put cilantro in your noodles instead.” Arthur despised cilantro. He always said it tasted like soap and stink bugs. But Vivian loved it; I had learned that years ago from reading his old diaries. “That’s fine,” he said with a chuckle behind me. “Cilantro adds a nice kick. Go ahead and put more in.” I stared at the hot oil sizzling in the pan, a cold shiver running straight up my spine. So that was it. No wonder he hadn’t been picky about his food lately. No wonder he looked at me with that sickeningly sweet adoration. He was using those AR glasses to superimpose a dead woman’s face, body, and habits onto mine. I scooped the noodles into a bowl and brought them to the table. He sat opposite me, greedily slurping down the cilantro-filled broth, even closing his eyes to savor every bite. “Is it good?” I asked. “Incredible,” he replied, looking up and smiling through his lenses. “Honey, your cooking is tasting more and more like the old days.” Whose old days? I didn’t ask. I already knew. I set my fork down, staring at the faint blue glow flickering along the edges of his frames. “Arthur, those frames look heavy. Why don’t you take them off while you eat? You’ll hurt your nose.” “No need,” he said, instantly putting a hand over the frame, his posture stiffening defensively. “I’m used to them. I can’t see right without them.” “You don’t have vision problems.” “They’re blue-light blockers! Everything has radiation these days. You wouldn’t understand.” His voice flared with irritation before he quickly forced a gentle tone, dropping a piece of egg into my bowl. “Eat up. It’ll get cold.” Looking at the egg, my stomach turned violently. “I’m not hungry.” I pushed my chair back and walked out to the balcony. Behind me, the sound of his wet, satisfied chewing echoed through the quiet apartment, filled with a grotesque greed. Forty years of marriage. I had believed that even if the romantic spark had faded, we shared a deep, unbreakable bond of companionship. But now, I saw the truth. I was merely a physical vessel, a convenient prop to keep his house clean and cook his meals while he wrapped me in a digital skin. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from our daughter, Lily: Hey Mom, David and I are coming over this weekend. Dad said he’s going to cook for us! I stared at the screen and typed back: Sounds wonderful. Let me know what you want to eat. Just as I hit send, Arthur’s voice drifted from the balcony door. “Who are you texting?” He had crept up quietly, those black frames still glued to his face. “Lily. She says they’re coming over this weekend.” “Ah,” he nodded, his gaze lingering on my white blouse. “Wear this outfit when they come. Don’t change out of it.” That weekend, Lily and her fiancé, David, arrived carrying bags of groceries and gifts. “Mom, Dad! We’re here!” Arthur poked his head out of the kitchen, wearing my floral apron with those black-rimmed glasses resting firmly on his nose. “Lily, sweetheart! Make yourselves at home. Dinner is almost ready.” David set the bags down and walked over to the kitchen with a warm smile. “Hey, Mr. Cooper, what’s with the glasses? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear them before.” Arthur didn’t stop chopping. “Just getting old, son. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.” I quietly set the table, refusing to call him out. The man could thread a needle without straining his eyes; his vision was perfectly fine. During the meal, Arthur did something completely out of character: he opened a bottle of expensive red wine. He raised his glass, his cheeks flushed with a happy glow. “David, you and Lily are taking the plunge soon. Let me give you a piece of advice from forty years in the game.” David raised his glass respectfully. “I’m all ears, sir. Hit me.” Arthur looked at me through his lenses. “The secret to a long marriage is accommodation.” He took a slow sip, his eyes glazing over with nostalgia. “Take your mother-in-law, for instance. She has a wild streak. Whenever it rains, she loves to run barefoot across the hardwood floors, and I have to chase her down with a pair of slippers.” My hand froze holding my fork. Lily stopped chewing, looking bewildered as she turned to me. “Mom, you have severe arthritis. When have you ever run barefoot on the floor?” Arthur seemed entirely deaf to our daughter’s voice, continuing to drift through his own memories. “And she’s terrified of the dark. We always have to keep a nightlight on, or she’ll wake up sobbing like a little girl.” David let out an awkward laugh, trying to keep the mood light. “Wow, I didn’t know you were such a romantic at heart, Mrs. Cooper.” I set my fork down and stared at my husband. I wasn’t afraid of the dark. In fact, I was an incredibly light sleeper; even a sliver of light would keep me tossing and turning. For forty years, I had insisted on the thickest blackout curtains money could buy. The girl who ran barefoot in the rain and couldn’t sleep without a nightlight was Vivian. Arthur’s glasses hadn’t just replaced my face; they had rewritten his entire memory of our forty years together. Here he was, in front of our future son-in-law, fondly reminiscing about another woman’s quirks while I, his actual wife, sat there like a transparent prop. “Dad,” Lily finally interrupted, her tone sharp. “You’re getting things mixed up. Mom has never used a nightlight. Just last month, you complained that she kept the room too dark after you stubbed your toe in the middle of the night.” The smile vanished from Arthur’s face. It was as if he had been violently yanked out of a dream, his expression momentarily blank. Then, waving his hand dismissively, he snapped, “What do you kids know? I’m talking about back in the day.” “Not back in the day either,” I said, my voice ice-cold. The temperature at the dining table plummeted instantly. David quickly tried to patch things over. “Well, I’m sure Mr. Cooper is just remembering some fond memories from when they were dating. Anyway, this food is delicious! Mrs. Cooper, these baby back ribs are incredible.” “I made those ribs,” Arthur chimed in, a strange note of pride in his voice. He turned to me, practically begging for approval. “Go on, try one. Isn’t it exactly how you like it?” I looked at the sweet-glazed ribs. They were bright red, glistening with a sticky, sugary sauce. I hated sweet meat. More importantly, I had been diagnosed with type-2 diabetes five years ago, and I never used sugar in my cooking. He knew this perfectly well. I picked up my fork, grabbed a rib, and dropped it straight into the trash can beside the table. “Too sweet. It’s practically pure sugar.” Arthur’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He slammed his hand on the table. “What is wrong with you? I spend hours in the kitchen cooking for you, and you throw a tantrum?” “I’ve had diabetes for five years, Arthur,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Did you really make these for me?” His breath caught. His lips parted, but no words came out. Lily scrambled to her feet, rubbing my back. “Mom, please don’t get upset. Dad probably just had a slip of the mind.” “Yeah, Mrs. Cooper, I’m sure he meant well,” David added quietly. He meant well. Those words pierced my ears like needles. For forty years, everyone thought Arthur was the perfect husband. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, handed his paychecks over, and never looked at another woman. Every anniversary, he would bring home a massive bouquet of lilies. Even though I was severely allergic to lily pollen and would sneeze uncontrollably every single time, he would just chuck me under the chin and laugh, saying, “My bad, I’ll remember next time.” And the next year, it would be lilies again. Because lilies were Vivian’s favorite flower. He used the guise of being a loving husband to mourn his first love, while I was painted as ungrateful whenever I showed even a hint of frustration. I stood up, ignoring my daughter’s pleas. “I’m full. Enjoy your dinner.” I walked down the hall, went into our bedroom, and locked the door behind me. Sitting in the dim room, I could hear Arthur’s muffled voice grumbling from the dining area. “I swear, your mother’s going through a late menopause. Her temper gets worse by the day.” “Dad, honestly, you know Mom has diabetes. Why would you make something so sweet?” Lily chided him. “Well, I just… I was…” He stammered, unable to come up with a decent excuse. I leaned against the heavy wooden door, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. After Lily and David left, Arthur pushed the bedroom door open. He looked thoroughly annoyed, those black-rimmed glasses still resting on his nose. “Did you really have to humiliate me like that in front of our daughter and her fiancé?” I sat on the edge of the mattress, my eyes fixed on him. “Arthur, when you wear those glasses, what do you see when you look at me?” He faltered, his gaze shifting nervously. “What do you mean? I see you, of course.” “Is that so?” I stood up and walked right up to him. Suddenly, I reached out and grabbed the edges of his glasses. “Then take them off. Look at my real face and tell me that.” He slapped my hands away, stumbling backward as he clutched the frames like they were his lifeline. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t touch my things!” “What are you so afraid of, Arthur?” I demanded, locking eyes with him. “Are you terrified that if you take them off, you won’t see Vivian anymore?” The room fell into a suffocating silence. His pupils dilated behind the lenses, his face turning ghostly pale. “You… you’re losing your mind.” “I don’t wear white lace blouses, I don’t eat cilantro, and I don’t sleep with a nightlight,” I said, taking step after step toward him. “Look at me. I’m Mary, not Vivian.” “Shut up!” he roared, pointing a trembling finger in my face. “You’re completely hysterical! Who said anything about Vivian? You’re sick, Mary!” Furious, he spun on his heel, stormed out of the bedroom, and slammed the door shut with a deafening bang. I stood alone in the quiet room, staring at the closed door. He was guilty. But I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Over the next few days, a cold war settled over our home. Arthur stopped asking me to wear specific clothes, and that sickeningly sweet smile disappeared from his face. But he never took off those glasses. In fact, things grew worse. He began spending hours locked away in his study, speaking softly into the empty air. “Yes, that little Italian bistro is still there… Of course, I’ll take you there sometime… You look beautiful in that dress today.” Standing outside the locked door, listening to his hushed tones, the blood in my veins turned to ice. If before he was just using the glasses as a visual filter to pretend I was Vivian, who was he talking to now? Was it an AI? Or some pre-programmed virtual girlfriend app? That Tuesday afternoon, Arthur left to play pickleball at the local recreation center. In his rush, he left his phone on the coffee table. For the past month, he hadn’t let that phone out of his sight for a single second. I walked over and picked it up. I tried entering his usual passcode, his birthday. Incorrect. I frowned. After a moment’s thought, I entered Vivian’s birthday. Click. The screen unlocked. I felt as though a heavy fist had punched me in the chest. Forty years of marriage, and he had changed his password to the birthday of a dead woman. Taking a deep breath, I opened the app on his home screen. It was called Mirage AR, the software linked to his high-tech glasses. As soon as it opened, the interface showed the device was connected. I tapped on the user profile and history. I expected to see some kind of AI avatar builder or custom image filter settings. Instead, I found an active online messenger. There was only one contact in the list. The display name read: Vivian. The status indicator said: Offline. My fingers began to tremble. Offline? This wasn’t an offline AI program. This was a real, live user account on an active network. I tapped on the chat history and call logs. There were daily voice calls lasting four to five hours, perfectly matching the exact times he spent locked in his study. I scrolled down. In a message sent a month ago, there was a photo of a street corner in some European city, accompanied by a voice note. I tapped play. A slightly raspy, aging woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Arthur, do you still remember the taste of those lemon lavender scones from the old bakery? I can’t find anything authentic in the shops over here.” It wasn’t a synthesized AI voice. It belonged to a real, breathing, sixty-something woman. