Category: English

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.

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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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Mom was the neighborhood’s “Moral Role Model.” Her favorite hobby was destroying her own family for public praise. When I was hungry and sneaked a piece of food from the ancestral offering table, she forced me to drink a bowl of dish soap water right in front of everyone — to “cleanse my stomach.” When the neighbor lost five hundred dollars, Mom didn’t ask a single question. She grabbed a thick upholstery needle and drove it through all ten of my fingers. Later, the police caught the real thief. It was the neighbor’s own son. But Mom just kept smiling at the neighbor: “Don’t worry about it. This girl is tough. A beating builds character — keeps her from getting any wrong ideas in the future.” The neighbor, embarrassed, said she’d accused the wrong person. Mom waved it off like it was nothing: “A girl like Nicole is born needing discipline. Consider it an early lesson.” What she didn’t know was that every time she wronged me, I crossed out one day in my diary. Just now, I used up the last page. Right in front of her, standing beneath the plaque of our “Model Family,” I drank that bottle of paraquat. Mom — is destroying myself for your reputation loud enough? — **1** The day I turned eighteen. Mom was at the community center, giving a talk on “Model Family” values. Dad crept over like he was hiding something, and pulled a squashed little box from inside his jacket. It was a cake. Barely bigger than his palm. The frosting had smeared all over the cardboard. He rubbed his hands together, his face full of nervous hope: “Nikki, quick, eat it before your mom sees.” My throat tightened. Three years. Ever since Mom became the neighborhood’s “Moral Role Model,” I hadn’t had a birthday. She said celebrating was wasteful and shameful — that money should go to children in need. I picked up a fork. My hand was shaking a little. I was just lifting it to my mouth when the door burst open with a bang. Mom stood in the doorway, cradling a gold-embossed “Outstanding Family” plaque in both arms. Her eyes locked onto that little cake like a pair of nails. Dad flinched so hard he nearly fell off the couch. “Li… Lisa, you’re back.” Mom ignored him and strode over. I instinctively hunched over the cake. “Mom, I just want one bite…” Mom let out a cold laugh. “Greg, is this what you’ve been doing behind my back? Encouraging this kind of self-indulgent nonsense?” She snatched the cake. Her fingers drove straight into the frosting, destroying the little red “18” on top. “Mrs. Wang next door lives alone. Her gout has been flaring up. She could use some cheering up.” She pulled out her phone, opened the camera, and her face instantly shifted into a warm, glowing smile. “Hey everyone, today is my daughter’s birthday — but as a family, we decided this cake should go to someone who really needs it.” The camera turned toward me. I looked down, tears burning in my eyes. “Nikki, you agree with Mom, right? Come on, give the camera a smile.” She pinched my arm. Hard. It stung. I forced out a smile that looked worse than crying. “Yeah… give it to Mrs. Wang.” Mom nodded, satisfied. She picked up the ruined cake and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned and muttered: “Greedy girl. Always thinking about food.” The door clicked shut. Dad sank into the corner of the couch, lit a cigarette, and couldn’t look at me. — That evening, the family held their traditional dinner ritual. The table was laid out with a big bowl of braised pork, glistening with oil. I hadn’t eaten all day. My stomach felt like it was on fire. While Mom slipped away to the bathroom, I quietly pinched off a piece and shoved it in my mouth. Before I could even chew, someone grabbed me by the hair from behind. “Nicole! You little thief!” Mom had appeared out of nowhere. A few relatives who’d dropped by were all staring. “Stealing from the offering table? That food is sacred! How dare you!” She dragged me to the center of the living room. The relatives made weak, half-hearted attempts to intervene: “The poor kid is hungry, one piece can’t hurt…” “Absolutely not!” Mom’s voice was razor-sharp, the veins in her neck bulging. “It starts with one stolen bite and ends with a life of crime! You let this go today, and tomorrow she’ll be robbing people blind!” She charged into the kitchen. When she came back, she was carrying a large bowl of water. Thick white foam floated on top. The sharp, chemical smell of lemon dish soap hit me in the face. Dish soap water. “Drink it.” She shoved the bowl against my lips. “Flush out that greedy gut of yours. Let this be a lesson.” I looked desperately at Dad. He moved his lips: “Lisa, this could really hurt her…” “Shut up! Soft fathers raise ruined children!” One look from Mom and he went quiet. I was force-fed the whole thing. A burning, slick liquid poured down my throat. Less than thirty seconds later, my stomach turned inside out. I dropped to my knees and vomited violently. That piece of braised pork came back up with bile and stomach fluid, all over the floor. Some relatives covered their noses. Some turned away. Mom stood over me, looking down like a judge handing down a verdict. “Remember this. That is what greed gets you.” — **2** Late that night. I was curled up in bed, my stomach still cramping. I reached under my pillow and pulled out my diary. I turned to a fresh page and drew a bright red X. *”My birthday cake went to feed Mom’s ego. -1 day.”* This diary had three hundred pages. I had made myself a promise. When the last page was gone, I would give this life back to her. That bowl of dish soap water left me burning with fever for two days. Mom didn’t take me to the doctor. She said: “A fever means your body is detoxing. It’s karma for what you stole.” I lay in bed, and the only comfort I had was the drawing board under it. I loved art. It was the only escape I had in that suffocating house. I secretly entered the city’s “Future Stars” art competition. To keep Mom from finding out, I practiced every night deep under my covers, using the dim glow of my phone as a light. My eyes went red. My wrist ached. I never let myself stop. Because I knew — this was my only way out. Win a prize, and I’d have a shot at early admission to the arts high school affiliated with the academy. Half a month later, the news came. First place. When the certificate arrived at school, my hands were shaking. The professor from the arts academy had written in his review: “Exceptional raw talent. Destined for greatness.” Walking home that afternoon, I held that certificate to my chest, and something warm sparked inside me. Maybe Mom would be proud? This was a city-level award. Wouldn’t that look good for her? I was naive enough to believe that as long as it was an achievement, she’d be happy. — When I got home, Mom was in the living room polishing her wall of commendations. “Mom, I won an award.” I worked up my courage and held out the certificate. Mom stopped, took it. Glanced at it. Didn’t smile. Her expression was like she was looking at a scrap of paper. “Art?” The word came out of her mouth like a piece of ice. “Who told you to do art?” My heart dropped. “Mom, the professor said I have talent, I could apply to the arts academy…” “Smack!” The certificate hit the floor. “Talent? You call wasting your time talent?” Mom’s voice went sharp. “I already have your future planned out. You’re going to study education, become a teacher — respectable, stable! What does art get you? Busking on a street corner?” She stormed into my room. Tore through it like she’d lost her mind. The drawing board under my bed, the paints, the thick stack of artwork I’d built up — she dragged it all out. “Greg! Bring me the fire pit!” Dad came running in from the balcony, took one look, and froze. “Lisa, her drawings are actually really good…” “Good? What good? This is all your fault for enabling her! How much did all this junk cost?” Mom dumped the whole stack of drawings into the fire pit. The lighter clicked. Flames shot up. That was my work. Countless sleepless nights poured into every page. “No!” I screamed and lunged forward, reaching into the fire. “You dare fight me!” Mom kicked me hard in the shoulder. I fell against the edge of the fire pit, and my hand pressed down on the scorching hot rim. A sizzling sound. The smell of burning skin. The pain was blinding. But I couldn’t think about that. All I could see was my winning piece — *Bird in a Cage* — curling in the flames, blackening, turning to ash. Mom stood on the other side of the fire, her face lit up red. “Nicole, let me make this clear. This is a model family.” “I will not allow a disgrace like you under this roof.” “This is a stain on this family. It has to burn.” Dad stood to the side, head down, not saying a word. That night, I stared at the blisters rising on my hand. I didn’t cry. With my left hand, I opened my diary and crossed out seven days. *”My dream burned up. Mom called it a ‘family disgrace.’ -7 days.”* I had only meant to cross off one. But today, I felt like my life wasn’t worth even that much. — **3** Mom had recently gotten obsessed with livestreaming. She called her account “Model Mom Lisa.” She posted about her approach to parenting — the tough love, the public discipline, what she called “choosing principle over family.” Her follower count shot up fast. People flooded the comments: *”This is what a responsible parent looks like.”* *”Kids these days just don’t get enough discipline.”* Mom read every word of praise with a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face. Then one day, our neighbor Mrs. Wilson came knocking. “Lisa… the five hundred dollars I left in my entryway is gone. Do you think maybe… Nicole might have seen it?” Mrs. Wilson was dancing around it, struggling to get the words out. I was doing homework at the time. My head snapped up: “I didn’t take it!” “Be quiet!” Mom snapped at me. She didn’t ask me a single question about what happened. Instead, a flicker of excitement passed through her eyes. “Carol, don’t you worry. I don’t cover for anyone.” Mom immediately grabbed her phone, set up the stand, and flicked on the ring light. Her hands moved with a practiced efficiency that made my skin crawl. “Hey everyone, something just came up. My neighbor’s money is missing, and even though it hurts, I have to do what’s right.” Thousands of viewers flooded the stream within seconds. The title read: **[Neighbor’s Money Stolen — Tough Mom Holds Live Interrogation]** Mom dragged me in front of the camera. “On your knees!” I stood my ground. “I didn’t take anything. Why should I kneel?” “Still playing innocent! You’re the only one who’s been to Carol’s house recently — you dropped something off! Who else could it be?” Mom reached into the sewing basket and pulled out a thick upholstery needle. “I taught you from the time you were little — keep your hands clean.” “If you won’t admit it, I’ll make sure you don’t forget this lesson.” She grabbed my left hand. I thrashed and fought, looking over at Mrs. Wilson: “I swear I didn’t take it!” Mrs. Wilson was starting to look uncomfortable: “Lisa, maybe we should just… let it go. There’s no proof…” “No! It starts with small things and turns into big ones! If I let this slide now, she’ll be a menace to everyone around her!” Mom turned toward the camera, her voice firm and righteous. The comment section erupted: *[Go Mom! That kind of kid needs consequences!]* *[Strict parents raise good kids!]* *[Your values are so right!]* Mom read the comments and was visibly energized. She pinched my index finger, aimed the tip of the needle at the pad of my fingertip. And drove it in. “Ahh—!” I screamed. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt instantly. “Are you going to admit it?” “I didn’t take it…” The needle went in again. Middle finger. Blood welled up and dripped onto the floor. Dad came charging over: “Lisa! Stop! You’re going to do permanent damage!” “Back off!” Mom backhanded him across the face without even turning around. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m doing this for her!” She turned back to the camera, eyes welling up: “Everyone, it hurts me so much more than it hurts her. But I can’t let my heart go soft.” Gifts and donations flooded the stream. The graphic effects burst across the screen in her tears — like fireworks at some grotesque carnival. Ten fingers. All of them punctured. The pain had gone past feeling. I was just collapsed on the floor. But I never once admitted to it. Because I hadn’t done it. — The next day, the police came. Not for me. For Mrs. Wilson. Security footage showed that her own son had taken the money. He’d spent it at the internet café. Mrs. Wilson showed up at our door, mortified, carrying fruit as an apology. “Lisa, I’m so sorry. We wronged Nicole…” My hands were wrapped in thick bandages. I sat in the corner. I thought Mom might feel at least a small amount of guilt. She didn’t. She faced the camera — still live — and waved a breezy hand, smiling like nothing had happened: “Don’t worry about it, Carol.” “This girl is tough. She can take it.” “A lesson now means she won’t go down the wrong path later.” “Think of it as getting ahead of things.” The neighbor left, embarrassed. Mom checked the earnings on her phone’s backend, grinning so wide it almost reached her ears. “Nikki, you see how much I put up with for your sake.” “Lucky for me, my followers have my back.” I looked at her. For the first time, I felt it clearly — she wasn’t my mother. That night, I bit down on my pen and struggled to open the diary. Blood had soaked through the bandages and stained the pages. I crossed out ten days straight. *”Ten fingers. Still couldn’t reach her heart. -10 days.”* — **4** The college entrance exams were over. I did well. Fifty points above the cutoff for four-year universities. It was my last ticket out of this hell. I applied to a university in the south — two thousand miles away. I wanted to see the ocean. I wanted to go somewhere nobody had ever heard of “Model Mom Lisa.” But the acceptance letter never came. Then one day, I found an opened envelope in Mom’s dresser drawer. Local State Teachers College. Designated placement program. My mind went blank with a roar. I grabbed the letter and ran out to confront her. “Why? I applied to Southern University. That was my choice!” Mom was trimming flowers. She didn’t even look up. “I changed it.” Three words. Light as air. “You had no right to change my application! This is my life!” I screamed like I’d lost my mind, tears pouring down my face. “I’m your mother. That’s my right.” Mom set the scissors down on the table, her eyes cold and sharp. “Why do you need to go so far away? What’s gotten into your head?” “Stay here, become a teacher. It’s a respectable life. Stable.” “I already talked to the district coordinator. You’re going to be our community’s ‘Second-Generation Role Model.’ Following in my footsteps.” “Do you know how many people would kill for an opportunity like that?” I was shaking. So that was all I was to her. Not a person. A decoration for her “role model” brand. A tool to extend her ego. “I’m not going! I’ll retake the exam! I’m leaving this place!” I turned to run. Mom grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me back to my room. “You’re not going anywhere.” “I have your ID, your documents — all locked up.” “Where are you going to retake anything? Who’s paying for it?” She shoved me inside and locked the door from the outside. “You sit in there and think about your choices. When you come to your senses, you can come out.” I pounded on the door, sobbing and screaming until my voice was gone. Dad’s voice came quietly from the other side: “Lisa, she’s old enough to choose for herself…” “You don’t know anything.” Mom’s cold laugh came through the door. “What does she know about what’s good for her? I decide her future.” “She’ll be a respected teacher one day, and she’ll thank me for it.” I sat on the floor and stared at the iron security bars over my window. Like a cage. Locking away my youth, my dreams, my dignity. I took out my diary. Only one page left. I had been holding onto these last few days, hoping some miracle might still come. Now I understood. There was no miracle coming. I didn’t cross out the page. Instead, I picked up my pen and wrote one line in careful, even letters: *”Mom, since your reputation means everything to you —* *let me give you the most unforgettable ending to your ‘model life’ story.”* — Three days later. The city held a grand ceremony to present Mom with the “City-Level Moral Role Model” plaque. It took place in the plaza right outside our building. Red banners, drums, a crowd packed thick with reporters, officials, and neighbors. Mom let me out. She’d picked out a white dress for me — one she’d worn when she was young. “Today is an important day. You behave yourself.” “When you get up on stage, you thank me for raising you right.” She combed my hair and issued her instructions at the same time. In the mirror, my face was pale. My eyes were empty. “Of course, Mom.” I answered quietly, like I always did. Mom looked satisfied. She thought I had finally given in. The ceremony began. Mom stood on the stage, a large red carnation pinned to her chest, glowing with pride. She accepted the heavy “Moral Role Model” plaque and spoke into the microphone without pause. “The most important thing in raising children is being willing to be the strict one…” “I may be hard on her, but everything I do is for her good…” The crowd applauded. Camera flashes went off like rain. I walked slowly out from behind the stage. In my hands, I held a small green bottle, gripped tight. The emcee blinked: “Oh — is this Lisa’s daughter? Are you here to present flowers?” Every eye in the crowd found me. Mom’s brow furrowed. She lowered her voice: “What are you doing up here? It’s not your turn to speak.” I walked to her side. I stood beneath that enormous “Moral Role Model” plaque. I looked out at the faces in the crowd. Mrs. Wilson. Mr. Lee. Mrs. Taylor. They had all been Mom’s audience. Her accomplices. I raised the bottle. My voice into the microphone was soft, but the speakers carried it everywhere. “Mom, you want your reputation. You want to be a role model.” “So I’m giving you myself.” “Is this enough to make history?” Mom went white: “Nicole! What is that! Put it down!” She reached for it. Too late. I twisted off the cap, tilted my head back. The dark green liquid — smelling of soil and something raw and wrong — poured into my throat. I didn’t hesitate. I drank every last drop.

