Category: English

1 The night the earth shook, the master beam snapped with a sound like a gunshot, pinning me beneath the bed frame. I lay in the dark, suffocating under the weight of plaster and splintered wood, with only my right hand free to claw at the air. When my father rushed into the ruins, I screamed for him to save me. But he scooped up my little brother first, then spun back around to search the crumbling closet for the boy’s stuffed bear. I told him my leg was crushed, that the blood wouldn’t stop flowing. He only yelled back at me through the dust: “Can’t you just wait until I get Toby somewhere safe?” By the time the rescue crew dug their way to me, my chest had stopped moving. Three days later, he stood before the television cameras, holding my brother tight. He told the reporter, “In the face of tragedy, my only thought was to protect my children.” It was only after the cameras stopped rolling that he finally looked around and asked, “Where’s my oldest? Tessa should have made it out on her own, right?” The volunteer stood in silence for a long time before placing my student ID in his hand. It was only in that quiet, devastating moment that the truth finally settled in my chest. The children he wanted so badly to protect had never included me. … “Mr. Robert, this belongs to your daughter.” The volunteer slid the card into a clear plastic bag and held it out. My father had just stepped out of the media tent. A temporary press pass was still clipped to his dusty jacket, and Toby was cradled in his left arm. Toby held the freshly cleaned teddy bear tight against his chest, whining into our father’s shoulder about being hungry. Robert’s hand hovered in the air, hesitant. A second later, he looked down to rummage through his duffel bag. “Don’t cry, buddy. Daddy’s looking for some crackers.” The volunteer’s hand remained raised, waiting. Inside the plastic sleeve, my ID was smudged with gray ash. In the photo, my hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and I was smiling so hard my eyes crinkled. Robert pulled out a crushed pack of pastries, tearing it open and handing it to Toby. Toby took a bite, then stuffed the wrapper back into Robert’s pocket. “Barnaby wants some too.” Robert whispered softly, his voice full of patience. “The bear isn’t hungry, sport. Daddy will give him a nice bath later.” The volunteer spoke up, her voice cracking slightly. “Mr. Robert, the search and rescue team found your daughter’s backpack under the debris of the townhouse.” Robert’s head snapped up. His face went entirely pale. “That’s impossible,” he said, his words coming out in a defensive rush. “She’s always been fast. She ran track at school. She probably ran straight to one of the emergency shelters with her classmates.” The rescue captain stood nearby, his hard hat caked in gray soot. “We mapped the layout, sir. It was the small bedroom right next to the master suite.” Robert cut him off immediately. “You have the wrong room.” “My daughter is seventeen. She isn’t a toddler.” “When the shaking started, she would have known how to hide, how to run, how to call for help.” I floated just above the fractured concrete slabs, watching them speak. The sleeve of my school jacket was still snagged on a rusted piece of rebar, fluttering gently in the cold wind. That same hand had reached out toward the doorframe, my fingernails scraping against the floorboards until they bled, leaving dark, desperate streaks on the wood. Right beside those marks, a pair of brand-new wool socks lay buried under the dust, the price tag still attached. The tag bore a date: my father’s birthday. A few journalists who hadn’t left yet noticed the tension and began hoisting their cameras again. “Mr. Robert, is your oldest daughter still unaccounted for?” Robert pulled Toby closer, taking a step back into the shadow of the tent. “Please, don’t run any stories yet,” he muttered, his voice dry and raspy. “She’s probably just terrified and hiding somewhere. If she sees her name on a casualty list, she’ll panic.” The volunteer’s brow furrowed. “Sir, the personal effects have already been verified by our team.” Robert’s voice suddenly turned sharp, echoing across the plaza. “I said, don’t run the story!” Toby flinched at the shout, bursting into loud, frightened tears. “Daddy, Barnaby is dirty!” Robert instantly dropped his head, pouring bottled water onto a napkin and gently wiping the stuffed bear’s ears. He moved with such careful, delicate precision. As if the toy could actually feel pain. The volunteer swallowed her frustration. “Mr. Robert, we need you to come to the temporary morgue to identify the body.” Robert kept his eyes on the toy. “As soon as I get Toby settled in a shelter.” I floated right beside him, looking down at the bear. The night of the earthquake, he had gone back into the collapsing house a third time just to find that toy. When his boots clattered past my bedroom door, I had screamed his name until my vocal cords ruptured. But he never stopped. When Gran arrived at the edge of the ruins, her cane was gone, and she was missing a shoe. She grabbed the nearest volunteer, her voice trembling as she gasped out my name. The moment the volunteer opened her mouth, Gran’s knees buckled. She dragged herself over to my father, grabbing his sleeve with a desperate, shaking hand. “Where is my Tess?” Robert tried to shield Toby from her grasp. “Mom, please, calm down.” Gran’s hands shook so violently she could barely hold on. “Why didn’t you bring her out with you?” Robert looked away, his expression twisting into irritation. “It was complete chaos in there.” “I had to grab the baby first. She’s practically an adult, she should have known how to get out.” Gran stared at him in disbelief for two agonizing seconds, then brought her palm down hard against his arm. “She is your daughter, you idiot! It doesn’t matter how old she is!” Robert stumbled back half a step, his pride wounded in front of the onlookers. “Stop making a scene here!” “I only have two hands! How many people do you think I could carry at once?” “Is it a crime that I got my baby boy out first?” Gran’s eyes filled with tears of pure rage. “Saving your son wasn’t the mistake.” “Your mistake was going back inside for a stupid stuffed animal while you left your daughter to die without even looking at her!” The surrounding crowd fell into a suffocating silence. Toby started whimpering again, and Robert immediately patted his back. “Don’t listen to Gran, buddy.” “Daddy’s here. You’re safe.” A rescue worker approached, carrying my dusty backpack. The zipper had been sheared off, and my textbooks were spilling out of the tear. A small envelope slipped out, landing in a puddle of muddy water. Written on the front in neat, careful handwriting was: Happy Birthday, Dad. Robert bent down to pick it up. But Gran beat him to it, snatching the card and clutching it tightly against her chest. “Don’t you touch it.” Robert froze. Gran glared at him, her voice dripping with ice. “You don’t deserve it.” 2 The lights at the emergency shelter stayed on all night. Robert carefully laid out a soft fleece blanket for Toby, placing the stuffed bear right next to his pillow. Toby complained that the floor was too hard, kicking the blanket away in a tantrum. Without hesitation, Robert took off his heavy winter coat and tucked it under his son’s head for extra padding. Over the crackling PA system, a volunteer began reading the names of the confirmed deceased. When the voice reached our neighborhood, Robert reached out and turned the dial, muting the audio. Gran sat in the far corner of the gym, cradling my muddy backpack, using her sleeve to wipe away the dirt over and over again. But the mud was baked into the fabric, and soon her sleeve was soaked with dirty water, yet she kept rubbing. When my homeroom teacher, Ms. Adler, arrived, her hair was a tangled mess and she was clutching a stack of student records. The moment she saw the backpack in Gran’s lap, her eyes welled with tears. “Just yesterday, she asked me what color socks men usually prefer,” Ms. Adler whispered. Gran held the bag tighter. “What did she say?” Ms. Adler knelt down beside her. “She said her dad’s birthday was coming up, and she wanted to buy him a pair of nice, warm socks.” “She was worried black would be too boring, but she thought gray would get dirty too quickly.” Robert’s hands paused for a moment. Then, his lips curled into a strained, dismissive chuckle. “She always loved playing those little mind games.” “She’s probably just hiding out somewhere, waiting for me to get frantic.” Ms. Adler looked up at him, her expression hardening. “Mr. Robert, Tess was never that kind of child.” Robert’s face went cold. “How long have you even known her?” “I’m her father. You think you know her better than I do?” I floated near the edge of the blanket, watching Toby push the stuffed bear into Robert’s face. “Daddy, Barnaby is scared.” Robert’s face softened instantly into a warm smile. “Daddy’s here, sport. There’s nothing to be scared of.” Before I died, I had screamed for him dozens of times. But his footsteps had only hurried past me. Not once had he paused for my voice. A volunteer from the rescue team arrived to inform the families that they could go to the temporary morgue to identify their loved ones. Gran gripped her cane, trying to stand. But Robert stayed seated, holding Toby. “Toby won’t let me go.” “I’ll have to come by later.” Gran turned slowly, staring at him. “Your flesh-and-blood daughter is lying on a cold table, and you say ‘later’?” Robert’s brow furrowed. “Toby just survived a collapse. He can’t handle any more trauma right now.” Gran was so angry she couldn’t even form words. Ms. Adler gently supported her elbow. “I’ll go with you, ma’am.” Robert let out a soft breath of relief. “Thank you, Ms. Adler. I appreciate it.” Gran spun around, her eyes blazing. “Robert! Do you honestly think because someone else is willing to do the hard work, you get to stop being a father?” Robert’s expression soured. “Mom, do you have to poison every single word?” “You think I’m not hurting?” Gran let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Hurting? If you were actually hurting, you would have looked for my girl!” Robert didn’t answer, turning back to his son. I followed Gran and Ms. Adler to the temporary morgue. Rows of white sheets lined the cold gymnasium floor. When Gran reached the third row, her knees finally gave out. Ms. Adler caught her just in time. A worker slowly pulled back the sheet, revealing just a corner of my face. Gran dropped to her knees, her breath catching so hard she couldn’t even sob. Ms. Adler covered her mouth, her eyes locking onto the faded red thread tied around my wrist. “It’s her.” Gran had given me that red string two years ago for protection. Robert had called it cheap and embarrassing, telling me to take it off before I made a fool of myself. But I had never taken it off. Gran took my hand in hers. It was entirely cold. She pressed her cheek against my icy fingers, her voice a broken whisper. “My sweet girl. Gran is here.” She pulled out her phone and dialed Robert’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Mom, what is it?” Gran could barely draw enough air into her lungs to speak. “Come and see your daughter. One last time.” Through the receiver, I could hear the loud, cheerful sounds of a cartoon playing in the background. “Mom, stop trying to scare me.” “I really can’t leave Toby right now. He’ll get upset.” Gran’s voice shook. “You still don’t believe me?” Robert lowered his voice, sounding exasperated. “Mom, you’re getting older, and you’re letting these rescue workers get into your head.” “Once I get Toby to sleep, I’ll come down and sort this out.” Gran screamed, her voice cracking under the strain. “She is lying right in front of my eyes!” The line went dead silent for a brief second. Then Toby’s voice drifted through the speaker. “Daddy, I want my juice box.” Robert answered immediately, “I have to go.” The call clicked off. Gran held my hand, her body shaking as she wept in silence. “My sweet child. I wish you hadn’t been so good, so quiet.” “The quiet ones always suffer the most…” Ms. Adler turned away, her shoulders shaking. I stood beside them, reaching out to wipe the tears from Gran’s wrinkled cheeks. But my fingers passed right through her. 3 The next morning, Robert took Toby to the distribution center to claim their emergency supplies. The relief workers were checking names against a master database. When the worker reached my name, Robert’s head snapped up. “Tessa Robert?” Robert stepped forward. “I’m her father.” The worker flipped through the pages. “The death has been confirmed. We have paperwork here for funeral assistance and state aid.” Robert took the pen, but his hand froze before he could write. “Mark her as missing for now.” The worker looked up, surprised. “The family has already identified the body, sir.” Robert pushed the clipboard back across the desk. “There’s been a mistake.” “She’s only seventeen. She can’t be gone.” The worker stared at him in silence for a few seconds. “Mr. Robert, please cooperate with the process.” Toby saw another little boy holding a plastic toy car and began tugging on Robert’s sleeve. “Daddy, I want one too.” Robert turned away from the desk instantly. “Alright, buddy. Let’s go get in line for one.” The worker called out after him. “Mr. Robert, we need your signature on the death certificate.” Robert tossed the clipboard under a stack of supply boxes. “Give me a minute.” He spent ten minutes waiting in line just to get a cheap plastic car for Toby. Toby ripped the packaging open immediately, dragging the toy through the dirt. The clipboard with my death certificate lay crumpled under the weight of the heavy cardboard boxes. Gran arrived at the center, her cane clicking sharply against the gravel. She held a duplicate copy of the certificate. “Sign it.” Robert stepped in front of Toby, shielding him. “Don’t do this in front of the boy.” Gran slapped the paper against his chest. “How long are you going to keep pretending?” Robert’s temper flared. “I am not pretending!” Gran screamed. “Your daughter is dead! Do you hear me? She is gone!” Robert roared back. “I know!” “But the child who is still alive has to come first!” The busy plaza fell dead silent. Toby stopped playing with his car, looking up at his father with wide, confused eyes. The anger drained from Gran’s face, leaving it hollow. “She’s dead, so she doesn’t matter anymore?” Robert’s mouth opened, but no words came out. “That’s not what I meant.” Gran forced the paper into his hands. “That is exactly what you meant.” I watched as the cardboard box slipped from the table. Toby’s freshly washed teddy bear tumbled into the dirt. My death certificate slipped from Robert’s grip, landing in a muddy puddle. A heavy boot stepped right on top of it. Ms. Adler knelt down to retrieve it, her fingers instantly caked in dark mud. She smoothed out the wet paper, her voice trembling. “The school wants to set up a small fund in her name, and we’d like to hold a memorial service.” Robert’s first instinct wasn’t to ask about the details. He asked, “Is the memorial absolutely necessary?” Ms. Adler froze. Robert looked down at Toby. “Toby’s still having night terrors. A service like that… it’s going to mess with his head.” Gran raised her hand to strike him again. But this time, Robert blocked her arm. “Mom, enough.” “I’m exhausted.” Gran stared at him, her eyes burning. “Exhausted?” “What do you have to be exhausted about? Your daughter is dead!” Robert’s face flushed red. “I told you, it was chaos in there!” Ms. Adler gently took the damp paper from Gran. “I’ll handle the arrangements at the school, ma’am.” Gran tucked the certificate into her coat pocket. “If he won’t go, I will.” “If he won’t claim her, I will.” She stumbled as she turned to leave, and Ms. Adler quickly caught her. Robert stood there in the dust, lifting Toby into his arms. Toby whispered, “Daddy, is sissy dead?” Robert stiffened. “Don’t listen to them, buddy.” Toby persisted. “Then where did she go?” Robert shoved the plastic toy car into Toby’s hands. “Just play with your car.” I stood behind my father, a cold, bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest. My entire life, I had been brushed aside with that exact same phrase. “Just play with your things.” When I had a fever, he told me to stop being dramatic. When I won an academic award, he told me not to show off. When my leg was pinned under a heavy beam, he told me to stop rushing him. And now that I was dead, he told my brother to ignore the truth. 4 The temporary memorial was set up in a corner of the school gymnasium. The white drapes fluttered in the drafty room. Gran had placed my school ID on the table, alongside my backpack and the birthday card. My classmates lined up to lay white flowers on the table, some of them crying so hard they had to be supported by friends. Ms. Adler placed my nameplate at the front of the altar. It read: Tessa Robert, Class of 2026. I floated near the altar, watching the package containing the new wool socks rest beside my backpack. Finally, Robert arrived. He stood near the double doors, holding Toby. Toby was still clutching that stuffed bear. Robert didn’t even step inside before calling out to Ms. Adler. “Can we wrap this up quickly?” “Toby is really uncomfortable in places like this.” Ms. Adler’s hands trembled as she laid down a flower. “Mr. Robert, this is Tessa’s memorial.” Robert frowned. “I know that.” “But I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want from me?” Gran stood up from her chair by the altar. “Pay your respects.” Robert didn’t move. Ms. Adler offered him a white chrysanthemum. He didn’t take it. “Tess was always the sensible one.” “She would understand why I had to protect her little brother first.” A quiet sob broke out among my classmates. A boy from my class couldn’t hold back anymore, stepping forward. “She spent weeks saving up to buy you a birthday gift!” Robert turned a cold gaze toward him. “What do you kids know about real life?” “When disaster strikes, if I don’t protect the youngest, what kind of father would I be?” Gran stepped closer to him. “Bow.” Robert’s face darkened. “I am her father.” “You expect me to bow and beg my own child for forgiveness?” The gymnasium fell into an oppressive silence. Ms. Adler gently set the chrysanthemum on the altar. “No one is asking you to beg, Mr. Robert.” “We just want to give her a dignified send-off.” Robert let out a harsh laugh. “Dignified?” “Parading her death like this… that’s what’s truly undignified.” Gran pointed a trembling finger at him. “Shut your mouth.” Toby suddenly broke away, running toward the altar. He snatched the birthday card, folding it quickly into a paper airplane. “Watch it fly!” I lunged forward to stop him, but my hands swept through empty air. The thick cardstock was creased and ruined. Gran rushed to grab it. “Toby, put that down!” Frightened by her sharp tone, Toby burst into tears. Robert lunged forward, shoving Gran away with a heavy shoulder. “It’s just a piece of paper! Why are you screaming at a child?” Gran lost her balance, crashing against the side of the altar. My backpack fell to the floor. The package of brand-new socks slid out, rolling across the floorboards. The price tag, with his birthday written on it, lay exposed under the lights. Robert bent down and picked up the socks. He stared at them. Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he muttered, “She always did things like this… just to make me feel guilty.” Ms. Adler gasped. “Mr. Robert!” Gran clutched the edge of the table, her body shaking with rage. “She loved you enough to think of your birthday even when she was dying.” Robert squeezed the socks in his fist, his expression twisting into frustration. “If she loved me so much, why couldn’t she be more understanding?” “The house was collapsing, the baby was screaming, and I was alone!” “She was seventeen! Why couldn’t she just hold on a little longer on her own?” As those words left his mouth, several of my classmates broke down. A girl cried out through her tears. “Her leg was crushed under a beam! How was she supposed to hold on?!” Robert glared at her. “Were you there?” “Who are you to say I didn’t try to save her?” Gran lunged forward to retrieve the birthday card, but Toby scrambled behind Robert, thrusting the crumpled paper into his pocket. Robert raised his hand, intending to tear the card to pieces. “Stop using these things to guilt me.” Just then, the heavy double doors of the gym were pushed open. The rescue captain walked in, carrying a dusty bodycam device in his hand. “Mr. Robert.” “We recovered the audio log from your daughter’s final fifteen minutes.” Robert’s hand froze. The weeping in the gymnasium died down instantly. Toby clutched his bear, hiding behind Robert’s leg. Robert stared at the device, his throat dry. “What is that supposed to mean?” The captain pressed play.