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the glass coffee table. Vivian wasn’t dead. The woman who had supposedly drowned forty years ago, whose body was never recovered, was very much alive. She was living her life, and through this Mirage AR social app, she and Arthur had found each other again. Finally, I understood the true purpose of those black-rimmed glasses. It wasn’t just a filter to make me look younger. It was a real-time, interactive augmented reality communication device. When Arthur looked at me with those glasses, he wasn’t just superimposing Vivian’s youthful face onto my body; he was using me as a physical proxy while having a live, intimate roleplay with the real, aging Vivian across the ocean. I was nothing but a physical prop for their long-distance trysts. The front door clicked open. Arthur walked in, his eyes immediately landing on the phone on the coffee table, then on me. His face fell. He lunged forward in three quick strides and snatched the device. “Who gave you permission to touch my phone!” He shoved it into his pocket like a paranoid thief, his chest heaving. Looking at his panic-stricken face, I let out a sudden, mocking laugh. “What are you laughing at!” he barked, his voice cracking with defensive rage. “Arthur, Vivian never drowned forty years ago, did she?” The color drained from his face instantly, making those high-tech glasses look incredibly foolish. “What… what did you see?” he stammered. “I saw how you’ve spent the last forty years treating your wife like an absolute fool,” I said calmly. “Is life not going so well for her abroad? Is that why she suddenly remembered you exist?” He gritted his teeth, his jaw working for a long moment before he managed to spit out, “It’s none of your business.” “It wouldn’t be,” I nodded. “Except you’re using my pension to fund your little long-distance romance. That makes it very much my business.” I had seen the transactions in the app’s billing history. Every month, Arthur converted nearly twelve hundred dollars of our joint pension funds into the app’s tokens to send to her account. For years, he had been the one managing our finances. “That’s my money! I earned it, and I’ll spend it however I damn well please!” He finally ripped off his polite facade, revealing the raw selfishness beneath. “And don’t forget, my name is the only one on the deed of this house! If you don’t like it, you can pack your bags and get out!” He pointed a stiff finger toward the front door, his voice booming. He was absolutely sure I wouldn’t leave. A sixty-two-year-old woman with no independent income and no savings, in his eyes, I was a helpless dependent who had nowhere else to go. I stared at the man I had shared a bed with for four decades. The very last trace of affection I had for him dissolved into nothing but ash. “Fine,” I said quietly. “Just wait right here.” “For what?” he sneered. “If you’re going to apologize, don’t bother. It’s too late.” I walked into the kitchen, picked up the heavy meat cleaver from the chopping block, and walked back out. Arthur’s eyes went wide. He scrambled back two steps, his voice shaking. “Mary! Don’t do anything crazy! Murder is a life sentence!” Ignoring him, I walked over to the coffee table and slammed the cleaver down onto his most prized antique porcelain tea set. With a loud crash, the delicate cups and teapot shattered into a hundred pieces. “You’re insane!” he shrieked. I tossed the cleaver onto the sofa and brushed the dust from my hands. “Arthur, your former department is hosting your retirement gala the day after tomorrow.” I looked him dead in the eyes, speaking with absolute clarity. “I’ll see you at the party.” The day after tomorrow was Arthur’s sixty-fifth birthday, marked by a massive retirement celebration thrown by the engineering institute where he had worked his entire life. He had spent decades building his reputation there; he was a man of high standing, with a massive social circle. The gala was booked at the most luxurious hotel downtown, with over a hundred guests attending. Early that morning, he spent over an hour preening in front of the mirror, even using hair gel for the first time in years. He polished those black-rimmed glasses until they shone and slid them onto his nose. “Hurry up and get dressed,” he called out from the living room. “The Director is going to be there. Put on something decent.” I stepped out of the bedroom. I wasn’t wearing any of the cheap lace dresses he had bought to feed his fantasies, nor the white blouse. I wore a simple charcoal wool coat over a black turtleneck. It was elegant, understated, and perfectly appropriate for a woman of sixty-two. Arthur frowned. “It’s a celebration, Mary. Why are you dressed like you’re going to a funeral?” “If you don’t like it, you can always turn off your glasses,” I replied flatly. He choked on his words, glared at me, and shut his mouth. By the time we arrived at the hotel ballroom, most of the guests had already gathered, old colleagues, relatives, friends, as well as Lily and David. Everyone showered Arthur with compliments on how young he looked and praised us for our long, happy marriage. “Arthur, your greatest achievement in life wasn’t your research awards, it was marrying this wonderful woman!” Director Henderson laughed, patting Arthur on the shoulder. Arthur, wearing his glasses, beamed with pride. “You’re absolutely right, Director. Mary has been my rock through everything. I couldn’t have done any of it without her.” He turned to me, his eyes dripping with a sickening display of affection. I knew exactly what he was seeing through those lenses: a twenty-year-old Vivian in a white dress, smiling back at him. He was using this public tribute to me to declare his love to the dead girl in his eyes. Midway through the dinner, the massive projector screen lowered. This was Arthur’s grand surprise. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, taking the microphone as he walked up to the stage. “Today isn’t just my retirement; it also marks the fortieth anniversary of the day my wife and I first met.” A thunderous round of applause erupted. Lily was filming him excitedly on her phone. I sat at the head table, completely expressionless, watching his performance. “Forty years ago, I had nothing to my name. She stood by me through the hardest times of my life.” The screen began playing a slideshow. It was a series of landscape photos, interspersed with shots of us from behind, cooking, walking in the park. Oddly enough, every photo of me was either taken from the back or heavily blurred. There was only one clear photo of Arthur in his youth, with a long-haired, AI-generated silhouette superimposed beside him. “I know her greatest regret in life was that we never took a proper, beautiful photo together back then,” Arthur’s voice cracked, sounding choked with emotion. “So, with the help of some tech-savvy friends, I used the latest AI technology to recreate her voice and likeness from her youth. Consider this my special gift to her tonight.” The guests swooned, whispering about how romantic he was. My fingers tightened around my water glass. The screen flickered. From the ballroom speakers, a soft, youthful female voice echoed. “Arthur, congratulations on your retirement. You’ve worked so hard these past forty years. I will always love you.” The voice echoed throughout the hall. It was Vivian’s voice. It had been run through an AI filter to remove the age, restoring the bright, melodic tone of a twenty-something girl. Arthur stood on the stage, his eyes red. He closed them, completely lost in the delusion. In front of his family, his lifelong friends, and his colleagues, he was publicly broadcasting his first love’s voice, boldly claiming to everyone that it belonged to me. The room reached a fever pitch of sentimentality. His old buddies began shouting from their tables, “Come on, Arthur! Get your lady up on stage to say a few words!” Arthur opened his eyes and looked at me through those black frames. He extended his hand to me, like a gracious king granting an audience. “Mary, come on up.” I stood up. Every eye in the room followed me as I made my way to the stage. Arthur reached out to take my hand, but I smoothly stepped past him, walking straight to the microphone. The crowd wore warm, expectant smiles, waiting for a tearful response. I scanned the room. I saw the eager look in my daughter’s eyes, the nodding approval of his old boss. Finally, I turned to look my husband in the eye. “That isn’t my voice,” I said clearly into the microphone. The chatter in the grand ballroom died instantly. Arthur froze. The color began to slip from his face, and he muttered under his breath, “Mary, don’t do this now. It’s an AI recreation, of course it sounds a little different…” “It’s not just the voice,” I interrupted, raising my voice to carry over the speakers. “The silhouette on that screen isn’t me, either.” Whispers rippled through the audience. Beads of cold sweat broke out on Arthur’s forehead. He stepped forward, reaching desperately for the microphone. “You’ve had too much wine, dear. Come on, let’s get you sat down.” I shoved his hand away. “Arthur, who is standing on this stage in those high-tech glasses of yours right now?” I pointed a finger directly at his face, my voice as cold as winter stone. “It’s Vivian, isn’t it? The woman who supposedly drowned forty years ago?”