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After helping my brother’s beast queens carry his children, I decided to cut off his manhood. The comments suddenly exploded: [What’s going on? Has he lost his mind? If he actually does it, how is the male lead supposed to use him to win favor with the beast queens?!] [Relax. This ugly freak is covered head to toe in festering sores. His gender is barely his one saving grace — there’s no way he’d actually go through with it!] [Am I the only one who feels a little sorry for Ugly? Every day he gets used half to death by the beast queens, then gets tossed back in the cellar with nothing. Not even a warm bowl of soup. And he has to watch the male lead collect all the rewards.] [Shut up with that bleeding-heart crap! The reality is that Ugly is disgusting, covered in rotting tumors. If the male lead had any feelings for the beast queens — if he was willing to sacrifice himself — do you think any of this would’ve fallen to someone like him?] I stared at those words, and a chill ran through my entire body. The cellar door was kicked open.

Light flooded in. My brother, Ethan, stepped inside, his face full of concern. “You’re awake?” He set a bowl of black, murky medicine down gently beside me. “I know this is hard on you. But you know your condition is… well. Everything I do is for your own good.” “The Lion Queen wants you again tonight. Clean yourself up properly. Don’t let her feel those sores on your skin.” Ethan let out a long sigh, his gaze dropping to my abdomen, which was still seeping blood. His expression carried three parts disgust and seven parts pity. “You know what she’s like. Obsessed with cleanliness. Can’t stand a single thing out of place.” “Last time one of your pustules burst and stained the fur mat — she raged for an hour outside. Nearly threw us both out.” “If I hadn’t knelt on the ground begging, swearing it was my fault, we’d both be vulture food by now.” If this had been the old me, I would have already hung my head in shame by now. I would’ve hidden my knobbed, gnarled hands behind my back like a child who’d done something wrong. Then I would’ve stumbled over an apology — swearing I’d be more careful next time, that I’d sand my skin smooth before I went to her again. Honestly. More than once, I’d sensed that Ethan’s kindness toward me carried a suffocating coldness underneath it. Whenever the beast queens had wrung me out to the point of near-death, he would sigh and say he wished he could help — that his heart belonged to someone else and he simply couldn’t make himself go to them. It was such a burden on me, he’d say. When I was starving and chewing on bark, he’d be up in the main house. Right in front of the beast queens, he’d throw his leftover bones down to me and announce loudly, “Ugly loves these — says the texture is the best part.” But I always managed to push those thoughts away. Ethan was the rarest lop-eared rabbit shifter in the whole tribe. The pride of our entire bloodline. How could someone like him have any ill will toward an ugly wretch like me? Until now. I watched the comments light up. [LOL, the male lead’s manipulation game is next level. The Lion Queen rejected him because he was bad in bed — but he turned it around and blamed Ugly for dirtying the mat.] [I think the male lead is deliberately keeping Ugly from getting treatment. The worse those sores get, the more ashamed Ugly feels. Too embarrassed to show his face anywhere. Keeps him a shadow forever.] [That’s just how our clever little bunny operates! Honestly, even if Ugly got cured, he’d never be half as good-looking as the male lead — but you can never be too careful, right?] [Don’t worry, he already slipped Sterilization Weed into that medicine. It’ll help the beast queen conceive, but it accelerates aging in the drinker. This freak doesn’t have many doses left. Once the Lion Queen delivers, he’ll be done.] I couldn’t stop myself from clenching my fist tighter around the straw beneath me. Meeting Ethan’s wide, innocent eyes, I found — for the first time — that I couldn’t make myself crawl over like a dog and drink that medicine. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I pressed my cracked lips together, my voice rough and low, and said something I’d never said before. “My body… I think something’s wrong with it.” “Tonight… I want to rest.”

The air in the cellar went still. The saintly, long-suffering expression on Ethan’s face froze solid. A second later, the comments went into a frenzy. [Oh my God, is this lowlife trying to start something? He doesn’t actually think that because the beast queen might be carrying his child, he gets to be the tribe’s treasured consort — does he?] [Every scheming side character who tries to climb the social ladder through a pregnancy ends up the same way. This won’t end well.] [Is he trying to make the male lead grovel? This feels like a threat.] [Unbelievable. Does every tool character have zero self-awareness? If he won’t do it, there are plenty of slaves who will.] The comments were running hot. It was only now that I fully understood what I was. I was a side character in a beast-world romance novel — a tool. The ugly foil to the irresistible male lead. My true form was a toad shifter. Despised by everyone. While Ethan’s true form was a lop-eared rabbit — beloved wherever he went. Ethan had lost the one person he ever loved, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything for any of the beast queens. But he still needed to survive in this world. So he made me his stand-in. Every night, when the beast queens were sedated by desire-inducing incense, he pushed me into their chambers. He stood outside the door collecting praise and affection. I was inside, enduring whatever the beast queens chose to do to me. When morning came, he’d spray himself with a specially crafted imitation scent, then slip into bed beside them to receive their tenderness as they woke. And I would be discarded like a used-up piece of trash, dragged back to the dark cellar below. I would even rot in that dark cellar when I died. I knew I was ugly. But did being ugly mean I deserved to be deceived and used like this — and then discarded as a stepping stone for his comfort and status? After I spoke my refusal out loud — A flicker of disbelief crossed Ethan’s eyes. Then they went cold. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t curse me. He simply crouched down slowly, pinched my chin with two fingers like I was something distasteful, and forced me to look at him. “What are you babbling about?” “The Lion Queen is in her frenzy tonight. If you rest, who’s going to calm her down? Are you going to sit there and watch her tear me apart?” He tilted his head and gave me a look that was almost a smile — his voice gentle, his words like blades. “Besides, I’m not forcing you. If you don’t want to drink this medicine — if you don’t want to serve the beast queens — that’s fine.” “I’ll just go tell them it was you who poisoned the cubs out of jealousy. Let’s see who they believe — the father of their children, or the monster who lives in the cellar.” He stood up and straightened his clothes. “Drink the medicine before it gets cold. It won’t work once it cools. Don’t do something stupid, Ugly. I’m doing this so we both survive.” Then the cellar door slammed shut. His footsteps faded away. I did not drink the medicine. I tilted my wrist and poured every drop onto the ground. A soft hiss rose from the dirt where it landed. I watched it eat into the ground, and the cold feeling in my chest sank deeper. This was what Ethan called a tonic he made for my own good. The comments rolled across my vision again, faster than ever. [Oh my God — he poured out the Bone-Corrosion compound?! The male lead specifically exchanged for that to suppress his golden toad bloodline!] [Doesn’t matter. Eighteen years of that stuff — the toad skin has been fused to him for ages. Pouring it out changes nothing.] [Am I the only one worried about the Lion Queen tonight? Without that rotting smell from the medicine to mask it — what if she catches a whiff of his actual scent… that strange fragrance… and figures out the switch?] [No chance. She’s completely out of her mind during a frenzy.] I stared hard at the two words: golden toad. So that was it. All these years — the festering sores, the stench — it wasn’t a curse from heaven. It was man-made.

The cellar door crashed open again. Ethan stumbled in and threw himself at me, gripping my arm with both hands. “You have to save me this time!” “It’s not just Seraphine — Vyx and Thalara have both lost it too!” I calmly removed his hands and studied his ashen face. “How? Their cycles have never overlapped before.” Ethan was shaking so hard he could barely get the words out. “The Blood Moon — the hundred-year Blood Moon came early! All three of them are caught in the lunar tide. They’re in the main hall, out of their minds, tearing each other apart. If no one calms them down, the whole beast realm will collapse into chaos!” As he said it, real terror moved through his eyes. Three apex beast queens. If he — a fragile, delicate rabbit shifter — walked into that hall, he’d be torn to shreds in under ten minutes. They wouldn’t leave enough of him to bury. The comments erupted, full of sympathy: [Oh no! A Blood Moon night?! That’s the most terrifying event in the beast world!] [Send the thick-skinned toad! He’s built for punishment!] [Exactly! Ugly’s life is worthless anyway. If he dies for the male lead, at least it’s a death with meaning!] I read those words and laughed to myself. Honorable death? You’re so welcome to it. But I didn’t refuse. Because the golden toad bloodline excels at absorbing the vital energy of heaven and earth. The raging power pouring off three apex beast queens wasn’t poison to me. It was a feast. “Fine. I’ll go.” The moment I pushed open the doors to the main hall, a wave of violent, scorching pressure slammed into me. The hall was in ruins. From the darkness, three pairs of crimson beast eyes locked onto me. Seraphine, the Golden Flame Lion Queen, stood at the center. Vyx, the great obsidian serpent, coiled on the left. Thalara, the deep-sea siren, churned the water on the right, restless and thrashing. “ROAR!” Seraphine struck first. A claw wreathed in fire launched straight at my face. In the past, all I could have done was close my eyes and wait to die. But now the golden toad bloodline was surging inside me. “Perfect timing.” I didn’t dodge. I opened my arms and walked into the flames. The pain I expected never came. The moment that raging fire-energy touched my skin, it poured through my pores and flooded into every corner of my body. [WHAT?! Is the game glitching?!] [Why did the Lion Queen’s fire go out?! Does this toad have some kind of fireproof coating?!] [Wait — look at his skin!] Agony — and then a pleasure so intense it bordered on transcendence. Eighteen years of Bone-Corrosion poison, shattered apart in an instant by the wave of beast queen energy flooding through me. The festering sores that had caked my skin like rotting mud shriveled and fell away. The power that would kill an ordinary shifter on contact was, for me, the richest medicine imaginable. “What is that scent?” I looked coldly at the three beast queens. A scent? Of course there was a scent. The golden toad lineage was a sacred creature — a bringer of fortune and prosperity. We carried a natural fragrance in our bodies from birth. All these years, the poison had buried it under the smell of decay. Now that the toxin had been scoured clean, the fragrance had nowhere left to hide. The comments had shifted from [waiting to collect the body] to wall-to-wall [???]. In the last moment before dawn broke, I caught my reflection in a shard of broken mirror. The creature covered in sores was gone. In its place stood a man with skin like white jade. The transformation wasn’t complete yet — but even half-restored, the difference between me and Ethan’s merely-pretty face was the distance between the earth and the sky. I curved the corner of my mouth, wrapped my clothes around myself, and slipped quietly out of the main hall. The real show was only just beginning. When I got back to the cellar entrance, I found Ethan pacing in frantic circles outside. He had the vial of desire-inducing perfume clenched tight in his fist. When he saw me returning with my clothes in disarray, a flash of distaste crossed his eyes — but underneath it was unmistakable relief. “You’re not dead?!”