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1 Each winter after my amputation, I could not bear the cold. Stewart would pause his empire to take me to a private island. On nights when phantom pain left me shaking, he knelt by the bed for hours, kissing the scar on my stump until I calmed. Our circle called him devoted, a saint for staying with a broken woman. I believed losing my leg had at least bound me to love. Three years ago, his childhood friend cut my rope on an Alpine peak. Stewart wept all night, then destroyed her family by morning. After that, no one in New York dared cross me. On our fifth island winter, a storm woke me to an empty bed. On crutches, I reached a half-open door down the hall. Windy was there, the woman who should have been begging on the streets. Stewart held her close, voice thick with care. Do not cry, baby. It is only thunder. She pouted, hitting his chest. You spend every day with that pathetic cripple. I am sick of hiding. He kissed her tears away. Sweetheart, just a little longer. I will stay with you tonight. Windy leaned back into his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons of his silk pajama shirt, her voice dripping with disgust. “You actually kiss that hideous stump every night? Doesn’t it make you want to throw up?” The tropical storm lashed against the French windows, a relentless, deafening roar that drowned out my ragged breathing. I should have turned and walked away, but my remaining foot felt nailed to the floorboards. Stewart let out a soft chuckle. “Gemma is like a piece of shattered porcelain right now. If I don’t handle her with kid gloves, how is she supposed to stay quietly in her wheelchair?” Windy rolled her eyes. “But how much longer do we have to play this game?” “The foundation for disabled youth goes public next month. As our primary brand ambassador, she has to stay on her pedestal until the IPO is secured.” “But you give her those heavy sedatives every single day. What if they end up killing her?” Stewart’s voice remained flat, completely devoid of emotion. “The doctor said the dosage is safe. It just keeps her quiet and compliant.” I bit down on the back of my hand, sinking my teeth deep into my flesh until the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. He had told me they were vitamins. Two white pills every morning to boost my immune system. He had been so incredibly gentle, cupping my cheek with his warm palm, whispering like he was coaxing a child. “Be good, Gemma. Take these, and the pain will go away.” Three years ago, when I first woke up from the amputation surgery and saw the empty space where my right leg used to be, I had lost my mind. I screamed, thrashing and smashing everything within arm’s reach. When Stewart rushed into the hospital room, I was raising a heavy metal lamp, ready to hurl it. Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees right onto the shattered glass covering the floor. Shards sliced deep into his skin, staining his trousers crimson, but he didn’t even flinch. He just wrapped his arms around me, holding me in a death grip. He kissed my forehead over and over, his voice raw. “Gemma, I will be your right leg from now on. I swear I will never let anyone hurt you again.” I had wept until my body went limp, believing that no matter how dark my life got, this man would always be my shield. What a joke. A wave of intense nausea hit me, rising hot in my throat. I slowly released my hand, staring at the deep, purple crescent of teeth marks bruised into my skin. Inside the room, Windy was still whining. “Stay with me tonight. She took her pills, she won’t wake up anyway.” Stewart didn’t answer, but the rustle of clothes and Windy’s soft, pleased giggles spoke louder than words. Thunder shook the corridor. Using every ounce of strength I had, I stabilized my crutches, dragged my remaining leg, and retreated silently into the dark bedroom. I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled, agonizing sounds from the next room until dawn broke. By morning, the rain still hadn’t let up. The door creaked open, and Stewart walked in carrying a glass of warm water, his eyes reflecting the same gentle warmth he had shown me for years. “Awake already, Gemma?” He sat on the edge of the mattress, helping me sit up and placing a plush pillow behind my back. Then, he shook two white tablets from a bottle into his palm and held them to my lips. “The storm must have triggered your joint pain last night. Take your vitamins.” I stared at the pills, motionless. Stewart’s brow furrowed with concern. “Come on, sweetheart. The doctor got these specifically to help you feel better.” I didn’t argue. I opened my mouth, let the dry tablets rest under my tongue, and took a small sip of water. “Good girl.” He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear before turning around to draw the heavy curtains. The moment his back was turned, I spit the dissolving pills into my palm, curling my fingers into a tight fist. But as the curtains parted, Stewart seemed to sense something. “Gemma, you’re awfully quiet today.” He spun back around, his sharp gaze locking onto my face. Before I could react, he stepped forward, grabbing my chin with a firm grip and forcing my head up. “Did you actually swallow them?” His eyes searched my mouth. “Open up. Let me see.” My heart missed a beat. I obediently parted my lips, showing him an empty tongue. Stewart stared for a long, tense moment before the suspicion in his eyes slowly melted away. He released my chin, his thumb lightly tracing my cheekbone. “Get some rest. I’ll bring your breakfast up.” The door clicked shut. I opened my sweaty palm, staring at the semi-dissolved sedatives. Unclasping the silver locket around my neck, I slipped the wet chalky remains inside and snapped it shut. When the rain finally cleared, the island was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Stewart decided it was a perfect day for a walk, pushing my wheelchair down to the private beach. The ocean breeze swept over my face, but looking out at the endless waves, my heart felt like a graveyard. “You must be thirsty. I’ll grab you some fresh juice from the pavilion.” Stewart parked my wheelchair under the shade of a large umbrella and walked toward the resort bar. A few minutes later, a server in a resort uniform approached, placing a tall glass on the small table beside me. “Your juice, Miss.” The voice made my entire body lock up. I looked up to find Windy looking down at me, her lips curved into a smug, mocking sneer. A distance away, Stewart turned and saw us. His expression darkened instantly. He marched over, stepping directly between us, his voice a low, furious hiss. “What are you doing out here?” “What is she doing here, Stewart?” I asked, keeping my voice dead and cold. Windy’s reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes welled with tears, and she dropped to her knees. “Please, Gemma, I beg you, just let me live!” She wept so pitifully that several nearby hotel guests began to whisper and point. “Three years ago, you ruined my family because of a misunderstanding! I’ve been hiding on this island, washing dishes just to survive. I know I made mistakes, but why won’t you let me have a fresh start?” Every word was designed to paint me as a bitter, vengeful heiress who was abusing her power to keep a poor girl down. My body began to shake, a violent, involuntary reaction to the trauma of seeing her. Stewart noticed. He dropped to one knee, placing his hand over my trembling knee with the perfect amount of pressure, just as he had done a thousand times before. “Gemma,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Deep breaths. Focus on me. You’re safe.” I couldn’t speak. I just stared at Windy. My mind flashed back to that freezing day on the mountain. The howling wind, my fingers turning blue as I clung desperately to the icy ledge, suspended over a deadly abyss. Windy had stood above me, looking down with a vicious, mocking grin. Then, she had raised her heavy boot and stomped hard on my frozen fingers. “Go to hell, Gemma.” For five years, that face had haunted my nightmares, waking me up drenched in cold sweat. And every time, Stewart would pull me into his chest, kissing my hair, whispering, “It’s over, darling. She paid for what she did.” But the truth was, the “price” she paid was being kept safe right under his nose. In a sudden burst of rage, I shoved Stewart away, forced myself up onto my left leg, and threw my weight forward. My hand cut through the air, landing a resounding slap across Windy’s face. The force spun her head to the side, and a thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. She stared at me, wide-eyed with shock. The beach fell dead silent. The warmth in Stewart’s eyes vanished completely, replaced by a cold, sharp irritation. He grabbed my arm, forcing me back into the wheelchair, his brow furrowing deeply. “Have you lost your mind?” I looked up at him. “I’ve lost my mind?” Stewart exhaled a long, heavy sigh, his face filled with profound disappointment. “She has already suffered. She lost everything, Gemma.” “Look at you now. You’ve become bitter, vindictive, and cruel.” “Don’t let your obsession with revenge turn you into an ugly monster.” I stared at his righteous, hypocritical face. Three years ago, he swore he would make her pay with her life. Today, he called me a monster. I didn’t argue. I simply brushed his hand off my arm and turned the wheels of my chair, pushing myself back toward the villa. Behind me, Windy’s whiny voice drifted over the sand. “Stewart, it hurts so bad…” “Shh, it’s okay,” Stewart’s voice was infinitely tender. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I didn’t look back. I only felt that even under the blazing sun, the world had never felt colder. By nightfall, a category-four hurricane made landfall. The wind shrieked, throwing sheets of rain against the reinforced glass, cutting off all power and communication to the island. At two in the morning, I tumbled out of bed. Without the sedatives, the brutal combination of withdrawal and phantom limb pain hit me all at once. My stump was spasming violently, and sweat soaked through my nightgown. I desperately needed water, but my body refused to cooperate. My hand trembled as I reached for the glass pitcher on the nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. As I fell, the jagged glass sliced deep into my palms, and blood pooled onto the floor. Just then, the door swung open. Stewart and Windy stood in the doorway, wearing matching silk pajamas. In the flashes of lightning, they looked like a perfect, mocking portrait. Seeing the blood and glass, Windy’s eyes lit up with malicious glee, and she rushed forward. “Oh my gosh, Gemma! Are you okay? Let me help you!” She knelt beside me, her voice dripping with fake concern. Stewart turned back to the hallway to grab the first-aid kit. The second his back was turned, Windy’s worried expression shattered. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the sensitive skin of my stump, her manicured nails digging mercilessly into my flesh. “You were so brave this afternoon on the beach, wasn’t you?” “Look at you now, crawling on the floor like a pathetic, filthy dog.” In a blind panic of pain and adrenaline, I swung my arm, shoving her away with all my might. “Ah!” Windy let out a theatrical shriek, throwing herself backward directly onto the pile of shattered glass. The sharp shards sliced into her forearms, and blood seeped through her skin. Clutching her arm, she looked toward the door, tears streaming down her face. “Stewart, it hurts…” Stewart rushed back into the room, holding the first-aid kit. Without casting a single glance in my direction, he scooped Windy up in his arms, his face pale with worry as he inspected her cuts. Once he saw they were merely superficial, he slowly turned his gaze to me. “I let it slide this afternoon because I thought you were just emotional,” he said, his voice trembling with a quiet, lethal rage. “But she was just trying to help you, and you did this. Gemma, how long are you going to keep acting like a rabid animal?” Windy clung to his chest, trembling. “Stewart, I’m scared… she’s going to hurt me again…” Stewart’s gaze drifted down to my right leg. He gently set Windy aside and walked over, stopping right in front of me. “Since you can’t seem to control yourself, you need to learn how to sit still.” With a blank, robotic expression, his hands reached down to the quick-release buckle of my prosthetic leg. My eyes went wide, and I clawed at his hands. “Stewart! No! Don’t you dare! Leave it alone!” Click. With cold precision, he unlatched the prosthetic and pulled it away. He was stripping away my last shred of dignity, ripping it from my body like a trophy. I bit my lip so hard it bled, my voice a raspy whisper. “When the storm passes, I’m going back to New York.” Stewart let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Gemma, your trust funds and foundation accounts were frozen yesterday. Do you honestly think anyone in your family is coming to save you?” “You can’t even walk out of this room. Just be a good girl and stay put.” He wrapped his arm around Windy and walked out, locking the heavy mahogany door from the outside. I collapsed onto the bloody, glass-strewn floor. I sat there in the dark for a long time, and then, a low chuckle escaped my lips. The chuckle turned into a laugh, until tears streamed down my face. My parents had no other children. When I was ten, I had begged them for an older brother because I was lonely. To make me happy, they had adopted twelve-year-old Stewart from an orphanage. He became the golden heir of the family, my rock, my protector. Then my parents died in a car crash, and shortly after, I lost my leg. One by one, Stewart had forced my uncles and senior executives out of the family firm, seizing total control. He had explained, “Gemma, they’re greedy vultures. I’m just protecting your legacy.” How incredibly naive I had been. I had been blind to the monstrous ambition hidden beneath his gentle smile. My family was gone. But so what? I was still alive. And as long as I was breathing, that was enough. The next morning, the hurricane began to weaken. Stewart had to leave early to deal with a corporate PR emergency at the resort’s business center. The bedroom door clicked open, and Windy walked in. She sauntered over to the nightstand, raising her foot to kick my untouched glass of water to the floor. It spilled everywhere. “Thirsty? Why don’t you lick it off the floor?” she sneered, looking down at me. I didn’t answer. I just stared at her, my eyes flat and emotionless. Windy stepped closer, let out a dry laugh. “Do you seriously think you’re still the high-and-mighty princess of the family?” “Gemma, tell me… do you really believe I was the one who ruined your leg?” My gaze sharpened. Seeing my reaction, her grin widened. “I was hanging off that cliff by a thread myself. How on earth would I have had the strength to kick you off?” She leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. “It was Stewart. He paid one of the guides to slice your backup safety rope before we even started the climb.” My pupils dilated. “You really are a pathetic fool.” Windy laughed, savoring my silent horror. “Your parents’ fatal crash, your useless stump… it was all orchestrated by the ‘brother’ you loved so much. You brought this on your family.” “You’re lying,” I choked out, my voice raw. No matter how much Stewart might have hated me, my parents had raised him as their own. They had showered him with love. How could anyone be that cold-blooded? “If you’re trying to turn me against him, you need a better lie,” I sneered. “Believe what you want.” Windy stood up, humming a tune as she turned to leave. She was so blinded by her own triumph that she didn’t notice the spare phone slipping out of her pocket and landing softly on the thick rug, right beneath the edge of my blanket. Late that night, the rain started pouring again. When Stewart opened the door, I was already back in bed, eyes closed, pretending to be in a drug-induced slumber while trying to stop my body from shivering. He walked over and tucked the blanket around my shoulders. Moments later, he stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the sliding door slightly ajar. Through the howling wind and rain, I heard him speaking to his assistant on the phone. “I don’t care how much that bastard in Australia is asking for! Pay him whatever it takes to keep his mouth shut!” Stewart’s voice had lost all its warmth. It was razor-sharp and cold. The assistant must have said something on the other end. Stewart let out a vicious laugh. “The man is a greedy pig.” “Remind him that he was the one who physically cut Gemma’s rope on that mountain. I only provided the funds; his hands did the deed.” “If this goes south, I have a dozen ways to clear my name. He doesn’t. Tell him to choose his next words very carefully.” The call ended. Only the sound of the wind remained. In the dark room, I pressed my hand against my mouth, tears flowing silently down my face. It was true. The man who had held me and cried, the man who swore to be my right leg, was the very monster who had pushed me into the abyss. My entire life had been a carefully constructed lie, and I had played the fool perfectly. But as the grief washed over me, a strange, cold clarity settled in my mind. Taking advantage of the rumbling thunder, I pulled out the spare phone Windy had dropped. With trembling fingers, I dialed a number I knew by heart. The call connected instantly, and a man’s anxious voice came through the speaker. “Gemma? Thank God! The island’s been dark for two days. Are you safe? Did Stewart…” “Tristan,” I interrupted, my voice flat and steady. “Find the lead guide from our Alps expedition three years ago.” “I need the forensic analysis of that cut rope.”