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I had to tag along to my brother’s business dinner. I never expected the man sitting across from us to be the city’s most ruthless billionaire heir. When I hesitantly raised my glass to toast him, he scoffed. Not once, not twice, but three times. Then, halfway through the night, someone brought up his mysterious, mute fiancée from the wrong side of the tracks. Gideon lazily raised his eyelids, his cold gaze sliding down the curve of my tight, custom designer dress. He let out another dark chuckle. “Why don’t you answer them? Is two years of playing mute still not enough for you?” 1 I was at a high-stakes business dinner. Sitting directly across from us was the massive client our family company was desperate to land. Dressed in a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit, his expression was colder than ice. This was Gideon, the legendary heir whose name dominated every financial headline. In our social circles, he was notorious for his mercurial temper and absolute ruthlessness in negotiations. Right now, his piercing gaze was locked onto me. The polite smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. His sheer presence suffocated the room. My brother, Christian, was still busy pitching me. “This is my little sister, Nicollette. I’m bringing her around to learn the ropes so she can eventually take over the family business.” The man across the table raised an eyebrow, slowly testing the weight of my name on his tongue. “Nicollette.” “The heiress of the Su empire?” He paused, letting out a dark, mocking laugh. “Fascinating.” I silently adjusted my hair, pulling the loose curls forward to shield my face as much as possible. Seeing me shrink back, Christian gave my shoulder a gentle nudge, his voice a low whisper. “Don’t just sit there with your head down. What are you hiding for? It’s your turn to toast him.” My stomach did a violent flip. I slowly forced myself to stand. When I raised my glass toward Gideon, my hand froze mid-air. The silence in the private dining room was deafening. Christian waited for me to speak, but when I remained frozen, he lost his patience and hissed under his breath, “What are you doing just holding your glass? Did you suddenly go mute? Say something!” He didn’t know the half of it. For two years, Gideon had genuinely believed I was mute. Even during our most passionate nights, when his hands would pin mine to the sheets, he would whisper with wicked amusement: Sweetheart, if it’s too much, just say the word and I’ll stop. Even when I was completely out of my mind with sensation, I had bitten my lip until it bled, refusing to make a single sound. Was it because I didn’t know how to speak? No. It was because I was absolutely terrified of what would happen if I did. My lips parted, and with agonizing effort, I managed to squeeze out a few quiet words. “Um, Mr. Gideon…” The moment the words left my mouth, the man across the table let out a sharp, frigid laugh. My heart sank into my chest. My cover was blown. “Mr. Gideon, it is a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to our future partnership.” “A pleasure to meet you?” Gideon repeated, his lips curling into a frigid, mocking smirk. “Right.” 2 I sank back into my seat, my fingers trembling as I unlocked my phone and immediately started searching for the earliest flight out of the state. I needed to run. Fast. Before I could even select a departure time, my brother’s voice drifted back into my ears, casually launching into another topic. “By the way, Gideon, rumor has it you’re getting married soon. When do we get to meet the lucky lady?” My eyelids twitched. Christian was literally digging his own sister’s grave. Gideon didn’t answer immediately. He slowly swirled the amber liquid in his glass. After a long, agonizing silence, he finally looked up. His icy gaze dragged slowly over the tight, provocative lines of my designer dress. He let out another cold laugh. “Why don’t you answer him? Is two years of playing mute still not enough for you?” The entire room went dead silent. Christian froze, his jaw practically hitting the table. He had absolutely no idea. According to the rumor mill, Gideon’s fiancée was a destitute, pitiful girl. Her brother was a degenerate gambler, her father was abusive, and her mother was terminally ill. She was a quiet, fragile mute whom the billionaire heir sheltered from the world out of sheer pity. He never could have guessed that his own pampered, billionaire sister was that very same girl. You have reached the end of the free preview. To unlock the next chapters and see Nicollette’s ultimate fate, please complete your payment to continue reading. 3 Although I had been pampered and spoiled by my family since childhood, Christian had warned me several times before I started dating. He gave me a strict list of men in our social circle whom I should never, under any circumstances, touch. Gideon was at the very top of that list. Not only did he have a notoriously volatile temper, but he was also rumored to be deeply obsessed with a tragic first love, a woman who had broken his heart and left the country. He was a walking red flag. But when I saw him at a high-society party two years ago, I was completely captivated. I was starstruck by the sheer, devastating beauty of him. Another woman had tried to throw herself at him, accidentally splashing red wine all over his chest. As the dark liquid dripped from the tips of his hair, sliding down his collarbone and over his sharply defined abs, Gideon had merely looked up with absolute indifference. His profile was as sharp as a carved statue. He slowly took a napkin to wipe his face, casually shedding his incredibly expensive jacket and tossing it into the trash. Every movement was slow, dripping with the effortless arrogance of a man born to rule. I had practically salivated on the spot. I couldn’t help but whisper to my best friend, “What do you think would happen if I took a little part-time job as his distraction?” My best friend, a classy, high-maintenance heiress, rolled her eyes with practiced grace. “Don’t tell me you want to humiliate yourself by acting as a substitute for his lost love. See that girl who spilled the wine? She fell in love, demanded a title instead of just cash, and got discarded in two months. That will be your fate.” I nodded thoughtfully. “Two months is a bit short. Two months isn’t enough time to really get a taste of him.” My friend stared at me, speechless. Before I set my sights on Gideon, I did try to spare my brother’s reputation. I went to great lengths to hide my identity. I used a fake name and created a completely fabricated background. Because my voice was somewhat distinctive and I was terrified of being recognized, I chose not to speak at all. I bought a VIP membership at the luxury hotel he frequented and spent two months pretending to be tipsy, waiting for the perfect moment. Finally, I staged a perfect, delicate collapse right into his arms as he walked through the door. He paused, his gaze lingering on my bare, makeup-free face. He caught me by the waist, a low chuckle escaping him as if he saw right through my little act. “You look a bit like her. Want to come with me?” I lowered my head with mock shyness, pulled out my phone, and typed on the screen: [Sure. My name is Felicity.] For two years, Gideon genuinely believed I was a mute girl named Felicity. And for two years, I assumed we were both just playing a mutually beneficial, temporary game. Until last month, when Gideon suddenly proposed. I was utterly blindsided. 4 I suspected Gideon might have suffered some sort of amnesia that made him forget his tragic first love. On the night he proposed, he was out drinking with his inner circle. I was sitting beside him, completely lost in thought as I stared at his jawline. Someone at the table casually mentioned a name. The atmosphere in the room immediately dropped. Someone muttered, “I heard she got engaged last month.” Gideon’s hand paused on his glass. He gave a quiet, indifferent shrug, then suddenly turned to look at me. He pinched my cheek with lazy amusement, waiting for me to snap out of my daze. “Let’s get married,” he said. My heart nearly stopped. Who? Married to who? This wasn’t part of the deal. I was supposed to be a temporary substitute, a pretty distraction. How did we get to marriage? I was terrified. That night in bed, I was trembling so violently that he noticed. He let out a low growl, murmuring, “Sweetheart, why are you so sensitive tonight? You’re soaking the sheets.” The moment the storm cleared and my body finally stopped shaking, I quietly gathered the scraps of my torn stockings from the floor, desperate to slip away before sunrise. “Damn it,” a low curse came from the shadows behind me. Gideon rarely swore, but before I could take a step, a heavy arm wrapped around my waist, dragging me back into the mattress. My freshly donned stockings were torn to shreds once again. Gideon never let women stay the night at his villa, but that night, he held me tightly against his chest until morning. I didn’t sleep a wink. I watched the sky slowly turn from gray to gold, my heart growing colder with every passing second. When he woke up, he gently ruffled my hair. “Pack your things and move in here. From now on, you live with me.” “And remember to bring your ID.” Gideon propped his chin on his hand, looking down at me with a rare, soft warmth in his eyes. “Felicity, I’ve had someone pick out a date. We’re getting married next month.” Hearing him call me by the fake name I’d used for two years made my stomach violently churn. I finally realized this wasn’t a game to him. Gideon was serious. 5 Gossip travels faster than light in our circle. My best friend messaged me the second she heard rumors of Gideon’s impending wedding. Are you out of your mind? I heard his first love got engaged last month. He’s obviously using you to spite her. If you actually marry him, you’re going to end up looking like a clown. I knew she was right, but my concern was far more practical. I was afraid of getting sued or worse. Gideon absolutely loathed being lied to. The second we stood in front of the clerk and he saw my real ID, I would be completely ruined. So, under the pretense of going back to my shack to retrieve my ID, I ran. I booked the earliest flight out of the state. As I boarded the plane, my heart was hammering against my ribs. Fortunately, I made it out. I figured that to a man of Gideon’s immense power, I was just a disposable toy. He didn’t even bother to verify my background during our two years together. Why would he waste his energy chasing me down when he could easily find another quiet girl to marry out of spite? Gideon’s family was based on the East Coast. My family was based on the West Coast. My name was fake, my identity was a lie. If I stayed away, we would never cross paths again. Even though I hadn’t quite had my fill of the gorgeous billionaire, I had enjoyed the ride. It was time to grow up, accept the business match my family had arranged, and learn to run the empire. 6 I just never expected we would meet again so soon, let alone in a corporate setting. Gideon’s company was based thousands of miles away, yet somehow, our family business had landed them as our primary client. “Why don’t you answer him? Is two years of playing mute still not enough for you?” Gideon’s voice snapped me back to reality. By the time he finished speaking, I had already made it to the door of the private dining suite. I turned around to face the stunned stares of the entire room, including my brother’s pale face. I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to use the restroom.” I tried to make a run for it. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, two of Gideon’s massive bodyguards blocked my path. We stared at each other in a tense standoff. Finally, one of them cleared his throat politely. “Miss, there is a private restroom inside the suite.” I slowly marched back inside and took my seat. A second later, Christian let out a harsh, freezing laugh. Across the table, Gideon echoed him with an equally chilling chuckle. I sat there, frozen. Were they trying to harmonize their anger? After a few minutes of agonizing tension, Christian stood up. “I have an urgent matter to attend to. I must excuse myself.” Gideon rose smoothly. “I also have some business to take care of. I’ll head out as well.” I quickly chimed in, “Oh, I’m fine. I’ll just sit here for a bit longer.” Christian grabbed my arm, practically hauling me out of my chair. “Ow, ow! Lighten up on the grip, Christian!” “Oh, now you know what pain feels like?” Christian sneered, dragging me out of the suite and shoving me right in front of Gideon, who was waiting by his sleek sedan. “My sister has been spoiled rotten since she was a kid. For the sake of our families’ business relationship, deal with this quietly. I’ll be back to pick her up in an hour.” 7 The second Christian’s car pulled away, Gideon pinned me against the door of his sedan and kissed me. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and possessive, stealing the breath straight from my lungs. I thought he was overreacting. Sure, I was beautiful, but did he really have to be this intense the moment we reunited? When he finally let me go, there was no explosive anger, no furious demands about my lies. He gently pressed his thumb against my swollen lower lip, his eyes dark and swirling with unspoken emotion. “You lied to me. But why did you run?” “Um,” I muttered, looking anywhere but at him. “I heard your family already arranged a fiancé for you last year,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t tell me you never actually planned on marrying me.” “Well,” I squeaked. “Finding you was exhausting. Next time you decide to run, at least don’t block my number, okay?” “Oh,” I said. He tilted my chin up, a warning edge to his smile. “If you keep giving me these lazy, one-word answers, I won’t hesitate to show you exactly what we can do in the back of this car.” I shut my mouth immediately. We were out in public, for heaven’s sake. But looking up at him, under the silver glow of the streetlights, I felt a familiar, dangerous flutter in my chest. He had chased me down. He hated being deceived, yet he had forgiven my massive web of lies without a second thought. Over the past two years, his tenderness and absolute devotion had been real. I had tried so hard to keep my guard up, but looking at his face now, I felt myself slipping. It wasn’t just a physical craving anymore. I was genuinely falling for him.