He rushed over and looked me up and down. I’d wrapped myself from head to toe — even covering my face — and he assumed I was too badly used up to let anyone see me. Too ashamed to show myself. “Thank God. I always knew you were hard to kill.” Ethan had no time to ask how badly I was hurt. He pressed forward, urgent. “What about them? Are they calm?” I dropped my voice and mimicked the weak, hollow tone I used to use. “Yeah… they’re all asleep.” Ethan shoved me toward the back of the cellar, then grabbed the vial of perfume and sprayed himself down like it was going out of style. “Calming three apex beast queens on a Blood Moon night — that’s a feat no one in history has pulled off. That’s my achievement.” A smile of absolute certainty spread across his face. “When they wake up and find me beside them, they’ll be more devoted to me than ever.” He straightened his clothes and sprinted toward the main hall. The cellar door closed. I pulled the wrappings off my face and looked at my skin — reborn. The old poison-stains on my arms had sloughed away, revealing new flesh with a faint golden sheen underneath. The comments in front of me were still arguing at full volume. [Something’s off! When the queens wake up, they’re going to know something isn’t right!] [You’re overthinking it. The male lead has his system buffs and the perfume — it’s always worked before. Beast shifters can’t tell faces apart. They go by scent.] [But… I thought I saw Ugly change in the main hall? I couldn’t see clearly — the feed was all blurred out.] [Who cares? The male lead is the male lead. Ugly is a stand-in prop. That’s just how it works. That’s the law.] I let out a quiet laugh and settled cross-legged on the ground, circulating the beast queen energy through my body. Meanwhile, in the main hall — Ethan gazed at the three women sleeping in breathtaking beauty even mid-slumber, and swallowed. He lay down on the bed and arranged himself into a pose of someone just waking up. A moment later, Seraphine’s gold slit-pupils snapped open. Ethan pulled her into a hug. “Sera, you scared me to death last night. I pushed through everything to calm you down — I’m completely exhausted.” In the past, Seraphine would’ve melted with guilt. But this time, she frowned. Her nose twitched. “What is that smell? It’s overpowering.” Beside her, Vyx and Thalara were waking up too. Vyx’s ice-cold serpent tail lashed out and sent Ethan flying ten feet across the room. “Get away from me. You reek.” Ethan hit the floor, completely stunned. The comments were stunned too. [WAIT — it’s backfiring?!] [How is that possible?! The male lead’s charm stat is maxed out!] [What is Vyx talking about?! What does she mean he REEKS?!] Thalara murmured under her breath, “The person last night — I couldn’t see his face clearly. But the texture of his skin… it didn’t feel like rabbit.” “It felt more like… warm jade.” The plan was unraveling. Ethan panicked. He scrambled to his knees and started crying, holding up his wrist to show a red scratch mark. “That was me last night! I came in to save you — that scratch is from you. As for the smell — I was worried about bothering you, so I scrubbed myself down so thoroughly I washed away my own scent…” It was a reasonable story. The suspicion in Seraphine’s eyes began to ease. She reached out and helped him to his feet. “I see… I’m sorry. We misjudged you.” Thalara still looked uncertain, but when she saw Seraphine accept the explanation, she let her killing intent recede. “Stop crying. If you really did save us, you can ask for whatever reward you want.” Ethan’s heart leapt with triumph. He’d gambled right. He was just about to name his price — A faint breeze drifted in through the great hall doors. Carried on it: a scent. Barely there, understated — and yet completely, overwhelmingly dominant. The hand Seraphine had been running through Ethan’s hair went rigid. Thalara’s pupils contracted to pinpoints, her gaze locked onto the direction the wind had come from. That scent — it was identical to the memory that had been carved into her bones last night. “It’s coming from outside.” The smile on Ethan’s face turned to stone. The direction the scent was drifting from was the cellar.

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Sonnet had two “husbands.” One was Garrett, the man she had married and shared a life with. The other was Garrett’s identical twin brother, Cole. They looked almost exactly alike. If not for years of living together, she might not have been able to tell them apart. But she could. She always could. She just never said anything. Looking at the notification on her phone — the island purchase had gone through — she thought, *this is enough. Enough to start over.* — **1** Thirty-eight minutes into the movie, Sonnet finally saw Garrett walk in. He was wearing a dark coat, his hair slightly messy at the front. He’d clearly rushed. He settled into the seat beside her and said quietly, “Sorry. Something came up at work.” His tone was gentle. Same as always. Sonnet turned to look at him. The dim light of the theater fell across his profile — that face she had loved for five years, still handsome, still guarded, still controlled. But suddenly it felt like a stranger’s face. She slowly tore the two movie tickets in her hands. The sound of the paper tearing was unusually sharp in the dark. “It’s fine.” Her voice was calm. “I didn’t really want to watch it anyway.” Garrett paused. “Today is my birthday,” he reminded her. “I know.” She nodded. “That’s why I got here an hour early.” A brief silence settled between them. He seemed to sense something. He didn’t push. Sonnet didn’t say anything more. The quiet between them was colder than anything playing on that screen. On the way home, Sonnet idly scrolled through her phone. She accidentally tapped into a live study stream. On the screen, a young girl sat under a soft lamp, head down, working through a problem set. Sonnet was about to scroll away. Then a hand reached into the frame. Long fingers. Defined knuckles. Beautiful. Near the base of the thumb, a faint scar. The girl looked up, smiling as she accepted the coffee. “Thanks.” The comments exploded — *”Is that her boyfriend???”* *”That hand though omg”* The girl smiled, a little shy. “That’s a secret.” Sonnet’s finger went still. She recognized that scar. The accident years ago — glass flying everywhere. She had stepped in front of Garrett to take the hit. Afterward, he had held her hand and said, *”Let me be the one to protect you from now on.”* There was no way she was wrong. Outside the car window, the neon lights blurred without warning. So this was what “something came up at work” meant. A different world. A different girl. And she was the one left standing outside. When she got home, Sonnet said nothing about what she’d seen. Garrett went to the study, like always. After a while, the real Garrett came back. She caught a faint floral scent on him. Sweet. Nothing like him. She didn’t look up. She had known for a year. Garrett had a twin brother. Cole. They were nearly identical. Sometimes it was Garrett who came home. Sometimes it was Cole. They took turns playing her husband. They thought it was seamless. What they didn’t know was that she had been able to tell them apart all along. Garrett always tucked his left hand in his pocket. Cole used his right. Garrett drank his coffee black. Cole liked two sugars. Small differences. None of them ever slipped past her. She had just been waiting. Waiting for Garrett to stop on his own. He never did. A few days later, Sonnet received the confirmation notice. The island transfer had gone through. She had bid on it online on a whim. Now it had become her way out. One month, she thought. That’s enough time to disappear. — **2** The girl from the live stream was named Rachel. Two years below Sonnet in college. A junior when Sonnet was a senior. Sonnet still remembered her. Back then, at the architecture design competition, Rachel had plagiarized. Sonnet was the one who reported it. Rachel lost her scholarship. Lost her overseas exchange opportunity. After that, the way Rachel looked at Sonnet always carried something — something like hatred. Now, Rachel wore Sonnet’s signature “Sea Mist” necklace on her live stream, laughing bright and easy. “My boyfriend gave it to me.” Sonnet stared at that necklace. It had taken her six months to create that piece. The original design files were locked in the studio at home. Only Garrett had access. She called him. “Where are you?” “At work, in a meeting.” Garrett’s voice was easy, natural. He sent her a location pin and a photo of the conference room. Airtight. Sonnet stared at the necklace around Rachel’s neck on her screen. “I believe you,” she said quietly. She hung up. She knew. Even if she walked into that office right now, all she’d find was Cole. From the very beginning, she had been the one being managed. Things were worse than she’d imagined. A few days later, it blew up. *”Sonnet’s Studio PLAGIARIZED!”* hit the trending page. Rachel posted a video calling her out. She showed sketches — timestamped earlier than Sonnet’s published work. The internet came for her in waves. Her online shop was flooded with attacks. Her physical storefront was vandalized with red paint. And the most devastating part — Sonnet couldn’t find her original drafts. She knew exactly who had taken them. She called Garrett. “Did you give her my design files?” A pause on the other end. “I figured you were done with them.” “It’s just a draft.” “She’s practically still a student. Why are you making it into such a big deal?” Sonnet laughed. “Just a draft?” “That was six months of my life.” Garrett’s voice went cold. “This family doesn’t need you to make money. All you have to do is be Mrs. Whitfield.” In that moment, something clicked. To him, her work had never mattered. She was just an accessory. A woman’s voice drifted through from the other end of the line. A soft, playful laugh. Sonnet didn’t say another word. She hung up. Minutes later, Rachel called. “How does it feel to be called a plagiarist, *senior*?” “Should’ve minded your own business back then.” “You really picked a great guy.” Sonnet pressed record. “Why are you doing this?” “Because I hate you.” “Everything you have — it’s mine now.” She ended the call. The apartment was terrifyingly quiet. Sonnet looked down at her hands. Once, she had believed love was a shelter. Now she knew. It was just an excuse. — **3** She didn’t sleep. The phone call, the recording, the trending posts — she backed everything up. Not to start a fight. To make sure she could stay clear-headed, no matter what came next. Clear enough that she’d never be dragged back with a single *”you misunderstood.”* At two in the morning, Garrett came home. The lock clicked. He took off his shoes in the entryway — same clean, efficient motion as always. He looked up and saw her sitting in the living room. Phone on the table, printed pages beside it. His footsteps slowed for just a beat. “Why are you still up?” His tone was warm. Like nothing had happened. Sonnet pushed the phone screen toward him. It was paused on the replay of the live stream — a hand reaching in from the edge of frame, the scar near the thumb unmistakable. Garrett’s gaze landed on it for half a second. Then he looked away, the ghost of a smile barely there. “You’re upset about that?” “Tell me,” Sonnet said, eyes steady. “Where were you today?” “Work.” He answered without hesitation. “Then where are my design files?” She wasn’t looking at his location, wasn’t reading his follow-up message. “The *Sea Mist* drafts. Why aren’t they in the safe?” Garrett’s brow tightened slightly. His tone dropped. “You went through my things?” “I went through *my* work.” She stood and walked straight toward the studio. “Open it.” That door had been locked. He kept the key. Garrett followed. Two seconds of silence. He unlocked the door. The light came on. The studio was too clean. The kind of clean that feels deliberate. Sonnet walked directly to the safe, entered the code, and the door swung open. One compartment was empty. She looked up at him. “You said you were at work.” Garrett’s expression finally shifted. He tried to reroute, dropping his voice lower. “I think you’ve been under too much stress lately. People online just love to stir things up.” “Don’t bring other people into this.” Sonnet cut him off. “One question. Who took the drafts.” Garrett’s throat moved. His eyes flickered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sonnet spread the printed pages across the desk. Screenshots from the stream. A timeline of the trending posts. A close-up of Rachel wearing the necklace. And the entry log she had compiled. “You don’t know?” She kept her voice even. “Then explain why the necklace she’s wearing has the exact detail you criticized when you watched me revise it.” Garrett’s fingers pressed together slowly. His knuckles went white. Sonnet didn’t give him room to breathe. She pushed forward. “One more thing.” She looked at him. Her voice dropped. “When did you start sending Cole home in your place?” Something hit him. His pupils contracted, just for a second. He denied it on instinct. “What are you talking about?” Sonnet looked at his hands. “Just now when you took your shoes off. You lifted your right foot first. That’s Cole’s habit, not yours.” Garrett’s breath caught. He tried to hold steady. “How could you possibly—” “Because you both thought I couldn’t tell you apart.” Her tone was flat. “But I could. I always could.” Silence held for a few seconds. Garrett’s expression slowly went cold. Like he was finally understanding that tonight wasn’t going to be smoothed over with a few soft words. Sonnet walked into the study. Garrett followed. For the first time, his steps weren’t steady. The study door closed. — **4** Garrett didn’t speak right away. The only sound in the study was the slow tick of the clock on the wall. “When did you find out?” he finally said. Sonnet stood near the doorway. She hadn’t moved further in. She looked at him. Her eyes were calm. “The first time was when you picked up a cup with your right hand.” “The second time was when you forgot I don’t eat cilantro.” “The third time was when you held me, and the way you held me felt different.” Garrett’s throat moved slightly. He hadn’t expected her to remember all of that. “Then why didn’t you say anything?” “Because I wanted to give you a chance.” She spoke like she was telling someone else’s story. “I wanted to see when you’d stop.” Something pressed down on Garrett’s chest. “Sonnet—” “You don’t need to explain.” She cut him off. “If you had really wanted to stop, you would have.” She walked further into the study. She set the printed divorce papers on the desk. The pages were stark white under the light. “Sign it.” Garrett stared at the papers, jaw tight. “Calm down.” “I am calm.” “You’re just angry.” Sonnet laughed — a quiet, brief sound. “Garrett. You still think this is me being emotional?” “You and your brother took turns pretending to be my husband.” “You gave my design files to another woman.” “You let her destroy my studio.” “And now you’re telling me *I’m* the one who needs to calm down?” Her voice didn’t break. No shouting, no tears. Just low and clear. Each word landing exactly where she meant it to. Garrett realized, for the first time, that her composure hurt more than crying ever would have. He didn’t sign. “I won’t agree to this.” “Then I’ll find another way.” Sonnet said it, turned, and walked out. The next day, she stopped coming home. The studio was a wreck. Red paint still smeared across the front door. Her employees stood with their heads down, nobody saying a word. Sonnet stood in the middle of the room, looking at the shattered model on the floor. She had stayed up three nights straight to build that. She bent down and picked up the pieces. The edge sliced a thin cut across her fingertip. She didn’t feel it. Compared to what was hollow inside her chest, the cut was nothing. “What do we do now?” her assistant asked quietly. Sonnet looked up. “Close the shop.” “Take everything down.” “We stop for now.” Her voice was steady. Like she was announcing a loss she had already accepted. Rachel was thriving. She went live every day. Her follower count was exploding. “I don’t want to press charges against my senior.” “I just hope she’ll address this directly.” “Plagiarism really does hurt original creators.” Her eyes glistened as she spoke, the tip of her nose faintly pink. The comments flooded with sympathy. Sonnet watched all of it in silence. She said nothing. No statement. No defense. There was no point in speaking to people who had already made up their minds. And right now, no one wanted to hear her side. Three days later, Sonnet sent a message to Cole. *”Meet me.”* The location: the sea cliffs. When Cole arrived, she was already there. The wind was strong. She stood in a white dress, hair pulled loose by the gusts. He felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. “Sonnet. Don’t do anything stupid.” Sonnet looked at him. “Are you scared?” Cole’s face went pale. “What do you mean?” “You both thought I couldn’t tell you apart, right?” “So let me tell you — I know everything.” “I know when you came, when you left.” “I know the things you said about me behind my back.” “I even know that you’re afraid of heights.” Cole took a step back. She really did know all of it. “Sonnet, we were only—” “Only having fun?” She finished the sentence for him, softly. Cole had no answer. Sonnet looked out at the water. “If I die in front of you, Garrett will hate you for the rest of his life.” “Are you going to jump in and save me?” Cole was silent. He couldn’t. He knew that about himself. Then she climbed over the railing. Clean. Decisive. Almost without hesitation. Cole lunged to grab her. His hand closed around nothing. “Sonnet—!” His voice was swallowed by the waves. She fell into the sea. The white of her dress swept through the air for a moment, then vanished. Cole stood at the edge of the cliff, legs shaking. He looked down. Vertigo hit him instantly. He couldn’t jump. He could only back away. For the first time, it hit him — She had even calculated his fear into the plan. Night deepened. The waves rolled. Across town, when the call came in, Garrett was still at the office. *”Sonnet jumped into the sea.”* His phone slipped from his hand. — **5** By the time Garrett reached the shore, it was past one in the morning. The wind cut cold. The barrier tape stretched far down the beach. The rescue team’s floodlights turned the water a harsh white, and waves kept breaking against the rocks with low, heavy thuds. The moment Garrett stepped out of the car, his legs nearly gave out. He spotted Cole standing at the railing, ashen-faced, fingertips still trembling — like a man just barely surfacing from something that had nearly crushed him. “Where is she?” Garrett’s voice came out rough. “Where’s Sonnet?” Cole opened his mouth. Nothing came out right away. His throat worked slowly, each word dragged out. “She jumped.” Garrett grabbed him by the collar, eyes gone red. “You just *let* her? You stood right there and did nothing?!” Cole stumbled back a step, lips white. “I tried — I almost had her.” “Almost?” Garrett was losing it. “*Almost* doesn’t mean anything!” Cole’s eyes flickered. Something like pain, quickly replaced by cold. “What are you performing for? You know better than anyone how she got to this point.” Garrett’s chest heaved. He wanted to say something. He couldn’t find a single word. Because he knew. Of course he knew. The search lasted ten full days. The water was divided into grids. Rescue teams rotated through in shifts. Sonar sweeps, dive teams, shoreline searches — every method they had. All they found was one of her shoes and a waterlogged section of her dress. Nothing more. Garrett refused to believe it at first. Still refused on day two. By day five, he stopped arguing with anyone. He just stood at the edge of the water, chain-smoking, one cigarette after another. The smoke scorched his lungs. He didn’t seem to notice. On the tenth night, Garrett came home and pushed open the bedroom door. It hit him like a blow to the chest. The closet was empty. The vanity was bare. The photo of the two of them from the nightstand — gone. That was the moment it became real. Sonnet hadn’t jumped on impulse. She had prepared to leave. This wasn’t a fight. This was a goodbye. Garrett braced his hand against the doorframe, knuckles white. After a long moment, he said quietly, “Margaret.” The housekeeper hurried upstairs, her face tight with worry. “Sir…” “The things in the room. Where are they?” “Ma’am… ma’am told us to get rid of them.” Margaret’s voice trembled. “She said it was all… just trash.” Trash. Something tore open in Garrett’s chest. He could barely breathe. He moved through the room slowly, like he was confirming something he wasn’t ready to confirm. Then he pulled open the nightstand drawer. The divorce papers. Sonnet’s signature, clean and certain. And beside them, a handwritten note. *”Garrett. This is where we end.”* He stared at those words until the edges of his vision darkened. That night, Rachel called. She was crying, soft and trembling. “Garrett… I saw the news. Is Sonnet really…?” Listening to her cry, he felt something he’d never felt around her before. Revulsion. He used to think she was delicate. Now her voice just felt like nails on glass. “Shut up.” His voice was ice. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure you never open your mouth again.” Rachel choked on whatever she’d been about to say. He hung up. Garrett sat on the couch. The cigarette between his fingers burned down to nothing. He didn’t move. Let the ash fall into his palm. And he thought of something Sonnet had said to him. *”You don’t need to explain. If you had really wanted to stop, you would have.”* For the first time, he was afraid. Afraid that she was really gone. Afraid that she hadn’t even left him her hatred.