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1 Five years into my life in London, my fiancé changed his profile picture. It was a shot of a family of three. Anyone looking at it would think they were the picture of domestic bliss. Before I could even call to interrogate him, his message popped up. “My wife gets jealous easily. Deleted you.” I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat and typed back. “Who the hell is this? And since when did my boyfriend add you?” My fiancé sent back a string of question marks. Then came a barrage of identical texts. “Who the hell are you? Amy is my girlfriend!” At that exact moment, the financial news channel on my TV was broadcasting a segment about the new head of the Manhattan based Lancaster empire. Victor Lancaster. A reckless idea sparked in my mind. I typed out that unfamiliar name and hit send. Sometime later, at a high society gala in Manhattan. My former fiancé was screaming like a madman, demanding to know what gave the man sitting at the head table the right to steal his woman. “Girlfriend?” The man raised a dark brow, his gaze shifting to me standing right in the center of the spectacle. Just as my heart leaped into my throat, his lips curved into a faint, predatory smile. “Come on then. Why don’t you tell everyone exactly what is going on, Miss Sinclair?” It was snowing heavily in London. The usually bustling streets were practically deserted. A fire crackled in the hearth as I stood by the window wrapped in a thick cashmere shawl. My eyes were still swollen from crying. Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper who had looked after me my whole life, stood nearby with a face full of worry. She gently suggested that if I was still feeling down, she could accompany me for a walk. I shook my head, forcing a weak smile. I told her I was fine and that she should go get some rest. She knew my stubborn personality better than anyone, so she didn’t push it. Half an hour later, a private investigator back in the States sent me a fifty page dossier. It turned out that by my second year abroad, Tristan Kensington was already sleeping with the maid’s daughter, Daisy. The only reason he hadn’t gone public with her was that he couldn’t bear to let go of the Kensington family’s staggering wealth. Tristan was the illegitimate son of the Kensington dynasty, only brought back into the fold when he turned eighteen. He was incompetent. To ensure the family empire didn’t crumble under his lack of skill, Old Man Kensington offered up a massive dowry, practically begging my family to agree to a marriage alliance. At the time, my family’s corporate funding had hit a brick wall. My parents were pulling their hair out, begging for investors all over the city. I couldn’t stand seeing them suffer, so I agreed to the arrangement. The first time I met Tristan was at a high-end French restaurant. He brought me a bouquet of fresh roses and sat across from me, looking genuinely nervous. When the waiter brought out the steak, he naturally took my plate and cut the meat into perfect bite-sized pieces for me. He drove me home afterward, and we talked the entire way. I had grown up navigating the toxic vanity of high society and had seen every type of fake person imaginable. But Tristan felt different. He was tall, handsome, and impeccably polite. Even though he had clearly suffered through a rough life before being claimed by his rich father, his eyes still held a bright, genuine light. We started seeing each other regularly. Every time we met, he had some small, thoughtful surprise waiting for me. I fell for him. I couldn’t stop myself. When he finally confessed his feelings, I said yes. Every single day of our relationship felt like a dream. I had a terrible temper and was prone to throwing fits. Aside from my parents, he was the only person in the world who tolerated my tantrums unconditionally. Six months into our relationship, we got engaged. Right around then, my family’s business took another devastating hit. Left with no other options, my parents shifted their entire focus overseas to London, desperately trying to find a lifeline for the company. As their only daughter and the future heir to the Sinclair Group, I didn’t hesitate. I booked a flight to join them, refusing to stay behind in New York living off my trust fund while they fought in the trenches. It poured rain the day I left. Tristan came to the airport to see me off. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked completely heartbroken, promising he would wait for me forever and begging me not to forget him. During my time in London, I texted him every single day to share the little details of my life. At first, his replies were instant. Gradually, I found myself waiting two or three days, sometimes even a full week, just to get a single message back. Love doesn’t just fade out of nowhere. There is always a trail of breadcrumbs. Now that Old Man Kensington had passed away, Tristan didn’t have to pretend anymore. He didn’t have to answer to anyone. No wonder he couldn’t wait to change the matching profile pictures we had used for years the second his grandfather was buried. My parents flew back to New York a week ahead of me to attend the funeral. I stayed behind in London to wrap up the final business negotiations. After years of relentless grinding, the Sinclair Group had successfully clawed its way back from the brink of death. Business was booming, and we were preparing to move our global headquarters back to Manhattan very soon. I instructed my assistant to pack my schedule to the brim. Aside from eating and sleeping, I worked until my eyes bled. If I kept moving, I wouldn’t have time to spiral. I knew perfectly well that crying over a man, especially a cheating bastard, was the stupidest thing a woman could do. But humans are emotional creatures, and sometimes logic just takes a backseat. I allowed myself to have bad judgment. I allowed myself to make mistakes. I allowed myself to grieve a failed relationship. But I absolutely refused to let it destroy me. I had half a month left before my flight home. During that time, Tristan bombarded my phone every single day. His texts were unhinged. He accused me of betraying him and swore he was going to hunt down and slaughter my so-called “wild man.” It was hilariously ironic. His kid with Daisy was practically old enough to run around the house, yet he had the absolute audacity to demand I stay pure and loyal to him. I didn’t reply to a single text. The day of my flight back to New York finally arrived. Mrs. Hughes made me a steaming bowl of shrimp wonton soup first thing in the morning. Watching me finish every last drop, the deep frown she had worn for days finally dissolved into a warm smile. With a full stomach, a long-lost sense of genuine joy washed over me. I was finally saying goodbye to London and going back to the city where I grew up. But I never expected that my welcoming committee would include Tristan. My parents were stuck in terrible traffic on the way to JFK Airport. As I walked out of the arrivals gate, the first person I saw was my ex-fiancé. And he wasn’t alone. Daisy and the kid were right there with him. Tristan marched toward me, radiating pure fury. He grabbed my wrist in a vice grip, his teeth practically grinding together. He demanded to know where the bastard was and why he didn’t fly back with me. Terrified he was actually going to hurt me, Mrs. Hughes completely lost it. She started kicking and hitting him with her purse, not caring who he was. Tristan winced in pain, his brows knitting together, but he absolutely refused to let me go. “Are you deaf, Amy? Answer the damn question!” I just gave him a dead, silent smirk. I wasn’t going to give him a single word. My silence only made him more psychotic. His grip tightened painfully around my bones. He glared at me like he wanted to rip my throat out. He called me a shameless tramp, accusing me of going abroad just to sleep around behind his back. He screamed that I owed him an explanation. I had seen shameless people before, but this was a whole new level of garbage. He was the one playing house with another woman, yet here he was, trying to nail me to a cross and play the victim. My parents had warned me back then. They said Tristan lacked proper education and had spent his youth running with street trash. They told me that even if he acted like a polished gentleman, I shouldn’t trust him completely. I thought he was the exception. The truth was, he was just a phenomenal actor. In the middle of that suffocating standoff, Daisy walked over holding the little boy’s hand. She spoke in a sickeningly soft, fragile voice. She told me that even though she and Tristan were married and had a child, his heart had always belonged to me. She scolded me, saying what I did was unfair to him and that as a woman, I needed to have some self-respect. She looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over. She kept her volume low, acting as if she was terrified of me. To me, she sounded like a yapping stray dog. I didn’t even waste a second glance on her. I looked at him coldly, asking if he really wanted an explanation. Tristan puffed up his chest confidently. “Damn right I do! We haven’t officially broken off the engagement. Legally, you are still my fiancée. You parading around with some random guy is a direct slap to my face.” Talk about the audacity of men. My patience completely evaporated. I raised my free hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had. I hit him so hard my own palm went numb, the stinging shock traveling all the way up my arm. A bright red handprint blossomed instantly across Tristan’s cheek, swelling up within seconds. He clearly never expected me to get physical. He dropped my wrist, clutching his face in absolute shock. He stammered, asking if I really just hit him. I stared blankly at the man shrieking like a maniac in the middle of the terminal. I told him he deserved a lot worse. I admitted I was an idiot five years ago for buying his lies, but I made it crystal clear that as of today, we were completely done. A flash of genuine panic crossed Tristan’s eyes, but he quickly forced himself to calm down. “Amy, don’t say things you don’t mean out of anger.” He spun a pathetic web of excuses. He claimed he didn’t love Daisy. He said four years ago, someone slipped a drug into his drink, and Daisy sacrificed her own virtue to save his life. When she ended up pregnant, he had no choice but to take responsibility. As for the profile picture and the text messages? He swore it was just a punishment for losing a bet during a poker game. He told me to go ask his frat buddies if I didn’t believe him. He admitted he married Daisy, but swore it was only to protect Noah. He didn’t want the boy growing up being called a fatherless bastard, especially since he knew exactly how much that hurt from his own childhood. I couldn’t care less if a single word vomiting out of his mouth was true. It didn’t matter. Betrayal is betrayal. I wasn’t interested in his tragic backstory or his pathetic justifications. I looked at him with absolute ice in my veins. I asked him what exactly he expected. Did he seriously think I was going to pretend nothing happened and jump right back into his arms? Tristan’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He immediately tried to grab my hands again. He praised me for always being so understanding, promising that he just couldn’t give me the official title right now. He swore that once Noah was a little older, he would divorce Daisy. His greedy calculations were practically smeared across his forehead. Right on cue, Daisy chimed in. She played the tragic martyr, saying she knew her place and would never cling to Tristan. She even offered to let me legally adopt Noah if I wanted. It sounded incredibly generous, but it was nothing but a calculated trap. My parents only had me. I was already holding a high-level executive position in our empire. If that kid became my legal son, he wouldn’t just skip the social ladder entirely. He would be handed the keys to the kingdom. I wasn’t falling for her manipulative guilt trips. But Tristan ate it right up. He held Daisy’s hand, looking at her like she was a wounded angel. He called her the most understanding woman he had ever met and promised Noah would always know her as his real mother. My stomach violently turned. The sheer disgust finally overwhelmed me, and I turned to the side and threw up. Mrs. Hughes went into a frenzy, rubbing my back and frantically searching for a bottle of water. Tristan, on the other hand, went completely dark. His face twisted into an ugly scowl as he harshly demanded to know if I was pregnant with the other man’s bastard. He reached out to grab me again. Just in the nick of time, my parents finally arrived. The second Tristan saw my father, his aggressive bravado vanished into thin air. He immediately put on a sickeningly polite smile, greeting them and acting like a devoted son-in-law. My parents didn’t give him the time of day. They treated him like toxic waste. Tristan stood there awkwardly, too terrified to even breathe loudly. The speed at which he changed his tune was giving me whiplash. If I didn’t already know that his current real estate project was tanking and heavily relied on Sinclair Group’s core tech to survive, I might have actually believed he respected my parents. My parents carefully helped me into the backseat of the Maybach. As the car pulled away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Tristan had instinctively taken a few steps to chase after the car. Then, the quiet little boy started wailing. Tristan’s attention snapped right back to him. For some unknown reason, Daisy started sobbing too. Tristan was stuck on the sidewalk, frantically trying to comfort the crying kid and the weeping woman. Tsk. Look how busy he is. Inside the car, my mother couldn’t stop cursing his name. She called him absolute scum, regretting that she and my father ever agreed to the engagement. My father sat tall, his aura terrifyingly cold. He swore that since Tristan dared to humiliate his daughter, he was going to make the boy wish he was never born. I squeezed their hands, comforting them. I told them we dodged a massive bullet and cutting our losses now was a blessing. Once we got to our penthouse in Manhattan, I crashed into bed and slept for a full twenty-four hours. When I finally woke up, I could hear faint voices drifting from the living room. It was my parents talking to our family doctor. I rubbed my throbbing temples, sitting up slowly. It took me a minute to process their conversation. The doctor told them I was suffering from severe exhaustion and needed strict bed rest. My parents were anxiously asking him for a list of precautions. After a while, the living room fell silent. My bedroom door clicked open, and my mother walked in. Seeing me awake, she immediately plastered on a bright smile. She asked what I was craving for dinner, offering tomato beef stew or a nourishing pork rib soup. I didn’t have an ounce of appetite, but I couldn’t bear to make them worry. I thought about it and asked for the beef stew with a side of stir-fried greens. My mother gently stroked my hair. She casually mentioned that a Mr. Lancaster was hosting a massive gala at the Century Grand Hotel tonight, and our family had received a VIP invitation. She told me that since she and my father were preparing to step back from the spotlight, I needed to start showing my face at these elite gatherings. I nodded and agreed to go. My brain was still foggy from the long sleep. I completely forgot to ask who this mysterious “Mr. Lancaster” actually was. My mother smiled in relief, whispering that her little girl was finally growing up. The gala was set for eight o’clock. I had plenty of time. Time to eat, time to pick out an appropriately lavish gift for the host, and time to get my hair and makeup done perfectly. By seven, I was sitting in the back of the Maybach wearing a stunning, fiery red evening gown. Before leaving the house, I had stood in front of the full-length mirror for a very long time. I was twenty-eight. Young, beautiful, vibrant, and proud. This was the absolute prime of my life. In a daze, a memory surfaced. Ever since I started dating Tristan, I rarely wore bright colors. He didn’t like it when I looked too flashy or commanding. He preferred women who looked soft, subdued, and easily controlled. The car sped through the dazzling city lights. For the first time in a long time, my heart felt completely at peace. I arrived at the ballroom twenty minutes early. Several socialites and business tycoons who recognized me came over with champagne flutes to welcome me back to the city. I navigated the small talk flawlessly. The event officially kicked off, but I still hadn’t caught a glimpse of the elusive host. I did, however, run into three incredibly unwelcome guests. Tristan, Daisy, and that hostile little kid. Tristan ditched Daisy and the boy, storming over to me with a face like thunder. He sneered, saying he was surprised I had the nerve to show my face in public. Absolutely delusional. He was the one who should be hiding in a sewer. When I completely ignored him, Tristan started losing his temper. He raised his voice, mocking me, saying he couldn’t wait to see if my wild man had the guts to show up. He was raving like a lunatic. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck my sleep-deprived brain. It finally clicked. The host’s last name was Lancaster. My mother had respectfully called him “Mr. Lancaster.” There was only one man in the entire city of New York who commanded that level of absolute reverence from my mother. A cold sweat broke out on my palms. Just as I was turning to find a quiet exit, the massive double doors of the grand ballroom swung open. The man leading the entourage was incredibly tall. His features were striking and flawless, his aura radiating a terrifying, aristocratic chill. He owned the room just by stepping into it. It was too late to run. I tried to shrink into the shadows, backing into the most inconspicuous corner I could find. But in the very next second, Tristan, being the absolute idiot he was, charged straight at the billionaire. He pointed a finger, screaming like a madman. “Victor Lancaster, I don’t care how much money or power you have! Today I am exposing you for the scum you are! Everyone, look at this despicable bastard! He stole my girlfriend!” Instantly, every single pair of eyes in the ballroom snapped directly to me. And here I thought these billionaires didn’t care about tabloid gossip. Apparently, everyone in the room knew exactly who I used to be engaged to. Victor didn’t even blink. He completely ignored Tristan, walking past him to take his seat at the center table. “Girlfriend?” He raised a dark brow. His voice was like ice, reminding me of a biting winter storm. It was heavily commanding. Lethal. I ducked my head in absolute panic, wishing the marble floor would open up and swallow me whole. I had heard the rumors about this man. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. A monster in a bespoke suit. The seconds dragged on like hours. My heart was practically beating out of my chest. The silence in the room was suffocating. I slowly peeked up, only to lock eyes with a pair of abyss-like, pitch-black irises. The man’s lips curved into a faint, dark smile. “Come on then. Why don’t you tell everyone exactly what is going on, Miss Sinclair?”