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The gloomy, poverty-stricken girl in our class received an anonymous love letter. Everyone whispered that the handwriting belonged to me. I was just about to deny it when floating comments suddenly flashed across my vision. [Here we go! The female lead gets healed by a love letter during her school days, gets into MIT, and eventually becomes the richest tech billionaire in San Francisco.] [It takes her years to find out the male lead wrote it, and she falls madly in love.] [Ugh, why is the annoying side character getting involved? He doesn’t even know how badly he’s going to get destroyed later.] Wait. MIT? I immediately stepped forward and nodded. “That is right. I wrote it. To be honest, I have had a massive crush on you for a long time.” The moment those words left my mouth, the entire classroom went dead silent. Hazel Brooks was known for her dark, unapproachable aura. She always hid behind thick black frames and a heavy, suffocating fringe, isolating herself in the very last row. No one usually dared to speak to her. When people saw her holding the pink envelope, a wave of teasing and jeering had erupted. No one wanted to claim the letter. After all, associating with the social outcast meant you would become an outcast yourself. Just as Hazel was being mocked, with people sneering that the letter was a cruel prank, those weird floating comments had appeared. I did not care about the gibberish they were spouting. I only saw three letters. M. I. T. 1 Hazel stared at me unblinkingly. Her irises were pitch black, the whites of her eyes showing just a bit too much beneath them. When her face lacked expression, she looked genuinely intimidating. Her tone was thick with suspicion. “You wrote this?” “Yeah. That is totally my handwriting.” Whoever actually wrote the letter clearly wanted to stay hidden. They had used rigid, blocky print, every letter perfectly squared off. I took calligraphy classes when I was a kid, so I was used to writing in precise block letters too. [Oh my god, the evil side character is making his move! So shameless, stealing the male lead’s credit.] [Whatever. Once his lies are exposed, the main couple will crush him so hard he will have to flee the state.] I am the evil side character? How evil could I possibly be? I just wanted to get into a good college. Come on. We are talking about MIT here. If this future billionaire could drag my grades up to Ivy League standards, my parents would probably build a statue of me in our hometown square. I propped my chin on my hands, sitting right in front of her desk, my eyes practically sparkling. “So, Hazel. I have liked you for ages. Want to give us a try?” “I am not interested in dating.” She casually slid the letter back across the desk, lowering her head to stare intensely at her AP Calculus worksheet. The classroom erupted in a chorus of mocking “oohs” and laughter. I could not care less. Not interested in dating? That just meant she was not saying a flat out no to me. Yep, us evil side characters are just built with this kind of blind confidence. Since my secret crush angle failed, I decided to go all out. I started delivering breakfast to Hazel’s desk every single morning. Usually, to save money, she only drank a cheap carton of soy milk. I brought her something different every day. Fresh bagels, warm lattes, toasted paninis. She would look at me with helpless frustration, but she hated wasting food too much to throw it away, so she always accepted it. During a passing period, she brushed past me in the hall. “Stop bringing me food. I have nothing to give you in return.” “I do not need anything back. I like you. I just want to treat you right.” “…” She furrowed her brows and walked away quickly. But the tips of her ears were flushed pink, just like a rabbit. After school, I trailed behind Hazel, clutching the love letter I had supposedly written. The floating comments were going wild, cursing me for being a shameless creep harassing the female lead. I pretended I was blind. Pride was not going to get me an acceptance letter. I kept pestering her, asking about her favorite foods, her hobbies, her favorite colors. “Hey Hazel, I wrote you another letter. Want to read it?” She ignored me. Finally, annoyed to her breaking point, she stopped and glared at me. “Rowan Pierce, what exactly do you even like about me?” “I like that you are insanely smart.” She lowered her eyes. The fire left them, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. “My family is broke. My parents are gone. My grandmother is sick. Being with me is nothing but a burden. I do not have the time or energy to play these stupid games with you. Just go home.” “I do not care about any of that. You did not choose your background.” The things you are born with do not define the places you will go. A sudden, sharp light flickered in Hazel’s usually dead eyes. She stayed quiet for a long time. I thought I had pushed too far and made her mad. “Look, if you really hate the idea, that is fine. I will just…” come back and ask tomorrow. Before I could finish the sentence, Hazel snatched the letter right out of my hand. “I will think about it. Stop writing these stupid letters and focus on your grades.” I immediately leaned in closer, grinning like an idiot. “Does that mean you are going to tutor me?” Hazel looked visibly uncomfortable under my intense stare and turned her face away. “Yeah.” Gym class. The volleyball net was set up, but one team was short a player. Hazel stepped onto the court. I rarely saw her participate in anything involving other breathing humans. But once she was in the game, she was fiercely focused, serving three consecutive aces. As she jumped for a spike and landed, the wind caught the hem of her gym shirt, lifting it slightly. I caught a glimpse of her waist. Pale as moonlight. And incredibly narrow. Her team won. I immediately jogged over to hand her an iced water bottle. The guys around us started whistling. The team captain laughed. “Give it a rest, Rowan. She already rejected you. Stop being a simp.” One of the guys smirked. “Hey, persistence breaks down resistance. Let the man work.” Hazel took the water, completely ignoring their noise. Instead, she fixed her dark eyes on me. “Did you finish memorizing the vocabulary list?” “…” 2 Yeah. She had basically become my drill sergeant. She micromanaged everything, from my overall syllabus down to exactly how many practice equations I needed to finish during a five minute break. “Almost. I got a little distracted watching you play.” “I was only on the court for fifteen minutes. Who were you staring at for the other thirty?” Hazel looked down at me, her gaze unblinking and heavy. The pressure radiating from her was intense. I actually had not been looking at anyone. I was just zoning out on the bleachers. But somehow, it felt like she was jealous. “Are you mad?” “No.” She looked down and took a sip of water. I let a smirk tug at the corner of my mouth and deliberately leaned in close to her ear. “Hazel, I found another thing I like about you. Your skin is really soft, and your waist is gorgeous.” “If I break into the top twenty on the next mock exam, can I put my arm around it?” “Cough, cough… You…” she choked on her water. “Going to study my vocab now!” I laughed and bolted toward the shade of the bleachers. When I glanced back, her entire face was burning red. Teasing Hazel was just too easy. When we were studying side by side in the library, if my knee accidentally brushed against her leg under the table, she would blush furiously. When the mock exam results came out, I actually made it into the top twenty of our class. I immediately went to claim my prize. She refused to look at me, her cheeks flushed. “You were not specific enough. I assumed you meant the top twenty in the entire school.” I pouted. Guess I was not getting that hug anytime soon. Hazel was a strict taskmaster. If I did not finish my assignments, she would coldly demand I redo everything from scratch. She constantly calculated the gap between my current GPA and MIT’s admission requirements, pushing me relentlessly. Honestly, she acted like we were already a couple planning to move to Boston together. One night at the library, I stayed up so late I passed out right on the desk. I had a dream. In it, I saw Hazel standing next to another guy. She had found out I was a fraud who stole someone else’s love letter. She was a ruthless, untouchable CEO, using her power to blacklist me from every job in the city. I was driven to total despair. I jolted awake in a cold sweat. Hazel was sitting perfectly straight beside me, meticulously grading my practice test. She had single handedly dragged my math scores from the gutter to the top tier. She finished marking the last page and her frown relaxed slightly. “Not bad. You only messed up one of the long form questions.” “Do I get a reward for that?” I was still shaken by the nightmare and desperately needed some comfort. She suddenly stammered. “W-what kind of reward do you want?” “Something I do not usually get.” Hazel pressed her lips together, glancing nervously around the quiet library, the tips of her ears glowing pink. “There are too many people here.” “Who cares if there are people?” “You…” She hesitated, her fingers nervously hovering over the hem of her shirt. I stood up and started packing my bag. “Since I am improving, my reward is going home early. I have not had a full night of sleep in weeks.” She looked at me, bewildered. “That is the reward you wanted?” “Yeah.” “Oh.” Hazel lowered her head, looking weirdly disappointed. Under Hazel’s iron fist, my grades skyrocketed. The whispers mocking me slowly died out. People were shocked by my academic comeback, but they were even more shocked that the gloomy outcast was actually giving me the time of day. They did not understand the power of bribery. Over the past year, I had spent every single cent of my allowance buying Hazel premium food. Her face was finally losing that sickly, sunken look. When the finals finally hit, I performed completely out of my mind. The night of the senior class graduation dinner, I bought a gift. I wanted to thank her properly for dragging me out of the academic trenches. But I waited until the restaurant closed. Hazel never showed up. I was just about to call her when the floating text exploded across my vision. [Oh wow! The female lead met the true male lead at her summer job! Yes!] [He is so gorgeous. Way better than that annoying side character. Can the side character just vanish already?] [The chemistry is insane! They are going to fall in love while working together!] I slowly locked my screen. I looked down at the gift box in my hands. Inside was a brand new smartphone. Guess she would not be needing it. 3 I had tested the waters with Hazel before, asking her in a half joking tone. “So, Hazel. Have you thought about making it official? When are you going to accept my confession?” Whenever I asked, she would just lower her head and stay perfectly silent. No response is a response. I scrolled through our chat history. Just yesterday, we had been estimating our final test scores together. I typed out one final message. [Hazel, thank you for everything you did for me this year.] Then, I blocked her number. She was never going to like me anyway. As the designated evil side character, it was best I got out of the way before I became a stepping stone. Miraculously, I actually got the acceptance letter from MIT. The day the email arrived, my dad practically threw a parade down our street. The class group chat was blowing up with notifications. Hazel had gotten in too. But she never sent a single message in the chat. She was probably too busy falling for the actual male protagonist. I racked up a ton of cash from relatives over the summer. When fall arrived, I strutted onto campus with a top tier laptop and the latest phone. Freshman Orientation Week. The late summer sun was baking my face, but I spotted Hazel instantly in the crowd of the neighboring group. She was tall, her skin porcelain bright, her features delicate and striking. She was impossible to ignore. She looked so much better than in high school. She must have switched to contact lenses. Without those ugly frames, her cold, beautiful face was fully on display. Her gaze was still intense and slightly dark, like a dangerous heroine from a comic book. I guess meeting the right guy really changes a person. Lunch break. Everyone flooded the dining halls. A tall, incredibly handsome guy walked over to