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When my mom was five months pregnant, she made me move into the barn to “ward off misfortune” for my unborn brother. That was the first time I didn’t argue with her. I just said yes. Because she’s an artist with words. She can always say one thing and mean two. “My daughter is so sensitive — one little comment and she’ll hold onto it for ten years.” “Let her be. Kids having opinions is a good thing. We have to respect that.” For eighteen years, I’d become exactly the daughter she described to everyone else — “difficult,” “ungrateful.” When I was brought back home and forced to eat on my knees like an animal, while my brother rode on my back 。 Everyone praised my mom for being a saint. For never giving up on me. I didn’t argue. Because they didn’t know I was counting down the days. Getting ready to give her a gift she’d never forget — in front of every single relative and friend she cared about. **1** The barn door shut behind me. I heard Mom sigh on the other side. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Just three months. Once your brother is born, I’ll come get you.” Her voice was as soft and warm as always. Mrs. Henderson from next door happened to walk by. “Oh my — why is your daughter staying in there?” My mom’s voice filled with what sounded like heartache. “She asked to. Said she wanted the experience.” “I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how kids are these days. So headstrong.” Mrs. Henderson told her she was such an open-minded parent. I crouched beside the cow and said nothing. Through the wall, I heard Dad say: “Isn’t this a bit much? She’s still our daughter.” “What do you know? This is an old tradition — a frail baby needs someone to take on the bad luck.” “She’s tough. And besides, she didn’t even object.” That’s right. I didn’t object. Because I knew it wouldn’t matter. If I said I didn’t want to stay here, she’d cry to the neighbors. And then everyone would call me an ungrateful, selfish daughter. So I saved my energy. At least this way I’d walk away with the one good reputation I’d never had — the compliant one. The barn was harder than I’d imagined. In winter, cold wind poured through the gaps. In summer, mosquitoes left welts all over my skin. Mom came once a day with food. She’d stand at the door and call out softly, “Sweetheart, dinner’s ready.” The neighbors who saw her said she had such a kind heart. “She’s bringing real food to the barn — if my kid pulled something like this, I’d let them go hungry until they learned.” What was actually in the thermos container was usually leftover rice that was almost spoiled. I’d crouch beside the cow to eat. Sometimes it would wander over and sniff at my bowl, then sneeze and turn back to its hay. The day my brother was born, I heard firecrackers going off next door. The cow gently bumped its head against my side. “You think it’s funny too?” I rested my hand on its neck. “I’ve never even seen his face, and I’m already out here taking the hit for him.” It blinked its big dark eyes. Three months became six. Six months became a year. Every time, Mom would say: “Soon. Just until your brother gets a little stronger, then I’ll bring you home.” Year after year. In the spring of the fifth year, the barn door finally opened. Mom stood there with the same gentle expression. “Sweetheart, you’ve worked so hard. Your brother is healthy now. Mom’s here to bring you home.” The cow followed me to the doorway and pressed its nose against my hand. “It doesn’t want to let you go,” Mom said with a smile. “Even animals have a sense of these things.” It sounded like she was complimenting the cow. But I knew what she meant. She was saying I was only capable of bonding with animals. The house had changed a lot. The living room was full of toys. The walls were covered in my brother’s drawings. A five-year-old boy came running over and stared at me with wide eyes. “This is your sister,” Mom said, lifting him up. “Say hi.” My brother wrinkled his nose and shrank back. “Ew! She stinks! Cow poop witch!” I sniffed myself out of habit. “I don’t smell.” He pinched his nose shut. Mom patted his back gently. “We don’t say things like that about your sister.” She turned to me. “Don’t take it to heart, sweetheart. He’s little. Good nose on him.” “Mom noticed too, honestly.” She smiled. “But it’s fine. After a while you just… stop noticing the smell.” “And we’ve all had our shots, so nothing to worry about.” — **2** I stood in the middle of the living room, wanting to say something back, but not finding the words. “You’ll take the guest room for now.” “We turned your old room into a playroom for your brother.” Mom pointed to the small room at the end of the hall. “Once he gets a little older, we’ll clear the toys out.” “Your blankets are out on the balcony. Go grab them.” She carried my brother toward the kitchen. “Mom needs to warm up his milk. It’s naptime.” I went to the balcony and found my blankets covered in mold. It was obvious no one had touched them in years. That evening, our neighbor Aunt Carol stopped by with sweets to celebrate — her son had just gotten into college. Mom invited her to stay for dinner, sounding genuinely envious. “That’s wonderful. You must be so proud.” “Mine, now — she got in too, but threw a fit and refused to go. Insisted on going to live on a farm for the experience.” I was sitting at the table. My hand froze in midair. I didn’t know which hand to pick up a fork with. For the past five years in the barn, Mom never gave me utensils. I ate crouched on the ground, hunched over my bowl. My brother noticed and burst out laughing. “Mommy, look! She doesn’t know which hand to use!” Mom said gently, “Don’t laugh at your sister. She’s just… gotten used to a different way.” She held out a fork for me. I took it and tried to pick up some food. My fingers wouldn’t cooperate. The food fell back onto the table. “That’s okay. Take your time.” She ladled some soup into my bowl. “Start with the soup.” Her voice was as warm and patient as ever. But I saw her lean down and whisper something in my brother’s ear. He laughed even harder and ran over to me, shoved me off my chair, and climbed onto my back. “Giddyup! Ride the cow! Ride the cow!” Mom smiled warmly. “Look, sweetie — your brother is doing exposure therapy with you.” “Only family would care enough to do this. If you weren’t his sister, he wouldn’t even bother playing with you.” My brother started kicking my ribs. “Giddyup! Move!” I didn’t move. He kicked harder. I shot up. He tumbled to the floor and started wailing. “I am not a cow.” “I am NOT a cow!” I shouted. “I’m a person! I’m an adult!” Aunt Carol flinched. “Good lord. Why is she being so rough with him? She spent all that time on the farm and she’s still got that temper.” Mom gave a tired smile. “I know. I worry about her. No matter how much I do for her, she always feels like we owe her something.” “Mom,” I cut in, “I don’t feel like you owe me anything.” She blinked. “Okay. I’m sorry. Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.” That kind of line. It always sounded so sincere. Aunt Carol took the bait right on cue. “See how good your mom is? She’s actually apologizing to you.” “You’re old enough to know better.” Mom shifted my brother in her arms. “She’s always been a hair trigger.” “I have to be so careful with what I say. I’m always afraid of setting her off.” Aunt Carol patted her hand. “I hear you. It’s not easy being her mom.” I opened my mouth. Wanted to say something else. But suddenly I was just exhausted. All these years of fighting, and I’d never once won. She’d turned me into the family villain. I got down on the floor. Went back down on my hands and knees. My brother sniffled and climbed back onto my back. Mom immediately brightened. “There we go. Siblings don’t stay mad.” “We all just want what’s best for you.” Aunt Carol sighed. “That temper of yours really does need work.” “Good thing your mom is so patient. In my house, I’d have sorted that out a long time ago.” As I crawled along the floor, I thought of the cow back in the barn. So thin its ribs pressed through its skin. I used to wrap my arms around its neck for warmth. It never moved. Now I understood. It probably wanted to die back then too. It just couldn’t say so. — **3** That night, lying in a real bed for the first time in years, I heard Mom’s voice drifting from the master bedroom. “Sending her to that barn back then — honestly, best decision I ever made.” I couldn’t hear the other side of the call. Mom laughed. “Ward off misfortune? That was just something to say.” “Otherwise the neighbors would’ve talked — called me sexist, called me a bad mother. How awful would that look.” “If she broke down out there, ran off or lost her mind, that’s on her. Nothing to do with us.” “I honestly didn’t think she’d make it five years. She’s tougher than I gave her credit for.” So that was it. There was no superstition. No warding off anything. She just didn’t want me. But she didn’t want the reputation that came with throwing away a daughter, either. So she put me in the barn and waited for me to disappear on my own. I didn’t. I lasted too long. So bringing me back at least made me useful — a toy for my brother. Make the most of every resource. Once I understood that clearly, something in me went quiet. In a few days, it would be my brother’s birthday party. Mom said she wanted to go all out. Every relative, every family friend would be there. She planned to announce that day, in front of everyone, that I was home. To tell them she never gave up on me. I sat up, bit into my finger, and wrote in blood on a torn page. Then I reached under the bed for the old backpack I’d hidden there. Inside were everything I’d written over the years. Every day. Every word she had ever said to me. The soft ones. The ones that cut like ice. The ones that sounded so perfectly kind. Mom — if that’s how it is, I’ll keep being your obedient cow. I’ll go quietly. And I’ll make sure your perfect life stops on that day. Forever. Late that night, I dreamed I was back in the barn. The cow was chewing hay in the dark. It looked at me. As if to say: *Hold on a little longer. It’s almost over.* — The next morning, my brother was sprawled on the floor playing with toy cars. He looked up at me and grinned. “Make a cow sound, sissy!” I didn’t move. “Come on, come on!” He scrambled up and grabbed at my leg. “Mommy said you lived with the cow forever — you definitely know how!” Mom watched from across the room with a smile. “Don’t tease her. For her sake — let’s not talk about cows.” “She’ll get worked up again.” But she stood right there without pulling him away. Just watching. My brother started to cry. “I want to hear the cow sound! I WANT TO!” Mom crouched down to soothe him. “Baby, don’t cry…” She looked up at me and gave me that perfect smile. I knew what it meant. She was waiting for me to handle it myself. I opened my mouth and let out a low moo. My brother stopped crying instantly, clapping and shrieking with delight. “She did it! A real cow sound!” Mom laughed and ruffled his hair. “There you go. Happy now? Let’s go downstairs.” I stood up and walked to the window. In the garden below, my brother was chasing a balloon. Mom trailed behind him, arms half-raised, ready to catch him if he stumbled. The sunlight fell across her face. Soft. Beautiful. Anyone who saw her would say she was a perfect mother. — That afternoon, I went to the kitchen for water and stopped in front of the dispenser for three seconds. Then I crouched down, leaned toward the spout, and stuck out my tongue. The water hit my tongue before I caught what I was doing. For five years in the barn, that’s how I drank. Crouched over the trough, lapping like an animal. My brother came running in and saw. He clapped his hands and screamed laughing. “Mommy! Sissy is drinking like a cow!” Mom came over and crouched next to me, voice soft. “Sweetheart — for your own sake, let’s use a cup.” She held out a plastic cup. “Some habits take time to unlearn after being away so long. Mom understands.” My brother was beside himself. Mom was laughing too, eyes curving into gentle crescents. “Look at you — you made him laugh again.” I took the cup and brought it to my mouth. Some of the water spilled and ran down my chin. “Slow down,” Mom said. “No one’s taking it from you.” My brother leaned in and pointed at my face. “Mommy! Her mouth is leaking! Just like a cow!” Mom dabbed at my chin with a paper towel. Gentle hands. “Good job. You used a cup today.” I ran back to my room. My hands were still shaking. Not from anger. Because just now, when I was drinking — I almost stuck out my tongue again. The body remembers more honestly than the mind. — **4** That night I didn’t want to come out for dinner. Mom pulled me out of my room anyway. “Sweetheart, you have to eat something. Your body isn’t yours to neglect. When you don’t eat, it hurts us too.” She sighed and said into her phone, “Let me call you back, sis. I’m trying to get her to eat… Kids get harder when they grow up.” My brother appeared from somewhere holding a fistful of grass and set it on the table. “Cow eats grass!” Mom let out a soft laugh. “See? Your brother loves you.” “He knows you got used to eating fresh things out there. The cooked stuff probably doesn’t sit right.” I stared at the grass. My stomach lurched. “Eat it! Eat it!” My brother grabbed the grass and shoved it at my mouth. I gagged and bolted to the bathroom, where I threw up. My brother froze for a second — then burst into laughter. “The cow puked! The cow is ruminating!” I snapped around. Ruminating. A five-year-old knew that word. I gripped the edge of the sink and finally understood. Mom taught him that. She had been teaching him how to humiliate me. One lesson at a time. In her mind, I wasn’t her daughter. I was livestock. A cow that might wander off at any moment. Dad put down his fork. “That’s enough.” Mom wiped the table with a napkin, movements unhurried. “The kids are just playing. Don’t be so serious.” She looked up with a smile. “It’s sibling bonding.” I came out of the bathroom holding my stomach. Mom reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bag. “Oh, right — for your brother’s birthday party, wear this.” She shook out what was inside. A cow mascot costume. Brown fur, black hooves, and a hood with two curved horns. “Think of it as your present to him. You’ll be adorable in it.” Her eyes were bright and full of expectation. Like any ordinary mother waiting for her child to do something sweet. I nodded. She smiled and hugged me. “I knew you’d come through.” “Oh — that cow. It’s gone.” My hand stopped. “Froze to death,” she said, as casually as if she were talking about the weather. “I found it stiff one morning and had the neighbor come take it away.” I didn’t say anything. “Don’t be sad about it. It was just an animal. That’s life.” She paused. When I still didn’t react, she kept going. “The neighbor said its eyes were still open when they found it.” “Silly thing. What did it have to be so reluctant about?” She smiled. “Try the costume on.” I felt nothing. I pulled off my jacket and stepped into the costume, then pulled the hood over my head. She adjusted it so I could see out through the eye holes. “Perfect fit.” She stepped back and looked me over. “Your brother will want to introduce you. ‘This is my sister.’” She paused. “The most soulful one in the family.” She walked away. I went back to my room and closed the door. I pulled the tiebacks off the curtains and stretched them between my hands. There was a crossbeam above the door frame. I dragged a chair over, stepped up, and tied a knot. Mom was laughing in the living room. The sound drifted in, muffled. I lay down and looked at the rope. The height was just right. She’d push the door open tomorrow and it would be the first thing she saw. My gift to her. — The day of my brother’s birthday party, the house filled up. Relatives everywhere. Laughter pouring from the living room. My brother ran around in a tiny suit, collecting red envelopes from every guest. Mom’s voice was even softer than usual. “You really didn’t have to bring anything.” My door stayed shut. No one came to get me. Close to noon, Mom said through the door, “Get ready, sweetheart.” I didn’t answer. She waited a moment, then left. I got up. Put on the cow costume. Covered the walls with the blood letter and the diary pages. Then I stepped onto the chair. The costume was bulky and awkward. I adjusted my position, settled the rope around my neck, and kicked the chair away. The costume weighed me down. I dropped fast. The moment the rope pulled tight, I heard Mom’s voice in the hallway: “We actually have some wonderful news today — my older daughter is back home after some time away in the country…” Applause from the guests. “If she comes out and she’s crouching, or acting a little strange, please don’t laugh…” “Just think of it as giving her a chance to start over.” “I know that with the love of this family, she’ll be okay.” Louder applause. The door handle turned. The door swung open. Mom stood in the doorway, her perfect smile in place. Then she looked past it and saw me. Saw my arms and legs hanging limp inside the costume, swaying gently. The smile froze on her face.