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1 My mother came to Chicago for heart surgery, but my husband, Danny, flat out refused to be her attending surgeon. “I am up for Chief of Surgery this year. What if someone reports me for favoring my own family?” He was the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the hospital, a recognized genius with a scalpel. Yet as his wife, I had to beg him on my knees to save my own mother. My heart ached as I supported my parents’ weight. I glared at him. “You cannot even help us get a hospital room?” He frowned. “Your parents are from a ranch in Montana. They could be carrying livestock bacteria. I cannot risk the safety of my other patients.” My dad awkwardly hid the hand stitched shearling coat he had spent months making for Danny behind his back. His face flushed with deep embarrassment. My eyes turned red with fury. Just as I opened my mouth to yell at him, Danny’s phone rang. His tone instantly melted into something incredibly soft. “Carol, do not panic. I already got Eleanor a private room. I will handle her surgery personally in three days.” Eleanor was the mother of his childhood sweetheart, Carol. My dad let out a heavy sigh. “Sadie, maybe your mom and I should just head back. Taking medication at home is fine too.” I watched Danny hurriedly walk away to find Carol and her mother. My mind was made up. “We are doing the surgery. And I am getting a divorce.” I found them near the VIP ward. Danny was gently supporting Eleanor’s arm. His voice held a tenderness I had never received. “Take it slow, Eleanor. The bed is all ready for you.” Tears pooled in Carol’s eyes. “Danny, I am so sorry for the trouble. Thank God we have you.” Danny reached out and softly patted her hair. “Do not be silly. Your problems are my problems.” “I will do the valve replacement myself to keep the risks absolutely minimal.” Eleanor patted his hand. “You are so busy, yet you still take care of me.” Danny quickly shook his head. “Please do not say that. If Carol had not moved to Europe back then, I would be your son in law right now. I still keep the sweater you knitted for me.” I watched them laughing and talking like a real family. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms that the skin broke, but I did not feel a thing. My dad wiped the corners of his eyes. “Sadie, this is our fault. We should never have come. These big city hospitals have strict rules. It is perfectly normal for people to look down on us.” My mom nodded in agreement. “Your dad is right. I will just skip the surgery. My chest pain is nothing new anyway. I can tough it out for a few more years.” “Please do not fight with your husband over my stupid illness.” I grabbed her calloused hand, my voice choking up. “Mom, this has nothing to do with you.” “It is just that in his eyes, I am not worth the effort.” I had been married and living in Chicago for six years. My parents never once asked to visit. I knew they missed me enough to lose sleep, but they were simply too scared to impose. During our second year of marriage, my mom carried a heavy cooler of fresh lamb and sat on a freezing Greyhound bus for thirty hours just to see me. She arrived in the middle of the night and sat outside our apartment door until dawn, too terrified to knock and wake us up. When Danny finally saw her, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “Why didn’t she call ahead? This is just creating chaos.” He complained the lamb smelled too gamey. He turned right around and threw it into the apartment dumpster. Last year, my dad mailed us a box of his homemade smoked cheese. Danny opened the package, looked disgusted, and tossed it aside. “Is this even sanitary? I am not getting food poisoning from this.” He then took the beef jerky my mom made from scratch and fed it to Carol’s dog. I never told my parents any of this. I could not bear to let them know their pure love was being trampled on. I used to scream and cry about it. Every time, Danny would apologize and tell me not to be so overly sensitive. But the next time, he would do the exact same thing. I endured it for six years. I got so used to swallowing the pain that I convinced myself this was just how he was. But seeing him shower Carol’s family with endless devotion while treating my parents like toxic waste was a massive wake up call. I suddenly realized my entire six year marriage was a pathetic joke. Danny walked Carol and Eleanor toward their VIP room. As they passed us, my dad forced a polite, eager smile. “Danny…” Danny stopped in his tracks. He corrected my dad with ice in his voice. “Call me Dr. Danny.” It was as if my dad was not his father in law, but just some ignorant stranger breaking hospital protocol. The smile froze on my dad’s face. “Dr. Danny, I just wanted to ask about Sadie’s mom…” Danny kept a blank, strictly professional face. “Wait for your turn to be notified. And stop wandering the halls.” He turned around and continued escorting Eleanor. Carol shot me a filthy look. “What is that smell in the hallway? It smells like a barn.” Before I could even curse her out, my mom panicked and took two steps back, terrified that she actually smelled bad. I wrapped my arm around her shaking shoulders. She was still trying to defend him. “Doctors have lots of rules. Your dad and I just lack manners.” The tears finally broke free and spilled down my cheeks. I was done trying to warm up a heart made of ice. I pulled out my phone and called my best friend Brooke. She mentioned before that her uncle was a director at this hospital. When she heard what happened, her voice shook with sheer rage. “Is your husband completely out of his mind? His own mother in law needs heart surgery, and he gives a VIP room to some other woman’s mother?” “Sadie, stay right there. I am on my way.” Ten minutes later, Brooke marched down the corridor in her heels. A middle aged man in glasses followed right behind her. “Uncle Warren, my best friend’s mom needs cardiac surgery. Can you please check if there is a bed available?” Dr. Warren flipped through his clipboard and nodded. “A double room just opened up in the East Wing. I will schedule the surgery myself. There is a top specialist from Boston doing a visiting residency here this week.” Before I could even say thank you, my dad’s eyes welled up with tears. He wiped his rough hands on his jeans repeatedly before daring to shake the doctor’s hand. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.” Brooke saw his nervous posture and spoke with absolute sweetness. “Do not thank us, sir. Sadie’s parents are my parents.” “Some people are just blind and heartless. It has nothing to do with you two.” She raised her voice slightly so it echoed down the hall. “Unlike a certain doctor who wears a white coat but acts like a total scumbag.” With the room sorted, Brooke had to rush back to her office. I told my parents to rest in the new room while I went down to the cafeteria to buy them food. When I came back with the takeout containers, I froze. My dad was crouching in the hallway, scrambling to pick up scattered belongings. My mom stood against the wall, her shoulders hunched in deep shame, her eyes completely red. A snooty woman standing in the doorway was loudly complaining. “They should not let hicks from the ranch stay in this wing. Who knows if they have parasites.” My dad nodded profusely while grabbing his things. “I am so sorry. We are packing up right now.” He looked up at me and forced a painful smile. “It is fine, sweetie. We were bothering the other patients.” My mom turned her face away and quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Danny was standing right there, arms crossed, watching them with cold indifference. He did not say a single word to defend them. My blood turned to ice. It felt like a giant hand was crushing my heart. Just as I charged forward, Carol covered her nose and spoke in a shrill voice. “There are all sorts of tick borne diseases out in the country. Who knows what kind of bacteria they brought in.” “Dr. Danny did not even dare give them a room. If they infect a patient, who is going to take the blame?” My lips trembled with absolute fury. “Carol, shut your damn mouth!” She widened her eyes in fake innocence. “Sadie, I am just reminding everyone to be careful about infections.” “Dressed like that, it is no wonder people misunderstand. You are really embarrassing Danny.” I saw red. I raised my hand and shoved her hard. Carol stumbled backward and hit her shoulder against the wall. “I give you a friendly warning, and you get violent?” Danny immediately reached out and steadied Carol. He glared at me, his voice sharp and commanding. “Sadie, are you done throwing this tantrum?” “Your parents should have some self awareness! Stop causing trouble for everyone else!” My dad hunched over and gently pulled my arm. “Sadie, let it go. It is my fault.” My mom swallowed her sobs and whispered, “Let’s just leave. We are making people hate us.” I looked at Danny’s self righteous, arrogant face and let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Danny, I want a divorce.” His face darkened. “Sadie, stop acting crazy. You assault someone and then threaten me with divorce?” When I did not answer, he looked away, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “If this is just about getting a room…” He pulled out his phone and made a quick call. “Add an extra bed in the six person ward on the third floor.” He hung up and looked at me like he was doing a charity case. “You have your bed. Figure out the surgery yourselves, and stop calling me biased.” Carol smiled triumphantly. “Danny has gone above and beyond. Just because you are married does not mean you can leech off him for everything.” I held my mom’s freezing hand and spoke with dead calm. “Do not worry about us, Dr. Danny. We already hired a real specialist. Go back and serve your precious Eleanor.” The surgery was a complete success. My mom recovered incredibly well. The six person ward was way too noisy, so I signed the early discharge papers and brought my parents back to my apartment. I cleaned out the guest room and went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for a rich chicken stew. My mom laid in bed, watching me run around the apartment. “Sadie, do not exhaust yourself.” My dad squatted on the balcony, soaking up the afternoon light. “The sun in Chicago just does not feel as warm as the sun back home.” That quiet, peaceful atmosphere shattered the second Danny walked through the door. He came in from work and immediately stared at the faded canvas sack my dad left by the wall. “Are you turning my apartment into a clinic? I just bought a brand new mattress for that guest room. If your mom’s incision leaks onto it, how is anyone supposed to sleep there?” I heard rustling coming from the guest room. My parents were frantically packing their things. A year ago, I would have cried and screamed at him for saying something so cruel. But now, I felt absolutely nothing. When a heart turns completely cold, there is no energy left to argue. “I paid half the down payment on this place. If you do not like looking at them, you can pack your bags and leave.” Danny stared at me in total shock. He never expected me to talk back like that. He threw his briefcase onto the sofa and stormed into his study without another word. The next evening, I came home from work to find Carol sitting on my living room sofa, flipping through channels with the remote. Eleanor was drinking the chicken stew I had spent hours making for my mother. “Oh, you are home? Danny was worried about us, so he told us to stay here for a few days so he can monitor my recovery.” Carol arrogantly barked an order at my dad. “Hey, your bag is in the way. It is filthy and smells bad.” My dad quickly scrambled to his feet, grabbed the canvas sack, and hauled it into the bedroom. Danny frowned at the scene but kept his mouth shut. I tolerated those two women for three torturous days. On the fourth night, Carol suddenly started sobbing, her eyes turning red. “The jade bracelet my dad left me before he died is missing! I left it right on the coffee table. Where did it go?” Eleanor rubbed her daughter’s back to comfort her, but her glaring eyes locked onto my parents like daggers. Danny stayed quiet for a long moment. He rubbed his temples and looked straight at my dad. “If you saw it, just hand it over. Carol will not press charges.” My dad froze in absolute shock. “We did not see anything.” Carol cried harder, looking like a fragile victim. “We are the only ones here! You cannot possibly think my own mother stole it.” My mom’s hands shook violently as she opened the canvas sack. She started pulling everything out, item by item. Washed clothes. Prescription bottles. Things piled up on the floor until the bag was completely empty. “We might not be as rich as city folks, but we do not steal,” my mom said, her voice breaking. Danny let out a heavy sigh. “Carol, didn’t you want that new diamond bracelet from Tiffany’s? I will take you to buy it tomorrow.” “Sadie’s parents just do not know any better. Do not hold it against them.” He still believed they were thieves. He genuinely thought he was being generous by letting it go. My dad kept his head down. He had no idea what to do with his hands. This old rancher, who had lived on the plains his whole life, a man who never shed a tear even when he was thrown from a wild horse, now had red, watery eyes. I picked up my phone and booked a suite at the best hotel down the street. “Mom. Dad. Pack everything.” “We are not staying here anymore. This place is disgusting.” Ever since I married Danny, he constantly complained about how hard he worked to provide for us. I felt bad for him. Even though I made a great salary as a television host, I never spent money recklessly. But all the money I saved was being blown on Carol. Since he wanted to play it like this, there was no reason to save his face anymore. Carol glared at me, humiliated and angry. “What exactly do you mean by that, Sadie?” “Your parents are petty thieves! The only reason I am not calling the cops is out of respect for Danny!” I completely ignored her pathetic lies and looked dead into Danny’s eyes. “My parents are honest, decent people. You are not worthy of making them prove their innocence.” Danny’s face went rigid. A flash of panic hit him as he stepped toward me. “Sadie, where are you going this late at night?” “Stop acting out. Just come back inside.” Right at that moment, Carol’s anxious voice rang out. “Danny, my mom’s chest hurts! Please come check on her!” Danny stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his head to look at Eleanor on the couch. The door slammed shut behind me, completely severing his hesitant gaze. Once I got my parents settled into the hotel, I called my lawyer. “Mr. Davis, please draft a divorce agreement for me.” For the next few days, Danny did not call me once. Carol, on the other hand, posted on social media three times a day, making sure to tag me in the most obnoxious way possible. There was a picture of Danny carrying shopping bags for them at the mall, with Eleanor trying on gold rings and smiling from ear to ear. There was a photo of him wearing an apron in the kitchen. The caption read: Someone said my mom needs iron after surgery, so he cooked personally. And then there was a picture of two hands intertwined on a walking path. The wedding band on Danny’s finger had been replaced with a matching couple’s ring he bought with Carol. I set my phone face down. My stomach churned with violent nausea. He always claimed he only saw Carol as a little sister. I was pretty sure they were much more than that. Six years of marriage. Did he ever actually love me? My chest hurt so badly I could barely breathe. All the memories I had intentionally buried came rushing back to the surface. The time I ran a fever of a hundred and four degrees. I called him for help, but he was at Carol’s apartment fixing her plumbing. He told me to just take an Advil. I took an Uber to the emergency room by myself. Danny never sent a single text to ask if I was alive. He treated my parents like poor beggars looking for a handout, unworthy of stepping foot in his home. But he treated Eleanor like a queen, giving her his absolute best. The phone screen went dark. I stared at my own pale reflection in the glass and suddenly realized how pointless this all was. Loving the wrong person was fine, as long as you walked away in time. I let out a long breath, turned to my parents, and gave them a real smile. “I already submitted my transfer request to the network. They approved it. I am taking the anchor job back home in Montana.” “I am flying back with you tomorrow. I will take care of you for the rest of my life.” I took the finalized divorce agreement from the lawyer and went back to the apartment to pack my final things. The second I pushed the door open, the sound of loud laughter and clinking glasses filled my ears. The dining table was covered in expensive catering and a massive, custom tiered birthday cake. Eleanor sat at the head of the table, cutting the first slice. Danny was leaning down to pour wine into Carol’s glass. When she turned her head, her nose brushed playfully against his jaw. They shared a deeply intimate smile. Their mutual friends were sitting around the table, laughing and teasing them. “Danny used to play house when we were kids. He always said he was going to be Carol’s prince charming.” “When Carol decided to stay in Europe, Danny was so heartbroken he just settled and married whoever was available.” So that was the truth. I was just a placeholder he used out of spite. Eleanor smiled warmly. “Danny, Carol, you two really need to cherish each other from now on.” They looked like a perfect, happy family. I was just the intruder crashing the party. Danny finally noticed me standing there. He awkwardly dropped his hand from Carol’s shoulder. “Why are you back?” I forced out a freezing smile and slapped the divorce papers onto the table. “Sign it.” Carol looked at me with pure disgust. She leaned in close to my ear and whispered viciously. “Two shameless old beggars raised a little bitch. Who are you putting on this dramatic show for?” “If you really wanted to divorce him, you would have done it already. Do not try to scare us with some stupid piece of paper.” Hearing her insult my parents was the last straw. I grabbed a full glass of red wine from the table and splashed it directly into her face. Danny’s face twisted in absolute rage. He raised his hand and slapped me across the cheek. “Sadie, what the hell is wrong with you!” “Today is Eleanor’s birthday banquet. If you want to act like a lunatic, get the hell out!” My cheek burned, instantly swelling and going numb. A metallic taste flooded my mouth. Hurried footsteps echoed from the entryway. My parents rushed in, completely out of breath from rushing over. My dad saw the red handprint on my face instantly. His eyes went furious as he stepped firmly in front of me. “Danny, how could you hit her?” A guest standing nearby asked out of curiosity, “Danny, who are these two?” Before I could even speak, Danny answered in a dead, monotone voice. “Just some former hired help.” My fingertips went ice cold. “Danny, what kind of hired help spends three months hand stitching a winter coat just for you? What kind of hired help takes a thirty hour bus ride in the freezing cold just to see you, and is too terrified to even knock on your door?” The living room fell completely silent. You could hear a pin drop. My dad pulled weakly on my sleeve. “Sadie, stop. We are just an embarrassment.” I patted his hand to comfort him, my eyes locked onto Danny like a predator. “For six years, you took my endless patience as your given right. You took my parents’ pure love and stomped it into the dirt.” “Danny, you absolutely disgust me.” The guests exchanged wildly uncomfortable looks. Someone muttered, “Did he say hired help? Because they sound exactly like his in laws.” “Now that you mention it… Danny never did have a wedding…” Carol’s eyes immediately turned red. She delicately wiped her wine stained face, pretending to cry. “Sadie, why do you have to humiliate everyone like this?” Eleanor clutched her chest, faking a sudden weakness. “Stop fighting. It is our fault. Carol and I will leave right now.” Danny barked at me in furious defense. “Your parents have no manners, and you decide to act just as classless?” “If you have something to say, say it in private! Why make a joke out of us in front of everyone!” He opened his mouth to keep yelling, but I raised my hand and threw the thick stack of divorce papers directly into his face. The pages scattered everywhere, raining down onto the floor. I looked at his stunned, open mouth and spoke every word with lethal precision. “Danny, we are getting a divorce!”

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1 On the day of our senior yearbook photos, the photographer told the couples in our class to stand closer together. But Gemma pressed her hand against my shoulder, pushing me toward the very edge of the lineup so that Asher could take my place next to her. “Asher and I are the top graduates in science and humanities,” she said, her voice smooth and practical. “It looks better for the school if we stand together.” It was far from the first time she had pushed me aside. Whenever I brought my AP Calculus practice sheets to her, she would glance at my mistakes and sigh, telling me my foundation was too weak and that I was wasting her time. Yet, when Asher struggled with his math assignments, she would stay up until two in the morning, meticulously breaking down every single formula into its simplest steps for him. I once asked her to study with me at the library, but she frowned, claiming my presence was too distracting. Yet, when Asher’s class rank slipped by a single spot, she skipped an entire afternoon of classes just to walk along the harbor with him to ease his mind. The photographer smiled, teasing them from behind the lens. “Are you two a couple? You look perfect together, and your grades certainly match.” Gemma looked at Asher, her smile warm and filled with a quiet pride. “We have always been the perfect team.” Asher lowered his head, his cheeks flushing pink as the rest of our classmates began to cheer and hoot. I stood at the absolute edge of the crowd, my fingers tightening around the glossy photo reservation ticket I had kept in my pocket. I had spent the previous evening picking out my outfit and styling my hair, foolishly hoping to get a picture of just the two of us. The space next to her had never actually belonged to me. And now, I didn’t want it anymore. I stared down at the crumpled ticket in my palm, suddenly finding the whole situation ridiculous. I walked over to the nearest trash can and tossed it inside. A few minutes later, I walked into the guidance counselor’s office. The counselor handed me my final transcript, offering a supportive pat on the back. “You did well, Amber. Go home and start finalizing your college applications.” He paused, looking at me thoughtfully. “I heard you plan on following Gemma to Boston? Boston’s cutoffs are incredibly high, and honestly, your scores won’t get you into a top-tier program there. As your counselor, I advise you to prioritize your own future.” I thanked him, clutching the transcript tightly. As I stepped out of the office, I ran right into Gemma and Asher. They both froze when they saw me, but Asher quickly recovered, jogging up to me with a bright, friendly smile. “There you are, Amber!” He held out a cup. “We went to get some drinks, and Gemma made sure we got one for you too.” I looked down at the cups. They were holding matching iced matcha lattes with “couples combo” stickers plastered on the sides. The drink he was handing me was a bright yellow mango smoothie. I have a severe mango allergy, and Gemma knew that. I forced a faint smile, took the smoothie from his hand, and walked over to drop it into the recycling bin next to the lockers. Asher’s smile faltered, his eyes welling with tears as he looked helplessly at Gemma. Gemma’s brow furrowed instantly, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Amber, what is your problem now?” She sounded exhausted, her patience entirely spent. “Just because I asked you to step aside for Asher earlier? That was my decision, so why are you taking your anger out on him?” “I already explained it to you! We are the top students in our respective tracks, and standing together is good publicity for the school. Besides, didn’t I promise I would take a private photo with you afterward?” I stared at her, suddenly lacking the energy to argue. She had promised. But after the group photo ended, she never looked for me. On our classmates’ social media feeds, she had already posted a dozen private photos with Asher. She had spent the last hour laughing with him, holding him close, and buying drinks, entirely forgetting my existence. Everything had shifted the moment Asher transferred to our school. As the top humanities student, his name was constantly paired with hers, the top science student. I had strained myself to the limit just to keep up with them, often struggling to understand the academic jokes they tossed back and forth. Gemma used to be patient with my academic struggles. But as she spent more time with Asher, her attitude toward me turned into nothing but irritation. Seeing my silence, Gemma let out a sharp sigh, her patience gone. “Fine, we will take the photo now. Are you happy?” Without waiting for my reply, she snatched my phone from my hand and tossed it to Asher. Asher caught it, looking slightly uncomfortable. Gemma stood beside me, but she kept a distinct distance between our shoulders. Before I could even adjust my posture, she grabbed the phone back from Asher and shoved it into my palm. “There, no more tantrums.” “Now wait here while I help Asher gather his final transcripts. We will go home together after.” She turned, grabbing Asher’s sleeve as they walked into the office. I stood in the empty hallway, unlocking my screen to look at the photo. The camera had shaken, capturing only a blurry shot of the gray linoleum floor and the hem of her jacket as she walked away from me. I stared at it for a long time, then let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. I deleted the photo, blocked Gemma’s number, and walked out of the school gates. I was done waiting for her. That evening, a few close friends dragged me out to a local diner for a farewell dinner. Halfway through our meal, the guy sitting next to me nearly choked on his soda. “No way, did Asher just make it official?” He flipped his phone onto the table. It was a social media post from Asher showing two movie tickets with a simple caption: Official. In the corner of the photo, a girl’s wrist was visible, wearing a braided red thread bracelet. My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through my throat. I had begged Gemma to wear a matching couples bracelet months ago, but she had dismissed the idea, calling it childish. Yet, she had started wearing it recently. I had secretly allowed myself to feel happy, thinking she had simply changed her mind for me. How pathetic. My friends began to gossip, trying to identify the girl. “Who is she? Is she from our school?” “He’s always with Gemma. I thought those two were already dating.” I kept my voice flat. “It is Gemma.” They looked up, startled by my tone, and the table went quiet. “Amber, your eyes are incredibly red. Are you okay?” I lowered my head, picking at the fries on my plate. “The hot sauce is just really spicy.” Before anyone could reply, the diner door swung open. Gemma and Asher walked in together. She was carrying his backpack over her shoulder, holding his jacket in her hand. When they sat down at a nearby table, one of our classmates called out, “Gemma, we knew there was something going on between you two!” Gemma noticed me and paused, but she quickly regained her composure, walking over to our table as if nothing was wrong. “What a coincidence,” she said smoothly. “Mind if we join?” She was so utterly casual about it, making my silent agony feel like nothing more than a pathetic overreaction. “Are you two actually dating?” someone asked. Gemma glanced at Asher’s post, letting out a soft laugh. “That? He was talking about the movie release being official. You guys didn’t actually believe that, did you?” Asher lowered his gaze, blushing, but offering no correction. The table resumed its noisy chatter, but my focus was fixed on the glossy lip gloss on Gemma’s lips. It was a shade she only wore when she wanted to look her best. Gemma slid into the booth next to me, her hand reaching under the table to squeeze my fingers, just like she used to do. I pulled my hand away. Her hand froze in the empty space, her expression hardening. She stood up and moved to the other side of the booth, sitting right next to Asher. Their shoulders brushed, and Asher’s face turned bright red. For the rest of the night, the conversation revolved around the two of them, their future college plans, and how their children would probably inherit genius-level IQs. I sat there like an uninvited guest. I wanted to leave, but Gemma was sitting on the outside of the booth, blocking my exit. I could only stare at my plate, my stomach twisting in pain. When Asher reached for an ice-cold soda, Gemma quickly snatched it away. “Your stomach is sensitive, you shouldn’t drink cold things.” The table erupted into more teasing. Gemma finally looked at me, as if suddenly remembering I was there. “Your face is flushed, Amber. Was the food too spicy?” She slid the cold soda toward me. “Here, have some.” I had struggled with chronic stomach issues since childhood, and cold drinks always triggered a painful spasm. Gemma used to protect me from them. But she had forgotten. I didn’t reach for the can. Gemma’s forehead creased with irritation. “Amber, how long are you going to keep acting like this?” I swallowed the lump in my throat, grabbing my backpack as I slid out of the booth. “I don’t feel well. I am going home.” Asher’s expression turned anxious, his voice dropping to a fragile whisper. “Did I say something to upset you, Amber? I am sorry.” Gemma slammed the soda can onto the table, her voice cold. “Ignore him, Asher. He is just being dramatic over nothing.” The table went dead silent, everyone watching the three of us in awkward confusion. I covered my eyes as tears finally spilled over my fingers. Turning my back on them, I ran out of the diner. I cried the entire walk home, my throat raw. When I walked through the front door, my father looked up from the television. “Did you and Gemma have another fight? She messaged me saying you blocked her.” I remained silent, my heart aching. “She just wanted to remind me to make sure you fill out your college applications,” my father continued, sighing. “She wants you to choose a school close to hers in Boston. Gemma is a good girl, Amber. It is a shame you two never worked out. You are average, and she is brilliant, so I suppose it makes sense she doesn’t see you that way.” I didn’t argue. “We don’t know much about these prestigious universities,” he added. “You should ask Gemma for advice. I saw her helping Asher with his applications the other day, she was incredibly thorough. They spent days working on it, even staying up late together.” My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag. “Gemma even told him she would help him get into the best program at MIT, making sure not a single test score went to waste.” I stood in the hallway, feeling a cold weight settle in my chest. Gemma and I had promised to go to the same city. But when I had asked her to look over my choices, she had barely looked up from her phone. “I don’t know much about those middle-tier state schools, Amber. Just pick whatever is close to Boston. The major doesn’t really matter for someone with your grades anyway.” I had defended her back then, telling myself that as an elite student destined for MIT, she simply didn’t understand the complex admissions process for regular universities. I couldn’t deceive myself anymore. “Your guidance counselor called me too,” my father said. “He thinks Boston is too risky for you. What do you think?” “I am not going to Boston,” I said, forcing a smile. “I want to go to the university in Denver. My scores are high enough to get me into their honors program.” I walked into my room and shut the door, sinking to the floor as the tears finally came. The distance between our hometown and Boston was substantial, but Denver was in the opposite direction. It was far enough that I would never have to chase after her shadow again. When my acceptance letter finally arrived, my father’s hands were shaking as he held the envelope. “Amber, you actually got into Denver.” He reached for his phone to call our relatives, but I gently pressed his hand down. “Let us wait until after I leave for campus.” I spent the rest of the summer indoors. My father knew I was hurting, but he didn’t know how to comfort me, so he kept urging me to go outside and get some fresh air. I didn’t expect to run into Gemma and Asher at the airport terminal. They were dressed in matching cream-colored jackets, looking every bit like a couple. Gemma’s eyes brightened when she saw me, but her expression quickly turned frosty. “Still throwing a tantrum? Are you still ignoring my texts?” “Is this why you followed us here?” I stared at her, suddenly remembering the couples vacation package she had booked before our exams. She had promised we would go together once high school was over. The departure date was today. Asher bit his lip, taking a step back with a polite, fragile smile. “If Amber is going, I should probably stay behind.” Gemma grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Don’t be ridiculous, Asher. You spent weeks planning for this trip. You are going.” I felt a bitter laugh bubble up in my throat. She cared so much about the effort Asher had put in, completely forgetting that the entire itinerary had been researched and written by me during those sleepless post-exam nights. “Don’t worry,” I said quietly. “I am not going.” Asher waited until Gemma went to print the tickets before leaning closer to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “You should know by now, Amber, some gaps can’t be bridged by hard work. Gemma needs someone who can stand beside her, not someone dragging her down. I asked her to be my girlfriend the night of graduation. Want to guess what her answer was?” I looked at him, my heart entirely numb. “If you want her, she is yours.” Asher’s smile faltered, his expression turning ugly at my indifference. Gemma returned, handing me a single ticket. “There was only a standing ticket left for the train connection. Asher has a bad back, so you will have to stand.” She checked her watch, pulling Asher toward the security gate. “We need to go. We will meet you at the resort!” Asher shot me a triumphant look as they walked away. I looked down at the ticket in my hand. Gemma hadn’t even noticed that the ticket she had printed was for a train departing three months from now. I crumpled the ticket, tossed it into the trash, and boarded my flight to Denver. A few weeks later, I returned home to gather the rest of my belongings before moving into my dorm. As I walked up to my building, Gemma blocked my path. Her face was pale with anger as she grabbed my wrist. “Where is Asher’s acceptance letter?” I winced at her grip. “What are you talking about?” “Stop lying, Amber!” she yelled. “His official letter from Harvard was delivered to my address by mistake, and the courier said someone from this building signed for it. You have been home all week! Who else could it be? If you are angry with me, take it out on me! Why do you have to ruin Asher’s future?” I stared at her, completely stunned. Asher stepped out from behind her, his eyes red and tearful. “If you are upset about how close Gemma and I are, I can apologize, Amber. I promise I won’t speak to her again. But please, give me my letter back. I worked so hard for that spot!” “I didn’t take your letter!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I just got back from my trip today!” Gemma ignored my words, her eyes falling on the thick cardboard envelope I was holding. She lunged forward, snatching it from my hands. “Give that back, Gemma!” I cried, trying to reach for it. She held it high above her head, looking at my desperate face with utter coldness. “I am going to count to three.” “Give us Asher’s letter, or I will rip your precious Denver letter to pieces.” “I don’t have it!” I screamed, tears of frustration streaming down my face. “I just picked this up from the mailroom! You can check the cameras!” “One.” “Gemma, please…” “Two.” She didn’t hesitate. With a sharp rip, she tore my Denver acceptance letter right down the middle, scattering the pieces at my feet. I stared at the white fragments on the pavement, unable to make a sound. Before Gemma could speak, her family’s housekeeper came running down the driveway, holding a pristine white envelope. “Gemma! I found the letter! It was mixed in with the old newspapers on the kitchen counter. I forgot to mention it earlier!” Asher’s fake sobbing stopped instantly. Gemma froze, slowly turning her head to look at me, her lips trembling as she tried to find the words. I didn’t give her the chance. I knelt down, gathered the torn pieces of my letter, and walked inside, slamming the heavy front door behind me. The next morning, I found a first-class flight ticket to Boston slid under my door, accompanied by a small note: Let’s go together. I threw both into the trash, packed my bags, and left for Denver two days early. Two days later, Gemma and Asher knocked on my father’s door. She was holding a large suitcase, her voice carrying a rare, hopeful lightness. “Mr. Arthur, I am here to pick up Amber so we can head to Boston together.”