greet Hazel. They chatted and laughed naturally. I noticed they were holding matching water bottles. That had to be him. Liam Crawford. The male lead from the comments. He was undeniably good looking, built like an athlete, and carried himself with effortless confidence. Suddenly, Hazel’s eyes locked onto mine across the quad. I froze, caught off guard, debating whether I should wave or pretend I did not see her. She had already looked away, turning back to Liam as they walked off together. It was like I was a complete stranger. Had she already figured out I lied about the letter? My heart pounded against my ribs, leaving a suffocating, heavy feeling in my chest. That night, the orientation groups merged around a massive bonfire. We all sat in a giant circle facing each other. Just my luck. Hazel was sitting diagonally across from me. We were playing a ruthless game of Truth or Dare. When the bottle pointed at Hazel, she chose Truth. The guys around her instantly started howling, pressuring the group leader to ask the ultimate question. “Do you have a boyfriend?” Hazel stayed quiet for a moment. “Yes.” She said it with absolute certainty. She never even glanced in my direction. A sharp ache pierced my chest, swelling uncomfortably. A collective groan of disappointment echoed from the guys. The dude sitting behind me muttered, “Of course the pretty ones are always taken.” Yeah. She is the literal protagonist of this world. NPCs like us just need to stay in our lanes. The floating comments were screaming again, theorizing that Hazel had secretly fallen for Liam during their summer job and waiting for the grand reveal. Had Liam still not confessed to writing the letter? My stomach churned in panic. Should I just confess and get it over with? Suddenly, the music stopped. I was holding the dreaded hot potato. I had lost. I chose Dare. The challenge: Pick a girl in the circle and make her blush. That was actually pretty easy. I scanned the crowd. I barely knew anyone here. And I definitely could not ask Hazel for help. She would just stare a hole through me. As I debated my options, I caught Hazel quietly looking at me, a strange light flickering in her dark eyes. I pointed randomly in her general direction. “I pick her. Is that cool?” The leader nodded. “Go for it.” Hazel shifted, preparing to stand up, but a senior girl suddenly stepped in front of her. “Rowan, looks like you need an expert.” Linda smiled, leaning in close. She was the very first person I met on campus. She had helped me carry my luggage on move in day. She was aggressively friendly, mostly because she was obsessed with recruiting me for the Debate Team. I had turned her down repeatedly. I could not even win an argument with a wall. Linda stood right in front of me, tilting her head with a challenging smirk. “Let us see what you have got, freshman. Make me blush.” I thought about it. How did I make Hazel blush back then? Right. Her ears were hyper sensitive. I deliberately stepped into Linda’s space, lowering my head so my lips were right next to her ear, and dropped my voice to a whisper. 4 “Linda, I am taller than you. With that loose top, I can see straight down.” The very next second, Linda gasped, slapped a hand over her chest, and her face turned the color of a stop sign. Gotcha. Honestly, the tank top she was wearing was skin tight. Even from a high angle, there was absolutely nothing to see. It was entirely covered. It was just a cheap, slightly sleazy bluff. I felt a little guilty. It was a trashy joke, but she was the one who wouldn’t leave me alone… whatever, I would apologize to her properly later. The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, everyone dying to know what I whispered. I played mysterious and kept my mouth shut. Halfway through the night, I slipped away to use the restroom. The portable toilets near the edge of the athletic field were pitch black and creepy. I finished up as fast as humanly possible. As I stepped out, a shadow detached itself from the trees. “Linda, seriously, could you please stop…” trying to recruit me. Before I could finish, I realized it was Hazel. Her naturally intense face was currently dark as a thunderstorm. I instinctively tried to step around her to escape. Hazel blocked my path, her voice dripping with ice. “Rowan Pierce. Have you decided to move on to your next target?” 5 The night breeze had a sharp bite to it, rustling the leaves in the dark grove next to the field. Hazel stood right in front of me. Even dressed in an oversized orientation t-shirt, she carried an aura of cold, untouchable elegance. She looked up at me, her dark eyes churning with a storm of emotions I could not decipher. My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively took a step back. “Hazel, what are you talking about? I do not get it.” I let out an awkward, dry laugh, trying to play it off. “Next target? We are all just classmates. It was just a game.” “A game?” Hazel took a step forward. Despite her smaller frame, it felt like she was casting a massive, terrifying shadow over me. “Rowan. The second finals ended, you blocked my number on everything. Is this what you meant when you said you had a massive crush on me?” She gritted her teeth, her voice dropping dangerously low, laced with a vulnerability she tried hard to hide. I shifted my eyes guiltily. Taking credit for that letter was a massive jerk move. Now that the real main character, Liam, was in the picture, if I did not back off gracefully, this future billionaire could ruin my life with a snap of her fingers. “Look… Hazel. I just thought I had bothered you enough during senior year. We are in college now. We should start fresh.” I took a deep breath, deciding to rip the bandage off. “Besides, did you not just tell everyone you have a boyfriend? It would be weird if I kept following you around.” Hearing the word “boyfriend,” Hazel froze. The dangerous storm in her eyes slowly dissolved, replaced by a look of sheer, baffled exhaustion. “Rowan, are you actually an idiot?” She raised her hand, looking like she wanted to aggressively poke me in the forehead. But halfway there, she stopped herself, her hand dropping to her side and curling into a tight fist. “When I said I have a boyfriend, I was talking about—” “Hazel!” A bright, cheerful voice sliced through the tension. I turned my head to see Liam jogging toward us, waving a bottle of water. “The orientation leader was looking for you! He needs you to double check the attendance sheet.” Liam stopped beside her. When he noticed me, he paused for a second before flashing a perfect, friendly smile. “Hey man, you must be Rowan, right? Hazel talks about you all the time.” My brain short circuited. Hazel talks about me? What did she say? Did she tell him how a shameless fraud harassed her for an entire year? [Here it comes! The main character and the side character face off!] [The male lead is so sweet and mature. The side character must be sweating bullets right now.] [Hazel was definitely complaining to him about how annoying Rowan is. Lol.] The comments were floating across my vision again. I swallowed hard and forced a stiff smile. “I will let you guys talk. I am going back to the dorm.” Without daring to look at Hazel’s face, I turned and practically sprinted away. That night, I had nightmares until the sun came up. I dreamed of Hazel wearing a sharp, tailored black suit, looking at me with absolute zero warmth, telling her security to throw me out on the street. Liam stood right beside her, smiling his perfect smile. I woke up drenched in cold sweat. MIT is great, but staying alive is better. I made a vow. Starting today, I was staying miles away from Hazel Brooks. My schedule was packed, and since I was actively dodging her, I managed to avoid her completely for days. Until Friday’s massive lecture class. The auditorium was packed. I finally found an empty seat in a dark corner in the back row. The second I sat down, a shadow fell over the empty desk beside me. I turned my head. Hazel was casually taking the seat, completely ignoring the stares of the guys around us. In her hands, she was holding my favorite water bottle. The one I accidentally left in the dining hall that morning.

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A passerby’s blurry cellphone video just nuked the internet. In the clip, Cole Hudson, a B-list actor famous for being universally hated, snatches a massive stick of cotton candy right out of a little boy’s hands. Right in front of the kid’s face, he takes a huge bite. The boy unleashes a deafening, heartbroken shriek. Cole doesn’t even blink. The entire internet is screaming for me to be canceled and permanently blacklisted. Then, a gossip blog digs up the kid’s identity. He is the only son of Sloane Sinclair, the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Sinclair Group. The public consensus is unanimous. I am completely, utterly dead. But there is one tiny detail nobody knows. That screaming kid calls me Dad. I bought that cotton candy with my own fifteen bucks. The kid just had two cavities filled and the dentist banned him from sugar. Was I really in the wrong here? 1 My name is Cole Hudson. I am a B-list actor with a bizarrely toxic reputation. I trend on social media every other week, and it is almost never for a good reason. The last time I trended, I sneezed at an award show and accidentally sprayed the back of an A-list actress’s head. The time before that, my belt snapped right in the middle of a movie premiere. My manager, Marty, says my astrological chart is permanently cursed. He strongly advised me to start wearing a paper bag over my head in public. I told him to wear a paper bag. But I never in a million years expected this latest trending topic to be more explosive than the last two combined. Here is what actually happened. Saturday afternoon, Sloane had a board meeting. I picked up our son Finn from pre-K. On the walk home, he demanded cotton candy. I said absolutely not. You just got two cavities filled last week, and the dentist said no sweets for a month. Finn refused to accept that reality. When a four-year-old boy decides to rebel, his destructive power rivals a tactical nuke. First, his lower lip quivered. Then, his big eyes welled up with tears. Finally, his mouth stretched wide open. The dramatic wail took exactly zero point three seconds to detonate. “Daaaaad! I want to eat the cotton caaaaaandy!” The acoustic blast radius was easily fifty yards. An old guy selling pretzels on the corner turned around and glared at me. His eyes clearly spelled out the word “Monster”. I crouched down and tried to reason with the tiny terrorist. “Finn, do your teeth hurt?” “No!” “Who was crying in the dentist’s chair last time?” “…” “Was it you?” He stopped talking. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and glared at me. He has his mother’s eyes. It was the exact same icy glare his mother uses to win boardroom negotiations. But I am Cole Hudson. That trick doesn’t work on me. I have been a father for four years. I am completely immune to that look. “No means no.” I grabbed his little hand and dragged him forward. We passed right by the cotton candy cart. Finn planted his sneakers into the concrete like tree roots. “Dad.” “Walk.” “Dad!” “Walk!” Then, this little brat executed a flawless heist. While I was distracted, he reached into my coat pocket, pulled out my wallet, slipped out a twenty-dollar bill, and handed it directly to the vendor. “Mister, I want the biggest one.” Four years old. My own flesh and blood. Four years old, and he already knows how to buy things. With my money. Before I could stop the transaction, the vendor was already spinning the sugar. I watched that neon-pink cloud of sugar get bigger and bigger, and my blood pressure spiked right along with it. When the vendor handed it to Finn, the thing was bigger than his entire head. He hugged the massive pink cloud and flashed me a bright, triumphant, incredibly punchable smile. I took a slow, deep breath. Then I snatched the cotton candy right out of his hands and took a massive, savage bite out of the top. “You said I couldn’t eat it!” Finn’s smile shattered instantly. “I said you couldn’t eat it.” I chewed the sticky pink sugar aggressively. “I never said I couldn’t eat it.” “You” He froze in pure shock for two seconds. Then he started bawling his eyes out. The sound was tragic, devastating, and pierced right through the eardrums. I swear on my life, every single pedestrian within a three-block radius stopped to stare at me. Picture this. Me, Cole Hudson, six-foot-one, wearing a black mask and sunglasses, ripping a giant cotton candy away from a sobbing toddler and eating it myself. Visually, it was not a great look. But I had no idea someone was recording it. And I definitely had no idea that two hours later, that blurry footage would hit the number one spot on the trending page. The headline read: “SHOCKING! Toxic Actor Cole Hudson Steals Cotton Candy From Innocent Child on the Street! Toddler Devastated!” The thumbnail was a freeze-frame of me taking that aggressive bite. The angle was terrible. I looked like a comic book villain. You couldn’t tell it was a father disciplining his stubborn kid. It just looked like a grown man bullying a helpless child. My phone vibrated. It was Marty. I answered it. “Marty.” “Cole, you listen to me right now.” Marty’s voice was physically shaking. “Did you or did you not rob a child of their cotton candy on a public sidewalk?” “It wasn’t a robbery, it was my s” “Number one trending topic!!!” Marty’s voice shrieked, jumping an entire octave. “You are number one! Two hundred million views! Your broken belt only got eighty million! You doubled it! Are you happy now!” “…” “Say something!” “Are you done yelling?” “No! The comment section is a warzone! Verified influencers are quoting it! Child advocacy groups are releasing statements! You are going to be on CNN tomorrow morning!” I looked down at Finn. He had already stopped crying. He was squatting by the curb watching a line of ants, his cheeks coated in pink sugar dust. He had secretly licked the cotton candy while I wasn’t looking. This kid’s acting skills are way better than mine. “Marty, calm down.” “How the hell am I supposed to calm down! Get your ass back to the agency right now. We need a crisis plan!” “What crisis plan? I ate my kid’s cotton candy. Is that a federal crime?” “It is not a crime, but you just pissed off the entire internet! You can’t even tell it is your kid in the video! Everyone just sees a grown man terrorizing a toddler!” “So I’ll just explain it. Problem solved.” Marty went dead silent for three seconds. “Explain? How exactly are you going to explain? You are going to tell the world that is your son? You are married? Who the hell are you married to?” I went silent too. Right. I am married. But the world doesn’t know. Because my wife is Sloane Sinclair. The Sinclair Group. The three-hundred-billion-dollar corporate empire. Sloane Sinclair is the CEO. When we got married, we signed a brutal non-disclosure agreement. Neither of us was allowed to publicly announce the marriage. Her reasoning: It would cause unnecessary fluctuations in the stock market. My reasoning: It would alienate my fanbase. Looking back now, my reasoning was pure delusion. What fanbase? “Alright, I get it. I will figure something out.” I hung up the phone. Finn looked up at me. “Dad, an ant bit me.” “Karma.” “You are karma. You stole my cotton candy.” “I bought it with my money.” “Mom gave you that money.” I opened my mouth to argue. I had no counterargument. 2 When we got home, I opened my social media app. The hashtag wasn’t just number one anymore. It had a blood-red “Explosive” tag next to it. The comments underneath the video made my skin crawl. “What kind of trash human steals food from a little kid?” “Isn’t this the guy whose belt snapped on the red carpet? His morals are as loose as his pants.” “The poor baby is crying so hard and he is just chewing it! Get this psycho out of Hollywood permanently!” “Cole Hudson needs to be blacklisted!” “Can we please tag Child Protective Services to look into this?” I scrolled for five straight minutes and didn’t find a single positive comment. Not one. Even the moderate takes like “Maybe there is context we are missing” were downvoted straight to hell. Marty texted me a draft for an official PR statement: “Cole Hudson Studio Official Statement: The circulating video is a severe misunderstanding. Mr. Hudson is a family friend of the child. Due to the child’s recent medical restrictions regarding sugar, Mr. Hudson intervened out of concern for the child’s health…” I read it once and texted back two words: “Too fake.” Marty: “Then what do you want to do?” I thought about it for a second, then opened my own official account. I have 3.2 million followers, and at least half of them are dedicated haters. I drafted a new post: “The spun sugar was actually pretty sweet.” I attached a photo I took of the massive pink cotton candy with a huge bite taken out of it. Send. Three seconds later, my phone started ringing. It was Marty. “COLE!!! What the hell did you just post!!!” “The truth.” “You” I heard a heavy, wheezing sound through the speaker. I genuinely thought Marty was reaching for an oxygen tank. “You just poured gasoline on a raging house fire!” “I didn’t lie. It was actually really sweet.” “You…” Marty let out a sound like a dying animal. “Just wait. Your comments are about to implode.” He was right. Within five minutes, the post hit a hundred thousand comments. “Is this guy completely mental???” “Who is he trying to provoke?” “Getting canceled and still acting arrogant. That is a new low.” “Cole Hudson: I didn’t just steal it, I enjoyed it. Come at me, bro.” “Hold up… why is this actually kind of hilarious?” That last comment got eighty thousand likes. Then the vibe in the comment section started to shift. People started turning it into a meme. “Cole ‘The Candy Snatcher’ Hudson.” “This man robbed a toddler, refused to apologize, and posted a review of the stolen goods. Honestly, respect the villain arc.” “We are the clowns here. He literally does not care.” “Help, why do I think he is kind of cool for this…” The comments went from pure, unfiltered hatred to a solid seventy-thirty split. Thirty percent were still cursing my name, but seventy percent were just there for the chaos. Marty called back. He sounded slightly calmer. “Did you do that on purpose?” “Do what?” “That post. Was that calculated?” I tossed Finn’s muddy socks into the washing machine, pinning the phone to my ear with my shoulder. “Yeah.” It wasn’t. I honestly just thought the cotton candy tasted good and wanted to put it on my private story, but my thumb slipped and posted it to my public feed. But I couldn’t let Marty know that. It was better if he thought I was an evil PR genius. “Alright,” Marty sighed heavily. “You muddied the waters for now. But this isn’t over. Jace Montgomery is making his move.” My hand stopped on the washing machine dial. Jace Montgomery. A clout-chasing pop idol signed to my agency. He has a face that looks like it was generated by AI and the acting skills of a wooden plank. But he has millions of rabid teenage fans and a ruthless marketing team. He has hated my guts for a year. The reason is simple. He was supposed to get the lead role in a major streaming series, but the director saw my audition and gave me the part instead. He has been gunning for me ever since. “What is he doing?” “He quote-tweeted the video of you and the kid. His caption says, ‘My heart breaks for this little guy. I hope the people involved can give the public a proper explanation.’” “…” “Now his fan army is trending the hashtag ‘Jace Montgomery Spreads Positivity’. They are stepping on your neck to make him look like a saint. The engagement numbers are insane.” I let out a dark laugh. That is a textbook maneuver. Using my cancellation to boost his own public image. Flawless execution. “Also,” Marty lowered his voice to a whisper. “The agency is holding an emergency meeting tomorrow morning. Arthur’s direct order is that you issue a public, groveling apology.” “Apologize for what?” “You” “I ate my own kid’s cotton candy. Who am I apologizing to? The American people? Am I supposed to write a formal apology to the sugar?” “You can’t tell them it’s your kid!” “I know.” “Then you have to apologize.” “No.” “Cole!” “I said no.” I hung up. Finn trotted out of his bedroom holding a piece of construction paper. “Dad, look. I drew you.” I took the paper. It was a stick figure with a massive circle for a head, holding a scribbled pink blob. Underneath it, in messy, jagged letters, were two words: Bad Dad. “Who taught you how to spell that?” “Mom.” I went silent. Unbelievable. A coordinated strike from my own family. 3 By the next morning, the situation had escalated to a catastrophic level. A major pop-culture blog dropped a massive article. The headline read: EXCLUSIVE: Identity of the Child Robbed by Cole Hudson Revealed. I clicked the link, and my soul left my body. “Multiple inside sources confirm the young boy in the viral video is the son of Sloane Sinclair, CEO of the Sinclair Group. The conglomerate controls major assets in real estate, finance, and tech, boasting a valuation of over three hundred billion dollars. Insiders report Sloane is fiercely protective of her only child and has never allowed media exposure. Cole Hudson has effectively signed his own death warrant.” The comment section immediately turned into a digital funeral service. “He is dead. He is actually, literally dead.” “Boys, Cole doesn’t just want out of Hollywood. He wants a VIP ticket to the morgue.” “The Sinclair Group??? THAT Sinclair Group??? And he stole her kid’s food???” “Cole Hudson: Other celebs get canceled. I get erased from existence.” “Honestly, if Sloane Sinclair makes one phone call, Cole’s entire talent agency will be liquidated by lunch.” “Someone set up a GoFundMe for Cole’s casket.” I was reading these comments while eating breakfast. Finn was sitting across the kitchen island, furiously stirring his oatmeal like a cement mixer. “Dad, why are you smiling at your phone?” “I’m looking at your mother.” “Mom is inside the phone?” “Yeah. The internet is basically worshipping her right now.” Right on cue, my phone rang. It was Sloane. I answered it and put it on speaker. “I saw the trending page,” she said. Her voice was perfectly calm, using the exact same tone she uses to close corporate mergers. “Yeah.” “Fascinating.” “You think this is fascinating?” “They said you signed your own death warrant.” “…” “Technically, you just extracted a cavity. The one your son got filled last week.” “Can you please not make jokes right now?” “I’m not joking.” She paused. “What is your PR team planning to do?” “The agency wants me to issue a public apology.” “And you don’t plan on apologizing.” “Obviously. Why the hell would I apologize?” “Alright. Then I will back your play.” “How are you going to do that?” “I’ll have my legal department issue a press release.” “What kind of press release?” “The Sinclair Group is aware of the incident and will reserve the right to pursue full legal action against the individual involved.” I choked on my coffee. “You call that backing my play?” “Yes.” “You are nailing the lid of my coffin shut!” “I think the comment section is going to be highly entertaining.” “Sloane.” “Yes?” “Do you actually enjoy watching the entire internet cyberbully your husband?” The line went dead quiet for two seconds. Then she said, “A little bit.” I hung up the phone. Finn looked up at me. “Dad, your face is really red.” “Eat your oatmeal.” Two hours later, the official corporate account for the Sinclair Group dropped a statement: “The Sinclair Group is aware of the viral video involving the son of our CEO. Our legal team has been dispatched to investigate the matter and will pursue all available legal action against the offending party. The public can rest assured that the Sinclair Group has the absolute capability and obligation to protect the rights of our family members.” The internet exploded. “It is happening! The coffin is sealed!” “Cole Hudson: ‘Wait guys let me explain.’ Sinclair Legal: ‘See you in court, buddy.’” “The Sinclair Legal Department has fifty elite corporate lawyers. Mobilizing them to destroy a B-list actor is the wildest overkill I have ever seen.” “Cole, run for the border. It is your only hope.” “Guys, his social media accounts are still active. He is currently still breathing. Let’s observe.” I held my phone and texted Sloane. “If you ‘help’ me one more time, my career is actually over.” Sloane texted back an emoji. A smiley face. That cold, corporate, customer-service smile that radiates three parts polite warmth and seven parts murderous intent. I suddenly realized a hard truth. The biggest mistake of my life wasn’t snatching that cotton candy. It was marrying Sloane Sinclair. 