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My boyfriend Leon Finch was broke and cheating on me. I’d had enough. “You can’t even afford a house,” I snapped. “We’re done, you loser!” Leon blinked, then looked down. His voice was calm. “Okay.” I was still surprised by how easily he agreed when the comments suddenly appeared: [Niya is so stupid. Eve Anderson barely had to lift a finger and she’s already rushing to break up with Leon. Does she have any idea he’s actually the heir to a billion-dollar fortune?] [She dumps Leon, and the next day his biological parents find him and bring him home to inherit the family empire. She’s going to regret this so much.] [When Niya finds out she’s pregnant and tries to use the baby to force Leon into marrying her, she doesn’t even get to see his face before she gets hit by a car and dies. LOL.] I am Niya. And it turns out Leon wasn’t cheating. He’d been set up. Someone was deliberately trying to tear us apart. Leon looked at me, exhausted and at his wit’s end. “What do you want from me?” “What do I want?” I shot back, my voice cracking with rage. “I should be the one asking you that!” “I’ve stood by you through everything, and this is what you do behind my back. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t wronged me?!” Leon stared at me with that infuriating expression, like I was throwing a tantrum over nothing. “I’m sorry, what exactly did I do behind your back?” “What did you do?” I laughed bitterly, grabbed his jacket off the chair, and dug into the pocket. I pulled out a red lace thong and threw it at his feet. “You better tell me who this belongs to, or we are not done here!” Leon looked down at it for a moment, then said with a completely straight face, “It’s not mine. I don’t have that kind of thing.” “…Are you serious right now?!” [Leon actually thought Niya was accusing him of wearing women’s underwear. It didn’t even occur to him that she thought he was cheating. His brain works in a completely different way.] [Leon is totally devoted to her. He genuinely didn’t think about cheating at all.] [That’s not the point though, is it? The point is Niya just blurted everything out. Can they even break up smoothly now?] Leon thought for a few seconds, and then it finally clicked. His expression shifted to something urgent. “I have no idea where that came from.” “I haven’t been near any other woman today. There’s no way I could have…” And then he slowed down. His eyes moved to me, and something changed in them. Suspicion. Cold distance. “I know things have been hard on you. If you want to break up, I won’t beg you to stay. But there’s no need to… do something like this.” It took me a second to understand what he was implying. I stared at him. “Do something like what?” Was he seriously suggesting I planted that underwear in his pocket and then pretended to find it? Leon closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were completely empty. “You’re young and pretty. You deserve better options. Let’s break up.” My eyes went wide. “What did you just say?” Leon looked away. His voice was steady. “Let’s break up.” My hand flew up before I could think. The slap landed hard across his face. I regretted it the second it happened. I opened my mouth to apologize, but Leon had already turned and walked away, his face completely unreadable. I was still burning with anger. “Fine! If you want to break up, then we’re done!” Leon’s steps faltered for just a moment. Then he walked faster, reached the front door, and slammed it shut behind him. I stared at the closed door. My nose stung. The tears came before I could stop them. [I thought Eve’s plan had failed, but somehow it all worked out in the end. What a twist!] [I mean, I kind of feel like what Eve did was wrong. Niya and Leon were happy together. She didn’t have to destroy that just to take his place.] [Are you forgetting that Eve was Leon’s actual fiancée? If Leon hadn’t been switched at birth, they would have been together all along.] [And Niya spent her last life making everyone miserable once she got pregnant with Leon’s baby. She went out of her way to provoke and humiliate Eve at every turn. Eve came back and got revenge. Seems fair to me.] Fine. It’s done. So what? I’m not going to fall apart over this.

That’s what I told myself. But it still hurt like hell. I went back to the bedroom and buried my face in the pillow and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. I don’t know how long I cried. Then I heard the front door open. I stopped crying instantly and scrambled off the bed. I was halfway to the door before I made myself stop. Him coming back didn’t mean he was coming back to make up. He could just as easily be here to grab his things. The thought made it worse. I took a slow breath and tried to hold myself together. I turned to go back to the room. The bedroom door swung open from the other side. Leon stood in the doorway, looking unhappy and a little lost in that way that only made him more attractive. I forgot, for a second, to be heartbroken. Leon blinked. Then he held out a pizza box and two cups of coffee. “Eat something first. Then we can talk.” [I actually thought Leon was about to walk out for good. Turns out he just went downstairs, smoked a few cigarettes, and talked himself down.] [Leon has always been the responsible type. Niya doesn’t want to break up, and even if he’s upset with her right now, he’s not going to force the issue.] [It doesn’t matter. They’ll break up eventually.] I did my best to ignore the flood of spiteful comments and wiped my nose. “Okay.” I followed Leon into the living room. I sat down at the table and stared at nothing. He unpacked the food carefully, setting everything out. I looked up. “You’re not eating?” “Already ate,” Leon said flatly. I didn’t call him on the lie. I just put my head down and ate. Leon always reached for cigarettes when he was stressed. His hand found the pack, then stopped. He pushed it away. “You can smoke if you want,” I said. I hated the smell, which was why he never smoked in front of me. I used to take that for granted. I didn’t dare take it for granted anymore. “Don’t want to,” Leon said coldly. Fine. I didn’t push it. After a while, Leon spoke again, his voice slower, like he was thinking out loud. “I’ve been looking at the numbers. What I have right now is barely enough for a down payment on a small place.” “It wouldn’t be anything fancy. Old building, small square footage. But if you don’t mind, we could start there and trade up later.” I stopped chewing. Leon gave me a small, crooked smile. “Didn’t you always say the biggest dream of your life was to have a real home? Now you’re turning your nose up at square footage?” My throat tightened. Every wall I’d built up while he was gone came crashing down at once, and I burst into tears. Leon panicked immediately. “Okay, forget the small place, we’ll wait until we can afford something bigger—” That only made it worse. I cried harder. He looked more helpless by the second. I gave up trying to hold it together and threw my arms around him, crying against his chest. Leon held me tight and kept talking in a low, steady voice, over and over, patient in a way that broke me even more. “Hey. Don’t cry. We’re going to have that big house someday. I promise.” [She’s not completely unsympathetic, I guess. The reason she’s so fixated on having a home probably has everything to do with her childhood.] [Her sad backstory doesn’t justify the way she treated Leon and Eve. Let’s not make excuses for her.] [Exactly. She might seem pitiful right now, but the second a richer guy shows up, she’ll drop Leon without a second thought.]

When I was three, my parents separated. They both moved on quickly and started new families. For a while, I lived with my grandmother, and life was steady enough. But after she passed, I spent years being shuffled between relatives, sleeping in spare rooms and corners of houses that weren’t mine, constantly aware of how much I owed people just for being tolerated. That was my life, until I graduated college and met Leon. For the first time, things felt stable. I’d told him more than once that all I wanted, more than anything in the world, was a place that was truly mine. Buying a home in this city on two regular salaries wasn’t just difficult. It was almost impossible. I knew that. Leon knew that. I’ll admit that lately I’d let the housing thing consume me. But I never once thought about breaking up with Leon over it. I genuinely believed he had cheated on me. That’s why I said what I said. I was furious, and I reacted. And for the record — I don’t hold any bitterness toward the relatives who took me in. They weren’t my parents. They didn’t have to help me. That they did was already more than I had any right to expect. I cried for a long time before Leon finally calmed me down. He kissed my forehead gently and made a quiet promise. “Trust me. We’re going to have that house one day.” I pressed my face against his chest. “Yeah.” Leon pulled back just far enough to look at me, and then, without any warning, he kissed me. Things escalated quickly. We ended up in bed, and just before things went too far, his phone went off. We both froze. Leon grabbed it and checked the screen. A small frown crossed his face. “Who is it?” I asked. “My boss,” Leon said, sounding pained. “Probably another dinner thing.” I wasn’t happy about it either, but I gave him a nudge. “He doesn’t do this for just anyone. Go.” Leon’s situation with his adoptive parents had always been complicated. He’d been pushed out into the workforce before he even finished high school, expected to bring in money for the family. They’d taken from him for years. It wasn’t until he and I got together that he finally managed to put some distance between himself and their constant demands. Leon was sharp and a fast learner, but without the right credentials or connections, he’d been stuck. His current boss had built something from nothing, and he was willing to invest in Leon. The catch was late-night dinners and networking that bled into personal time. Leon rarely turned those down. I understood, and I supported it. He bit my shoulder lightly in frustration. “I’m coming back to deal with you later.” I kicked him in the shin. Leon laughed under his breath, pulled his clothes on fast, and was already on the phone with his boss as he walked out the door. After he left, it hit me. If Leon really is the heir to a billion-dollar empire, there’s no reason for him to keep playing nice with a small-time boss. But then again — I should probably act the same way I always have. If I suddenly start behaving differently, it’ll raise questions. Then another thought hit me. The comments mentioned I’d try to use a pregnancy to force Leon’s hand. Which meant I was probably already pregnant. I got dressed, walked to the pharmacy near our building, and bought three different brands of pregnancy tests. I used two of them. Both came back with two clear lines. So it was real. But would Leon’s parents accept me? If they didn’t, would he choose me anyway? And if he did, would he actually be in a position to fight them on it? I had no way of knowing. One step at a time. I was about to go to bed when the comments exploded. [Wait — Leon’s father is there too?! Is tonight actually the night Leon gets brought back into the family?] [It seems like it! Niya literally just broke up with him earlier and now — wait, didn’t they make up already? Was she supposed to stay broken up with him?] [Doesn’t matter. Leon’s already seen her true colors. In his heart, he’s probably already done with her.] Something cold settled in my chest.

I tried to reach Leon every way I could. Nothing went through. The comments went dark too. I paced the apartment in circles, wound tight with anxiety, and finally gave up and sat on the floor with my arms wrapped around myself, crying quietly. What was the worst case here? The worst case was exactly what the comments said. He’d decide I was shallow and materialistic, and cut me off completely. It wasn’t like he was going to have me killed. So why did it feel so terrifying? But then — what about the baby? Have it in secret and let the child spend their whole life as someone Leon never acknowledges? Or use the pregnancy to pressure him into paying me off? Some kind of deal where I disappear in exchange for enough money to last a lifetime? I didn’t think I could do either of those things. Which only left one option. Take care of it myself. Even though I’d already prepared myself for the worst, I couldn’t bring myself to act immediately. There was still some small part of me holding on to hope. So I waited. I told myself I was giving Leon time to finish whatever was happening with his family before reaching out. He never reached out. What I got instead was the news that Leon had hurt someone during a blackout and was facing serious time. His boss called me. He said Leon was looking at around ten years. He told me he felt terrible, and that he was giving me fifty thousand dollars as compensation. He said he hoped I’d wait for Leon. But the way he said it, the pauses, the careful phrasing — he was clearly telling me to take the money and go. I wasn’t planning to play along. Then the comments appeared: [If Niya’s smart, she takes the money and disappears. Otherwise Eve is not going to let this go.] [What can Eve actually do though? She can’t exactly have Niya killed.] [You seriously think the car accident in the original story was an accident? Ha.] Eve had money and power. What was I supposed to do? I took the fifty thousand and I left. I was on my way back to my hometown when something nagged at me. Something felt off. Eve had been through this all before. She knew about the baby. There was no reason she’d chase me out and leave the pregnancy untouched. It didn’t take long to figure out. Under normal circumstances, a woman like me — selfish, materialistic, no real attachment — would never keep the baby after Leon was arrested. Nobody would have to pressure me. I’d go straight to the clinic on my own. So if I didn’t do it voluntarily, what came next was probably a very carefully arranged accident. One that looked like bad luck. Fatal for two. I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to survive, I had to do exactly what Eve expected. I had to be the woman they thought I was, and I had to end the pregnancy myself. I made the appointment. The morning of the procedure, I was sitting outside the operating room waiting to be called in when I felt it. A pressure. Like something dangerous pointed directly at me. I looked up. Leon was walking toward me. His face was dark. His eyes were red. How was he here? I scrambled to my feet, backing away without thinking. He kept coming, closing the distance, his voice shaking with controlled fury. “Niya. You couldn’t wait to take the money and run. And now you’re here to get rid of my child. Do you have even a shred of conscience left?” My back hit the wall. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I wanted to explain. I didn’t know where to start. [Eve is a genius. She engineered the whole thing — got Niya to take the money, run, and then show up here — so even if Leon still had feelings for her, there’s no coming back from this. Truly brutal.] [Exactly. Making Leon see her “true self” is so much better than anything physical. No laws broken, and Niya doesn’t become some tragic memory he can never get over.] — I thought Leon would be too angry to stop the procedure. He didn’t stop it. He reversed it. He said he wanted the baby born. Just not me. “Have the baby. I’ll give you ten million dollars. After that, we’re strangers.” I forced my face into something that looked like a smile and blinked the tears back. “Sure.” Ten million dollars. At my salary, I’d be working sixty years straight without spending a cent to save that much. Only a fool would say no. Leon looked angrier, his chest rising and falling hard. But he didn’t blow up.

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I sponsored a poverty-stricken student for seven years. He finally graduated. He sent me a message saying he wanted to come to my city to “repay” me. On the day we met, he handed me a ten-page “repayment list” detailing every expense his entire family would need for the foreseeable future — and demanded that I marry him on the spot. I frowned and refused. He grabbed my wrist, looked me dead in the eye, and said: “Leah, you’ve been investing in me for seven years. I’m the interest you’ve earned. It’s time to collect.” Aaron graduated. He messaged me while I was stuck in a long cross-department meeting. My phone lit up with a SnapChat notification. It was him: “Leah, I graduated. I’m coming to your city in June. You’ve supported me for seven years — I have to find a way to repay you.” I stared at the screen and felt a quiet warmth in my chest. Seven years ago, I had joined a nonprofit program and was matched one-on-one with Aaron, who was in high school at the time. His family had very little money, but his grades were exceptional. For seven years, we kept in touch through emails and the occasional phone call. I watched him grow from a shy, awkward teenager into someone who earned a spot at a top university and made it all the way to graduation. It was one of the most genuinely satisfying things I’d ever done. I typed back: “Congratulations. Have you lined up a job yet? Let me know if you need any help.” Aaron replied quickly: “I’ve got a few offers, actually. I’d love to talk it over with you in person. Can I take you to dinner? I want to thank you face to face.” I didn’t think much of it and said yes. We agreed to meet at a nice restaurant I liked — upscale, the kind of place with white tablecloths and a wine list. I thought it might be a new experience for someone just out of college. A small way to welcome him into the next chapter. I arrived a few minutes early and waited. Then a young man in a crisp white shirt walked through the door. He was tall and lean, with something still a little collegiate about his face — but his eyes were more complicated than I’d expected. He walked straight toward me with a practiced smile. “Leah.” This was the first time we had ever actually met. I stood and smiled back. “Aaron. Congratulations on graduating.” He seemed a little nervous, his eyes drifting around the restaurant, taking everything in. I invited him to sit and handed him a menu. He waved it off. “You order, Leah. I’m fine with anything.” I ordered for us both. After the server left, a brief silence settled over the table. I broke it: “So — have you figured out what you want to do about the job offers?” He reached into the briefcase he’d brought and pulled out a thick stack of papers. He set them on the table deliberately, then slid them toward me. “Leah, before we get to the job stuff — I want to talk about something else first. About repaying you.” I was a little surprised. I looked at the papers. “What is this?” “It’s my repayment plan. Take a look.” His expression was completely serious, and beneath it, something almost expectant. Puzzled, I picked it up. The title on the first page read: “Aaron’s Family Financial Plan — 30-Year Budget Projection.” I went still. I turned to the second page, and what I found there left me genuinely speechless. It was a detailed, itemized list: “1. Parents’ retirement support: $10,000 per month for 20 years. Total: $2,400,000.” “2. Brother’s wedding costs and down payment on a home: $880,000.” “3. Renovation of family home in hometown: $500,000.” “4. Family emergency medical fund: $1,000,000.” The list went on for ten full pages. Every item had a specific figure attached. The grand total at the end was a number I had to count the digits of twice before I could believe it. I felt something close to absurdity rising in my chest. I looked up at Aaron. “What exactly is this?” My voice had gone cold. He didn’t seem to notice the shift in my tone. He leaned forward, his eyes bright and intent. “This is my plan for repaying you. You supported me for seven years, so you’re my investor. Now I’ve graduated, which means it’s time for your return. All you have to do is marry me. Then I’m yours, and my future is yours. And naturally, you’d be responsible for everything on that list.” He said it the way someone states a mathematical fact. Like it was simply obvious. I stared at him and felt like I was looking at a stranger. This was the student I had sponsored for seven years? The one with the glowing grades and the grateful emails? “Marry you?” I repeated the words slowly, because hearing them out loud made them somehow even more unreal. He nodded, then reached into his pocket and produced a small jewelry box. He opened it. Inside was a plain silver ring. “Leah, marry me. I bought this with my first paycheck from my internship. I know it’s not much right now, but I promise — someday I’ll replace it with the most expensive ring in the world.” I looked at the ring and felt nothing but a deep, uncomfortable revulsion. I took a slow breath and worked to keep my voice even. “Aaron, I think there’s been a serious misunderstanding. I supported you because I believed in giving back — not because I was making an investment. I don’t want anything from you. And I am absolutely not going to marry you.” I slid the ridiculous list back across the table toward him. “Your life is yours to build. That’s something you do with your own effort, not by expecting someone else to fund it.” The expression on Aaron’s face changed. The smile dropped. In its place was something stubborn and genuinely confused. “Leah, how can you say that?” He shoved back from the table and stood up, grabbing my wrist with a grip that was startling in its force. A few heads in the restaurant turned toward us. I pulled against his hand. “Aaron. Let go of me.” He didn’t. He held tighter, and he looked at me like he had every right to. “Leah, you’ve been investing in me for seven years. I’m the interest you’ve earned. It’s time to collect.” His voice was low, but each word landed with the weight of a fist. A wave of nausea moved through me. Seven years of genuine care — and in his mind, it had always been a transaction with a price tag. My patience was gone. I wrenched my arm free, grabbed the “repayment list” off the table, and threw it directly at his face. Pages scattered across the floor. “Let me be very clear. I am not your investor. You are not my return on investment. Take your disgusting logic, and stay the hell away from me.” I picked up my bag and walked out. He said nothing as I left. Outside, the cold air hit my face. I barely felt it. There was nothing in my chest but a slow, burning fury. I felt like a complete fool.

I got home and dropped onto the couch, my thoughts a total mess. Aaron’s face — so calm, so entitled — kept replaying in my head. And that line: I’m the interest you’ve earned. I was furious. But underneath the anger was something worse: the hollow, aching feeling of being betrayed. I picked up my phone to block him on everything. Before I could, his messages started coming in. One after another, rapid-fire. “Why are you upset? What did I say wrong?” “If we get married, I give you everything I am — you handle our finances. Isn’t that fair?” “Is it because you think I’m poor? That you look down on my family?” “You’re a successful woman. Why can’t you accept a man who loves you and wants to give you everything?” “You supported me for seven years. Doesn’t that mean you had feelings for me all along? Now I’m here — why are you turning me away?” My hands were shaking by the time I finished reading. I couldn’t process it. He had a college degree. He had spent four years in higher education. And somehow he’d arrived at this worldview — this grotesque, shameless entitlement — and thought it made perfect sense. I didn’t respond. I blocked his SnapChat, his number, everything. I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. I had no idea what he was capable of. The next morning, I pulled up outside my office building and spotted a familiar figure near the entrance. Aaron was standing at the front door in the same white shirt, holding a cheap bouquet of roses, drawing stares from people heading in for the day. When he saw my car, he rushed toward it. I locked the doors and looked at him through the window. He knocked on the glass, his expression a carefully arranged mix of hurt and devotion. “Leah, why did you block me? Are you seriously that upset?” “I’m not giving up. I know you have feelings for me. I know it.” I had absolutely nothing to say to him. I drove down into the parking garage. By the time I reached my office, I could tell from the looks people were giving me that he’d been out there a while. A minute after I sat down, the front desk called. “Ms. Leah?” The receptionist sounded uncomfortable. “There’s a man downstairs — an Aaron? He says he’s your fiancé and he’s insisting on coming up.” “My fiancé.” I almost laughed out loud. “Tell him you’ve never seen me before. And if he keeps this up, call security and then the police.” I kept my voice flat and hung up. I sat at my desk and stared at my screen and got absolutely nothing done. At lunch I stayed in, had my assistant bring me something. I figured Aaron would get bored when no one engaged with him and eventually leave. He didn’t leave. That afternoon, my assistant knocked on my door, looking genuinely concerned. “Ms. Leah — you might want to come downstairs. The man from this morning… he’s gotten into some kind of confrontation in the lobby.” I got up and took the elevator down. Aaron was in the middle of the lobby, arguing with the head of building security. The roses he’d been carrying were now thoroughly crushed, but he was still clutching them. “Who gave you the right to keep me out? I’m here to pick up my fiancée after work! You’re interfering with our plans — do you have any idea what you’re doing?” There were people everywhere — our employees, people from other companies in the building. Everyone was watching. When Aaron saw me step out of the elevator, his face lit up and he broke away from the security guard. “Leah! You came down! They wouldn’t let me up to find you!” The way he said my name — familiar, affectionate, like we were already something — made my skin crawl. I stopped walking and looked at him without any warmth at all. “Aaron. What do you think you’re doing?” He held up the ruined flowers with an expression of wounded sincerity. “I’m here to walk you out. We agreed — I’m picking you up every day from now on, remember?” The murmuring around us got louder. I caught pieces of it — fiancé, cougar, toyboy. My face burned. I turned to the security team leader. “I don’t know this person. He has been disrupting normal business operations on this property. Please remove him immediately. If he resists, call the police.” The security team moved in to escort Aaron out. Aaron hadn’t expected me to be this direct. He started struggling, his voice rising. “Leah! You heartless woman! You led me on! You called me all the way out here and now you’re throwing me away like I’m nothing?” “You think I’m still that naive kid from seven years ago? I’m telling you — it’s not going to be that easy!” The things coming out of his mouth got uglier. I’d seen enough. I nodded at the security team leader. It took a few of them, but they got Aaron moving toward the exit. In the last moment before they pulled him through the doors, he turned back and looked at me. His eyes were full of poison. He said each word like he was carving it into stone. “Leah. You are going to regret this. If I don’t get to be happy — neither do you.” That threat lodged in my chest like a splinter. I knew right then that this was nowhere near over.

Aaron’s threat turned out to be a promise. That same night, unknown numbers started calling my phone. Texts full of insults and threats began flooding in. Aaron’s work, obviously. But I hadn’t yet understood how far he was willing to go. The next morning, a post appeared on a popular online forum. The title read: A Cry for Justice: Seven Years of Sacrifice, and a Poor Scholar Discarded Like Trash by a Wealthy Woman Who Used Him for Sport. The account that posted it claimed to be a “fellow villager” of Aaron’s. The writing was feverish and self-righteous — a modern retelling of the fable about the farmer and the snake. In this version, I was the villain: a bored, wealthy executive who had preyed on a young man’s emotions. Aaron was the tragic hero — lured in by my money and false affection, strung along for seven years with promises, then tossed aside the moment I grew tired of him. The post claimed that under the guise of charity, I had spent seven years “emotionally grooming” him. That I had fed him ideas about us being together after he graduated. That when he finally showed up, full of hope, I had coldly rejected him because I’d already found my next target. Photos were attached. A few from my Instagram — carefully selected to make me look flashy and superficial. And screenshots of our messages, cropped to suggest something they weren’t. For example: his message, “Leah, I’ve been missing you,” and my politely neutral reply, “Study hard. Take care of yourself.” Presented as evidence of a secret romantic relationship. Most damaging of all — he had included my company’s name and my job title. The post went viral within hours. It hit every nerve: resentment of wealth, class conflict, emotional exploitation, a struggling young man crushed by someone with power over him. Every outrage button got pushed at once. The comment section became an open season on me. “This Leah person is disgusting. She treated a real person’s feelings like a toy.” “Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you get to ruin someone’s life.” “Seven years. Seven years of that poor guy’s life. I can’t.” “Find out who she is. Let her feel what it’s like.” They did find out who I was. My phone number, my home address, everything — exposed and spread around within the day. My phone became unusable. Calls poured in constantly — harassment, threats, worse. The company was hit too. The PR line rang nonstop. The official Instagram account was buried in demands to fire me. The speed at which it escalated was something I had not been prepared for. The next morning, the CEO called me into his office. He set a printed media report on the desk in front of me. His face was tight. “Leah, this situation has done serious damage to the company’s reputation. The board has decided it’s best if you take a temporary leave of absence. Go home, take some time.” I looked at him. “Mr. Brown, this is defamation. Every word of it is a lie. I—” He raised a hand to stop me. “I’m not going to get into what’s true and what isn’t. What I know is that our stock price has already started reacting. Leah, handle your personal situation. Don’t let it become our problem any further.” Polite words. But the message was unmistakable. The company didn’t care about the truth. They cared about managing the story. And I was the piece being sacrificed to do that. I walked out of the CEO’s office with my suspension notice in hand. Down every hallway, people moved out of my path or found reasons to look the other way. Even the colleagues I’d always been friendly with acted like they didn’t know me. I went back to my office and packed up my things. Cyberbullying. Suspended from work. Abandoned by people I’d considered colleagues. Aaron had gotten exactly what he wanted. He’d used the most despicable tools available to him and dragged me down into chaos — and it had worked. I sat alone in my emptied office and stared out the window. Rage. Humiliation. Helplessness. Everything at once. It was the first time in my life I clearly understood: when someone has no floor to how low they’ll go, reason and restraint are weapons you can’t use. They don’t register as anything except weakness. My patience had run out. My goodwill had run out. And defending myself through the proper channels — the police, the lawyers — I knew what that would get me. A cyberbullying case is nearly impossible to move quickly. A cease-and-desist letter is just paper. Aaron was like a leech that had already latched on. You couldn’t fight him head-on without making things worse. So I stopped thinking about defense. I started thinking about something else. A plan began to take shape. I picked up my secondary phone and found Aaron’s contact. For the first time since my suspension, I reached out to him.