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1 Fifteen years ago, the brutally mutilated corpse of a stranger was discovered in the center of my bedroom. My parents, fueled by a sickening sense of righteous fury, pointed their fingers at me. They swore to the police that I was the killer. My twin brother sobbed uncontrollably, begging me to just confess and spare the family any more pain. My wife, the CEO of a rising tech firm, handed me divorce papers before the blood on my floor had even dried. I was convicted and thrown into a maximum security prison. The victim’s family paid off the inmates. They crushed my vocal cords, leaving me with a raspy croak. They shattered the bones in my arms and legs, making sure they healed crooked. I endured that absolute hell for fifteen agonizing years. On the exact day I was finally released, my ex-wife and my twin brother were waiting for me at the prison gates. They were both wearing matching platinum wedding bands. My brother looked at me, his face twisted in an expression of deep, exaggerated pity. “Brother, you have finally paid for your sins. From now on, we will take good care of you.” The prison guard standing next to me placed a heavy hand on my crooked shoulder, his voice thick with condescension. “Your brother and his wife are Saints for taking you in. Make sure you turn over a new leaf and actually try to be a human being this time.” A cold, hollow smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. Because fifteen years ago, the person who butchered that stranger and left the body in my room wasn’t me. It was my twin brother. … Before I could even take a full breath of free air, a swarm of aggressive journalists, led right to me by my brother Lucas, completely surrounded us. Flashbulbs exploded like mortar fire, blinding me. “Mr. Vance, you brutally murdered and mutilated an innocent person, yet you only served fifteen years. Did your early release have anything to do with the massive financial influence of your sister-in-law, CEO Olivia Cross?” “The victim’s family has publicly stated they want you dead. Do you have a response?” “In the last fifteen years, have you felt even a single shred of remorse for the monster you became?” They surged forward like a pack of starving wolves, shoving heavy microphones so close they nearly chipped my teeth. The chaotic, overlapping shadows instantly dragged my mind back into the suffocating nightmare of the prison yard beatings. Pure survival instinct took over. I threw my arms over my head and scrambled backward, but my badly healed leg gave out, and I crashed hard onto the concrete. “Don’t… please don’t hit me…” In the middle of the ensuing chaos, my ex-wife Olivia pushed her way through the mob, using her body as a shield to block the rabid reporters. “My husband’s brother was convicted of manslaughter, and he has served his full sentence. There was absolutely no financial bribery involved in his release. If you vultures continue to harass him, my legal team will bury you in lawsuits!” Her icy, corporate authority finally made the journalists back off. They dispersed, grumbling in disappointment. Only then did Lucas step forward. He knelt down, offering me a hand with a face plastered in fake concern. “Brother, are you okay? Thank God I asked Olivia to come with me. I am so, so sorry. I had no idea the press would track us down…” Olivia wrapped her arm around Lucas’s waist, pulling him close, her voice dripping with soft reassurance. “This is not your fault, Lucas. Do not blame yourself.” I slapped his outstretched hand away. Gritting my teeth against the shooting pain in my leg, I struggled to stand up under my own power, forcing my permanently hunched spine as straight as I possibly could. “Keep your fake sympathy to yourself!” In front of these two monsters, I refused to look completely broken. I dragged my bad leg, limping stubbornly toward the sleek black SUV waiting by the curb. Lucas squeezed in right next to me in the backseat. He deliberately rested his hand on his knee, letting the sunlight catch the massive diamond on his ring finger. His tone was coated in an artificial layer of guilt, but the sheer, gloating triumph in his eyes was blinding. “Brother, Olivia and I actually got married fifteen years ago. When you went to prison for murder, my health took a massive downturn. She proposed to me so she could legally take care of me.” He let out a sharp, dramatic gasp, covering his mouth as if he had just realized his mistake, and offered me a sheepish smile. “But do not worry, brother. Olivia and I already talked it over. You can live in our guest house. After rotting in a cell for a decade and a half, even if you used to be a genius, there is no way you can survive on your own now.” “Lucas!” Olivia snapped, cutting off his relentless gloating. She caught my eye in the rearview mirror, her voice immediately softening. “Your brother just got out of prison. Let him rest.” Lucas let out an annoyed, petulant sigh and turned away. I turned my head, staring blankly out the tinted window as the city skyline blurred past. My mind was dragged unwillingly into the past. Fifteen years ago, I was a shark. I was the top venture capitalist on the East Coast. Desperate entrepreneurs literally threw briefcases of cash at my feet, begging for a fraction of my attention. When Olivia launched her tech startup, every single dime of her initial capital, and every bridge loan that kept her afloat, came directly from my personal accounts and my aggressive market maneuvers. She used to grip my hands, her eyes shining with pure worship, swearing that she would spend the rest of her life protecting me. Promising I would never suffer a single injustice as long as she drew breath. But fifteen years in a concrete box completely incinerated my genius. The brutal beatings shattered my nerves and left me hollow. The brilliant, high-stakes world that used to bow to me had locked its doors and thrown away the key a long time ago. When the SUV finally parked, I looked up at the sprawling estate, and for a split second, my brain short-circuited. The ‘guest house’ Lucas had so generously offered me was actually the massive, custom-built mansion Olivia and I had designed as our marital home. My parents rushed out of the front doors. They completely ignored me, swarming Lucas, checking if he was tired, asking if the drive was stressful. I stood off to the side, a complete stranger, watching their sickeningly sweet family reunion. Olivia popped the trunk and grabbed my single, battered duffel bag. “Mom, Dad. Julian is home.” My parents froze. The warm smiles vanished instantly. They turned to look at me, and identical expressions of pure, visceral disgust twisted their faces. My father spat on the manicured grass. “Olivia, I told you not to bring this psychopathic butcher back to our house!” My mother crossed her arms, glaring at me like I was a disease. “Exactly. Just having him stand in the driveway makes the air feel polluted.” A dull, delayed ache throbbed in my chest. For twenty-something years, my parents were meticulously, obsessively fair. If they cut an apple for us, they made sure Lucas and I got pieces that were measured to the exact millimeter. I truly believed they loved us equally. It wasn’t until the blood hit my bedroom floor fifteen years ago that I realized that ‘equality’ was nothing but a delusion I had built to survive. Lucas grabbed their arms, leaning in affectionately. “Mom, Dad, brother just spent fifteen years in a cage. Do it for me, okay? Just tolerate him.” My parents let out identical, heavy scoffs and turned their backs on me. Dinner was a silent, agonizing affair. Afterward, I was escorted to a tiny, windowless storage closet at the back of the property. I stared at the bare, splintered sheet of plywood propped up on milk crates that they called a bed. I didn’t say a word. Late that night, I curled into a tight ball on the hard wood. I couldn’t sleep. In the cell block, the shot-caller made sure I suffered. He paid the night shift inmates to stare at me. The second my eyes closed, the heavy steel-toed boots started raining down on my ribs. “Knock, knock.” I violently flinched, my heart slamming against my ribs. It took several agonizing seconds for my brain to process that I wasn’t in the block anymore. Listening to the persistent knocking, I slowly dragged myself off the plywood. I opened the door, saw who was standing in the shadows, and my hands instantly balled into fists. “What the hell do you want?” Olivia looked at me, her face painted with deep concern. “It is your first night out. I was worried you couldn’t sleep. I just came to check on you.” My voice was like cracked ice. “Get out. Take your fake pity somewhere else.” She just looked at me, an indulgent, almost patient expression on her face. It was the exact same look she gave me sixteen years ago. The night I walked into our bedroom and found her and Lucas entirely naked, tangled up in our sheets. I lost my mind. I screamed until my throat bled. She just stood there, shielding Lucas’s naked body with her own, letting me break everything in the room. When I finally collapsed from exhaustion, she looked at me with that exact same patient, soft expression. “Lucas and I just had too much to drink. Nothing happened. You are overreacting.” The face from my nightmares perfectly overlapped with the woman standing in front of me now. She reached out, her soft fingers wrapping around my scarred wrist. Her thumb stroked my ruined skin, sending a wave of absolute revulsion crashing through my body. “Do not touch me!” I yanked my arm back violently, but she held on tight. “Julian, you are the only man I have ever loved. I only married Lucas because he threatened to cut your family off. Our marriage is purely on paper…” I let out a harsh, barking laugh. “Really? You took care of my family by taking my brother to bed? Lucas practically bragged at dinner that you had a miscarriage with his kid.” Olivia stepped forward, aggressively trying to force her way into my personal space. “Julian, it isn’t what you think! I have been waiting for you to come home for fifteen years! I promised I would protect you!” I shoved her hard in the chest, stumbling backward. “Are you that desperate? You want to sleep with a crippled ex-con? Or do you just get a sick thrill out of playing both brothers?” Her eyes filled with theatrical tears. “Julian…” “What the hell is going on here?!” Lucas’s shrill, furious scream echoed down the dark hallway. He stomped toward us, flanked on both sides by my parents, who were glaring at me like I was a rabid dog. Olivia quickly stepped away from me, rushing to Lucas’s side, whispering frantic apologies into his ear. Lucas shoved past her, marching right up to me, and drove a vicious backhand across my face. “You ungrateful bastard! I bring you into my home out of the kindness of my heart, and on your very first night, you try to seduce my wife?! She belongs to me now!” “Have you absolutely no shame?!” I swallowed the warm metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth and spat on the floor. “I didn’t touch her.” Seeing his face twist in rabid paranoia, a dark, vindictive urge flared up inside me. I smirked, letting my raspy voice drop. “But even if I did, I learned the trick from you.” “The very first time I brought Olivia home to meet the family, didn’t you put on my favorite pajamas and sneak into the guest room while she was sleeping?” Ever since we were children, Lucas was obsessed with stealing whatever I loved. The night I brought Olivia home, he didn’t even try to hide his intentions. He aggressively threw himself at her. Back then, Olivia actually had a spine. She explicitly rejected him and chose me. When my parents tried to sweep his disgusting behavior under the rug to keep the peace, she was the one who stood her ground, demanding they hold him accountable. But somewhere around our third anniversary, Olivia’s moral compass shattered, and she started drifting into Lucas’s bed. My father stepped forward and slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side. “Are you still spewing this venom?! Olivia already proved that night was a misunderstanding! Why are you so obsessed with destroying your brother!” My mother wrapped her arms around Lucas, pulling him close like a terrified toddler. She shot a venomous look at Olivia. “He is a convicted murderer! Why couldn’t you just write him a check and let him die on the streets?! Why did you bring this psychopath back to terrorize our family!” I pressed my hand against my burning cheek and let out a broken, raspy laugh. “A murderer? I am not the one who killed that man.” My parents froze completely, the color draining from their faces until they looked like corpses. My father’s voice violently trembled. “What… what the hell are you talking about?” Ignoring the agony shooting through my shattered legs, I locked my knees and stood up perfectly straight, burning the sheer, naked panic on their faces into my memory. “Lucas was the one holding the knife. If the two of you hadn’t used your status as my parents to commit perjury and block my legal counsel, I never would have…” Olivia smoothly stepped between us, her voice calm but laced with a lethal, undeniable threat. “Julian, you have already served your time. There is absolutely no point in digging up old delusions.” “Lucas lost his temper tonight, and I apologize on his behalf. Stop spinning these wild conspiracy theories. Get some rest. We will leave you alone.” She grabbed Lucas by the bicep, her grip tight enough to bruise, and practically dragged him and my parents down the hall. The second the heavy door clicked shut, my knees buckled, and I slid down the rough wood until I hit the floor. The adrenaline evaporated, leaving me drowning in a cold, suffocating sweat. But I knew one thing for certain. If I collapsed now, I was dead. For the next week, my parents treated me like I was completely invisible. Olivia would occasionally shoot me intense, lingering glances across the dining room, while Lucas stopped trying to bait me after realizing I was utterly unresponsive to his gloating. I finally let myself breathe. The uneasy truce gave me the exact window of silence I needed to start digging into the buried evidence from fifteen years ago. Until one afternoon, as I limped past the heavy oak doors of the study, I heard my father’s furious voice leaking through the wood. “Olivia, I know you still feel guilty about Julian. But the boy is a complete psychopath! He refuses to accept his reality, and now he is plotting to frame Lucas!” My mother immediately chimed in, her voice shrill with panic. “If we hadn’t tipped off the police fifteen years ago, the jury would have given him the lethal injection! We did everything we could to save his life! We owe him absolutely nothing!” Lucas’s voice was shaking. He played the victim perfectly, pouring gasoline on an open fire. “This is all my fault. I never should have married you, Olivia. Julian has every right to want me dead.” My mother slammed her hand on a desk. “Olivia, what exactly are you planning to do with that monster?” A suffocating, heavy silence hung in the room for a long time. Finally, Olivia’s cold, calculating voice cut through the tension. “Mom, Dad. Do not worry. I will permanently resolve the situation.” I pulled my hand away from the oak door, lowered my eyes, and silently walked away. I was not ready to detonate the bomb yet. I needed just a few more days to gather the shrapnel. But I never anticipated they would strike with such lethal speed. As I walked out of the physical therapy clinic downtown, a crushing blow slammed into the back of my neck. The world instantly went black. When I finally regained consciousness, a thick, filthy blindfold covered my eyes. A foul-tasting rag was jammed so far down my throat I couldn’t even gag. “Brother, if we actually go through with this, aren’t we just as evil as the monster who butchered our mother?” a young woman’s voice trembled in the darkness. “Shut your mouth! That psychopath butchered mom in cold blood, and the corrupt justice system let him out after fifteen years! I will not let him breathe the same air as us! Plus, the guy paying for the hit is dropping ten million dollars into our laps!” The blindfold was violently ripped off. A man with a jagged scar running down his cheek grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging painfully into the bone. I quickly scanned the dimly lit, cavernous space. The girl who was crying earlier was nowhere to be seen. The scarred man patted my cheek mockingly before ripping the filthy rag out of my mouth. “You are seconds away from burning in hell, and you still have the nerve to look around?” I forced my racing heart to slow down. “If this is about the money, I have an encrypted offshore account in Geneva…” Before I could finish the sentence, a heavy steel-toed boot slammed directly into my stomach. The agonizing pain folded me completely in half, but the man didn’t stop. He viciously kicked my ribs over and over again. “This isn’t about your dirty money! Because of you, our mother bled to death! Because of you, our father abandoned us, and we grew up eating out of dumpsters! You destroyed our lives!” He stood over me, panting heavily. He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to look at him. “But God is good. Someone wrapped you up with a bow and dropped you right in my lap so I could finally get justice for my mother.” “I swear… it wasn’t me…” Another brutal punch smashed into my mouth. The metallic taste of blood flooded my throat. “Shut up! Murderers don’t get to speak!” He shoved the filthy rag back into my mouth, took three steps back, and pulled a heavy black detonator from his jacket. “The explosives are homemade, but they pack enough punch to turn you into red mist.” No! I finally found the thread that could unravel the last fifteen years! I couldn’t die in this rotting warehouse! I thrashed like a wild animal. The heavy industrial zip ties sliced through my skin, grinding against the bone, but they wouldn’t snap. The digital beeping of the timer echoed off the concrete walls. Every single beep felt like a sledgehammer hitting my chest. Three… Two… One… BOOM! A blinding wall of fire and a supersonic shockwave of pure agony ripped through the air. Tears of absolute, burning rage rolled down my cheeks. Just as my consciousness began to shatter, a dark figure tore through the wall of flames. The figure threw themselves over me, shielding my body from the blast wave. And then, the agony completely vanished into the dark.

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My mother spent her life performing sainthood, a portrait of untouchable grace who never fought and never demanded. When a well-educated gold digger got pregnant and tried to usurp her place, I secretly ended the mistress’s pregnancy and destroyed her reputation. My mother only reprimanded me for being ruthless. She claimed the girl had a difficult past and quietly wired her a million dollars in compensation. When my father’s first love returned from abroad demanding a divorce, I used the tech empire I built from scratch as leverage. After weighing his options, my father abandoned the idea. Yet at our family gathering, my mother publicly shamed me, calling my methods extreme and unladylike. When my deadbeat uncle was sold to a South American cartel over gambling debts, Mother wept before me every day. I fought my father tooth and nail until I screamed he was cold-blooded and unworthy. He slapped me, threw me from the car into the pouring rain, and a truck shattered every bone in my body. Watching me die broke my father. Grief-stricken, he spent a fortune rescuing my uncle, cut ties with his mistresses, and swore to be a devoted husband. At my funeral, Mother held my brother’s hand, her voice serene as she looked at my casket. She sighed that my ambition and cutthroat nature brought this fate upon me. I called it poetic justice. I bled in the trenches while she reaped every benefit with clean hands. It was utterly pathetic. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn to the day my father’s mistress first appeared at our door. 1 “Lydia, let’s have a little chat.” A stunningly beautiful woman with immaculate makeup steps into the private parlor. She walks right in and makes herself comfortable on the velvet sofa. Resting her left hand on her waist, she gently strokes her slightly swollen belly with her right. She looks at my mother with a sugary smile and drops the bomb. She tells her she is pregnant, and the baby belongs to Richard. Her voice is remarkably calm, yet dripping with a ruthless ambition. Watching this familiar scene play out feels entirely surreal. The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. I have come back from the dead. I am right back at the exact moment Lily, my father’s mistress, came to stake her claim. The agonizing memories of my past life flash through my mind like a silent movie stuck on fast forward. Lily pulled this exact same stunt back then. I easily deflected every dirty trick she threw our way. I set a trap that caused her to lose the baby, dug up enough corporate dirt on her to ruin her career, and ensured she could never show her face in Manhattan high society ever again. I handled the threat cleanly and perfectly. But my mother just looked at me with eyes full of holy compassion. She sighed, saying the poor girl came from nothing, got blinded by the Winston family’s wealth, and took a wrong turn. She actually called the homewrecker a victim of circumstance. Then, she turned her judgmental gaze on me. She criticized my heavy-handed tactics. She called me a murderer for harming an innocent life. She told me she had already booked a retreat for me at a secluded monastery so I could cleanse my soul of its heavy sins. To top it all off, she secretly wired that mistress a million dollars to ease her guilt. I was left completely powerless and exhausted. For as long as I can remember, my mother has always been like this. Playing the untouchable ice queen. Never fighting. Never showing greed. She would always look at me with that serene, infuriating calmness. She would say the world isn’t always about winning or losing. Sometimes, not fighting is the ultimate victory. Those who understand you need no explanation, and those who don’t will never believe you anyway. My heart used to ache for her. I begged her to divorce my father, promising I would build an empire and take care of her myself. She refused. She fed me some nonsense about how loving a man means accepting every broken piece of him. So, I became her shield. I stood on the front lines, taking the bullets, scheming and plotting in the shadows just to keep her safe. She got to play the saint. I played the villain. She scooped up all the rewards without lifting a single manicured finger. And in the end, it was because of her worthless brother that I picked a fight with my father and ended up dead on the asphalt. But her? She used my bloody corpse as a teaching moment for my little brother. I can still hear her light, breezy tone at my funeral, telling him my death was the natural consequence of my own toxic ambition. Great. Absolutely fantastic. I fed my bleeding heart to a stray dog. In this life, I will not lift a single finger to fight her battles. 2 My mother stares at Lily’s belly for a long moment, then slowly shifts her gaze up to the younger woman’s face. A flicker of shock breaks through her composed expression. The color drains from her cheeks, leaving her looking fragile and pale. Seeing my mother look like a ghost, Lily rests her chin on her hand and smiles brightly. She asks if her face looks familiar. She casually mentions that twenty years ago, Richard only settled for Lydia because he was forced to break up with Seraphina. Seraphina Dupont. The golden girl of the Dupont dynasty. My father’s untouchable first love. Back then, my father was just a nobody from the wrong side of the tracks. The Dupont family despised him. They forced Seraphina to dump him and shipped her off to Europe. During his darkest days, my mother quietly stayed by his side. When my father finally built his fortune, he married her out of obligation. But Seraphina’s memory has always been a poisoned thorn buried deep in my mother’s heart. Against an opponent like my mother, who only knows how to strike pretty poses, Lily holds all the cards. Lily leans forward, her voice dripping with venom. She tells my mother she is nothing but a second-rate substitute. But Lily? Lily is the mirror image of Richard’s one true love. “Between a substitute and a replica,” Lily purrs, “I think the replica holds a little more weight, don’t you?” “Because we really do look alike. Don’t we?” The moment the words leave her mouth, my mother sways on her feet. She grips the edge of the mahogany table so hard her knuckles turn bone white, yet she desperately tries to keep her face entirely blank. Someone is rubbing her nose in the dirt, and she is still trying to maintain her zen, above-it-all persona. In my past life, I never understood her. After dying once, everything makes perfect sense. My father chose her back then specifically because of that quiet, submissive energy. He used to praise her for being gentle, generous, and completely undemanding. From that moment on, my mother carved that persona directly into her bones. When you wear a mask for twenty years, it fuses to your skin. She truly believes this fake purity is the only advantage she has over Seraphina. Besides, why should she ruin her image? Any dirty work, any vicious fighting, would always be handled by her loyal attack dog. Me. She just needs to look pretty, act innocent, and let the world believe she is an angel. 3 My mother is losing ground by the second, and Lily refuses to let up. “Let’s talk credentials,” Lily smirks. “I graduated top of my class from Yale. I am Richard’s executive assistant. And you?” She pauses, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. “You are just a useless housewife.” My mother’s eyes turn raw and red. She bites her lower lip, looking the picture of absolute misery. But true to form, she doesn’t argue. She doesn’t defend herself. Lily scoffs at the theatrical display. She leans back, confidently declaring she is younger, smarter, and far more loved by Richard. She tells my mother she has already lost the war. Panicking, my mother shoots a desperate, pleading look in my direction. I don’t even blink. I casually pick up my phone and start drafting a reply to a work email. If this were my previous life, I would have already flipped the table. I would have torn Lily to shreds with a vicious smirk, humiliated her, and kicked her out onto the street. Afterward, I would have hugged my mother, promising her she didn’t need to worry about street trash like that. I would have sworn to fix everything. Not anymore. Clean up your own messes. You are a grown woman. Stand on your own two feet. Seeing my absolute indifference, a flash of pure disappointment crosses my mother’s eyes. Makes sense. She is so used to treating me like a loaded gun. But today, the gun has jammed, and it must be terribly frustrating for her. Because of my mother’s desperate glance, Lily finally acknowledges the silent girl sitting in the corner. She flashes me a sickly sweet smile. She introduces herself and promises that once she becomes my new stepmother, she will make sure I am taken care of. She clearly has no idea who I am. After graduating, I refused to join my father’s empire. I built my own tech company from the ground up, and right now, my firm is making serious waves in the industry. Lily is severely underestimating me. Her tone is arrogant, practically begging for a fight. That arrogant spark ignites a fresh wave of hope in my mother’s eyes. She knows exactly what I am capable of. She knows I have a zero-tolerance policy for disrespect. Lily serving up this kind of blatant insult is practically a death wish. As long as I go to war, my mother can fade into the background and keep her hands perfectly clean. Too bad I am about to disappoint her again. I completely ignore Lily. I turn to my mother, my voice flat and professional. I tell her they should continue their chat. I mention a critical issue with a project at my firm and say I need to head to the office immediately. I grab my designer bag and stand up. A workaholic in both lives, my excuse is completely bulletproof. Realizing I am actually leaving her to face the wolves alone, my mother’s mute act finally shatters. She grabs my wrist. Her eyes glaze over with genuine tears, her voice trembling. She asks how I could possibly abandon her here. I frown slightly, gently peeling her fingers off my arm. I speak to her the way one speaks to a toddler having a tantrum. I tell her not to be dramatic and reiterate that I have an emergency at work. I pat her shoulder, telling her I believe she can handle this minor hiccup and that I fully support whatever choice she makes. My mother’s face turns a sickening shade of gray. Beside us, Lily actually bursts into laughter. I turn on my heel and walk out. Without me leading the charge this time, I can’t wait to see how Lydia, the untouchable saint, manages to win back her cheating husband and defend her throne from a ruthless gold digger. 4 For the next few days, I practically live at my office. Between late-night meetings and out-of-state conferences, I don’t step foot in the Winston mansion. Word through the grapevine is that my father hasn’t been home for days either. That is incredibly rare. Richard has plenty of toys on the side, but unless he is on a business trip, he never spends the night outside his own house. I once called him out on it, mocking him for trying to act like a family man while sleeping around. My mother was actually pleased by his behavior. She used her holier-than-thou voice to lecture me, saying my father knew his boundaries. She said it was normal for powerful men to play around, but as long as he came home to her, those other women were just cheap motel distractions. Over the decades, not a single one of those distractions ever dared to cross my mother. She genuinely believed being the official wife gave her some sort of divine dignity. A classic case of delusional self-comfort. But now, Lily has ripped that pathetic illusion to shreds. Even my zen mother can’t sit still anymore. She stood outside in a torrential downpour for two hours, successfully catching a brutal fever. Using the ultimate damsel-in-distress tactic, she finally forced my father to come home. My car pulls up to the estate right behind Richard’s. Walking into the master bedroom, I see my mother lying under the heavy silk covers. Her cheeks burn with an unnatural, feverish red, while her lips are deathly pale. She looks like a fragile, broken porcelain doll. It takes me one second to realize she used makeup to enhance the sickly look. For someone who claims not to care, she certainly puts on a hell of a production to keep my father’s attention. She is in her forties and has birthed two children, yet she starves herself to keep the figure of a teenager. Her expensive skincare routine ensures she barely looks thirty. Right on cue, Richard’s heart melts. He rushes over, pulling her into his arms, asking how she got so terribly sick. Lydia keeps her voice barely above a whisper. She tells him it’s just a minor cold. She says she explicitly told the maid, Martha, not to bother him because he works so hard and she doesn’t want to be a burden. Martha stands in the corner, her head bowed, looking incredibly wronged but too terrified to speak. Anyone with half a brain can see Martha is the designated scapegoat. That used to be my permanent job. Now that I am out of the picture, Martha is taking the heat. As a fellow victim of my mother’s collateral damage, I deeply sympathize. I have to bail Martha out. I cross my arms, putting on a terrifying scowl. I snap at Martha, asking how she could be so incompetent. I accuse her of ignoring my mother’s direct orders and letting her health deteriorate. I point at the door and yell at her to pack her bags, screaming that she is fired. Terrified of losing her livelihood, Martha completely snaps. She waves her hands frantically, swearing she is innocent. She cries out that it was Lydia who ordered her to call both me and Richard. Martha sobs, spilling everything. She tells us the storm was raging, but Lydia insisted on standing in the freezing rain. Martha begged to give her an umbrella, but Lydia refused, doing it all on purpose just to get sick. When you push someone into a corner, they talk. And Martha just sang like a canary. 5 The massive bedroom falls into a suffocating, dead silence for several seconds. Lydia looks like she is about to suffer a genuine stroke. Richard stares at her in absolute disbelief. His gaze turns ice-cold. He asks her why she would intentionally stand in the freezing rain. He reminds her he canceled a million-dollar board meeting just to rush home. “You are forty years old, Lydia, not fourteen. Grow the hell up,” he spits. Lydia’s eyes brim with tears. She puts on her classic wounded expression, silently telegraphing that if he truly thinks so lowly of her, she won’t even bother defending herself. This is the exact moment I am supposed to jump in. In my past life, I would have aggressively attacked Richard. I would have screamed at him for neglecting his wife and told him to look in the mirror before judging her. But now? I flash a bright, innocent smile and play the peacemaker. I tell my dad to go easy on her. I casually mention the old saying about people getting more childish as they age, noting that since she is getting older, it’s totally normal for her to throw a toddler’s tantrum. Lydia is absolutely terrified of aging. What does aging mean to her? It means losing her looks, her youth, and ultimately, her husband’s favor. Women always show their years faster than men in this brutal society. Richard is three years older than her, yet he doesn’t have a single deep wrinkle. He is still strikingly handsome, radiating the silver-fox billionaire charm. I drove a knife right into her deepest insecurity. Lydia clutches her chest, her face turning from flushed red to a furious, sickening purple. Smoke is practically coming out of her ears. Just as the tension reaches a breaking point, Richard’s phone buzzes. Lily’s voice practically echoes through the quiet room, sobbing hysterically. She calls him ‘Daddy’ and cries about a horrific nightmare where she was bleeding out and lost the baby. She begs him to come save her because she is so scared in the dark. She calls him Daddy? Gross. It’s truly a match made in hell. Richard looks momentarily embarrassed, but that quickly shifts into brazen justification. His voice drops into a sickeningly soft register as he promises to be right there. Hanging up, he turns his back on his feverish wife to go comfort his pregnant mistress. Panic finally shatters Lydia’s zen facade. She lunges forward, grabbing his sleeve, her voice cracking as she begs him to stay. Richard looks down at her with zero remorse. He recites the ultimate cheater’s playbook. He tells her Lily has had a miserable life, grew up in poverty, and is just a frightened young girl carrying his child. He says she needs his protection. He looks at Lydia with utter disgust, asking if a woman of her age is seriously going to be jealous of a helpless kid. It is true. Lily’s life is a mess. Disabled father, sick mother, gambling-addict brother. In my past life, when Lydia ultimately won the war, she used those exact same words to make me pity the mistress. Now, the boomerang has swung right back to smash into Lydia’s face.

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1 My wife is a world renowned chief neurosurgeon. Yet, in our eight years of marriage, she has never once written me a prescription or ordered a scan, even when my head felt like it was splitting open. Last week, her department hosted a symposium on the latest minimally invasive surgical techniques, and I attended as her spouse. Right in the center of the massive projector screen was a detailed slide analyzing a highly complex meningioma resection. My heart warmed, foolishly thinking she was finally preparing to operate on my own brain tumor. But a resident standing nearby whispered to another, “Dr. Rachel worked on this surgical plan for five long years. She oversaw every single simulation herself, staying up until dawn.” “I heard that for Lucas, she even handpicked every single layer of surgical gauze herself.” I stood frozen. Lucas. He was Rachel’s protégé, and ironically, the underprivileged medical student I had been personally sponsoring for the past three years. When we got home that night, I could not help but ask her, “Could you perform my tumor resection yourself?” She was busy scanning Lucas’s medical files and did not even bother to look up. “It is just a minor procedure. I have already booked the associate chief for you.” She was willing to spend five years perfecting a surgery for another man, while I could not even get ten minutes of her time for a proper consultation. That very night, I booked the earliest flight out. Since she chose to fight tooth and nail for her darling boy, I would grant her wish and fade away forever into the endless snow of Switzerland. … “Is it really alright for the next of kin signature line on this organ donation consent form to be left blank?” the coordinator’s voice on the phone was gentle. I opened my desk drawer and slipped the signed consent form into the hidden compartment of my suitcase. “My family is very busy. They do not have time to worry about whether I live or die.” “Mr. Scott, the tumor is pressing hard against your brainstem. You could suffer a fatal hemorrhage at any moment.” I stared calmly at the first winter snow drifting past the window. “It is fine. Let it be.” Hanging up, I pulled out the one way ticket to Switzerland. There were only four days left before my flight. At half past eleven that night, Rachel returned. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, resting her chin in the crook of my neck. “You bought your ticket so early?” she murmured. “Once his surgery is over next week, I will take you to Switzerland to see the snow.” The sterile scent of hospital disinfectant clinging to her was laced with the rich, woody cologne Lucas always wore. I stared at the study wall, which was covered in CT scans of Lucas’s brain, and remained silent. Rachel let out a soft laugh, her warm breath brushing against my ear. “Why so tense? You barely even get a cold. Do not scare yourself. Lucas already looked at your scans, and he said it is just a tiny benign growth. You will be back on your feet three days after the surgery.” I froze. My wife was one of the top neurosurgeons in the country, yet she had let an unlicensed intern decide whether I lived or died. My voice felt dry and thick. “Is that what Dr. Bennett said too?” Rachel let go of me and walked over to the water dispenser. “Dr. Bennett has been swamped with his research team lately. I have not had the chance to show him your scans yet. But Lucas is incredibly sharp. He has a real gift for this.” Looking at her casual, uncaring expression, a wave of intense nausea hit me. Without warning, a sharp, white hot agony exploded deep inside my skull. I began to tremble violently, cold sweat instantly soaking through my pajamas. Rachel frowned, grabbing her coat and throwing it over my shoulders. “Are you cold even with the heater on full blast? Your health is really going downhill lately.” She did not even bother to look down at my deathly pale face. Suddenly, the phone on the desk rang. It was the custom ringtone she had set for Lucas. Rachel instantly put down her glass and swiped the screen. “Dr. Rachel, my head hurts so much, is the tumor pressing on my nerves again?” Lucas’s tearful, panicked voice drifted through the line. Hearing him cry, Rachel’s expression shifted instantly to sheer panic. “Don’t move. Take deep breaths. I am on my way.” The desperation in her voice made it sound as if she were facing the most critical exam of her life. She spun around and bolted for the door, not even pausing to button her coat. I reached out, my trembling fingers gripping her sleeve. “Rachel, tonight is our anniversary. Can you please stay?” She paused, looking back at me with a sigh. “Lucas is critically ill, Scott. You need to show some maturity as his sponsor.” I did not say a word, but my grip on her sleeve did not loosen. Rachel gently but firmly pried my fingers away. “I am just going to check his vitals. I will be right back.” The door slammed shut behind her. The moment she left, my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor as a metallic, copper taste flooded my mouth. I coughed violently, splattering a dark pool of blood onto the pristine white rug. It was a terrifying, stark contrast. Yet, all I could hear was the echo of her marriage proposal eight years ago. “Scott, these hands of mine can hold a scalpel steady, and they will protect you for the rest of your life.” Back then, if I so much as nicked my finger slicing vegetables, she would panic and spend half an hour carefully dressing the tiny wound. My mind drifted to the medical report buried under a stack of magazines in the corner of the drawer. It was my official diagnosis: a malignant glioblastoma of the brainstem. But Rachel had never once looked inside that folder. I quietly wiped the blood from my lips and dragged my suitcase out from under the bed. The closet was packed with expensive clothes Rachel had bought me over the years: row after row of bespoke, high end suits. She had forgotten that I only wore casual clothes. But she remembered perfectly that Lucas loved tailored suits. I ripped the suits off their hangers, stuffing them ruthlessly into a trash bag. As I cleared out the drawers, a receipt fluttered to the floor. It was for a custom Patek Philippe watch. The engraving request read: “S & L”, Rachel and Lucas. I stared at the slip of paper. My eyes burned, but my heart remained uncannily quiet. I took a quick photo, crumpled the receipt into a tight ball, and tossed it into the trash. My phone lit up with a text from Rachel: “Lucas is highly unstable tonight. I need to stay at the hospital to monitor him. Go to sleep early.” It was not until the morning sun began to pierce through the curtains that I realized I had been sitting in the dark all night. I washed my face, splashed cold water over my tired eyes, and hailed a cab to the hospital. As I walked past the courtyard outside the inpatient ward, I stopped. The winter sun was bright and crisp. Rachel was gently pushing Lucas in his wheelchair, letting him soak in the morning warmth. Over his hospital gown, Lucas was wearing Rachel’s expensive, custom made woolen coat. “Scott, hey! What brings you to the hospital?” Lucas looked up at me, his smile radiating pure, simulated innocence. “Dr. Rachel stayed by my side all night. She even insisted on feeding me water herself, even though I told her I could manage.” Passing nurses cast curious glances our way. Rachel did not correct him. She simply leaned down to tuck the coat closer around his shoulders. “I told you, Scott, Lucas should not be under any stress right now,” she said, her voice cool. “Please do not bring your drama here and pressure him.” I stared at the woman I had loved with every fiber of my being for eight years. Her immediate, instinctive reaction was to assume I was here to pick a fight. I pointed toward the main building. “I am just here for a follow up.” Lucas gasped, covering his mouth. “A follow up for a tiny benign tumor? Is not that overkill?” As he spoke, he casually lifted his wrist to adjust his sleeve. In the bright morning light, the gold face of the custom watch gleamed, the engravings “S & L” clearly visible. “Do you like it? Dr. Rachel said since I have a major surgery coming up, she wanted to buy me a little something to keep my spirits up.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black credit card, twirling it between his fingers. “She has been covering all my tuition and living expenses these past few years. You do not mind, do you?” I recognized that card instantly. It was the joint account card I had set up specifically for charity. Three years ago, Rachel had introduced Lucas to me, calling him a brilliant but impoverished medical student. Seeing a shadow of Rachel’s younger self in his features, I had not hesitated to finance his entire education. I took a step forward, grabbed Lucas’s wrist, and unclasped the watch strap. I let the expensive timepiece slide off his arm and smash onto the concrete. A crisp, sharp crack echoed through the quiet courtyard. Rachel’s face hardened, but for once, her tone softened slightly. “Why are you acting out like this today? I already spoke to Dr. Bennett about your procedure. Stop making a scene. Or, if you can wait a little longer, I will perform the surgery myself after I am finished with Lucas’s.” Looking at her pitying, patronizing expression, a bitter pang struck my chest. “Wait? Why is it always me who has to wait?” Rachel offered her usual, clinical justification. “His condition is far more urgent. Besides, yours is just a minor growth. A few days’ delay will not kill you.” I nodded slowly and turned on my heel. “Alright. Remember what you said today.” “Scott! Stop right there!” Rachel called out, but I did not slow down. In the consultation room, Dr. Bennett looked thoroughly uncomfortable. “Rachel only mentioned in passing that you had a tiny cyst and asked me to take a quick look when I had a moment. She has not actually sent me your scans yet.” She had not even booked an appointment for me. It was just a casual afterthought. I nodded and pushed the refusal of treatment form across his desk. “There is no need to look at them anymore. Could you please export my electronic medical files to a flash drive?” Dr. Bennett’s eyes widened as he read the document, his face turning pale. “Scott, this is no joking matter! Do you have any idea…” “I have already signed it. It is legally binding,” I interrupted softly, packing the documents into my bag. Leaving the hospital, I drove straight to a law firm. “Mr. Scott, are you absolutely certain you want to liquidate all your assets, including the estate, and donate everything to charity?” the attorney asked, seeking confirmation for the third time. That estate was the house Rachel had gifted me when she proposed. It had been our home for seven years. “I am certain.” I signed my name with a steady hand. Back home, I pulled out several large cardboard boxes and began erasing every trace of my existence. My easel, my paints, and the oil landscapes that lined the walls, memories of our once happy life, were packed up and shipped to local charities. The house emptied out piece by piece, mirroring the growing void in my chest. I sat on the bare living room floor, quietly watching the snow begin to fall outside. “Rachel, I will not be waiting for your surgery after all.” Three days remained before my flight. Perhaps Rachel had finally sensed something was wrong. Breaking her usual routine, she came home early, holding a bouquet of white bellflowers, my favorite. She stopped in her tracks, staring at the half empty living room. “Where did all our furniture go?” I sat on the remaining sofa, motionless. “Just clearing out some old clutter. I donated it.” Rachel did not press further. She walked over and handed me the flowers, her voice softening into the gentle tone she used to have during our early years of marriage. “I am sorry about my attitude the other day. I was out of line.” She sat beside me, reaching out to wrap an arm around my shoulder. “Lucas’s surgical plan is finally locked in. I can finally breathe a sigh of relief.” “Once his operation is done, I will take you to Switzerland for that ski trip you have always wanted.” I subtly leaned away from her touch and took the bouquet. The petals were fresh, dotted with morning dew. But as I adjusted the stems, a gold embossed card slipped out and fell onto the floor. Written in elegant, flowing script was a single line: “Wishing you a speedy recovery, Lucas. Love, Rachel.” The room fell into a heavy silence. Rachel’s expression faltered, and she snatched the card off the floor. “The florist must have mixed them up. I ordered two bouquets,” she muttered, her explanation thin and unconvincing. “One was for you, and the other was from the department for Lucas.” I did not call her out on her lies. I just watched her perform. “Would a department card be signed ‘Love, Rachel’?” Rachel snapped, standing up abruptly. “Scott, I swallowed my pride to come home and apologize. What more do you want from me?” I did not have the energy to argue. I pulled a document from the drawer and handed it to her. “Since you are here, sign this.” She frowned as she took it. “Marital Asset Transfer Agreement?” I offered a casual lie. “I am looking into a new venture and need to mitigate some financial risks.” Without reading a single line, she flipped to the back page and scribbled her signature. She tossed the pen onto the coffee table, her tone shifting back to dismissive ease. “You need to grow up, Scott. Operating all day is exhausting. Home is supposed to be a sanctuary, not a battleground. You really need to learn how to be a supportive partner.” A supportive partner? The words felt like a cruel joke. Before I could reply, her phone rang. It was an urgent call from the hospital. She answered, and her face went instantly pale. “What do you mean his pre op vitals are unstable? His blood pressure is dropping? I am on my way!” Without a second thought, she grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. I sat there, calling her name one last time. “Rachel.” She stopped at the entryway, turning back with a look of pure exasperation. “What now?” “If I were to die tonight, would you still leave?” Rachel stared at me, her eyes flashing with disbelief and anger. “Have you lost your mind? I spend every day saving lives, fighting for seconds. Do you really have to resort to faking an illness just to get my attention?” Right then, the agony in my skull flared up with monstrous force. The pain dragged me off the couch, sending me crashing onto the hardwood floor. Rachel looked down at me coldly. “This act again? Fine, play act all you want.” The door slammed shut. The pain made it impossible to breathe. Cold sweat instantly drenched my clothes as I lay there, enduring the agonizing torment for three endless hours in the dark. I did not call for help. I knew the only person who could save me was currently cradling another man at his bedside. When the pain finally subsided into a dull throb, I dragged myself up and texted my lawyer: “She signed the papers. Proceed with the transfer tomorrow.” Then, I picked up the bouquet of white flowers and the romantic card, throwing them both into the trash. “Rachel,” I whispered into the quiet room, “you better pray he is actually dying. Otherwise, my life is a terribly high price to pay for your little game.” The next morning, my screen lit up with an incoming image from Lucas. It showed Rachel curled up on the hospital room sofa, fast asleep under Lucas’s blue blanket. The caption read: “Dr. Rachel wore herself out helping me prep for surgery last night. Do not be mad, Scott.” Looking at the photo, even the lingering trace of heartache vanished. I slipped the wedding band off my finger, walked into the study, and placed it beneath her prized “Outstanding Young Physician” trophy. Beside it, I laid the divorce papers she had unknowingly signed the night before. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out the front door, leaving behind the house that had been my prison for seven years. I did not look back. The snow fell thicker on my way to the airport. Today was the day Rachel would perform her career defining surgery on Lucas. She had spent five years prepping for this moment, and the entire medical community was watching. I sat alone in the departure terminal. I was so weak that standing was an ordeal, so I leaned back in an airport provided wheelchair. “Sir, your flight begins boarding in thirty minutes. Would you like me to wheel you over?” an attendant asked. “Thank you, but I would like to wait a bit longer.” I watched the ground crew clear the snow off the runway as planes took off into the gray sky. Thirty minutes left. Across town at the medical center, Rachel would already be scrubbing in. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. It was the first time in seven years I had ever disturbed her during work. It rang so long I thought she would ignore it, but then the line clicked open. “What is it?” Rachel hissed, her voice hushed but dripping with annoyance. “I am scrubbing in. Whatever it is, it can wait until tonight.” In the background, a nurse called out, “Dr. Rachel, anesthesia is ready.” I listened quietly. For once, I did not apologize or hang up. “Rachel,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. There was a brief pause on the other end. “Scott, what is wrong with you today? Lucas’s surgery requires absolute focus. Do you have any idea how critical this is for my career?” Yes, I knew. If this succeeded, she would become the youngest prominent neurosurgeon in the country. “I know,” I murmured, watching the snow blanket the tarmac. “I only called to tell you one thing.” Rachel exhaled sharply, clearly at the limit of her patience. “Make it quick.” I closed my eyes as a single tear escaped, instantly chilled by the air. “I hope the surgery goes well.” The line went dead with a sharp click. I smiled faintly, wrapping my coat tighter around my shoulders. “You can take me to the gate now,” I told the attendant. The wheelchair glided forward, moving toward the gate, and toward the quiet end of my journey.

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Every time I argued with my boyfriend, Ethan, he would call off our wedding. We had been together for three years, and he had postponed our big day ninety-nine times. On the hundredth time, during a severe storm, his ex-girlfriend’s power went out. He literally kicked me out of the car in the pouring rain just so he could rush over and spend the entire night with her. When he came home the next morning, he handed me a box of cake. I didn’t take it. He sighed, his voice laced with impatience. “Stop acting crazy, Chloe. Nothing happened between us. I just stayed with her because she was scared.” “If you’re going to make a scene over this, consider next month’s wedding canceled again!” Right then, his phone rang. He turned around to answer another call from his ex. This time, I didn’t chase after him to apologize. I just calmly called the venue and canceled the wedding myself. Just like every other time, Ethan slammed the front door on his way out. I knew he did it on purpose. He was waiting for me to swallow my pride, run after him, and beg for his forgiveness. But I just sat on the couch, not moving an inch. There were no tears, no panic, and no desperate urge to fix things. Suddenly, I was just incredibly exhausted. I had done nothing wrong, yet I was always the one on my knees, begging for his love. The AC was blasting, but the cake on the coffee table was already starting to melt. Just like my relationship with Ethan. No matter how hard I tried to patch things up, the cracks between us only grew wider. I dipped my finger in the cream and tasted it. It was sickeningly sweet, but it couldn’t mask the bitterness in my heart. Ethan and I had been dating for three years. In our first year, on the night of our engagement party, he ran off to Hailey’s house to fix her fuses and didn’t come back all night. In our second year, when we were supposed to finalize the wedding date, he took Hailey on a road trip to a neighboring city because she “needed a friend.” And today, because of one phone call from her, he left me stranded in the middle of a storm. As I sat there in a daze, the bedroom door suddenly opened. My heart skipped a beat as Ethan walked toward me. Seeing a bit of cream on the corner of my mouth, he let out a soft, helpless sigh. He pulled out a tissue and gently wiped it away. “Chloe, I’m sorry. I lost my temper earlier.” “I know you don’t like her. I’ll try to avoid seeing Hailey in private from now on.” My defenses crumbled. Hearing those words, tears finally rushed to my eyes. This was the first time in three years he had ever initiated an apology. But before I could even speak, he continued: “When I was at Hailey’s last night, someone took a picture of us and posted it on Instagram. Now everyone is calling her a homewrecker.” “She lives alone, she was terrified of the blackout, and now she’s being dragged into our drama. I need you to post a statement on your Snapchat and Instagram to clear her name.” In an instant, all my warmth turned into a sick joke. He had abandoned me time and time again for his ex. And now, the only reason he was lowering himself to apologize to me was to protect that very same woman. I looked at the face of the man I had loved for five long years, and a laugh escaped my lips. Ethan took it as a yes. “I knew you’d understand, Chloe.” “I’ll send you the screenshots. Once you clear the air, maybe write a quick apology to Hailey so everyone can move on…” Before he could finish, I cut him off. “In your dreams.” Ethan froze. The tenderness on his face vanished, replaced by instant irritation. “Chloe, there is nothing going on between Hailey and me! Why do you have to be so malicious?” “Do you know what these rumors are doing to her reputation? She was crying hysterically on the phone just now!” I stood up from the couch, staring directly into his eyes. “I don’t care about her feelings, and I don’t want to hear her name.” “You want me to defend her? Not a chance.” I clenched my fists, forcing my voice to remain steady. Ethan let out a bitter laugh. “Fine. Fine. Fine.” “If you’re going to be like this, next month’s wedding is officially off.” “And Chloe, don’t you dare come crawling back to me this time!” ***

The heavy thud of the door closing felt like a fist squeezing my heart. It hurt so bad I could barely breathe. Right then, my phone buzzed. I thought it was Ethan. But when I picked it up, it was a message from Hailey. *Chloe, my power went out last night and I was so scared of the dark. Ethan only came over to keep me company. Please don’t misunderstand.* *Honestly, only insecure women get paranoid every day.* I stared at the screen for a few seconds. I didn’t reply, nor did I delete it. So, the emergency that made Ethan kick me out of his car in a raging storm was just a simple power outage. Yet, when I had a high fever and could barely move, I asked him for a glass of water, and he called me “dramatic.” I let out a bitter laugh. When a man doesn’t love you, it’s so obvious. Even if they hadn’t slept together yet, his heart was already gone. Over the next three days, Ethan didn’t return. I didn’t waste any time. I started packing my things. The apartment belonged to him, so I was the one who had to leave. On the fourth day of our silent treatment, my best friend Sarah invited me out to clear my head. In the past, I would have declined just to stay home and wait for Ethan’s call. But this time, I agreed immediately. I also needed to go to the bridal shop to cancel my wedding dress. But I never expected to run into the last two people I wanted to see. Ethan and Hailey were standing right inside the shop. When Ethan saw me, his eyes lit up for a fraction of a second before quickly turning into a look of sheer annoyance. He frowned. “I told you the wedding was called off. Why did you follow me here? If you’re not embarrassed, I am.” Before I could speak, Hailey piped up with a smirk. “Ethan, don’t be so harsh. Chloe’s probably just terrified you’ll actually dump her. After all, the wedding date is so close.” “But Chloe, you’re really embarrassing us women. If I were you, I’d at least hold out until the day before the wedding to beg for him back.” The friends standing with them laughed and chimed in. “Man, Ethan, you really have your woman on a tight leash. One word and she comes running to the bridal shop. Teach us your ways, bro.” The flattery clearly boosted Ethan’s ego. He looked at me like he was granting me a royal pardon. “Fine, I get it. Since you want to get married so badly, I’ll agree to it. Happy?” I used to tolerate these jokes. But today, looking at Ethan’s smug face, I felt nothing but disgust. I looked him dead in the eye and said coldly, “I’m not here for you. I’m here to cancel my dress.” I walked past them straight toward the counter. Everyone froze. They didn’t expect this reaction from me. Hailey was the first to recover. She grabbed my wrist. “Chloe, stop playing hard to get. Ethan already said he’s coming home tonight.” “If you make him angry now, you’re just going to blame me for it later.” “Hailey, the only way you can get back with Ethan is if we break up. Stop acting so innocent. It’s pathetic.” With that, I snatched my wrist back. I didn’t use much force, but she let out a dramatic shriek and fell backward—right into Ethan’s arms. With teary eyes, she whimpered, “Ethan, maybe I should just leave.” “Your friends already think I’m a homewrecker because Chloe keeps misunderstanding us.” “I can take her hitting me today, but what if she comes to my house next time? How am I supposed to live like this?” Ethan’s face darkened completely. He wrapped his arm tightly around Hailey and glared at me. “Chloe, apologize. Now.” His tone left no room for argument. But I didn’t flinch. “No.” His jaw clenched. “If you don’t apologize, we are done. For real.” Even though I had already checked out of this relationship, hearing him say it still made my chest ache. But I kept my face blank and smiled coldly. “Fine. Let’s break up.” ***

My mood was ruined, so after canceling the dress, I went straight back to the apartment. I thought I would toss and turn all night, but I actually slept peacefully. In fact, I slept so well that when I walked downstairs the next morning and saw Hailey in the kitchen, I thought I was still dreaming. She was wearing Ethan’s oversized white button-down shirt, her bare legs fully on display. Ethan, who never cooked, was actually standing at the stove making breakfast. Hearing me walk down, they both turned. Ethan frowned but said nothing. Hailey, however, immediately started explaining. “Chloe, please don’t misunderstand! I drank too much last night and threw up on my clothes. I couldn’t find my keys, so Ethan had no choice but to bring me here.” I let out a dry laugh. “No choice? He looks pretty thrilled to me.” Ethan slammed his spatula onto the counter. He whipped around, glaring at me with pure irritation. “Chloe! That’s enough!” It was laughable. He had brought another woman into our home, and he was telling me *that’s enough*? He only dared to do this because he knew how much I loved him. He had used the “cancel the wedding” threat to control me for three years, and it had worked every single time. I used to think my love and patience would eventually change him. But I forgot that constantly lowering your standards only teaches a man to look down on you. Seeing my silence, Hailey bit her lip dramatically. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m just causing more trouble. I’ll leave right now.” She made a show of walking toward the door, but Ethan caught her wrist before she could take two steps. “You’re barely wearing anything. What if you run into some creep outside?” “Eat breakfast first. Once your clothes are dry, I’ll drive you home myself.” He then shot me another annoyed look. “Chloe, is your goal in life just to make everyone miserable first thing in the morning?” “Acting like this only makes me regret ever dating you.” The living room fell into a dead silence. Even Ethan seemed to realize he had gone too export. He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance. “Ethan, you’re not the only one who regrets this.” “And you don’t have to leave. I am.” I walked upstairs. Ten minutes later, I came back down rolling my packed suitcase. Ethan’s eyes widened. A flash of joy crossed Hailey’s face, though she quickly masked it with her usual innocent act. “Chloe, please don’t do this. Ethan and I are just friends.” “I literally had nowhere else to go last night and no clothes to wear. He was just being nice.” I usually didn’t bother wasting my breath on her, but her acting was so insufferable I couldn’t resist. “Nowhere to go? No clothes to wear?” “Did every single hotel and mall in New York shut down last night, forcing you to sleep at another woman’s boyfriend’s apartment in his shirt?” Hailey’s face turned pale. Unable to find a comeback, she looked at Ethan with puppy-dog eyes. “Chloe…” “Shut up, Ethan. I don’t want to hear a single word from you.” I grabbed my handle and walked out. Behind me, Ethan’s furious voice echoed down the hall. “Fine! Have it your way! Don’t marry me then, see if I care!” Then came the deafening sound of the door slamming shut. He left with Hailey. From that day until the day before our scheduled wedding, he never contacted me once. And I didn’t sit around waiting. I handed in my resignation at my design firm and started finalizing my departure. Ethan didn’t call, and I enjoyed the peace. By the time my resignation went through, it was the day before what should have been our wedding. My phone was blowing up all day. They were all messages from our mutual friends. *Chloe, are you still throwing a tantrum? Ethan’s already cooled down. Just text him first and this will all blow over.* *Chloe, Ethan hasn’t even seen Hailey lately. You’re taking this too far!* *The wedding is tomorrow, Chloe. Stop playing hard to get. Men like Ethan don’t grow on trees. If you actually dump him, you’re just handing him over to the girls waiting in line.* Looking at the messages, I just smiled. Ethan was the one who crossed the line, yet everyone assumed I was the one who had to beg for him back. I sent a mass reply to the group chat: *Ethan and I are officially over. Anyone who texts me to take him back will be blocked. Thanks!* I cleared my chat history, blocked everyone associated with Ethan, and deleted my fingerprint from the apartment’s smart lock. I left my engagement ring on the coffee table, sent Ethan one final text, and headed to the airport without looking back. ***

On the other side of town, Ethan was pacing around his apartment, utterly restless. He kept checking his phone. But the screen remained black. In the past, Chloe would always come crawling back within three days. But it had been a week, and there was nothing. Was she actually furious this time? All he did was stay over at Hailey’s for one night. Was that really worth this massive reaction? Then, a sudden thought hit him. He had called off the wedding last year and the year before that. Both times were because of Hailey. No wonder… A pang of guilt hit his chest. Maybe he had crossed the line. He pulled out his phone and typed a message: *Chloe, didn’t you say you wanted to go to the beach? Once I’m done with this busy week, I’ll take you.* But when he hit send, a red exclamation mark appeared. Chloe had blocked him on Snapchat. His chest tightened. He tried calling her number, but a cold, automated voice told him the call couldn’t be completed. She had blocked his number, too. The apartment felt instantly freezing. Just as he was about to call Marcus to find out where Chloe was staying, a text notification popped up from an unknown number. It was Chloe’s final text. *Ethan, we’re done. I left the ring on the coffee table.* Ethan froze. He ran to the living room, and there it was—the diamond ring, sitting silently on the glass table. He picked it up, panic rising in his chest. He snatched his friend’s phone and dialed the number he knew by heart. It rang for a long time before a calm voice answered. “Hello?” Ethan’s breath hitched, his heart aching at the sound of her voice. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell her to come home. But his damn pride got in the way, and the moment he opened his mouth, his voice came out sharp and defensive. “Chloe, blocking me and sending breakup texts? Do you really think this petty drama is going to scare me?” “I was already planning on cutting Hailey off, but your behavior is ridiculous. If you don’t come home right now, the wedding is off for good!” Silence met his words. Ethan gripped the phone, his heart practically in his throat. *Just give in a little, Chloe. If you just say sorry, I promise I’ll never see Hailey again,* he thought desperately. But Chloe’s response shattered his hope. “Suit yourself.” “Ethan, we are done. Don’t call me again.” The line went dead. When he tried to call back, he was blocked on that number, too.

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My younger brother, Daniel, was in a horrific car accident and needed emergency surgery. Since I was stuck abroad on a business trip, I had to beg my wife to go to the hospital and sign the consent forms. She promised she would. But the moment she hung up, she booked a flight out of the country with her newly purchased humanoid robot to go on a vacation. When the hospital desperately tried to find someone to sign for the surgery, they couldn’t reach her. By the time I rushed back, all that was waiting for me was Daniel’s cold corpse. A few days later, my wife—who barely ever posted anything—updated her Snapchat Story. “A brand-new life experience. Honestly, nothing beats a robot.” Attached was a picture of her and the robot in a hotel room, both of them disheveled and barely dressed. With a numb face, I tapped the screen and left a like on her story. Then, I decided to press the activation button for the robot’s self-destruct system. “Let’s get a divorce, Chloe.” The moment I learned of Daniel’s death, I wiped the tears from my face and sent this text directly to my wife. Five years. I never expected our marriage to end like this. After all, I used to love her to the point of losing all my dignity. I chased her for three long years before she finally agreed to be with me. When we finally walked down the aisle, I couldn’t even bring myself to say a harsh word to her. Even though I knew deep down she didn’t love me that much, I accepted it. As long as I could keep looking at her, it was enough. Everyone around us could see I was the pathetic doormat in this relationship, but I was happy to be one. But Daniel’s death was something I could never forgive. Our parents died when we were young. Daniel and I raised each other. Just when I finally started making good money and things were looking up, he got into that car crash. It happened so fast, catching me completely off guard. I didn’t give up on him. I kept hoping he would wake up and call me his big bro again. And Chloe Vance completely shattered that dream. A week later, I had already finished Daniel’s funeral services. During this entire time, that divorce text was like a stone dropped into the ocean—no reply at all. But the second I liked her Snapchat Story, her call instantly came through. “What is your problem, Ethan? Did you like my story just to disgust me, or are you trying to mark your territory? Leo is just a robot! Are you seriously jealous of an AI?!” “Besides, I’m not a doctor. How was I supposed to save Daniel anyway? It’s your own fault for being useless. You ruined my vacation experience. You are so incredibly annoying.” Her dismissive, casual tone made my heart, which had already gone numb with pain, ache violently all over again. The moment I landed from my business trip, I had rushed to the hospital, only to be met with my brother’s death certificate. Only later did I find out that Chloe had actually flown first-class to Europe with that robot. The hospital had called her dozens of times to get her signature for the emergency surgery, but her phone was turned off the entire time. The blood in my veins felt like it was boiling. I bit my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Do you even have a conscience, Chloe? You promised me you would take care of Daniel! Instead, you turned around and went on a trip with that machine! Is he even human? Does he understand human feelings?!” Before I could finish, Chloe cut me off sharply. “Leo is different! He understands my heart! He’s not like those other cold blocks of metal! So what if I want to make him more perfect?” “When I said I wanted to order him, you agreed to it! You said it would be nice to have someone keep me company so I wouldn’t be lonely. Why are you standing on a moral high ground accusing me now? Don’t you think you’re being ridiculous?” “Whatever. Leo is waiting for me. Don’t call me unless it’s important. Maybe you should think about what you did wrong to force me to rely on a robot in the first place. Got it?” Her self-righteous tone made my blood run hot, followed by a deep, hollow chill. It was the middle of summer. Sweat was dripping down my forehead, but my body wouldn’t stop shivering. I actually thought Chloe loved me. I thought she cared when she promised to visit Daniel. But even now, as I brought Daniel’s ashes back to our empty apartment, she hadn’t asked about him even once. Right. She was probably drowning in the manufactured tenderness of her robot. Watching the guests leave the funeral, I finally understood. My heart was completely dead. You can’t force love. If it’s rotten, you might as well throw it in the trash.

I returned to our quiet house. It was empty and covered in a thick layer of dust. Taking a deep breath, I cleared a spot on the couch, sat down, and started drafting the divorce papers and the division of assets. She was a spoiled rich girl; she probably wouldn’t care about my modest savings anyway. But I wasn’t going to leave her a single penny. After consulting with a lawyer, I suddenly remembered something. I dug out the manual for the robot we had ordered and began studying its specifications. With the rapid advancement of AI, humanoid robots had become the latest trend. When Chloe eagerly ordered one, I hadn’t objected. I thought it would keep her company when I was busy with work. Who knew things would turn out like this? Right then, Chloe’s call came in again. “Have you reflected on your behavior yet? It’s been days. You should have figured out what you did wrong by now.” I stared at the text on the manual for a long time, and a cold, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. Oh, I figured it out, alright. If you love the wrong person, you have to take your heart back. “What did I do wrong? Why don’t you tell me?” My cold, indifferent tone caught her off guard. There was a long pause on the other end. “How dare you speak to me like that?! Ethan Miller, don’t think you can throw a tantrum at me just because your brother died!” No wonder she was shocked. For the past five years, I had always spoken to her in a gentle, pleading voice. I had never shown an ounce of attitude. I didn’t have the right to. Whenever we had a disagreement, I would swallow my pride. If she was even slightly unhappy, she would yell at me. And even when I did nothing wrong, I would beg for her forgiveness like a dog. I really was a pathetic, text-book simp. But starting today, I was done being a doormat. Seeing that I was silent, Chloe got bolder over the phone. “I seriously don’t get why you’re giving me attitude. If you hadn’t been so busy with work, would I have turned to Leo? Honestly, this is all your fault!” “Ever since he arrived, have you shown him any kindness? He’s so fragile and innocent. He needs our love and care. He and I just… did a few things. Why is that such a big deal?!” Even through the phone, I could picture her throwing her head back in that arrogant, snobbish way of hers. A dull, crushing pain squeezed my chest, making it hard to breathe. Thinking of Daniel’s lonely death, I clutched my chest, unable to speak. Five years of marriage, and she had never once stood by my side. She used my love as a weapon to walk all over me. I used to be blinded by love, even enjoying the pain. But Daniel’s death tore away the last veil of my self-delusion. How ironic. I cleared my throat and said flatly, “Are you done?” Chloe choked on her words, her voice softening slightly. “Fine, whatever. I’m coming home in a few days. My mom wants us over for dinner. You’re coming, right?” She was offering an olive branch. She wanted things to go back to how they were—with me being obedient and never complaining. But I would never let that happen again. There were too many things to settle. We might as well lay it all out. With that in mind, I didn’t say much and simply replied, “Sure.” Chloe let out a tense, slightly guilty laugh. “Should I pick you up?” “Sure,” I said. Her usual arrogance was gone, replaced by a sudden, anxious need to please. How amusing. Don’t worry, Chloe. This is only the beginning.

A few days later, in the evening, I stood by the driveway waiting for Chloe. It was pitch black by the time her car finally pulled up. “Sorry I’m late. Leo wasn’t feeling well, so I had to run some diagnostics on him first.” Chloe looked apologetic. Following her gaze, I saw Leo sitting in the passenger seat. “Hello, Ethan. Long time no see.” I had to admit, the technology behind these humanoid robots was terrifyingly advanced. If you didn’t know, you’d never guess he was a machine. His looks, movements, and even his facial expressions were identical to a human’s. “Chloe said the passenger seat has a better view, which helps me learn about the human world. So she let me sit here. You don’t mind, do you?” His deep, smooth voice made my hands freeze. Was this robot seriously trying to gaslight me like a cheap green tea b*tch? Chloe didn’t hesitate to chime in. “Why would he mind? It’s just a seat. It’s no big deal.” I silently got into the back seat without saying a word, my mind drifting back in time. It seemed that ever since we got married, anything concerning me was always “no big deal” to her. Two weeks ago was our fifth anniversary. I had left work early and prepared a candlelit dinner to celebrate. But I waited until midnight, only to see her walking in, arm-in-arm with Leo. “I took Leo out to the amusement park. I totally forgot today was our anniversary. Oh come on, it’s a small thing. We can just celebrate it next time.” Even now, I could clearly remember Chloe’s careless shrug, and the smug, subtle smirk on Leo’s face. Seeing that I was quiet, Chloe kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror. I stared back, expressionless. “Something on my face?” She seemed hurt by my coldness and smiled awkwardly. “No, you just don’t look very happy.” That was a first. Chloe had never cared about my feelings before. She usually wished I didn’t exist. “My brother just died. It’d be weird if I were happy.” My words instantly made her stiffen, and her face turned pale. Leo turned around from the passenger seat, his lips curling into a perfectly simulated, innocent smile. “Daniel’s injuries were too severe, Ethan. Even with the surgery, his survival rate was less than five percent. According to my database, his death was inevitable. I believe you should have prepared yourself for this grief earlier.” A surge of hot anger rushed to my brain. Before I knew it, I threw a heavy punch straight at his face. “Ethan!” Chloe screamed as she slammed on the brakes. Leo’s smile didn’t even flinch. Instead, my hand felt like it had struck a block of solid steel. My knuckles immediately swelled up and began to bleed. “I apologize, Ethan. It is my fault.” The sincerity in Leo’s eyes looked incredibly real, and the anger I had bottled up for days finally erupted. I let out a harsh laugh. “You’re a piece of scrap metal. Don’t talk to me about human feelings.” Leo’s artificial smile slowly froze, his eyes darkening. Wow. This robot’s programming was truly impressive. “Ethan, can’t you be nice to Leo?!” Chloe snapped, immediately jumping to his defense and glaring at me. “He is a member of our family! Don’t go too far!” I looked at their shoulders touching. They looked like a beautiful, loving couple. And I was just the unwanted third wheel. Even though I had resolved to let go, seeing this still made my heart sting. Pulling myself together, I cast a cold glance at her. “Not for long.”

“What does that mean?!” Chloe wanted to press further, but the cars behind us started honking loudly, forcing her to hit the gas. Soon, we arrived at the Vance estate. Her parents were already waiting at the front door. “Chloe, sweetheart! And Leo, you’re here!” Chloe’s mother, Eleanor, took Chloe’s bag and greeted Leo with a massive grin. The three of them chatted happily as they walked into the house, leaving me standing alone by the car. They weren’t welcoming me. I had known this for a long time, but being there forced me to face the harsh reality all over again. Chloe’s parents had never liked me. Since the day we married, they had never given me a warm look. No matter how much I tried to please them in the past, it was never enough. Once, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I complained to Chloe. But she just brushed it off. “You’re lucky to have married a girl like me. It’s normal for them to be a little cold. Just deal with it. You’re living with me, not them.” So, I dealt with it. I even felt grateful for her words back then. How pathetic. I thought I was the luckiest man alive. But Leo’s arrival changed everything. “Leo, dear, just sit down. You don’t need to help!” In the kitchen, Eleanor stopped Leo from picking up the dishes, her face practically glowing with affection. “You sweet boy, you’re so thoughtful. You always try to help every time you come over. Unlike some people.” She shot a nasty glare in my direction. “Some people just sit there like statues, doing absolutely nothing.” If this were the past, I would have panicked, rushed into the kitchen to apologize, and started scrubbing dishes with a flushed face. But today, I sat back, crossed my legs, and smiled. “You’re right, Eleanor. I wasn’t born to be a servant. I don’t do manual labor.” Eleanor froze, clearly shocked. She didn’t expect the usually obedient Ethan to suddenly bite back. She opened her mouth to snap at me, but Chloe shot her a warning look, so she stayed quiet. At the dinner table, Eleanor kept putting food on Leo’s plate. Even though Leo couldn’t eat, he politely declined with a charming smile. “Thank you, Eleanor. Your cooking looks lovely. However, my digestive system cannot process organic food yet, so I must politely decline.” Eleanor waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s fine, dear! Just hearing you say that makes me happy. Some people just stuff their faces without saying a single nice word.” She was targeting me again. I put down my silver fork and laughed coldly. “I’d love to compliment the food, Eleanor, but considering you know I have a life-threatening seafood allergy, and literally every single dish on this table is seafood, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.” Eleanor gasped. She looked at my empty plate and felt a brief flash of embarrassment, which she quickly masked with annoyance. “You know Chloe loves seafood. Can’t you just tolerate it for once? Or take an EpiPen?” Tolerate. Always asking me to tolerate. I used to do it because I was a simp. But Daniel’s death taught me that staying silent gets you killed. “Forget it. If any of you actually cared, you wouldn’t serve me a plate of dry, stale bread every single time I come here. Do you think I like eating cardboard? No, I just don’t have a choice.” Eleanor’s face flushed red with anger. She pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless. “Ethan, you are being completely out of line!” Chloe slammed her fork down and screamed. “How dare you speak to my mother like that!” I looked at her calmly. “She’s your mother, Chloe. Not mine.” Chloe stared at me in disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?” My eyes grew cold and distant. “It means I’m done being the idiot husband of a woman who uses an AI robot to satisfy her sexual needs.” “And besides,” I turned to look at Leo, whose face had gone completely dark, “this robot was custom-made to look exactly like your dead high school sweetheart, wasn’t it?”

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