4 2:00 PM. The agency conference room. Marty grabbed my arm outside the glass doors, whispering frantically. “Don’t lose your temper in there. Arthur is in a terrible mood.” “When do I ever lose my temper?” “You lost your temper three days ago.” “When?” “When you posted that the cotton candy was sweet.” “That wasn’t losing my temper. That was stating a culinary fact.” Marty’s left eye twitched violently. I pushed the glass doors open and walked in. There were about eight people sitting around the long mahogany table. Arthur, the head of the agency, sat at the head of the table. He looked furious. Brenda, the PR Director, had deep black circles under her eyes. She clearly hadn’t slept a wink. And then there was Jace Montgomery. He was sitting quietly in the corner, wearing a crisp white button-down shirt. He looked pristine, polished, and wore a sickeningly perfect smile. When he saw me, he gave a polite little nod. “Hey, Cole.” His tone was steady and smooth. It carried three parts fake sympathy and seven parts pure satisfaction. I ignored him. “Sit down,” Arthur barked. “You know the situation. The hashtag hasn’t dropped from the top spot. Total views just passed 1.5 billion. Do you understand what that means? The last time a hashtag broke a billion, a global pop star got married. You are a B-list actor who stole a piece of candy, and your traffic eclipsed a royal wedding. You are an absolute piece of work, Cole.” “Arthur” “I talk, then you talk.” Arthur slammed his hand on the table. “The brand sponsors are already calling. You have three active endorsements. Two want to terminate your contract immediately. One is waiting to see what happens. The network just suspended all your variety show appearances for next month. Brenda, walk him through the strategy.” Brenda opened a manila folder. “The only viable option is a highly publicized, groveling apology. It needs to look sincere. I drafted a statement. ‘Mr. Hudson feels deep remorse for his actions. He realizes his behavior was completely inappropriate and has formally apologized to the child and their family…’” “No,” I said. The conference room went dead silent. “Cole,” Arthur stared daggers at me. “Do you have any idea that the Sinclair Group just issued a corporate threat? Their elite legal team is coming for your throat. If you don’t apologize right now, you are going to get sued into oblivion.” “I am not apologizing.” “You” “I ate a piece of cotton candy. It was a fifteen-dollar stick of sugar. I didn’t hit anyone. I didn’t curse anyone out. I didn’t break a single law. Who exactly am I apologizing to? The candy? ‘Dear Cotton Candy, I am deeply sorry for digesting you’?” Someone at the far end of the table stifled a laugh. Arthur’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. That was when Jace decided to chime in. “Cole, don’t take this the wrong way.” I turned to look at him. He cleared his throat, his face a mask of sickening sincerity. “Cole, at the end of the day, this isn’t about right or wrong. It is about public sentiment. The public saw a grown man snatch something from a helpless child. It makes people uncomfortable. That is just human nature. If you just bow your head and apologize, you calm the storm. It benefits everyone. Why burn your career to the ground over pride?” Beautifully said. Every single word sounded entirely reasonable, yet every single sentence was meticulously designed to force me off a cliff. You weren’t using this gentle tone when you quote-tweeted the video to step on my throat, were you? “Jace,” I stared right into his perfect eyes. “Yeah?” “When you quoted that video yesterday, did you type that caption yourself, or did you make your assistant do it?” His perfect smile glitched for a fraction of a second. “Cole, I only posted that out of concern” “You are concerned about me? Last month on set, I got heatstroke and laid on a cot for three hours. You walked past me three times and didn’t even offer me a bottle of water.” The conference room plunged into a suffocating silence. Jace’s smile completely dissolved. The corner of his mouth twitched in anger. Arthur slammed his fist on the table. “Enough! Both of you shut up. Cole, I am asking you one last time. Are you going to apologize?” “No.” “Then give me one good reason why.” I stood up. I looked around the room at every single face staring back at me. I thought about it for a moment, then delivered one simple sentence. “Because I bought that cotton candy with my own fifteen bucks.” Then I turned around and walked out. I could hear Marty’s frantic footsteps chasing after me, followed closely by the sound of Arthur violently shattering his coffee mug against the wall.

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During the most flamboyant years of our youth, Karl paraded around holding his first love’s hand for everyone to see. But when he finally got together with me, we kept our relationship a total secret. I genuinely thought he had just matured. Until the night of his birthday party. I overheard him talking on the phone to his first love. “Lily, if you don’t come back right now, I am going to marry someone else.” There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. “Pick me up at the airport tomorrow afternoon.” The entire room erupted into cheers and whistling. I quietly tucked the engagement ring and my positive pregnancy test back into my bag and pushed the door open. The cheering instantly died down. I looked at Karl and offered a bright smile. “Congratulations.” The room slowly returned to its lively atmosphere, but Karl’s face had darkened completely. 1 Karl drank an insane amount of alcohol that night. When we finally got home, he kept me awake until the early hours of the morning. At the absolute peak of it all, he covered my mouth with his hand to keep me quiet, bit down hard on my earlobe, and viciously whispered, “Congratulations.” It was as if those two words had deeply offended him. The next morning, he made breakfast acting like absolutely nothing had happened. He slid a porcelain plate across the counter toward me and casually asked if I had any plans for the afternoon. “I have a check-up at the hospital. Do you want to come with me?” He stared straight into my eyes, a cryptic smile playing on his lips. “I have to pick someone up at the airport. Didn’t you hear me say that last night?” I nodded, instantly losing all interest in continuing the conversation. He changed his clothes and walked toward the door. Just before he left, he turned back to look at me. “Wait for me at the hospital. I will come pick you up after I leave the airport.” The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the side of his face. His long eyelashes cast shadows over his light brown eyes. Every single feature on his face looked as if he were God’s absolute favorite creation. I suppose being hopelessly blinded by a face like that was a somewhat acceptable excuse. I was just trying to justify my own stupidity. But I had finally hit a brick wall. It was time to turn around. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Twins are incredibly rare. I highly recommend discussing this with the father first. We are going to need his signature on the paperwork anyway.” The doctor looked at my ultrasound results, her voice heavy with deep regret. I stood in the hallway outside the clinic, my hand resting softly against my lower abdomen. After zoning out for a long time, I finally dialed Karl’s number. “Hello…” The second the call connected, there was a loud rustling noise, like someone was fighting for the phone. “Hey! Why are you answering a call from an unsaved number? Are you trying to dodge my question? Listen here, whoever is on the phone! Karl’s entire afternoon belongs to me. Nobody is taking him away!” Lily’s sweet, playful voice echoed clearly through the speaker. “Stop messing around!” Karl’s voice sounded helpless, but there was an unmistakable layer of indulgence in his tone. After another burst of rustling noises, the call disconnected. I stared at the black screen of my phone for a very long time. I stared until my eyes physically burned, but the screen never lit up again. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh, wiped away my tears, and stopped hesitating. I booked the surgical abortion and formally submitted my application for the company’s long-term deployment to South America. The sharp, sterile smell of the hospital was giving me a massive headache. I called an Uber, went straight home, pulled the covers over my head, and slept. 2 I woke up in a haze to the sound of my ringtone blaring. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I had dozens of missed calls. Every single one was from Karl. Suddenly, my bedroom door violently slammed open. I jumped out of my skin. Karl was standing in the doorway, his face stark white, chest heaving as he gasped for air. He instantly started screaming at me. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?! Why didn’t you wait for me?! I was about to call the police!” Karl had the kind of face that naturally looked a bit intimidating, but he almost never lost his temper. This was the first time I had ever seen him lose control and shout like this. I pressed my lips together. “I fell asleep. Did you pick up your person?” He didn’t answer. He braced both hands against the edge of the mattress, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” I could smell a faint, unfamiliar perfume clinging to his clothes. A heavy ache settled in my chest. “I didn’t want to wait anymore.” Karl didn’t move an inch. His dark eyes remained locked onto me, demanding an explanation. He could completely ignore my questions. But he expected me to answer his with absolute transparency. A sudden, overwhelming wave of exhaustion and grievance washed over me. The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Let’s break up.” Karl let out a dismissive scoff, reaching out to lightly pinch my cheek. “Are you still sleep-drunk?” He straightened his back, shrugged off his jacket, casually tossed it onto the bed next to me, and walked out toward the kitchen. Karl played basketball regularly. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. I leaned against the doorframe, watching his back as he moved around the kitchen. My mind involuntarily drifted back to what he looked like when we were teenagers. My parents used to work crazy hours and were never home, so I would constantly go over to his house to steal food. One day, his parents weren’t home either. He had been in the middle of opening a cup of instant ramen. When he saw me practically drooling, he let out a dramatic sigh of defeat, opened the fridge, and pulled out tomatoes and eggs. He had been tall and lean back then. His movements in the kitchen had been clumsy. He dropped pieces of eggshell into the pan and carefully tried to fish them out with the tip of his chopsticks. Even back then, Karl had been incredibly popular at school. He received love letters on a daily basis. Watching the boy that every girl in school obsessed over cooking a meal just for me… A secret, foolish sense of vanity had bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t help but wish he would only ever cook for me for the rest of his life. The very next day, the rumors of his relationship with Lily spread like wildfire. He held her hand and walked through the crowded hallways, entirely unfazed by the countless eyes staring at them. The image of their intertwined fingers still made my eyes sting, even just as a memory. That was a level of public devotion I had never experienced. Karl made my absolute favorite dish—spicy garlic shredded pork. I took one bite and immediately started dry heaving. Karl furrowed his brow. “Sarah, did you get your period this month?” “Yeah.” I answered instantly, without a single second of hesitation. Watching his brow relax, I couldn’t resist testing the waters one last time. “Would you ever marry someone just because they got pregnant?” The corner of his mouth curled upward. “No.” He reached over and ruffled my hair. “Don’t go getting any crazy ideas. A baby doesn’t trap a man.” My hand trembled. Half the soup in my spoon spilled back into the bowl. Karl took the spoon from my hand and served me a fresh bowl. “Why did you say you wanted to break up earlier?” I kept my head down, sipping the soup to hide my red eyes. “I regret doing this.” “It’s good timing anyway. Lily is back, and nobody knew about us in the first place.” The second I mentioned Lily’s name, his eyes darkened. “Let’s just end it here, Karl.” I hadn’t called him simply by his first name like that in years. Not since the day I realized I was hopelessly in love with him. It was the first time he had heard me say it like