He picked up. His voice was warm with barely contained gloating. “Leah. What made you call? Finally come to your senses?” I didn’t take the bait. I let my voice go soft, tired, fragile. “Aaron. I got suspended.” Silence on the other end. Then a laugh he didn’t quite manage to suppress. “Is that so? What a shame. I did warn you not to push me.” “You win,” I said. “I can’t fight you. I give up.” Aaron was clearly enjoying every second of this. He took his time. “You’re surrendering now? A little late for that, isn’t it? Do you think your suspension makes up for what you put me through?” I let him have it. “I know. I know I was wrong. Aaron — can we meet? I want to apologize in person.” “Apologize?” He gave a short, cold laugh. “If apologies were enough, what would we need consequences for?” “I really mean it this time,” I said. I let a hint of tears into my voice. “Things online have gotten so big. My parents heard about everything. They were furious with me. They said I had no right to treat you the way I did.” I paused. “They want to meet you.” That was the bait. I felt the shift in him the moment the silence changed. “Your parents want to meet me?” “Yes.” I kept it vague, softened. “They think that… given everything that’s happened, maybe it makes sense to just — to go about this the way you wanted. They said they’d like to visit your family first. To pay their respects to your parents, make things official. Give everyone back home something to celebrate.” Everything I had said was precisely calibrated to land where I knew it would — his vanity and his family’s greed. Bringing home a wealthy city girl. Making it official in front of the whole village. That was Aaron’s dream of triumph, and I had just handed it to him. I could hear his breathing change on the other end of the line. “Really? Leah, you’re not messing with me?” “Why would I mess with you?” I let a tremor into my voice. “I’ve lost my job. My reputation is in pieces. If I don’t have you, what do I have left?” That did it. Every last shred of suspicion dissolved. “Okay! Yes! When are you coming? I’ll call my parents right now — they’ll want to get ready. We’ll give you the best welcome we possibly can!” “Next weekend,” I said. “I need a little time to put together some gifts.” “Perfect! I’ll be waiting! Leah — once you marry me, I promise I will spend my whole life making it up to you!” I ended the call. The fragile, defeated version of me I had been performing vanished the instant I lowered the phone. What was left was something quiet and very cold. Aaron. You wanted to see me ruined. Then I’m going to let you have your moment at the very top — before I pull the floor out from under you. I spent the next few days getting everything into position. First, I contacted a crisis communications firm with a strong on-the-ground execution team. I laid out the plan. They assessed it and confirmed it was workable. Then I met with my personal attorney and went through every legal angle, making sure every step I was about to take was clean. He drafted a formal legal notice and prepared a complete defamation lawsuit against Aaron — everything documented and ready to file. I also had my assistant put together the “gifts.” I bought dozens of the latest tablets to give out to the villagers as welcome presents. When everything was ready, I drove out to Aaron’s hometown on Saturday as planned, in the red sports car that had been specifically called out in his original post. It was a rural village a couple of hours out. By the time I reached the entrance to the village, the welcome party was already waiting. Aaron was in a brand-new suit, hair slicked back like a groom. His parents stood beside him — farmers who looked, in that moment, nearly incandescent with excitement and pride. The whole village had turned out to watch. When I stepped out of the car, Aaron moved immediately toward me, reaching for my hand. I stepped aside smoothly and handed him my keys instead. “Aaron — I brought some things for everyone in the village. They’re in the trunk. Can you have someone help hand them out?” He looked in the trunk, and his eyes went wide at the rows of tablets. “Leah, you didn’t have to do all this!” The gifts moved through the crowd quickly. The villagers lit up. Aaron’s parents held my hands and called me their dear daughter-in-law. Out in the courtyard, dozens of round tables had been set up. Aaron’s family’s modest two-story house had been strung with decorations for the occasion. Aaron and his father walked me around, introducing me to everyone with barely restrained pride. “This is my son’s future wife — she runs her own company in the city!” “Our Aaron is set for life now!” I smiled graciously through all of it and let them have their performance. The food came out. The drinks flowed. The mood rose to a full celebration. Then Aaron’s father climbed up onto a small raised platform that had been set up in the middle of the courtyard, took the microphone, and beamed out at the crowd. I knew exactly what was coming.

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“Dad, when is that awful woman leaving? I don’t want to call her Mom anymore. I want my real mom.” Those were the words from the son I had raised for five years. Clutching my first-place trophy from the Paris International Jewelry Design Competition, I stood at the entrance of my own living room, watching my husband embrace another woman. “Once she finishes all your designs for next season and helps you truly establish yourself in New York, I’ll send her away.” He kissed the woman’s fingertips. “Seraphina is nothing more than a useful tool. A free nanny.” The trophy slipped from my grasp. That dull thud shattered all the dreams of the past five years. He never loved me. I wiped away my tears and dialed a number I had not dared to call in five years. “I want to come home.” They thought I was a helpless orphan. They did not know that Jasper Clarke, the elder brother of the powerful Clarke family in Los Angeles, had been waiting for that call for five long years. Seraphina POV The plane landed in New York, a biting chill seeping through the early autumn night air. I clutched the first-place trophy from the Paris International Jewelry Design Competition, my heart full of joy as I pushed open the door to our mansion in the exclusive hillside community. I had intentionally changed my flight, ending my trip fifteen hours early, just to surprise Ethan Thorne. After half a month apart, longing had grown like a wild vine, burning me. It wrapped around every breath I took. The living room was brightly lit, but it wasn’t the quiet I had expected. “Dad, when is that mean lady leaving? I don’t want to call her Mom anymore. I want my real mom.” The innocent child’s voice hit me like a dull, heavy hammer. That was Leo, the son I had raised for five years. Five years ago, Ethan brought baby Leo home, covered in blood, his eyes red-rimmed. He told me Leo was the last living relative of a close friend who had died in a tragic accident. My heart ached for Ethan, and even more for the crying infant in his arms. I took the child without hesitation and raised him as my own. For five years, I spent countless sleepless nights when Leo had asthma attacks. To care for him, I even put my jewelry design career, the thing I loved most, on hold for a time. But now, this child I had poured my heart into was calling me an awful woman? I froze in the shadow of the doorway, my gaze fixed on the center of the living room, past the open door. On the leather sofa, Ethan had a slender, beautiful woman in his arms. Leo was nestled in her lap. They looked so happy. “Soon,” Ethan’s voice was low, tinged with a tenderness I’d never heard directed at me. “Once she finishes all your designs for next season and helps you truly establish yourself in New York, I’ll send her away.” The woman chuckled softly, her fair fingers stroking Ethan’s stern face. “Ethan, is there truly no affection left for Seraphina? She did raise the child for five years and created designs for me all this time. People will call you heartless if this gets out.” “Elara, you’re my only priority.” Ethan took her hand, kissed it, his voice resolute and cruel. “Seraphina is nothing more than a useful tool. A free nanny. If you hadn’t insisted on going to Paris for advanced studies back then, how would she ever have taken the position of Mrs. Thorne?” The trophy slipped from my grasp. With a dull thud, the pure gold trophy hit the thick, handmade rug, rolled twice, and bumped against the edge of the table. That faint sound, in the dead silence of the living room, exploded like thunder. All three on the sofa turned their heads at once. A fleeting look of surprise flickered in Ethan’s eyes, but it vanished instantly, replaced by chilling composure and indifference. He released Elara, calmly stood up, and straightened the hem of his custom-tailored suit, as if the dirty betrayal he’d been caught in was an insignificant matter. “Weren’t you supposed to be on tomorrow afternoon’s flight?” His tone was flat, even carrying a hint of annoyance at being disturbed. I trembled all over, my nails digging into my palms. The sharp pain barely held onto my wavering sanity. “So, Leo isn’t the orphan of a good friend at all, but your and Elara’s biological son?” I stared into Ethan’s deep eyes, my voice hoarse as if I’d swallowed coarse sand.

Seraphina POV Ethan frowned slightly, seemingly quite annoyed by my questioning. “Yes.” He admitted it without evasion, looking down at me haughtily. “Since you’ve heard it all, I no longer need to waste words hiding it from you.” The cruel truth became countless sharp blades, tearing my heart to shreds. Five years! My husband, whom I had deeply loved for five years, and my son, whom I cherished as a treasure, were all a lie! What I thought was mutual love and sincere affection was nothing but a long-planned scheme and exploitation. Elara stood up, subtly leaning back into Ethan, her eyes shimmering as she looked at me, appearing utterly pitiful. “Seraphina, don’t blame Ethan. I was the one who insisted on leaving back then. He only resorted to marrying you to protect Leo. Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your marriage. All I want is Leo.” “Shut up!” I sharply interrupted her, my eyes bloodshot. I pointed to the door. “This is my home! Get out, and take your fake sincerity with you!” The words had barely left my lips when Leo rushed over like a protective little animal, pushing me hard. “Don’t you dare yell at my mom! You ugly freak, you get out of my house!” Caught off guard, I stumbled back half a step, my lower back hitting hard against the corner of a cabinet by the door. I gasped in pain. I stared in disbelief at the hostile little boy before me. This was the child I had cared for through countless sleepless nights, the one I had held in my arms when he had a fever, not daring to close my eyes. Could a blood tie really erase five years of shared life so easily? Ethan stepped forward, shielding Leo behind him, his eyes as cold as ice, as if I were some detestable criminal. “Seraphina, watch your attitude. Elara isn’t well; she can’t handle any stress.” I laughed in anger, tears streaming silently down my pale cheeks. “She can’t handle stress, but what about me?” I pounded my chest, my voice raw with agony. “Ethan, for these five years, I stood by you, from being the unfavored son of the Thorne family to becoming the heir of Thorne Group today. I put all my design passion, all my talent, under Elara’s name, helping you pave the way for her. I gave my whole heart to you and your son. Is this how you repay me?” Ethan’s eyes were as hard as steel, completely unfazed. “Just tell me what compensation you want. Money, a downtown property, or shares in Thorne Corp. I can give you all of it.” His tone was condescending, as if he were shooing away a beggar. “As long as you cooperate and publicly claim that all those designs were Elara’s inspiration, you can keep the title of Mrs. Thorne. As long as you stay in your place, there will always be a spot for you in the Thorne family.” I looked at this man, both familiar and strange, and felt a wave of nausea. I once believed that Ethan was the man who loved me most in the world. In the dead of winter, if I casually mentioned a craving for tiramisu from a specific bakery, he’d drive across half of New York to get it. When I hit a design block and felt anxious, he’d hold me all night, comforting me. It turned out all that deep affection was a disguise, all that favoritism a mere chip to pave the way for another woman. I took a deep breath, pushing down all the brokenness and despair in my eyes, and straightened my spine. “Ethan, we’re getting a divorce.”

Seraphina POV “Divorce?” Ethan looked as if he had heard a ridiculous joke, a sneer of contempt appearing between his brows. He strode forward, closing in on me, his tall frame casting me in his shadow. “Seraphina, stop making a scene.” He looked down at me, his tone carrying the arrogance of someone used to getting what he wanted. “You won an award in Paris this time. Tomorrow, I’ll have the PR department release a statement giving the credit to Elara’s studio. As compensation, I’ll give you whatever you want. A limited edition couture dress? The mansion on the east side? I’ll make it happen.” His casual tone made it sound as if the heartbreaking betrayal that had just happened meant nothing. As if I were nothing more than a pet needing a treat to be quiet. I lifted my head, my bloodshot eyes filled with stubbornness and resolve. I gritted my teeth and repeated, “I said, I want a divorce. Ethan, are you deaf?” Ethan’s eyes darkened abruptly, the temperature around him instantly dropping to freezing point. “Seraphina, I advise you to face reality.” He slipped one hand into his pants pocket, his voice cold and unforgiving. “I’m giving you two choices.” “First, continue to be Mrs. Thorne obediently. Under the protection of Thorne Group, you can enjoy endless wealth and luxury. But you must accept Elara and Leo moving in, continue to be Elara’s shadow designer, and not question my private life.” “Second, leave the Thorne family now. The consequence is that you will leave empty-handed, and all bank accounts under your name will be frozen. I will have the entire New York design community blacklist you, and you will find it impossible to get by in this industry, unable to even make a living.” He leaned in slightly, his warm breath fanning my ear, but his words were like a serpent’s hiss. “So, do you still want a divorce?” Elara stood not far away, a secretive smirk playing on her lips. “Seraphina, Ethan is doing this for your own good. Where can a helpless orphan like you go if you leave the Thorne family? As long as you’re willing to stay, we can still be one big happy family.” One big happy family? That term was the greatest insult to me. I stared intensely at Ethan’s incredibly handsome face, the tearing pain in my heart making me momentarily disoriented. I suddenly remembered that snowy day five years ago. Back then, Ethan had just taken over Thorne Corp., facing enemies on all sides. To secure investment, he stood in the snow for an entire night. It was I who took all my savings, even sold my mother’s keepsakes, to help him through his toughest time. That day, he knelt in the snow, slipped a plain ring he had personally polished onto my ring finger, and swore with red-rimmed eyes, “Seraphina, my life is yours. As long as I live, I will never let you suffer any injustice.” But now, the man who swore never to let me suffer was holding a knife, carving into my flesh, piece by piece. Five years of marriage, five years of giving my all, only to be called a “free nanny.” I closed my eyes, completely extinguishing the last flicker of weakness. When I opened them again, my gaze was as clear and cold as water, devoid of any love. “No need to choose.” I took a step back, widening the distance between us. “I find it disgusting.” Ethan’s face instantly turned ashen, a vein throbbing faintly on his temple. “Fine, very good.” He laughed in anger, his eyes glinting with terrifying malice. “Since you’re so ungrateful, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” He turned and walked to his study, retrieving a pre-drafted divorce agreement and slamming it onto the table. “Sign it. I’d like to see how long you can remain so stubborn once you leave the Thorne family!” Without hesitation, I walked over, picked up the pen, and decisively signed my name in the signature space. I tossed the pen down and coldly looked at Ethan. “Ethan, from today on, you and I have no connection whatsoever. What you owe me, one day, I will make you spit it out, principal and interest.” Ethan scoffed. “Big words. I’ll be waiting for the day you come crying, begging me to take you back.” “Alfred!” Ethan barked, his voice sharp. “Watch her pack her things. Aside from the junk she brought herself, she’s not allowed to take anything from the Thorne house!” With that, he put his arm around Elara’s shoulders and, with Leo, went upstairs without a backward glance, as if even a second look at me was too much. In the vast living room, I stood alone. I straightened my spine and walked towards the bedroom I had personally decorated, filled with five years of memories. It was fine. I, Seraphina Clarke, was never a helpless orphan to be slaughtered at will.

Seraphina POV In the bedroom, I numbly stuffed my clothes into a suitcase. I didn’t even glance at the expensive jewelry or couture gowns Ethan had bought me. I only took the few old clothes I had brought with me, and a few worn design sketches. Footsteps sounded outside the door. “Mean lady, are you stealing our family’s stuff?” Leo stood at the doorway, clutching a Transformer toy, glaring at me with suspicion. My hands paused as I packed, and I turned to look at the child I had cherished for five years. Once, if Leo so much as coughed, I’d be too anxious to sleep all night. To help him with his health, I’d scoured medical books and personally brewed herbal remedies, burning my fingers with countless blisters. But now, the defensiveness and disgust in his eyes were like a rusty, dull knife, repeatedly cutting at my heart. “I’m not stealing anything.” My voice was flat and emotionless. “Once I have my things, I’ll leave.” But Leo was relentless. He rushed into the room and snatched the jewelry box from my bedside table. It was my mother’s only keepsake, a delicate antique pocket watch. “My dad bought this! You’re not allowed to take it!” Leo screamed, throwing the jewelry box hard onto the floor. “Stop it!” I cried out, lunging to catch it, but I was too late. With a sharp crack, the jewelry box flew open, and the delicate pocket watch shattered into several pieces. I froze, my mind blank. I tremblingly reached out to pick up the fragments, but my fingertip was sliced by a sharp metal edge. Blood instantly welled up, dripping onto the pristine white rug, a shocking sight. “Oh, Leo, how could you be so clumsy?” Elara’s voice came from the doorway. She walked in on high heels, glanced at the broken pocket watch on the floor, and a barely concealed sneer played on her lips. She stepped forward, her slender high heel seemingly accidentally treading on a larger piece of the watch, grinding it with force. “Seraphina, I’m so sorry. Leo is still little; he doesn’t know any better. You’re an adult, surely you wouldn’t hold it against a four-year-old child, would you?” Elara apologized falsely, her voice full of provocation. I suddenly looked up, my eyes red, staring at Elara. I stood up abruptly, raising my hand to slap her. “Stop it!” A sharp male voice suddenly rang out. Ethan strode in, seizing my wrist. His grip was so strong it felt like my bones would shatter. “Seraphina, are you insane? How dare you cause a scene in the Thorne house?” Seeing this, Leo immediately burst into tears, clinging to Elara. “Mommy, I’m scared! The mean lady wants to hit me!” Elara hugged Leo tightly, her eyes slightly red, looking utterly wronged. “Ethan, don’t blame Seraphina. It’s all Leo’s fault for accidentally breaking her thing. But… but Leo is your own flesh and blood, how could she be so harsh?” Ethan’s face was utterly grim. He looked at my bleeding fingers, his eyes completely devoid of pity, only profound disgust. “It’s just a cheap old pocket watch, it’s not worth anything! I’ll buy you ten better ones.” Ethan coldly flung my hand away. “Apologize to Elara and Leo immediately!” I stumbled, my back hitting the wardrobe. I looked at my husband, who was protecting another woman and child, listening to him disparage my mother’s keepsake as a “cheap old pocket watch.” I suddenly burst into laughter. My laughter grew louder, but tears streamed from my eyes. “Ethan, you want me to apologize to a little bastard who smashed my mother’s keepsake? You’re dreaming!” Slap! Ethan raised his hand without hesitation, delivering a resounding slap across my face. My head snapped to the side, and five distinct red marks instantly appeared on my pale cheek. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. The entire room fell into a deathly silence. Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of panic in his eyes that even he might not have noticed. But he quickly suppressed that emotion, replacing it with a cold, stern expression. “Seraphina, this is to teach you manners. In this house, Elara and Leo are the masters.” I slowly turned my head, raising the back of my hand to wipe the blood from my mouth. My eyes were completely dead, like a stagnant pool that stirred no ripples. “Ethan, this slap has severed the last shred of affection between us.” Without another glance at the broken pocket watch on the floor, I picked up the suitcase filled with old clothes, straightened my back, and walked out of the mansion without looking back. The night wind outside was cold, chilling my thin clothes. I looked back at the cage that had trapped me for five years, a cold smile curving my lips. The New York night was just beginning.

Seraphina POV I stayed at a cheap motel for a night. Early the next morning, I dragged my suitcase to my “Starlight” design studio, where I had poured countless hours of effort. However, as I reached the entrance, I froze. The “Starlight” sign that once hung there had been replaced by a brand new one: “Elara’s Radiance.” The studio’s glass doors were locked, and two burly security guards blocked the entrance. “Ms. Clarke, Mr. Thorne has instructed that you’ve been dismissed from the studio. Everything here now belongs to Ms. Vance, and you are not allowed to enter.” The security guard blocked me, his face expressionless. I was furious, but I laughed. “Dismissed? I’m the founder of this studio, and I’m the legal representative. On what grounds can he dismiss me?” “On the grounds that the initial funding for this studio came from Thorne Corp., and every client resource here was provided by Thorne Corp.” An arrogant female voice came from behind me. Elara Vance, flanked by several socialite friends, strolled over on high heels. She was wearing the latest couture trench coat that I had rushed to finish over three sleepless nights, looking utterly condescending. “Seraphina, Ethan said that since you left empty-handed, the studio naturally has to be reclaimed.” Elara walked up to me, lowering her voice to a volume only we two could hear, mocking me. “Did you really think you were some genius designer? If Ethan hadn’t promoted you, you wouldn’t have achieved anything. Now, everything you had is mine.” A socialite nearby scoffed, loudly echoing, “Exactly! A fake, she actually thought she was Mrs. Thorne? Now that the real owner is back, shouldn’t she hurry and leave?” “She occupied the position of Mrs. Thorne for five years, truly shameless.” Facing their malicious taunts, I merely looked at Elara with cold eyes. “Elara Vance, aren’t you afraid of getting burned by stolen goods?” “You!” Elara’s face changed. She was about to erupt in anger but then, seeing past me, she instantly put on a wronged expression. “Ethan, look at her…” Ethan stepped out of a black Maybach, his perfectly tailored suit making him look tall and imposing. He strode to Elara’s side, shielding her, and his gaze swept over me, cold and sharp. “Seraphina, what are you doing here, causing a scene?” I looked at him, my voice clear and cold. “I’ve come to retrieve my design drafts.” “Those drafts are now assets of ‘Elara’s Radiance’.” Ethan refused without mercy. “Since you signed the divorce agreement, you should know the rules. Everything here belongs to Elara. Leave immediately.” I took a deep breath, suppressing the surging pain in my chest. “Fine, Ethan, you’re truly ruthless.” I turned to leave, but my phone rang abruptly at that moment. It was an international call from the Paris International Jewelry Design Competition organizing committee. I pressed the answer button. The person on the other end said, “Ms. Clarke, we regret to inform you that the committee has just received an anonymous complaint accusing your winning work, ‘Starlight,’ of plagiarizing Ms. Elara Vance’s discarded sketches. After initial verification, we will temporarily revoke your gold award and issue a public reprimand across the industry. You will be banned from participating in any international competitions for the next five years.” My phone slipped from my ear. I froze, all the blood in my body seemingly drained in an instant, as if I had fallen into an ice abyss. Plagiarism? ‘Starlight’ was my brainchild, the culmination of countless hours, like a mother carrying a child for ten months. Every line, every gem setting, was the crystallization of my dedication over countless days and nights. Now, it was being tainted with accusations of plagiarism? I suddenly turned my head, staring intently at Ethan. “Was it you?” My voice trembled, raw with despair. “Ethan, did you report me to the committee?” Ethan met my broken gaze, his eyes completely unfazed, chillingly calm. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Elara is about to negotiate a partnership with the international luxury brand V Group. She needs a prestigious international award to establish her status. The concept of ‘Starlight’ was originally inspired by her, so letting her have this award is what you owe her.” I felt my soul being completely torn apart at that moment. I looked at the man before me, feeling he was more terrifying than any demon from hell. He not only wanted to strip me of my marriage and my dignity but also to personally destroy the career and dreams I valued more than my life! “Ethan, you’re not even human!” I screamed, my eyes brimming with intense hatred. “To promote her, you’re willing to crush me into the mud, never to rise again?” Ethan frowned, seeming annoyed by my loss of control. “This is your own doing. If you had just behaved and not brought up divorce, things wouldn’t have escalated to this point.” He coldly delivered his final judgment. “Seraphina, in New York, if I say you’re guilty, you’re guilty. From today on, the design world will have no place for you.”

Seraphina POV That evening, in the ballroom of a top-tier Hilton Hotel in New York. It was a charity gala, gathering all the business elites and design gurus of New York. I wore a simple black dress, moving through the crowd. I needed investment, funding to rebuild my studio, and to clear my name from the plagiarism accusation. But every time I offered my business card, those CEOs who once greeted me with smiles now avoided me as if I were a demon. “Ms. Clarke, Mr. Thorne has already made it clear that anyone who works with you is opposing Thorne Group. We can’t afford to go against Thorne Corp.” “A plagiarizer dares to show her face here? Get out of here!” The mockery enveloped me like a tide. I clenched the business card in my hand, my knuckles white. Just then, the ballroom doors were respectfully pushed open by a waiter. All eyes instantly converged. Ethan, in a perfectly tailored custom suit, entered with Elara Vance on his arm, dressed to the nines. Elara wore a dazzling starry-blue gown, and around her long, elegant neck, she sported the brilliant necklace, ‘Starlight.’ That was my masterpiece. Ethan had once told me, “Seraphina, this necklace is the crystallization of your soul. I will lock it in the Thorne family’s safe as an eternal testament to our love, never letting anyone touch it.” Now, that necklace hung around another woman’s neck, a symbol for Elara to flaunt. I stood in the corner, watching them walk to the head table, the center of attention. My heart felt as if it was being crushed by an invisible hand, making it impossible to breathe. Elara’s gaze swept through the crowd, quickly locking onto me in the corner. A malicious smile played on her lips. She picked up a glass of red wine and sashayed over. “Well, well, isn’t this Seraphina? Why are you hiding by yourself? Can’t even afford to rent a decent gown?” Elara deliberately raised her voice, causing people around us to turn and look. I looked at her coldly. “Move.” “Still so temperamental.” Elara chuckled softly, then suddenly stumbled, causing the red wine glass in her hand to tilt. The crimson liquid spilled precisely onto Elara’s own diamond-encrusted high heels. “Ah!” Elara shrieked, instantly putting on a tearful expression. “Seraphina, I know you hate me for taking your award, but you can’t just throw red wine on me. These shoes were custom-made for me by Ethan from Italy…” A chorus of accusations immediately erupted around us. “This woman is so malicious!” “Plagiarizing someone else’s work is bad enough. Now she’s publicly throwing wine on someone? How uncivilized!” Ethan strode over, and seeing the wine stains on Elara’s dress and shoes, his face instantly turned ashen. “Seraphina, haven’t you caused enough trouble?” He pulled Elara behind him, his gaze piercing me sharply. I was speechless, but I straightened my spine, meeting his devouring gaze. “I didn’t throw it on her; she spilled it herself.” “You’re still lying!” Ethan was furious. “Elara is so frail, how would she spill it on herself? Seraphina, you’re truly disgustingly malicious!” He pointed to the high heels on Elara’s feet, issuing a cold command. “Get down immediately and clean Elara’s shoes. Otherwise, I guarantee you won’t leave this door tonight, and tomorrow you’ll be sent to jail for commercial fraud!” The mocking laughter intensified. I looked at Ethan’s cruel, emotionless face and suddenly felt an absurd sense of irony. The man I once loved so deeply now wanted me to publicly clean another woman’s shoes just to please her? The last flicker of light in my eyes completely died out. I didn’t cry. Instead, a smile curved my lips. I slowly crouched down. Under everyone’s scornful gazes, I took a tissue from a waiter’s tray and, bit by bit, wiped the red wine stains from Elara’s shoe. Elara looked down at me, her eyes full of a victor’s wild triumph. After wiping away the last speck of dirt, I stood up. I balled the wine-stained tissue and threw it hard at Ethan’s chest. “Ethan, these past five years, consider me blind.” With that, I didn’t bother looking at Ethan’s enraged face. I pushed through the crowd and walked out of the ballroom without looking back. Outside, a torrential rain had started at some point. I didn’t open an umbrella. My thin figure was instantly swallowed by the downpour. The cold rain lashed against me, but it was far less chilling than the cold in my heart.

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