that. He froze for a long time before reaching out to lightly flick my forehead. “Think you’re a grown woman now? You used to call me ‘Karl baby.’” His thin lips curved into a lazy, intoxicating smile. My heart automatically beat a little faster. I rubbed my forehead. It didn’t hurt, but my skin felt a little numb. “You regret getting together with me?” I nodded, absolutely refusing to look him in the eyes. He let out a long, heavy exhale. “Fine!” He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and turned back to look at me one last time. “Sarah, never use a breakup as a threat against a man.” The front door clicked shut. A tear fell silently into my soup. I genuinely did regret it. I never should have dated him. If we hadn’t crossed that line, I could have used our childhood history to remain the girl next door he always looked out for. When I got sick, he would cancel his plans to take me to the doctor. When he went on trips, he would wait in massive lines just to buy me limited-edition gifts. When we eventually started our own families, we would have naturally drifted apart, turning into old friends who only saw each other during the holidays. We would have laughed about our childhood memories and lived happily ever after. Instead of living like this. Hiding a secret relationship in the dark. Forcing ourselves to act like totally normal friends whenever we were in public, no matter how awkward it felt. Could I truly stand by and watch him marry someone else and start a family while acting like nothing happened? I didn’t think I could. Just the thought of it made it physically difficult to breathe. A notification popped up in my inbox. My deployment application had been approved. Five years. That would be enough time. 3 After that day, Karl and I never saw each other again. We completely stopped talking. Karl wasn’t the kind of guy who would ever lower his pride to coax a woman. He was used to women revolving around his orbit. He had poured every last drop of his passionate, burning love into his infamous first relationship. Everything he had left over was cold, rational, and detached. Every now and then, a post from Lily would pop up on my social media feed. Things change, but I am so glad you are still here. The photos attached always featured a subtle glimpse of someone’s sleeve or a masculine arm. I stopped looking at my feed. I drowned myself in my work, finishing up my final projects and handing over my accounts as I prepared to leave the country. That was until Lily created a massive group chat, saying she wanted to get the old high school crew back together for a reunion dinner. Everyone in the chat started tagging Karl, spamming the group with wedding ring emojis. My best friend, Chloe, joined in on the joke. I didn’t want to look like the bitter outcast, so I sent a laughing emoji too. Karl, who hadn’t said a single word in the chat, immediately replied with a question mark. Chloe texted me privately: Karl is being so dramatic! He is probably grinning like an idiot right now! Come on, let’s go watch this tragic romance finally get its happy ending. When we arrived at the restaurant, Karl was standing right next to Lily, greeting everyone as they walked in. One of our classmates had brought her little girl along. The kid instantly took a liking to Karl and threw herself into his arms. He held the little girl with one arm while using his free hand to pull Lily out of the way of a passing waiter. They looked like the absolute picture-perfect family. Even random strangers in the restaurant were turning their heads to look at them. Chloe tugged on my sleeve and whispered, “They are so perfect for each other!” I lowered my eyes and forced a smile onto my face. They had always been perfect for each other. Back in the day, if you checked the high school message boards, the most popular couple in the entire school had always been Karl and Lily. At the dinner table, Karl patiently spoon-fed the little girl sitting on his lap. “Karl looks like a natural dad! Stop wasting time, you two! Just get back together, get married, and have one of your own!” The entire table turned to look at Lily. Her face immediately flushed a deep shade of crimson. A sharp, heavy ache suddenly pulled at my lower abdomen. I set a fake alarm on my phone and practically sprinted out of the room. The night air on the outdoor terrace was freezing. I leaned against the railing, letting out a long, shaky breath. Suddenly, a warm body pressed against my back. I spun around. Karl trapped me against the railing, his arms wrapping tightly around me. I shoved against his chest, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Karl!” I could feel his chest vibrate against my palms as he let out a low chuckle. “Not calling me ‘Karl baby’ anymore?” Before I could say anything else, he grabbed my chin, tilted my head up, and kissed me hard. The bitter, burning taste of alcohol flooded my mouth. He had always known exactly how to manipulate people. And I had shown him my entire hand on day one. “Sarah, let’s have a baby.” He was just saying things on a drunken whim, but my heart skipped three beats anyway. The question slipped out before I could stop it. “Are we going to make our relationship public?” The smirk on his lips grew wider. “Of course. But not today. Lily’s family is going through some drama right now. Once that blows over, we…” “I don’t want to wait anymore, Karl.” Even now. Even when we were talking about our own future and a potential child, we still had to step aside and make room for Lily’s feelings. The bitter taste of the alcohol on my tongue seeped straight into my heart. If I could never win against her, then I didn’t want to compete anymore. I pushed him away and started walking back inside. “Sarah!” Karl’s voice was laced with anger. He reached out to grab my arm, but I dodged his hand. This time, I didn’t look back. 4 When I got back to the table, people started teasing me, asking if I had run away to avoid taking shots. They poured me a penalty drink. After a few glasses of wine, the fake smile on my face finally felt natural. Across the table, Lily raised her glass toward me, flashing a deeply meaningful smile. By the end of the night, almost everyone was completely wasted. I was still mostly sober, though my legs felt a little unsteady. Lily wasn’t doing much better than me. I sat in the back of an Uber, watching Karl support Lily’s staggering weight as he walked her up to her apartment building. Right under the streetlamp, Lily suddenly stopped walking. Karl looked down at her. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him dead on the lips. The scene looked as beautiful as a shot from a romantic movie. An indescribable, agonizing pain pierced my chest. My vision began to blur. I felt like I had been transported back to senior year study hall. I had sneaked out to the courtyard to get some fresh air, only to find Karl and Lily making out against a wall covered in blooming roses. The aggressive, possessive way Karl had kissed her made me realize for the very first time that he wasn’t just a boy anymore. All those selfish, reliant, and vain thoughts I had harbored for him suddenly melted away into a quiet, heavy rain inside my heart. It took me entirely too long to realize that what I was feeling was love. After that day, I kept having the exact same dream. I was standing under a trellis of roses, kissing a man. The man’s face slowly came into focus. It was Karl. The dream felt so shameful I couldn’t even bring myself to tell Chloe about it. Meanwhile, Karl and Lily’s relationship was iconic. They were both incredibly smart and ridiculously attractive. The entire student body gossiped about them, and even the teachers looked the other way. He created a dedicated photo album for her on his social media. He wrote long posts cataloging her favorite things. They wore matching outfits to school… I started actively avoiding Karl. I felt like a thief who had fallen into a trap, trapped inside a dream I had no right to be in. Eventually, Lily went overseas for college, and they broke up. At a party years later, Karl got incredibly drunk and refused to let go of my hand. “Sarah, do you have feelings for me?” The secret I had buried deep in my heart for years was casually ripped open by a drunk man. For the very first time, I gathered all my courage and nodded. “Do you want to date me?” Getting exactly what you have always wanted is the greatest temptation on earth. I nodded almost immediately. The drunk man leaned in and kissed me. It turned out that my first kiss tasted incredibly bitter. The car door suddenly ripped open. A blast of freezing wind rushed into the backseat, snapping me back to reality. Karl leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. I pushed the door open and violently threw up onto the pavement. Karl patted my back, his voice completely flat. “You saw that? Lily was just drunk. Don’t make a big deal out of it. Honestly, I…” Don’t make a big deal out of it. Wait until later. Those were the phrases I had heard the most during our entire relationship. Whenever someone brought up his history with Lily, I wasn’t allowed to make a big deal out of it. We couldn’t hold hands, hug, or kiss in public. Whenever we went out with friends, people would constantly try to set him up with other girls. He would play along out of “politeness,” occasionally throwing me a reassuring glance from across the room. The tears wouldn’t stop falling. I violently slapped his hand away from my back. “Stop talking. I don’t want to hear it. We are already broken up, Karl. Just let me go.” Karl’s face blurred in the shadows of the streetlamp until my entire world faded to black. Before I lost consciousness, I thought I heard a freezing, detached “Fine.” 5 The handover for my domestic projects was almost complete. I was still trying to figure out how to break the news of my relocation to my parents. My mom called me, her voice practically bubbling with joy. She said Aunt Mary had invited us over for dinner because Karl was finally bringing his girlfriend home to meet the families. “Sarah, you knew about this already, didn’t you? I heard it’s that same girl he used to date back in high school. You young people are so dramatic…” The glass in my hand slipped, shattering into pieces on the kitchen floor. It was a custom souvenir from my dad’s company. There had been two in the set. One for me, and one for Karl. It felt like a sign. A reminder that it was time to cut ties with the past. I told my mom I had an emergency at work and couldn’t make it to the dinner. The truth was, it was time for my surgical appointment. The idea of going into the operating room alone terrified me, so I called Chloe to come with me. She didn’t ask a single question. She ditched work immediately. The second she saw me, she grabbed my shoulders and started screaming in a panic. “Sarah, have you lost your damn mind?! You are making massive life decisions in total silence! Who the hell is the guy?! Is he just refusing to take any responsibility?!” “He doesn’t know. I never planned on telling him.” Chloe spent the next ten minutes screaming at me for being a brain-dead romantic while walking me through the pre-op bloodwork. But as we walked into the main lobby, we ran into two very familiar faces. Lily had a bandage wrapped around her forehead. Karl had his arm tightly wrapped around her waist, supporting her weight. The second he saw us, he froze. His brow furrowed deeply as his eyes swept over me from head to toe. “What are you doing here?” Chloe immediately threw her head onto my shoulder, acting incredibly weak and exhausted. “It’s a women’s health issue. Mind your own business.” Karl whispered something to Lily, then suddenly took massive strides toward me. He reached out, aggressively trying to snatch the medical chart out of my hands. Chloe slammed her hand down on his wrist, physically blocking him. “What the hell are you doing, Karl?! This is my private medical information! Back off!” As they were struggling over the paperwork, Lily let out a sharp gasp of “Karl!” and collapsed onto the tile floor. Karl shot me one last look, let go of the chart, and turned around. He scooped Lily up into his arms and sprinted toward the emergency wing. The massive spike of adrenaline in my chest slowly faded, leaving my legs feeling like jelly. In that exact moment, I honestly couldn’t tell if I felt more heartbroken or relieved.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459944”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel