Category: English

He walked perfectly in my footprints just to avoid stepping in the deep snow, and then, inevitably, he slipped. He blamed me. He claimed I had packed the snow down too hard, making it slick. He demanded fifty thousand dollars in damages. It didn’t stop there. He bled me dry. Through a relentless campaign of harassment, he cost me my job, drained my savings, and finally, in a fit of manufactured rage, shoved me into an open excavation trench at a construction site. I was knocked unconscious. I froze to death in the dark. And then, I woke up. I respawned at the exact moment before we walked out of the apartment building’s lobby into the winter storm. Without a second thought, I pivoted on my heel, marched back upstairs to my apartment, and slammed the door shut. The old man was stunned. A few seconds later, he followed me up and started hammering his fists against the wood. 1 Bang! Bang! Bang! My front door rattled violently in its frame, but I couldn’t focus on the noise. I was hyperventilating, my back pressed against the cold wood. My heart thrashed against my ribs like a trapped bird. The phantom agony of freezing to death—the slow, creeping numbness, the feeling of my blood turning to slush, the final, terrifying lethargy—still clung to my bones. “Michael! Why did you turn back around?” Old Man Pendleton’s voice was muffled through the door, grating and utterly entitled. “The snow is too deep out here. I’m not risking it. Come back out and blaze a trail for me.” I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around myself. “My grandson wants bacon for breakfast, so I need to get to the grocery store,” he whined, the banging resuming. “You’re young. You’ve got good knees. You really going to refuse to do a simple favor for an old man? Whatever happened to respecting your elders, huh?” Arthur Pendleton. The neighborhood nightmare. He just kept rattling off excuses, trying to guilt me into stepping back out into the freezing cold. Like hell I am. In my previous life, I had obliged. He had stepped exactly where I stepped, slipped on the compacted ice, and then launched a lawsuit from hell, demanding fifty grand. When I refused to pay, he showed up at my corporate office every single day, screaming until HR finally let me go just to avoid the PR nightmare. But losing my job hadn’t been enough for him. He tracked down my parents in our quiet rural hometown upstate. He made them the laughingstock of the county, filing bogus police reports against my dad, who had been the town’s bookkeeper for thirty years. My dad was brought in for questioning. Even though he was completely cleared, the whispering and the stares from people they’d known their whole lives broke my parents. They sold their house at a loss and moved across the state, shadows of their former selves. Bang! Bang! Bang! The pounding grew more aggressive. I pushed away from the door, my mind snapping into sharp, crystalline focus. I cleared my throat. “Arthur!” I shouted, making my voice crack. “I have Covid! The really bad strain! Cough, cough, cough!” I ran to the kitchen. “Hold on, just give me a second to cough up this blood, and I’ll open the door! Cough, cough!” I grabbed a paper towel, squirted a generous dollop of ketchup onto it, and smeared a little at the corner of my mouth for good measure. Arthur must not have heard me clearly because the relentless banging didn’t stop. I took a deep breath, yanked the deadbolt back, and threw the door open, launching into a violent, chest-heaving fit of coughing that sounded like I was hacking up pieces of my lungs. “Cough, cough, cough! Arthur, I told you, I’m severely infected. I’m burning up. What do you need?” As I spoke, I pulled the paper towel away from my mouth. It was a mess of crimson red. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to help,” I wheezed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I genuinely have a terrible respiratory infection…” I shoved the ketchup-stained paper towel toward his face. “Smell it! That’s the smell of fresh, highly contagious lung tissue!” Arthur shrieked, executing a backward jump that was shockingly athletic for a man of his age. “Get away from me! If you give me pneumonia, I’m suing you for medical bills!” He pressed his back against the hallway wall, but then, I saw his cloudy, calculating eyes dart back to me. His greed was a living, breathing thing. “Listen, Michael,” he wheedled, pulling his coat tighter around his neck. “Can’t you just push through it? Just walk me to the end of the block. I’m terrified of falling.” I stared at him. The sheer audacity was staggering. “My grandson looks up to you,” he continued, laying the guilt on thick. “You can’t just abandon us over a little cold. Put on a double layer of N95 masks. I won’t hold it against you!” Then, the kicker. “You’re doing so well for yourself. I heard you talking on the phone—you just got a fifty-thousand-dollar year-end bonus! Surely a successful young man like you can afford to do one tiny favor?” 2 This stubborn old vulture. I was standing here supposedly coughing up a lung, and he still wanted me to be his human snowplow. In my past life, I had always wondered how long it took him to select me as his perfect victim. Now, the pieces clicked together. My bonus. Just before we had walked out of the building earlier, I had taken a call from my manager confirming my year-end bonus. Arthur had been lurking in the lobby. He heard the whole thing. He hadn’t just accidentally slipped; he had targeted me because he knew I was holding a fresh, fat check. No wonder he was so desperate to get me out there. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, Arthur’s faux-polite mask slipped. He let out an exaggerated huff and dramatically lowered himself to sit right on the freezing tile floor of the hallway. “Fine! If you won’t help me, I can’t leave. So I’ll just sit right here!” I narrowed my eyes, studying his pathetic, petulant display for a long moment. Then, the corners of my mouth curled into a bright, terrifying smile. “No problem, Arthur. I’ll lead the way. Just stay close!” I stepped back inside, pulled on my heaviest down parka and a pair of thick, treaded snow boots. Arthur scrambled to his feet, shadowing me closely as we headed out. In my previous life, I had walked slowly, out of an abundance of caution, and he had matched my agonizing pace. The apartment’s security camera had captured the whole thing. Later, he strong-armed the property manager into giving him the footage, using it to blackmail me at my office. The angle of the camera had been terrible—it looked exactly like I had kicked a patch of ice backward, causing him to fall. I wasn’t about to let history repeat itself. The moment the heavy glass door clicked shut behind us, and I saw the red light of the security camera in my peripheral vision, I threw my arms up in the air and screamed. “God, I love the snow! Hahahaha!” I glanced over my shoulder. “Keep up, Arthur!” And then, I bolted. I sprinted down the sidewalk like an Olympic sprinter, kicking up a massive wake of white powder. Arthur froze, completely blindsided. By the time his brain processed what was happening, I had already rounded the corner of the building and vanished from sight. “You little bastard, what are you running for?!” I heard him screech from a distance. “Whoa—I’m slipping! Get back here! If I fall, you have to pay—!” A dull thud echoed through the frigid air. He had gone down. I stood hidden behind the brick wall of the next building. One minute passed. Two minutes. Three. No one came to help him. Eventually, the biting cold became too much for him. I peeked around the corner just in time to see him scramble to his feet, dusting snow off his coat. He glared up at the security camera, spitting into the snow. “Dammit! Didn’t catch a thing,” he muttered viciously. I turned and jogged away from the complex, my breath pluming in the freezing air. The camera definitely wouldn’t have us in the same frame this time. But would Old Man Pendleton let it go that easily? I highly doubted it. In my past life, even after I had drained my bank accounts to pay his extortion demands, he hadn’t stopped. He had demanded I sign over the deed to my condo so his deadbeat son could use it as a marital home for his second wedding. The man’s greed was a bottomless abyss. If he thought he could use his old playbook to control me in this life, he was out of his mind. My first stop wasn’t the office. It was a coffee shop. I pulled out my phone, scrolled through Zillow, and found a fully furnished, short-term luxury apartment just a few miles away. I wired the deposit immediately and got the digital door code. This was step one of my revenge. If he couldn’t find me at home, he would inevitably show up at my office to cause a scene. I needed to be ready for him. After securing the apartment, I circled back to my old place to grab my laptop and a few essentials. The moment I stepped through the front gates of the complex, I noticed the security guard at the booth looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. He was violently mouthing the words, Run. Before my brain could register the warning, a shadow lunged from behind the brick pillar. A heavy weight slammed into my side, tackling me straight into a snowbank. 3 “You little punk! Thought you were fast, huh? Let’s see you run now!” I blinked snow out of my eyelashes. Hovering over me, face twisted in rage, was Arthur Pendleton. “Listen to me,” he snarled, digging his fingers into my jacket. “When you ran off this morning, you tripped me! I nearly broke my neck!” He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of stale coffee and decay. “So, you tell me how we’re going to handle this. I’ll give you a hint: if you don’t fork over fifty thousand dollars right now, this doesn’t go away!” I laughed inwardly. The old bastard was just throwing darts in the dark, hoping to hit a jackpot. I had watched that security footage hundreds of times in my past life. I knew with absolute certainty that the camera had captured nothing of use today. He was bluffing. I wasn’t about to play by his rules. Instead of arguing, I threw my head back and let out an ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream. “My ribs! Oh my god, my ribs are shattered!” I writhed in the snow, clutching my side. “My head! I’m going to throw up, it’s a severe concussion!” I kicked my leg out at an awkward angle. “My femur is snapped! Call an ambulance! Call 911!” I grabbed my lower back, screaming louder. “My kidney! You ruptured my kidney! I’m passing stones!” Arthur leaped off me as if he’d been electrocuted, stumbling backward. “I’m warning you, don’t try to pull an insurance scam on me!” he yelled, panic edging into his voice. “I’ll call the cops and have you arrested!” Before he could even reach for his pockets, I already had my phone pressed to my ear. I had dialed 911 the second he tackled me. Arthur’s face went pale. He lunged forward to snatch the phone, but it was too late. “Are you insane? You actually called them?” I looked up at him from the snow, my eyes wide, and gasped theatrically. “Oh, no… my heart. I have a heart condition! This old man triggered an attack! Everyone, look! Don’t let him get away!” In my past life, the psychological warfare he had waged against me was etched into my soul. It had become a waking nightmare. Now, I was simply returning the favor, page by page from his own playbook. When the police arrived, Arthur immediately tried to play the sweet, confused grandfather. “Officers, it was just a misunderstanding! We were just messing around, right Michael?” I didn’t answer him. I insisted on being loaded onto the stretcher and taken in the ambulance. Arthur tried to push his way through the paramedics to grab my arm, desperate to avoid paying a dime for my hospital transport. I pointed a shaking finger at the security booth. “Officers, please secure the gate footage immediately! Before the cameras conveniently ‘malfunction’.” The footage was undeniable. It clearly showed Arthur ambushing me, shoving me violently to the ground, and my head snapping back against the ice. He was forced to pay my three-thousand-dollar emergency room bill out of pocket. When he handed the money over at the precinct, the hatred in his eyes was so intense it practically burned. I ignored it, pocketed the cash, and walked out. Later that evening, I took the complex’s security guard out for steaks. Over dinner, the guard shook his head, looking at me like I was a dead man walking. “Man, out of everyone in the city, you had to cross that old psycho,” the guard sighed. He told me things about Arthur I hadn’t known. Years ago, Arthur had stolen the heavy iron storm drain covers from the complex’s streets and sold them to a scrapyard to buy toys for his grandson. A resident had fallen into an open drain and shattered their leg. When the HOA reviewed the cameras and confronted Arthur, he didn’t even deny it. He claimed that because he paid his HOA fees, the neighborhood property belonged to him. When the HOA pointed out he hadn’t paid his fees in three years, he argued that since he paid them once, it counted forever. “It gets worse,” the guard said, taking a sip of his beer. “He used to steal women’s underwear from the laundry room and have his son sell them online. When one of the female residents caught him, he threw himself on the floor, claimed she assaulted him, and tried to sue her.” “Eventually, he figured out that college girls were easier targets,” the guard lowered his voice. “So he started lurking around the basement apartments where the university students rent.” 4 The guard’s voice was heavy with disgust. “He would press his face against the half-windows of the basement units in the middle of the night. Scared one girl so bad she called the cops. When they showed up, he suddenly ‘forgot’ where he was and played the dementia card.” “And his son is just as bad. When he showed up at the precinct, he had the nerve to say the girl was trying to seduce his rich father through the window, and threatened to sue her for emotional distress.” “The cops couldn’t do anything but tell the son to keep an eye on him. But Arthur didn’t stop. He basically stalked her, pacing outside her window every night. She was too terrified to leave her apartment. She missed her finals, dropped out of college, and moved down South to work in a factory. I heard a rumor she got her hand crushed in some industrial machine down there.” The guard shook his head. “Everyone knows Old Man Pendleton ruined her life. And he just struts around the neighborhood, untouchable.” Listening to this, a cold, hard knot of resolve tightened in my chest. If I harbored even a shred of guilt about my revenge plan, it evaporated instantly. This man wasn’t just an annoyance; he was a predator. “Don’t worry,” I told the guard, raising my glass. “His luck is about to run out. Karma is coming to collect.” The very next morning, my prediction came true. Arthur showed up at my corporate office. He stood right outside the glass walls of my boss’s corner office, clutching two cheap bottles of wine. My boss looked bewildered. He stepped out and asked Arthur who he was looking for. “I’m Michael’s great-uncle,” Arthur announced loudly, ensuring the entire open-plan office could hear. “I know my boy can be a burden, so I brought you a little something to thank you for putting up with him.” Then, leaning in conspiratorially, but still speaking at top volume, he dropped the bomb. “You see, he’s had a severe, highly contagious case of Hepatitis B for years. I’m sure it’s been a nightmare for his coworkers.” My boss’s face drained of color. He immediately summoned me to his office, shutting the door behind us, and asked if it was true. Through the glass, I could see Arthur looking at me with feigned, grandfatherly concern, though his cloudy eyes danced with pure, venomous triumph. I had fully anticipated he would pull a stunt like this, though the specific tactic was impressively unhinged. I watched as Arthur pointed at the ‘Team Lead’ badge on my lanyard and smiled greasily at my boss. “You truly are a saint, sir,” Arthur proclaimed. “Letting a boy with such failing, infectious health be in charge of people.” My boss looked like he wanted to vomit. Outside the glass, I could see my team members slowly rolling their desk chairs away from my cubicle. I didn’t panic. Instead, I threw the door open, rushed out, and threw my arms around Arthur in a massive, crushing bear hug. “Uncle Arthur!” I bellowed, my voice thick with emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting?” “I missed you so much!” I deliberately let a generous spray of saliva hit his face as I shouted. Arthur froze, completely short-circuiting. He had not expected this reaction. In my past life, he had used a similar rumor to ostracize me, driving a wedge between me and my coworkers until the isolation forced me to quit. Given a second chance, there was no way I was letting him control the narrative. Right now, I was clinging to him like a desperate, long-lost child. He had just publicly claimed to be my blood relative; all he could do was stand there, his face contorting into a gruesome, strained smile. I stared right into his weathered face and laughed—a manic, joyful laugh that lasted for a full, uncomfortable minute, thoroughly playing the part of a man overjoyed by a family reunion. Just as Arthur looked like he was about to physically shove me off, I stepped back, gripping his shoulders. “Uncle Arthur,” I said, my voice dropping to a dramatic whisper that carried across the silent office. “You found out about the Hepatitis B?” Arthur instantly perked up, sensing an opening. He puffed out his chest and spoke loudly. “That’s right! I couldn’t just stand by and let you hide your condition! It’s not right to keep secrets that could hurt other people, is it?” He sounded like a martyr making a difficult moral choice. My boss’s expression grew even darker. He stepped out of his office, his arms crossed tightly. “Michael,” he said, his tone heavy with disappointment. “Why wouldn’t you disclose something like this to HR? We could have made accommodations. We could have set up a separate break area for you.” 5 My boss was a decent guy. In my previous life, when Arthur had come to the office to throw his tantrums, my boss had actually tried to protect me. But Arthur had escalated it, eventually threatening to hang himself from the corporate logo in the lobby. By that point, I had been financially ruined and entirely broken. I resigned just to spare the company the liability. Hearing my boss try to accommodate me, Arthur’s eyes bugged out. “Sir, we can’t let him be a burden to your fine company just for a paycheck!” Arthur interjected, looking genuinely alarmed that his plan was failing. I laughed inwardly. “Uncle Arthur,” I said softly, looking at him with wide, tragic eyes. “Who told you I only have Hepatitis B?” Arthur blinked. “Since the secret is out, I guess I have to come clean,” I said, my voice trembling with fake sorrow. “It’s not just the Hep B. It’s the Tuberculosis. And the chronic blood flukes. Oh, and the Syphilis. And the untreated Gonorrhea. And the highly aggressive HPV…” With every disease I listed, Arthur’s face grew a shade paler. His jaw dropped. He pointed a trembling, arthritic finger at my chest. “Y-you… are you telling the truth?” I inhaled sharply, threw my head forward, and sneezed violently—twice. Both times, right into Arthur’s face. “Ahhhh!” Arthur shrieked in genuine terror, scrubbing frantically at his cheeks with the sleeves of his coat. “You infected me! I came here out of the goodness of my heart, and you infected me!” he wailed, backing away toward the elevators. “You monster!” My boss, however, wasn’t an idiot. He was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes. Who on earth contracts half a dozen Victorian-era plagues at the same time? Was I moonlight as a lab rat for the CDC? He realized immediately that the old man was entirely full of shit. Arthur’s face twisted into an ugly snarl. He wanted to lunge at me, but the sheer terror of my imaginary pathogens kept him glued to the spot. “You can kiss this job goodbye!” Arthur spat. “I won’t let you infect these good people!” Then, he took a hesitant half-step forward and hissed under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. “Unless you wire me that fifty grand right now. If you do, I’ll tell your boss I have dementia and I made the whole thing up. I’m not even your uncle. You keep your job, I get my money.” I stared at him, my heart turning to ice. It was the exact same script. Word for word. In my past life, terrified of losing my career and the stability it provided, I had caved. I had transferred two thousand dollars to his account right then and there just to make him leave. That was the mistake that sealed my fate. Once you pay the Danegeld, you never get rid of the Dane. Two thousand turned into five, then ten, until I was bled dry. Now, looking at his greedy, venomous eyes, I just smiled brightly. I reached into my blazer, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to my boss. “Sir, this is my formal resignation.” Arthur froze. My boss looked equally stunned. “Michael, have you lost your mind?” my boss asked, refusing to take the paper. “I haven’t said a word about firing you. We don’t terminate people over health rumors. Let’s just have you work from home for a few weeks until this blows over—” I held up a hand, feeling a genuine rush of gratitude for the man. “Thank you, sir. Truly. But I refuse to be a liability to this company.” I placed the resignation letter on his desk. I had already packed my personal belongings into a small box that morning. I picked it up from my cubicle and walked straight past Arthur toward the glass doors. Arthur finally snapped out of his shock and scrambled after me, blocking the elevator bank. “Boy, what kind of game are you playing?” he growled, dropping the sweet-old-man act entirely. “I’m not falling for this!” I ignored him, my eyes fixed on the elevator floor indicator. “Hold it right there!” he barked, stepping into my personal space. “You’re not going anywhere until you pay me what you owe me! Where do you think you’re going?” I let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I’m going to buy a lottery ticket.” Arthur sneered, his face wrinkling in disgust. “Don’t bullshit me! A lottery ticket? What, you think you’re going to magically strike it rich?” “Actually, Arthur,” I said as the elevator doors chimed open. “For a guy who supposedly has dementia, you’re pretty sharp. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” In my past life, on the exact day Arthur had ruined my career, I had hit absolute rock bottom. Desperate, I had bought a Mega Millions ticket on my walk home. When the numbers were drawn, I had missed the jackpot by exactly two numbers. The jackpot had been five million dollars. With five million dollars, why the hell did I need this corporate grind anyway? I stepped onto the elevator. Arthur squeezed in right behind me, his chest heaving. “You think you can outsmart me?” he sneered as the doors closed. “I’m going to watch you buy that ticket. Let’s see how lucky you really are.”

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I was the quintessential trust-fund brat. A spoiled, high-society heir who used his family’s leverage to force the housekeeper’s daughter, Isla, into a marriage she didn’t want. For two years, I’d held her in a gilded cage. I controlled her every move. I barked orders like she was my employee rather than my wife. The breaking point came during another one of my petty tantrums. I was livid, my hand already raised, ready to deliver a sharp slap across her face because she’d bruised my fragile ego once again. But then, the world blurred. Transparent lines of text—vibrant, chaotic digital comments—suddenly began scrolling across my field of vision like a live stream chat. [Ugh, I seriously can’t stand this villainous side-character! What a pampered prick. Why hasn’t Isla filed for divorce yet? She needs to leave this loser and find her happy ending with our sweet, protective Male Lead.] [Let him keep acting out. This slap is the final nail in the coffin. It’s what makes her finally give up on him. Just wait—once his family goes bankrupt, she’s going to be the one to kick him while he’s down. She’ll steal the very contract that could have saved his father’s company.] [Does he even know? His family is literally weeks away from total ruin!] [Bankrupt, homeless, and alone. He ends up jumping off a bridge because he can’t handle being a nobody.] [Meanwhile, Isla’s tech startup goes public. She becomes a billionaire, leaving her ‘poor girl’ past behind to live happily ever after with Miles.] I froze. My hand stayed mid-air, inches from Isla’s cheek. My heart hammered against my ribs, not from rage, but from a cold, paralyzing dread. Isla looked at me, her expression unreadable. “Well?” she asked, her voice eerily calm. “Why did you stop?” 01 Earlier that afternoon, when Isla walked through the door carrying groceries, I had greeted her by shattering a crystal glass against the marble table. She paused, setting the bags down with a practiced grace that only fueled my irritation. She walked toward me, her voice soft and steady. “What’s wrong, Tristan?” I crossed my arms, my chin tilted at a haughty angle. “Why did you hire that man? You know exactly how I feel about him.” Isla looked genuinely confused. “Who?” The fire in my chest flared. She didn’t even remember? I had ranted about him for an hour last month. My pride couldn’t take the dismissal. I raised my hand, the familiar impulse to exert power through violence surging through me. And that’s when the text appeared. Me? A villainous side-character? My family… bankrupt? My father and sister in prison? My mother dying of a broken heart? And me… ending it all in the cold Atlantic? According to these ghostly voices, Isla was destined to be with Miles Whitaker—the “sweet” new hire she’d just brought into her firm. I had been staring at her for too long, my hand trembling. Isla reached out, her fingers closing around my wrist. Her touch was cool, grounding. “Why aren’t you hitting me?” she asked again. I forced a dry, jagged laugh, pulling my hand away and stuffing it into my pocket. “It’s your company,” I muttered, my voice tight. “Hire whoever the hell you want. I don’t care.” The text scrolled again: [Wait, why didn’t he hit her? Did the script glitch?] [Doesn’t matter. Isla’s already done with his toxic BS. Once she spends more time with Miles, she’ll realize what a real man looks like. Miles is a cinnamon roll; Tristan is a trash fire.] Isla’s brows knit together. She pulled out her phone and made a quick call. “Send me the updated list of every new hire from the past month. Now.” I sank into the velvet sofa, a wave of nausea washing over me. If those comments were right—if my family was truly on the edge of a precipice—I couldn’t afford to push Isla away. I couldn’t be the villain anymore. I watched her through the corner of my eye. She was on her knees, carefully picking up the shards of the glass I’d broken. Then she went to the utility closet for the mop. “The guy at the store said those were break-resistant,” I grumbled, my voice lacking its usual bite. “Clearly, he lied.” Isla paused, and for a second, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile on her lips. “If you needed to vent, I’m glad you got it out. Just don’t hurt yourself.” After she finished cleaning, she sat beside me. “The HR report is coming through. Can you just tell me who it is? I don’t handle the lower-level recruitment personally.” Under her steady, encouraging gaze, I finally cracked. “Miles. Miles Whitaker.” The comments surged: [LOL, does he think Isla is going to fire her soulmate?] [They have so much in common. They’re both self-made. They’re literally twin flames.] [Miles would never make her cook him ramen at 2 AM or expect her to wait on him hand and foot like this brat does.] 02 I felt the old temper rising, but I choked it back. It wasn’t fair. Isla did those things because she wanted to. Or at least, that’s what I’d told myself. Why was I the only one being dragged through the mud by these invisible judges? “Miles Whitaker? My old college roommate?” Isla’s brow furrowed. “I had no idea he was even in the building. I’ll look into it tomorrow and give you a full report after work. Is that okay?” I hesitated. “Fine. But I don’t want you seeing him.” Isla stood up, grabbing the groceries. “I wasn’t planning on it.” [Ugh, look at the villain trying to block their destiny.] [It’s fine. Fate always finds a way. He can’t stop the inevitable.] I tried to ignore them. That morning, I’d texted her a specific, demanding menu for dinner. Now, watching her move around the kitchen, I saw she’d bought every single ingredient. “Wait,” I said, watching her back. “You’ve had a long day at the office. Just… call the housekeeper. Let her do it.” Isla turned, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn’t quite name. “Are you… worried about me?” “I just don’t want a mediocre meal,” I lied, looking at my nails. “I’ll do it,” she said softly. “You’ve always said you prefer my cooking.” I watched her, a hollow feeling opening up in my chest. Did she really hate me? Was every act of kindness just a result of the pressure I’d put on her? The next day, I drove to my parents’ estate. Everything looked the same—the manicured lawns, the fleet of luxury cars. “Beatrice,” I said, catching my sister in the foyer. “Is the company okay? Be honest with me.” Her face paled for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure. “The company is fine, Tristan. Don’t go looking for drama where there isn’t any.” “We had a minor liquidity issue a few weeks ago,” my mother added, joining us. “But it’s handled. Don’t listen to the rumors at the club. You and Isla just focus on your marriage.” A lump formed in my throat. I had been spoiled my entire life. My parents always bought me two of everything—two watches, two cars—just so I’d never have to choose. They told me I was born for a life of luxury. Now, they were shielding me from the wreckage of our own empire. At noon, Isla sent a text: [You didn’t send a menu today. What are you in the mood for tonight?] I replied: [Eating out. Don’t wait up.] When she got home that evening, she handed me a folder. It was a list of every person involved in hiring Miles Whitaker. “I really didn’t know,” she said. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll let him go tomorrow with a three-month severance package.” [Wait, what? She’s actually going to fire him?] [The plot is diverging! But wait—they already met today in the lobby cafe. It’s too late. The spark is already there.] [Maybe she’s just playing Tristan? Keep the villain calm while she plans her escape?] I looked at the text, then at my wife. I felt a strange sense of resignation. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t fire him. It was a long time ago. I… I’m sorry for the way I acted yesterday. I overreacted.” Isla stared at me, her gaze searching, almost intense. “Are you sure? Tristan, is something going on? You’re not yourself.” “I’m fine,” I snapped, then immediately softened my tone. “Really. I’m fine.” If I couldn’t stop them from meeting, maybe I could just… stop being the bad guy. Maybe if I stopped being the villain, she wouldn’t want to destroy me when the time came. I started auditing my life. I cancelled the orders for the limited-edition sneakers and the custom watch I’d been obsessing over. It hurt—I’d waited months for that watch—but I needed to liquidiate what I could. I spent my afternoon at the high-end gaming lounge I owned. I usually left the management to others, but today, I actually looked at the books. They were a mess. Isla texted again about dinner. I replied: [I gave the menu to the cook. Take the night off.] There were three dots on the screen for a long time. Then: [Is my cooking not good enough anymore? Tell me what I did wrong. I can fix it.] My head throbbed. I typed back: [No, it’s not that. You work hard. You should rest.] Again, the three dots lingered. [I told you, I’m not tired.] I didn’t reply. When I got home, I found a stack of gourmet cookbooks on the coffee table. I just stared at them, confused. Before bed, Isla came to give me my “goodnight kiss.” It was a rule I’d established on our wedding night—a mandatory show of affection. She’d never missed a single night in two years. The comments flared up again: [Ugh, gross! When is this creep going to get out of the picture?] [Isla, don’t kiss him! Save it for Miles!] As she leaned in, I instinctively turned my head. Her lips brushed my cheek instead. She froze. She reached out, her hand cupping my jaw, her eyes burning with a strange fire. She didn’t let go. She leaned in again and kissed me properly—not the polite, dutiful kiss of the last two years, but something hungrier, almost desperate. I tried to pull away, but she held me there. I ended up cursing at her, breathless. She just kissed my forehead, whispered an apology, and then… she didn’t stop. 03 A few days later was Isla’s mother’s birthday. Usually, I’d make a scene about having to go to “the suburbs,” or I’d show up and act like a pampered prince. This time, I stayed home. I sent a massive bouquet and a luxury gift basket via courier. The comments were buzzing. [Here we go! This is the big night. This is when Isla realizes Miles is the one.] [Miles grew up in the same neighborhood! He’s going over there to celebrate with Isla’s mom right now!] I shut my eyes, trying to drown it out. Isla called me just as I was drifting off. “Are you busy this afternoon?” she asked. I swallowed the urge to snap at her for waking me. “Yeah. Caught up with something.” There was a long silence on her end. “Okay,” she said. “I understand.” By 5 PM, I couldn’t take it anymore. I drove out to her mother’s neighborhood, parking my car a block away. At 6 PM, I saw them. Isla and Miles, walking toward her mother’s house together. Miles was carrying a birthday cake. I sat in my car, my eyes stinging. What did I do that was so wrong? Okay, I was arrogant. I was spoiled. I forced her into a marriage contract. But I wasn’t evil. I had been obsessed with her since we were kids. Was her entire persona—the patience, the sweetness—just a mask? Was she just waiting for the moment my family went under so she could finally be with the guy who “actually understood her”? If I gave her a divorce now… if I let her go… maybe she’d show my family mercy. I remembered the first time I saw her. Her mother, Mrs. Henderson, had been our live-in housekeeper. Isla was this skinny, quiet girl who lived in the attic room of our estate. She looked like she’d never had a square meal in her life. On my eighth birthday, my parents threw me a massive party. I was in a miniature tuxedo, surrounded by kids from the best families. I went into the kitchen for a drink and heard Mrs. Henderson talking to Isla in the pantry. “I’m so sorry, baby,” her mom whispered. “I couldn’t get away to buy the cake I promised. I’ll make you some special birthday noodles tonight instead.” Little Isla just nodded, her eyes downcast. “It’s okay, Mom. I know you work hard.” I didn’t say anything. I just went back to the party, cut a massive slice of my five-tier chocolate cake, and brought it to the pantry. Isla looked at the plate, her jaw set. “I don’t need your charity.” I blinked, genuinely confused. “It’s not charity. I just wanted to say Happy Birthday.” She softened then, taking the plate. “Thank you,” she whispered. I grinned at her. “We’re birthday twins. We have to look out for each other.” She actually smiled—a rare, beautiful thing. “Happy Birthday, Tristan.” I don’t know when the “like” turned into an obsession. We didn’t talk much over the years, just that annual “Happy Birthday” exchange. Maybe it was the way she grew into her beauty, or the way she always stood her ground. When we were twelve, a minor earthquake trapped us in the basement of the school for three hours. She kept me awake. She kept talking to me, even when I was terrified. She pulled a crumpled Hershey bar from her pocket—the last one she had—and tried to give it to me. “I don’t want it,” I told her. “Take it,” she insisted. “You gave me a whole box of these for my birthday. I know you like them.” “I gave them to you because they were yours,” I argued. “I’d give it to you even if someone else had given it to me,” she said. “Why?” “Because… I don’t want anything to happen to you.” I didn’t have the strength to laugh then. “Idiot. We can just split it.” We survived. 04 As we got older, Isla became the most striking girl in the room, even in her faded thrift-store dresses. She was always top of the class. When the other rich girls tried to frame her for shoplifting out of spite, I was the one who cleared her name. In eleventh grade, I finally asked her out. I was so sure of myself. She said no. “I need to focus on my future, Tristan. Not on being your trophy.” I cried for three days. I was the catch of the century! We had the same birthday! We were meant to be. After graduation, I tried again. “School’s over,” I said, trying to look cool. “Can we be together now?” She looked at me with a complicated, deep sorrow. “No. I don’t love you.” That was the day I vowed to stop loving her. I spent four years in college trying to find someone else, but they were all shallow imitations of her. During our senior year, my mom told me Isla’s mother had quit. Her father—a man who had been missing for a decade—had crawled back out of the woodwork with millions in gambling debts. He’d vanished again, leaving Isla and her mother to face the debt collectors. I found Isla. I put on my best “arrogant billionaire” act. “I’ll pay off the debt,” I told her. “But you have to marry me.” I would have paid it anyway. I just wanted a reason to keep her close. To my shock, she nodded. We got married. And for two years, she was perfect. Submissive, kind, patient. I thought we were happy. I thought she’d finally learned to love me. But the comments said I was just the villain in her story. And villains always lose. 05 I was at a club with some old friends, nursing a drink, when Isla called. The music was deafening. I almost ignored it, but then I remembered my new “not-a-villain” resolution. I walked to a quiet hallway to answer. “Where are you?” Her voice was low, strained. “I’ll come pick you up.” “I’m fine. I’ll take an Uber.” I hesitated. “Did you finish the birthday dinner with your mom?” “Yes. She missed you. We should go see her together soon, okay?” The comments scrolled: [Wait, she went home that early? She was supposed to stay and walk by the lake with Miles! They were supposed to look at the stars!] [Something is wrong. This isn’t how it goes.] [Chill out, guys. It’s just because Tristan hasn’t been acting like a jerk lately. She’s probably just confused. She’ll see Miles at the office tomorrow.] I hung up. We’re getting a divorce anyway. You can go see Miles then. When I got home at midnight, Isla was sitting on the sofa in the dark. She stood up, steadying me as I stumbled through the door. “You told me you had work,” she said, her voice sharp with accusation. “Is ‘work’ just getting wasted?” The alcohol gave me a surge of misplaced courage. “Am I not allowed to have a drink? Am I a prisoner now?” She flinched, her grip on my arm tightening. She led me to the sofa and went to the kitchen, returning with a glass of honey water. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice softening. “I didn’t mean to snap. You don’t owe me an explanation for the birthday. But Tristan… please. Talk to me. Why are you so miserable lately?” I shook my head, my eyes closing. “I’m not miserable. I’m just… done.” 06 I woke up the next morning with a skull-shattering headache. I thought it was just the hangover, but by noon, my skin was burning. I had a fever. There was a note on the nightstand from Isla: [Important client meeting today. There’s soup and breakfast in the kitchen. Call me if you need anything.] Normally, I would have called her immediately and demanded she come home to nurse me. Instead, I drove myself to a private clinic. Halfway through my IV drip, the comments started exploding.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “405502”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The most rebellious thing I had ever done in my twenty-four years of life was pack my trust fund into a duffel bag and elope with Brooks when his family’s empire collapsed. When the rest of Manhattan’s elite turned their backs on him, I was the only one who bet my life that Brooks would rise from the ashes. Three grueling years later, my gamble paid off. Brooks went from swinging a hammer on construction sites to becoming the most feared, ruthless new blood in New York real estate. And as his power grew, so did his indulgence of me. He spoiled me rotten. He let me be demanding, temperamental, and wildly uncompromising. No matter how much of a scene I caused, Brooks always wore the same patient, devastatingly fond smile. Everyone in our circle whispered the same thing: Bess Kensington traded three short years of poverty for the perfect, doting golden retriever of a husband. Until the florist appeared. It started on our anniversary. I caught her delivering a custom bouquet to our penthouse—a blatant, inappropriate overstep—and I retaliated by having my people completely trash her little flower shop. I expected Brooks to come home, wrap his arms around me, and coax me out of my bad mood like he always did. Except, this time, he didn’t. 1 Instead, his phone went straight to voicemail. He vanished into the city, leaving me to watch as paparazzi photos of him looking intimately close with the florist trended on every gossip site. The media circus descended on our Tribeca penthouse, swarming the gates with blinding camera flashes. It took every ounce of my leverage to slip past the blockade. I was a mess—hair windblown, coat hastily thrown on—but I was practically vibrating with rage as I marched toward the address my assistant had just texted me. I was ready to tear Brooks apart. But just as I raised my hand to push open the heavy oak door of the private VIP lounge, the muffled sound of laughter stopped me dead in my tracks. “Come on, Brooks, aren’t you going to head back and grovel?” a male voice sneered. “Aren’t you terrified the Mrs. is going to burn down half of Manhattan again?” “Seriously, man,” another chimed in. “Smashing cars, torching properties, and last time she literally pointed a finger in your face in front of the press and accused you of having a fetish for cheap knockoffs…” The voice abruptly cut off, realizing he’d crossed a line. The room fell into a suffocating silence. Then, the heavy thud of a whiskey glass hitting the mahogany table echoed through the door, shattering the quiet. Brooks let out a low, dark chuckle. His voice dripped with a terrifying, casual mockery. “Well, who could possibly be as noble and pure as the great Bess Kensington?” “She didn’t want a ring. She didn’t want a wedding. She put her own father in the hospital just to leave her Boston castle and squeeze into a shitty Brooklyn walk-up with a penniless loser like me.” My breath caught in my throat. “Paige noticed my migraines acting up and brought me a bundle of lavender to calm my nerves. For that, Bess goes on a warpath and calls Paige a cheap knockoff. So what does that make Bess?” He paused, and the silence stretched tight enough to snap. “A desperate charity case who had to buy a husband?” The voice that had spent the last week whispering sweet, comforting things into my ear in the dark was now delivering the most lethal, agonizing blow I had ever felt. I froze, paralyzed in the dimly lit hallway. Inside, the temperature of the room seemed to plummet. After a long, painful beat, someone tried to nervously laugh it off. “Brooks, man, you’re just blowing off steam… Everyone knows Bess came to the city alone, used her trust fund to help you build your empire from the ground up. You guys are New York’s golden couple…” “I’m not blowing off steam.” I could picture his profile in the dim light, the cherry-red glow of his cigarette illuminating the sheer exhaustion in his eyes. “I’m just tired.” “Because of that two million dollars she gave me, I dated her for three years, married her for four. I have loved her for seven years, and I have catered to her tantrums for seven years.” “Every time we fight, no matter who is right or wrong, I’m the one who has to swallow my pride and beg for forgiveness.” “She gets jealous because a partner’s daughter looks at me too long at a gala, and I have to instantly terminate a hundred-million-dollar contract, eating the penalty fees.” “She wants a specific pastry from a bakery in Brooklyn at two in the morning, and I drive through a torrential downpour to get it, even though I haven’t slept in three days…” I heard him take a long, deep drag of his cigarette. When he exhaled, his words were ice. “I’m human. I get exhausted.” He shifted, his voice softening into something unrecognizable. “The day I collapsed from exhaustion on the street… Paige was the one who got me to the hospital. She stayed by my bed for two days and two nights, barely sleeping, just massaging my temples to keep the pain away.” “At home, I am always the caretaker. I am always the one serving. But with Paige… for the first time in a long time, I actually felt the warmth of a home. I felt like I could finally breathe.” Those quiet, simple words slammed into my chest like a wrecking ball, shattering my heart into dust. I couldn’t hear whatever was said next. The roaring in my ears drowned it all out. Winter in New York had never felt this brutal. It wasn’t until I stumbled back into the dark, empty penthouse like a ghost that I realized my hands and feet were entirely numb from the cold. I didn’t turn on the lights. In the shadows, I just stood there, staring at the things that were supposed to be the indisputable proof of our epic love story. The framed photos of our multi-million-dollar wedding that had broken magazine records. The staggering, museum-quality diamonds on my vanity. The antique lovers’ lock we had flown to Paris to attach to a bridge, him kneeling on the cobblestones… The very first thing Brooks did when he finally made his billions was pour it all over me, trying to repay everything he felt he owed me, a thousand times over. Even I, a girl raised in old-money Boston, thought it was too much. But back then, Brooks had just kissed my lips, his eyes full of fierce devotion. “Bess, you suffered so much for me. I will never, ever feel like I’ve given you enough. Do you understand?” “I’m going to spoil you until you’re even more of a princess than when I met you. If you get jealous, scream at me. If you’re mad, throw a tantrum. With me, you can be entirely, selfishly yourself. Because I will always coax you back. I will always be on your side. Understood?” I could still feel the phantom warmth of that moment. So, for four years of marriage, I leaned on that promise. I leaned on “I will always be on your side.” Like any girl who believes she is unconditionally loved, I made demands. I threw my little fits. I never imagined that four years later… Brooks would tell a room full of people that he was tired. That he had found the warmth of “home” in another woman. And that, to defend Paige, he would reduce my sacrifice to a joke. “What does that make her? A desperate charity case who had to buy a husband?” When the Boston elites sneered those exact words at me years ago, it hadn’t hurt at all. But hearing them from Brooks’s mouth felt like someone was physically tearing my chest open. Seven years of profound, earth-shattering love, rotting away overnight. Fine. If that was how he felt, I would set him free. The lump in my throat finally dissolved into a hollow ache. I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. My voice was eerily light. “Have the lawyers draft divorce papers. And book me a flight.” “Next month. I’m going back to Boston.” 2 Hanging up the phone felt like severing the last vital artery keeping me alive. I didn’t sleep a single second that night. My assistant worked fast. The divorce papers were in my hands by the next morning. Per her usual routine, she began reading off Brooks’s itinerary: “Mr. Solomon signed the lease on a premium retail space in Soho for Ms. Paige, as compensation for her ruined flower shop.” “He also moved her family into a private estate in the Hamptons, and wired them three hundred thousand dollars for living expenses.” She hesitated, glancing nervously at my face. “The trending topics on Twitter… we can’t get them taken down. The media is running wild with the narrative that…” “That Mr. Solomon treats this Ms. Paige… differently.” My hand trembled involuntarily, the tip of my Montblanc pen leaving an ugly, bleeding ink stain on the pristine divorce agreement. …We couldn’t get them taken down? Once, a tabloid had printed a mild, unverified rumor about me. Brooks had it scrubbed from the internet in three minutes. The owner of that publication was currently facing federal charges. But now, my name was being dragged through the mud, branded a “hysterical, jealous shrew” for three days straight, and nothing was being done. I knew exactly whose tacit permission allowed it. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, pressing down on my lungs until I couldn’t breathe. “I understand,” I said. My nails dug into my palms until the pain grounded me, keeping my face perfectly composed. “You don’t need to report on them anymore.” My assistant blinked in surprise, then quietly nodded. When the room fell silent again, I sat alone in my chair for a very long time. Finally, I stood up and ordered a car to the address of Paige’s new flower shop. Today was her grand opening. The storefront was dripping in lavish floral installations, the sidewalk bustling with high-end clientele. Compared to the tiny, run-down shack I had destroyed, this place was a palace. Through the crowd, I spotted Brooks immediately. The man who had been giving me the silent treatment for days was standing beside Paige, his face thoroughly relaxed, looking at her with a gentle affection. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Paige looked up at him with eyes full of utter devotion. She was just about to loop her arm through his when she spotted me walking toward them. There wasn’t a flicker of guilt in her eyes. Instead, she played the perfectly understanding angel, tugging gently at Brooks’s sleeve. “Brooks, Bess is here. You should go home with her. I can handle things here.” Then, she stepped behind the counter, pulled out a massive, expensive bouquet of fresh red Juliet roses, and offered them to me. “Bess, I’m so sorry. I was so thoughtless last time, forgetting to send an arrangement to you as well. It’s my fault you misunderstood.” “I made this one specially for you. Please, don’t be mad at Brooks anymore.” Her eyes were wide, clear, and brimming with the resilient, scrappy innocence of a girl from the bottom pulling herself up. It was the perfect performance. It made me look like the cruel, unhinged villain. I looked down at the flowers with dead eyes, then casually tossed the entire bouquet into the nearby trash can. “Sorry. I don’t like cheap things.” Before the words fully left my mouth, my wrist was seized in a brutal grip. “Bess,” Brooks hissed, his voice dropping low, practically vibrating with exhaustion. “Today is important to Paige. Can you please stop throwing a tantrum for one second?” A bitter taste flooded my mouth. I gritted my teeth, forced a smile, and shoved the legal folder into his chest. “Sure. Sign this, and I’ll leave right now.” Brooks frowned, looking down at the document. “Bess, what game are you playing now?” “No game.” I paused. “Every time we fight, don’t you always buy me a gift to coax me back?” “This time, I want this.” “Sign it, and I’ll never throw a tantrum again.” My voice was dead calm. A flicker of genuine shock crossed Brooks’s eyes. But before he could open his mouth, chaos erupted outside the glass doors. Paparazzi, tipped off by God knows who, swarmed the entrance, pressing against the glass. Paige was jostled by the crowd, letting out a frightened gasp. Brooks’s attention snapped away from me instantly. Without even looking at what he was signing, he scrawled his name on the paper, threw it back at my chest, and lunged forward to pull Paige into the protective shelter of his arms. “Security!” he roared. He was so panicked, so hyper-focused on her, that he didn’t even notice I had been swallowed by the same aggressive mob of reporters. The camera flashes were blinding. In the suffocating crush of bodies, someone shoved me hard from behind. I lost my footing and slammed violently onto the pavement. A sharp, agonizing pain shot up my spine. Instinctively, I cried out. “Brooks—” But my voice was swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Because right in front of my eyes, Brooks was carefully shielding Paige as he guided her into the back of his waiting Maybach. He shut the door without ever looking back. The car sped away, not hesitating for a single second. 3 Brooks left me behind. Four years ago, on our wedding day, he had looked me in the eye and solemnly vowed: “Bess, as long as I am breathing, I will never let you suffer a single indignity.” “With me, you will always be first.” Four years. That was all it took for his forever to expire. A wave of crushing, acidic grief finally caught up to me. Biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, I forced myself to stand up despite the searing pain in my back. Ignoring the relentless, shouting reporters, I practically fled the scene. When I finally made it back to the penthouse, the tears broke free. I sat in the dark living room for hours, numb, until the sound of the front door unlocking broke the silence. Brooks walked in. He spotted me curled up on the sofa, and then his eyes snagged on the blood seeping through the back of my blouse. His brow furrowed in instant alarm. “Bess, what happened to your back?” He crossed the room in three massive strides, turning his fury on the maids hovering in the hallway. “My wife is bleeding and none of you thought to call me?! Get the first aid kit, now!” He turned back to me, his eyes swimming with what looked like genuine heartbreak. “Did you fall outside the shop? Why didn’t you call out for me—” “I did call out for you. Did you hear me?” My voice was completely hollow. Brooks froze. A flash of guilt and panic bled into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bess. It was chaos, I… I guess I didn’t hear you…” He rubbed his temples, his voice dropping into a low, placating murmur. “I’ll have the PR team kill all the photos from today. Bess… let’s just turn the page on this fight. Please.” “Arthur invited us to dinner tomorrow night. Probably to discuss renewing the development contract. I had a few dresses sent up for you. Go pick one out, okay?” He waved a hand, and the staff immediately carried in several velvet garment bags from Oscar de la Renta and Dior. I stared at the pristine, luxurious fabrics for a long, long time. And then, for the first time in our entire relationship, I didn’t argue. I didn’t yell. I just quietly said, “Okay.” Arthur was an old friend of my parents in Boston. When I was cut off, he had quietly looked out for me in New York. There were a few things I needed to tell him anyway. The dinner was held in the private dining room of a five-star hotel. For the first hour, the atmosphere was perfectly pleasant. Brooks played the part beautifully, constantly refilling my wine, offering me the best cuts of meat—anyone looking would think he was the husband of the year. But halfway through the meal, his phone began vibrating frantically. Brooks answered it. I didn’t know what the person on the other end said, but the color completely drained from his face. He muttered a quick, tense “Excuse me,” and practically sprinted out of the room. I didn’t even turn to watch him go. I gently placed my silverware down, looked across the table, and met Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur, when the contract with Solomon Enterprises expires next month, you don’t need to renew it.” “Brooks and I are getting a divorce. Next month… I’m moving back to Boston.” A heavy, stunned silence fell over the private room. It took Arthur a long minute to finally ask, his voice thick with caution, “Are you sure?” When I nodded, he let out a massive sigh. But the look in his eyes wasn’t pity—it was profound relief. “Bess, thank God. You’ve finally woken up.” “The only reason I handed him that flagship development project years ago was because I couldn’t bear to see you living in squalor. I wanted to give him a ladder. If it weren’t for you pulling strings in the background, you think he’d be sitting at the top of Manhattan in three years?” “If you go back to Boston, your parents will be overjoyed.” Thinking of my father, my nose stung. When I eloped, my father’s blood pressure spiked so high he was hospitalized. He had refused to see me ever since. When I went back, I would get on my knees and beg for his forgiveness. Arthur had another engagement and had to leave early. I had just walked him to the elevators when the hotel manager suddenly rushed up to me. He looked like he was about to cry. “Mrs. Solomon! Thank God! Your husband is in the lobby beating a man to death and security can’t pull him off! You have to come!” My stomach dropped. I immediately followed him down to the ground floor. A massive crowd had already formed in the grand lobby. Following their terrified gazes, I saw Brooks in the center of the marble floor. He was in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit, but his movements were feral, terrifyingly violent. He had a man pinned against the decorative pillar, his fist coming down in brutal, merciless arcs. The only other time in his life Brooks had ever resorted to violence was four years ago, when a drunk investor cornered me and tried to grope me at a gala. But even then, Brooks had only hit the man a few times to send a message. Right now, he looked like he was genuinely trying to kill someone. My hands balled into fists. I rushed forward, trying to grab his arm. “Brooks, stop! You’re going to kill him—” The next second, my arm was violently shoved away. The force was so brutal I lost my footing entirely. I flew backward, my spine slamming hard into the marble wall. My unhealed scrapes from the pavement flared into blinding, white-hot agony. My vision went black for a second. But before I could even catch my breath, a slender figure sprinted past me. She threw herself onto the enraged man, her voice trembling in desperate, sobbing pleas. “Brooks, please, that’s enough! He just touched me a few times… you’ve already defended me, please, stop!” 4 Paige’s voice was wet with tears, her eyes wide and terrified. It was like a spell was broken. Brooks instantly snapped out of his blind rage. He dropped the bloody man, turned, and pulled Paige fiercely into his chest, raising a gentle hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Don’t be afraid.” I leaned against the wall, trying to stay upright, feeling pathetic and utterly humiliated. The sight of them clinging to each other felt like a physical slap to the face. Just then, Brooks’s head of security pushed through the crowd. He marched straight up to Brooks. “Sir. We found out what happened.” “The client who hired Ms. Paige to deliver flowers to this specific hotel room… was your wife.” In a fraction of a second, the tender relief in Brooks’s eyes warped into pure, unfiltered disgust and rage. He lunged toward me, his hand locking around my wrist like a vice. “Bess, how could you be so vile?!” “Four years ago, you were assaulted at a party by this exact man! And you purposely hired Paige to deliver flowers to his room?! What is the difference between that and feeding her to the wolves?! If I hadn’t gotten here in time, do you have any idea what he would have done to her?!” “Apologize to her!” The pain radiating from my wrist was agonizing. The sudden, psychotic accusation hit me so hard my brain short-circuited. But survival instinct kicked in, and I violently yanked my arm out of his grasp. “I didn’t order any flowers! I have no idea what you’re talking about! Why the hell would I apologize?!” Brooks had spent the last four years treating me like I was made of spun glass. He had never, not once, raised his voice at me. But now, he was screaming at me in the middle of a crowded hotel lobby, crucifying me for a crime I didn’t commit. My eyes burned with a terrifying heat. I raised my chin, projecting my voice to hide the fact that my heart was bleeding out on the marble floor. “If I wanted to destroy her, I wouldn’t use some cowardly, backdoor setup! Don’t you dare slander me! Bring out the person who placed the order and let’s see the proof!” The tension in the lobby was suffocating. No one dared to breathe. The silence was broken by the sound of Paige’s knees hitting the marble floor. She collapsed, tears streaming down her face, looking up at me with absolute submission. “Bess, I’m so sorry… it’s my fault, I didn’t read the delivery slip carefully. It’s not your fault, you don’t have to apologize. I just beg you, please don’t fight with Brooks over me anymore…” “Brooks’s knuckles are bleeding. Please, just let me take him to the hospital…” Every ounce of murderous tension in Brooks’s body melted away at her words. He reached down and gently pulled Paige up, looking at her with a mix of profound heartbreak and… peace. “Paige, after everything that just happened to you, how are you still only thinking about me?” He let out a heavy, disappointed sigh and turned back to me. His eyes were dead. “You’re right. It’s not your fault, Bess.” “It’s my fault. I spoiled you until you became a monster.” “If you won’t say the words, then get down on your knees and show Paige you’re sorry. Do that, and we can forget this ever happened.” For a second, all the sound in the world rushed out of my ears. I stared at him, my lips barely moving. “…You want me to get on my knees?” I was Bess Kensington. People spent their entire lives trying to get into the same room as me. And he wanted me to kneel on a public floor for his mistress? I turned on my heel to walk away. But before I could take a step, two of Brooks’s massive security guards grabbed my shoulders and forced me violently to the floor. My knees slammed into the marble. The movement ripped my back wound open again, and a choked, pathetic gasp of pain escaped my lips. Brooks didn’t even flinch. His voice was completely detached. “Keep her down. She’s going to bow her head to Paige three times. Gently, though. My wife hates pain.” “Brooks!” I screamed, my voice shaking with raw terror and fury, looking up at him from the floor. “I told you I didn’t do it! Are you really going to humiliate me like this for her?!” But Brooks just turned his head away, letting his guards physically force my head down toward the floor. One. Two. Three. It didn’t hurt. But it felt like my spine, my pride, my very soul was being snapped in half. The tiny, fleeting smirk that crossed Paige’s lips before she hid her face in Brooks’s chest was the knife twisting in the wound. When it was over, Brooks reached down and pulled my violently trembling body off the floor. He raised a thumb to wipe away the tear that had escaped my eye. “Bess, Paige was almost assaulted, and all I asked you to do was apologize. Why are you crying?” I slapped his hand away. Without a single word, I turned and walked out the door. The stares of the onlookers felt like battery acid on my skin. I didn’t take a full breath until I was locked inside the penthouse. A second later, my phone lit up with texts from an unknown number. The tone was polite, dripping with fake pity and undisguised triumph. [Bess, honestly, it’s pathetic watching you try to hold onto a marriage like this.] [A powerful man doesn’t want a hysterical princess he constantly has to coddle. He wants a safe harbor. Someone who gives him peace.] [You and Brooks just aren’t a good fit.] The texts were followed by a photo. It was Paige, leaning over the console of his Maybach, carefully cleaning the blood off Brooks’s knuckles. Brooks was looking down at her. His eyes were soft, completely unguarded, filled with a deep sense of… belonging. It was a look I had never, ever seen him give me. The gaping hole in my chest finally went cold. The freezing wind blew straight through me. If this were yesterday, I would have fired back a text that would make her bleed. But tonight, I just blocked the number. Then, I went into the bedroom and pulled down my suitcases. I started packing. I boxed up my life and scheduled the shipments. I watched as the penthouse, once so warm and full of our history, slowly turned into a sterile, echoing museum. I took a hammer to the massive custom wedding portrait that hung in the foyer, shattered the glass, and threw it in the dumpster. The piece of my heart that belonged to Brooks was finally, permanently, empty. A few days later, my assistant rushed into the apartment, her face pale with panic. 5 “Bess,” she stammered, her hands shaking. “I was running the audits for the quarter, and I found a massive anomaly in your personal accounts…” “The private trust fund your grandfather left you… a massive sum was withdrawn a few days ago. It was wired directly into Paige’s bank account. The authorized signer was… Mr. Solomon.” “We tried to claw it back, but the money has already been spent. Here are the statements…” It felt like a bomb went off inside my skull. The ringing was so loud I couldn’t move. That trust fund was the very last gift my grandfather ever gave me before he died. He was terrified that I would be left destitute if my rebellion failed, so he set that money aside, legally ironclad, to ensure I would never go hungry. How dared Brooks touch that money?! I snatched the bank statements from her hands, my eyes flying down the itemized list, my breathing turning shallow and ragged. My hands were shaking so hard the paper rattled. The ledger was meticulously detailed. Paige had used my grandfather’s money to buy two luxury condos for her parents. She bought them first-class tickets to Europe. And interspersed between the massive wire transfers… were charges from a pharmacy. For several boxes of premium condoms. The timestamps were from exactly one week ago. The exact same night I was forced onto my knees to beg for her forgiveness. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they had done. While I was lying awake in the dark, stripped of my dignity and sobbing until I couldn’t breathe, Brooks had raided my dead grandfather’s money to set up his mistress, and then fucked her in a hotel bed. A wave of nausea so violent it blurred my vision seized me. I sprinted to the powder room and threw up until I was dry-heaving over the marble toilet. My assistant was crying now, pulling out her phone to call a doctor, but I grabbed her wrist. “Don’t…” I gasped, my voice unrecognizable, laced with a venom I didn’t know I possessed. “Call the lawyers. Draft the lawsuit. Every single penny of that money is coming back to me. If she spent it, we seize the properties. Leave them with nothing.” I would rather burn the city down than let Paige keep a single cent of my grandfather’s legacy. My assistant nodded vigorously and ran out to make the calls. I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against the cool marble wall until the violent shaking in my limbs finally stopped. When I opened my eyes, they were perfectly clear. I was flying back to Boston in a few days. I had too much to do. I couldn’t let my schedule be derailed by this filth. The next afternoon, I drove myself to Bergdorf Goodman. I needed to pick out a few placatory gifts for my parents. The boutique managers fawned over me, offering champagne and private suites. By the time I selected a few vintage watches and a Birkin, my mood had marginally improved. Just as I handed the associate my card, my phone rang. It was Brooks. “Bess!” His voice was a whip-crack of pure, unadulterated fury. The polite, exhausted mask was completely gone. “You filed a lawsuit against Paige?! You’re demanding ten times the damages?!” “Your debt collectors smashed her new shop to pieces and poured red paint all over her parents’ front door! Paige is missing! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Listening to him scream, I felt a strange, chilling sense of peace. In fact, a dark spike of pleasure shot through me. “Brooks, what exactly is the problem with me legally recovering my stolen property? Frankly, I’m disgusted she even touched the money my grandfather left me.” “Bess, you are completely out of your mind.” Brooks’s voice turned deadly cold. “Paige was severely traumatized because you set her up at that hotel. I transferred that money to her as compensation on your behalf—” “Compensation?” I let out a sharp, genuine laugh. My nails bit into my palms. “What gives you the right to use my money to compensate your whore? Brooks, I must have been blind to ever look at you.” “If it wasn’t for my two million dollars, you’d be dead in a gutter somewhere! You and that pathetic little charity case are made for each other!” “Sign the divorce papers! I’m leaving you both to rot together!” The words hung in the air. On the other end of the line, there was absolute, dead silence. I could hear the hitch in Brooks’s breathing. “…Bess, are you using the D-word to threaten me again?” A dark, bitter laugh escaped him. “Fine. Bess, you crossed the line this time. I am done going soft on you.” The line went dead. A few minutes later, the boutique manager returned. She looked terrified, holding my platinum card as if it were radioactive. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Solomon, but… all of your accounts have been frozen. The card declined.” “The total is four point eight million. How… how would you like to proceed?” …My cards were frozen? I instantly knew what he had done. I gritted my teeth and dialed Brooks’s number. Once. Twice. Three times… Nineteen calls in total. Not a single one connected. As the ringing echoed in the quiet VIP suite, the obsequious smile on the manager’s face slowly melted away. By the time the final call went to voicemail, her expression had turned to ice. “Ma’am, the items have already been custom-wrapped and cannot be restocked. If you are unable to provide payment, I have no choice but to contact the authorities for attempted fraud.” 6 I was taken away in the back of an NYPD cruiser. I fought, I screamed, I threatened to sue every single officer in the precinct. It wasn’t until the arresting officer in the passenger seat turned around and looked at me with dead eyes that I stopped. “Mrs. Solomon, we already contacted your husband.” “He informed us that everything you have to your name was provided by him. And since you are so insistent on a divorce, he wants you to see exactly what happens to you…” “When you leave him.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, completely extinguishing the fire in my lungs. Brooks knew I had been arrested. He had orchestrated it. …Because I dared to take back the money he stole for his mistress, he froze me out and let me be thrown into a holding cell. A wave of despair, darker and deeper than anything I had ever known, dragged me under. My arms and legs felt like lead. I couldn’t move. I spent three days in lockup. It was hell on earth. A pampered, blue-blooded heiress in a designer coat sitting in a general population holding cell in Manhattan was a walking target. I was shoved, cornered, and beaten. The pathetic, stale meals they handed me were tossed into the filthy toilet by the other inmates while I watched, starving. After three days, my lawyers finally managed to post bail. I thought the nightmare was over. But the second I stepped out of the precinct doors, two massive men grabbed me, threw me into the back of a black SUV, and locked the doors. An hour later, I was dragged out and dumped into the dirt. I looked up. I was standing in the middle of a sprawling, magnificent field of red roses. I recognized the head of Brooks’s security detail standing over me. The dam finally broke. “What the hell does he want from me?!” I screamed, my voice cracking, tears of absolute panic and exhaustion blurring my vision. “Wasn’t three days of torture in a cell enough?!” I was trembling violently in the freezing wind. The security guard looked at me with zero pity. “Ma’am. Mr. Solomon says that since you are responsible for destroying Ms. Paige’s flower shop for the second time, you are to personally pick nine hundred and ninety-nine roses to send to her as an apology.” …He wanted me to pick nine hundred and ninety-nine roses? By myself? I stared at the guard, my ch

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It was Children’s Day, and for the first time, my wife, Camille, had actually agreed to help me pick up our daughter from school. Lucy had been begging for weeks, and Camille had finally relented, though she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. As the teacher led Lucy out, she caught Camille’s eye and paused, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “Oh, Lucy’s mom! You’re finally here for her,” the teacher said, her tone carrying a hint of casual judgment. “It’s funny—whenever you’re picking up your son, you’re here thirty minutes early, rain or shine. I was starting to wonder if Lucy was the middle child or something. You can’t let the boy have all the attention, you know?” The umbrella slipped from Camille’s hand. It hit the pavement with a dull thud, splashing muddy water all over my shins. I stood there, holding Lucy—who was shivering in my arms, her faded, second-hand school hoodie two sizes too small—and looked at my wife. My skin went cold. We only had one child. We only had Lucy. Who the hell was this son? Camille’s body went rigid. Her voice came out thin and trembling. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a son!” The teacher frowned, pointing toward the Pre-K classroom next door. “How could I be mistaken? Just this morning, you brought in a whole crate of luxury organic cherries for Parker’s class to share. You were wearing that same trench coat.” Camille’s face went a sickly shade of porcelain white. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin as she tried to shove me toward the car. “She’s confused, Dan. She’s got the wrong person. Let’s just go. Lucy needs to get home.” I reached out, my fingers steady as I tucked a stray, wet lock of hair behind her ear. My voice was a whisper. “What’s the rush?” I turned back to the bewildered teacher and forced a polite, jagged smile. “Actually, would you mind showing me the way?” I asked. “I’d love to see my wife’s other life. I want to see what a ‘perfect mother’ she is when I’m not around.” … The teacher led the way, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished linoleum floors. Camille stood frozen at the entrance. I didn’t wait for her. I adjusted Lucy in my arms; she felt so light, so fragile. Her sleeves were frayed at the cuffs, exposing her thin, pale wrists. She buried her face into the crook of my neck, her small frame still vibrating from the chill of the rain. “Come on, Camille,” I called back, my voice devoid of emotion. “Let’s go.” Camille wiped the rain from her face, her lips quivering. “Dan, please. This is a mistake. These teachers are overworked; they see hundreds of parents. She’s got me mixed up with some client’s wife or something.” She reached for my sleeve again, but I pivoted, stepping out of her reach. “Then let’s go clarify it,” I said. “Maybe your client’s kid is named Parker, too.” The teacher looked back at us, her brow furrowed. “Parker’s mom? He’s right in here. They’re just finishing their afternoon snack.” Camille swallowed hard. I could see the panic vibrating in her throat. She followed me, silent now, like a ghost haunting her own life. The hallway felt endless, lined with bright finger paintings and construction-paper suns. The teacher stopped at a glass-paned door and pointed. “There. That’s Parker.” I looked through the glass. The room was warm and brightly lit. A group of children sat around a circular table, dressed in clothes that looked like they belonged in a catalog. In the center sat a little boy in a sharp, navy blue blazer, his hair perfectly coiffed with styling gel. He was holding a cherry—the size of a golf ball, a deep, expensive crimson—and popping it into his mouth. Lucy shifted in my arms. “Daddy,” she whispered, her voice small and envious. “I want one too.” A sharp ache twisted in my chest. I rubbed her back gently. “Camille, those cherries… didn’t you say you bought those for a high-end client?” Camille stayed in the shadows of the hallway, refusing to step into the light of the classroom. “I did… maybe the client’s son goes here. It’s a common name.” Right then, the boy looked up. His eyes locked onto Camille through the glass. They lit up instantly. He scrambled off his chair, his little legs moving fast as he bolted toward the door. “Mommy!” The word was high, clear, and unmistakable. It sliced through the air like a razor. Camille froze. Inside the room, a young teacher looked over and smiled. “Oh, Parker’s mom is here to pick him up! Good timing.” The boy threw himself at Camille’s legs, wrapping his arms around her knees. “Mommy, you’re late! Uncle Jackson said you were taking us for pizza!” Camille instinctively tried to block the boy from my sight, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal. “It’s not… Dan, I can explain.” She tried to peel the boy off her, her movements frantic and clumsy. She pushed a little too hard, and the boy lost his balance, landing hard on his bottom. The silence of the hallway was shattered by his sudden, piercing wail. Camille reached down to help him, then yanked her hand back as if he were made of hot coals. From the far end of the hall, I heard the heavy thud of footsteps. A man in a tailored black blazer came charging toward us. He scooped the boy up, dusting off his expensive trousers with practiced, fatherly care. “What happened, buddy? You okay?” The man looked up. His face was groomed, handsome, and hauntingly familiar. It was Jackson. Camille’s “distant cousin.” The one who had moved to the city three years ago looking for work. The one we had helped out with “loans” that were never repaid. Jackson’s eyes landed on Camille, and his expression softened into something intimate. “Camille, why did you let him fall?” Then, his gaze shifted to me. His face went ashen. He clutched the boy tighter, a forced, tight smile appearing on his lips. “Dan… hey. I didn’t know you were coming today.” Lucy coughed—a wet, rattling sound. I held her closer, staring at the three of them. My wife in her designer coat, the man in his sharp suit, the boy in his miniature luxury wardrobe. And then there was me and my daughter, soaked to the bone, dressed in rags, looking like intruders in someone else’s perfect life. Camille started to babble, her voice rising in pitch. I didn’t let her finish. I turned on my heel and walked away. “We’re going home. Now.” The car heater was blasting, but the air felt like ice. Camille gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. The windshield wipers beat a rhythmic, agonizing tempo against the glass. Lucy was buckled into her seat in the back, wrapped in my damp jacket, her small body still shaking. Camille glanced in the rearview mirror, her brow knitting together in annoyance. “Can you tell her to keep her feet off the leather? This car is a nightmare to detail.” I ignored her, using a napkin to pat the moisture from Lucy’s hair. “She has a fever.” I touched Lucy’s forehead; it was burning. Camille sighed, an ugly, impatient sound. “Kids get wet, Dan. It’s a cold, not a tragedy. She’ll sleep it off.” “Parker didn’t look like he had to ‘sleep anything off,’” I said quietly. “Where’d he get that blazer, Camille? It looked custom.” Camille slammed on the brakes. The car jerked, and my head snapped forward, grazing the headrest. A chorus of horns erupted behind us. She hit the gas again, her words coming out in a frantic blur. “I told you, Jackson is a mess! He had a kid out of wedlock, the mother ran off, and I’ve been helping him. The kid is starved for affection. He calls every woman ‘Mommy.’ It’s a psychological thing. You’re going to get mad at a toddler?” “And the cherries?” “The client didn’t want them. I didn’t want them to go to waste, so I gave them to Jackson. You know we have a mortgage, Dan. We can’t afford to be eating fifty-dollar crates of fruit ourselves.” I looked out the window at the blurred streetlights. Lucy’s hoodie was so thin the fabric was almost translucent. Last month, I’d told Camille that Lucy had outgrown everything and needed a new wardrobe. Camille had told me: “She’s growing too fast, Dan. It’s a waste of money. My friend has a daughter a few years older; she’s giving us a bag of hand-me-downs. It’s fine.” So Lucy wore the hand-me-downs. While Parker wore tailored blazers and ate organic cherries. We pulled into the parking garage. Camille killed the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Look, stop the silent treatment. Jackson’s had it rough, and I’m just being a good person. I’ll make dinner tonight, okay? Your favorite. Let’s just move past this.” She reached into the back to touch Lucy. Lucy shrank away, pressing herself into the corner of the car seat. Camille’s hand hovered in the air, awkward and cold, before she pulled it back. “Fine. Be that way. She’s always been more yours than mine anyway.” Inside the house, Camille disappeared into the kitchen. I took Lucy to the living room and checked her temperature. 101.3. We were out of children’s Tylenol. I went into the home office, hoping to find the first-aid kit. Camille usually kept the office locked—”company secrets,” she said. But in her haste today, the door was slightly ajar. I started rummaging through the desk drawers. No medicine. But my fingers brushed against something hard and plastic. I pulled it out. It was a Disney World VIP Gold Pass. The photo on the back showed three people: Jackson, Parker, and a beaming Camille. They were leaning into each other, the Cinderella Castle sparkling behind them. Tucked behind the card was a receipt from the same trip. The date was last Saturday. Lucy’s birthday. Camille had told me she had an emergency project at the firm. Lucy had waited until midnight for her mother to come home, eventually falling asleep at the kitchen table next to a cold piece of toast. I looked at the itemized list on the receipt. Prince Charming Costume: $450. Custom Leather Shoes: $210. Luxury Seafood Buffet for 3: $380. Total: $2,140. My hands began to shake. That night, Camille had come home after 1:00 AM. She had brought a tiny, smashed cupcake she said she’d bought at a 7-Eleven. She had hugged me, looking exhausted, and whispered, “The firm is struggling, honey. Bonuses are frozen. We have to pinch every penny for Lucy’s future. We’ll celebrate her birthday properly when things get better.” And I had believed her. I had taken the extra coding freelance work I did at night and funneled every cent into her account, while I wore the same three t-shirts for four years. The office door swung open. Camille stood there, still wearing her apron, a spatula in her hand. Her face transformed when she saw what I was holding. “Who gave you permission to go through my things?” She lunged for the card and the receipt, nearly poking me in the eye with the spatula. She crumpled the paper into a ball and shoved the card into her pocket. “It was for work! The client’s kid wanted to go to Disney, and I had to host. It’s networking, Dan! It’s how the world works!” I looked at her, and for the first time, I didn’t see my wife. I saw a stranger. “Was Lucy’s birthday ‘networking,’ Camille?” “What was I supposed to do? If I don’t work, we don’t have a house! We don’t have anything!” she shrieked. “I wouldn’t have to work so hard if you weren’t such a failure!” From the living room, Lucy let out a violent, hacking cough. I didn’t argue. I didn’t yell. I just walked past her. Lucy’s face was flushed a deep, angry red. She was curled on the sofa, gasping for air. “Daddy… it hurts…” I scooped her up. “We’re going to the ER.” Camille followed me to the door. “The ER? Are you insane? Do you know what the co-pay is for an after-hours visit? Just give her some herbal tea and put her to bed. Hospitals are scams; they’ll charge us five hundred bucks for a bandage.” I ignored her, wrapping Lucy in a thick blanket. Camille blocked the door. “Dan, stop being so dramatic. A fever isn’t going to kill her. When I was a kid, I had a 104 fever and I just slept it off. Stop wasting our money.” “Get out of my way.” My voice was so cold it seemed to startle her. She stepped aside, muttering under her breath about how “soft” I was. She didn’t put on her shoes. She didn’t grab her keys. She wasn’t coming. I didn’t expect her to. I carried my forty-pound daughter down the stairs, out into the rain, and waited twenty minutes for an Uber. By the time we reached the hospital, I was soaked through. Lucy was delirious, whispering for her mother. My tears mixed with the rain. They tasted like salt and regret. At the hospital, the diagnosis was quick: acute pneumonia. She needed an IV and overnight observation. I ran back and forth—registration, pharmacy, blood work. When the nurse went to start the IV, Lucy sobbed, reaching out into the empty air. “Mommy… I want Mommy…” The nurse looked at me, her eyes filled with pity. “Where is the mother, dear?” I looked at the floor. “She’s dead.” By 3:00 AM, the fever had finally started to break. Lucy was asleep in the pediatric ward. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a bank alert. [Transaction Alert: $5,200.00 spent at Riverside Private Pediatric Hospital.] The account was in my name, but Camille had the secondary card. That was Lucy’s college fund. I called her immediately. It rang for a long time before she picked up. Her voice was a hushed whisper, the background quiet—the sound of a private hallway. “What? It’s the middle of the night.” “Where are you?” “At home, sleeping. Obviously.” “Then explain the five-thousand-dollar charge at the private hospital across town.” There was a pause. A long, heavy silence. “Oh… that. I… I bought a premium insurance rider for Lucy. You know, since she’s so ‘sick.’ It’s a smart investment.” “At a private hospital? At 3:00 in the morning?” Camille’s voice turned sharp and defensive. “Ugh, fine! Jackson’s kid got sick too. He didn’t have the deposit for the private wing, so I lent it to him. He’ll pay me back tomorrow. God, why are you so small-minded?” Click. The line went dead. Lent it to him? Jackson didn’t have a job. He hadn’t had a job in three years. I opened a burner Instagram account I’d made months ago to keep tabs on her “work” trips. I checked her “Close Friends” story. Posted five minutes ago: A photo of a small hand with an IV, but the room was a luxury suite with a view of the city skyline. The caption: [My brave little soldier. Mommy will never leave your side.]

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My husband told me he was a fugitive. He claimed he didn’t want to drag me down with him, so he was going to turn himself in. He told me to find a better man and move on. In my past life, my heart broke for him. I spent decades pinching pennies, living on scraps just to provide for our son and support him while he was behind bars. I waited until my hair turned white, only to see him strolling down the street, hand-in-hand with the “one who got away,” buying her vintage Hermès and Chanel like money was water. That was when I realized his “prison sentence” was nothing but a vanishing act to scrub me and our home from his life. I opened my eyes, and I was back. Back to the very day he sat me down to confess his life as a wanted man. This time, I didn’t cry. I called the police and handed over every scrap of real evidence I found in his desk. You love playing the convict so much? Fine. Let’s make it official. Let’s see how you like prison food for the rest of your life. 1. “Babe, I’m so sorry. We’ve been married all these years, and there’s something I’ve been keeping from you. I can’t live with the guilt anymore. It’s eating me alive.” Across the dinner table, Mark looked at me, his face a mask of practiced agony. My heart gave a violent skip. I looked around the room—the chipped paint on the crown molding, the smell of burnt pot roast—and realized I was back. I had been reborn into the exact moment he began his elaborate lie. Looking at his treacherous, handsome face, I felt a surge of pure nausea. Mark buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled by fake sobs. “I’m a criminal, Natalie. When I was eighteen, I was stupid. Desperate. I robbed a place… a man died because of me. He left behind a wife and a kid who had to survive on nothing. I need to atone for that blood on my hands.” He reached across the table, his fingers trembling as he gripped mine. “You’ll stand by me, won’t you? Please tell me you understand.” At the table, our son, Ben, and my mother-in-law, Diane, sat perfectly still. Not a single person looked shocked. Not a single person looked scared. I almost wanted to laugh. They all knew. The whole family was in on the joke, and I was the punchline. In my previous life, to help him “atone,” I spent every holiday groveling at the “victim’s” door, offering what little money I had—money meant for my own children’s future—to buy gifts for that family while I lived on stale bread and pickles. I didn’t find out until the day I died that the “victim” I was subsidizing was actually his high school sweetheart, and the “poor orphan” was his secret illegitimate son. The memory of their private messages—laughing about how “clueless and pathetic” I was for working myself to the bone for them—burned in my throat like acid. Diane suddenly clutched her chest, letting out a dramatic wail. “Oh, the shame! The shame! The Miller family has always been respectable! How could you do this, you foolish boy? A life on your hands? That’s it. I’m taking you to the station myself. We’re ending this tonight.” She stood up, hauling Mark by the arm as if she were dragging him to his execution. 2. Mark squeezed my hand one last time, his eyes brimming with performative depth. “I’m sorry, Natalie. It’s all on you now. Take care of Ben.” He turned to leave. My pulse hammered. I put on my best “shattered wife” face and cried out, “Mom, wait! Even if he did something wrong, he’s still your son!” I wiped a fake tear. “Let me take him. I have a friend who’s a high-profile defense attorney. Maybe we can find a way to get the charges reduced, or at least negotiate a plea.” I was lying through my teeth. I didn’t know a single lawyer. I just wanted to see them squirm. “No!” The rejection was instantaneous and synchronized. Both Mark and Diane barked the word at the same time. Diane cleared her throat, her expression shifting into a strained smile. “Natalie, honey, your back has been bothering you all day. The drive is long and stressful. We’ll handle the paperwork. Stay here with Ben.” I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. “Mom, you’re being so insistent. You’re making me think Mark is making this all up just to mess with me.” At the mention of “lying,” Ben looked down at his plate, refusing to meet my eyes. Diane’s face hardened into a scowl. “How can you say that? Your husband is trying to save his soul, and you’re accusing him of playing games? You’re just looking for an excuse to abandon him!” Mark looked wounded. “Natalie, I know raising Ben alone is a lot to ask, but why would I lie about something this horrific?” He took a deep breath, looking like a man ready to walk into a firing squad. “Natalie, after I’m gone… you should move on. Remarry. Leave Ben with my mother. I won’t have you shackled to a prisoner. I’ve already left the divorce papers on the desk.” “Daddy… don’t leave me!” Ben wailed, hugging Mark’s leg. It was a goddamn masterpiece. If I weren’t the one being fleeced, I would have given them a standing ovation. Oscar-worthy performances all around. I nodded slowly, pulling out my phone. “You’re right. It’s too much for Mom to handle. I’ll just call the police right now. They can come pick him up. It’ll save everyone a trip.” 3. Mark’s face went pale. He shot a frantic look at Diane. Diane jumped like she’d been prodded with a cattle prod. “Natalie’s right,” she stammered, pivoting wildly. “Wait—no. I mean, Natalie, you rest. I’ll take him to the victim’s house first to apologize. It’s the right thing to do before the sirens start.” They were desperate to keep me away. I nodded, pretending to be overcome with grief, and retreated into the bedroom. I needed time. The clock was ticking. I checked my bank app. My pre-marital savings—fifty thousand dollars—were still there. I immediately moved them to a private account he couldn’t touch. Then, I started tossing the room. One of our joint cards was missing. All our shared income, our “future” for Ben, was tied to that card. Gone. A cold dread settled in my stomach. I checked my jewelry box. My grandmother’s gold bracelet, my designer bags, my luxury watches—all replaced with high-quality fakes. The bastard. He hadn’t just planned to leave; he’d planned to strip-mine my life. He wanted me to pay “restitution” to his mistress, raise his kid, and take care of his mother while he lived it up with the loot from my own closet. I picked up the phone and dialed a private investigator I’d looked up online. “I need a full workup on a woman named Valerie Thorne,” I whispered. “And I need it fast.” I lay on the bed, my mind racing, until the bedroom door was slammed open. Diane was there, heaving, looking like she was about to faint. “She wouldn’t let him come back! That woman… she called the cops the moment we got there! They took my boy! They took Mark away!” Ben ran out of his room, sobbing. “Daddy! I want my Daddy!” I threw myself onto the floor, wailing with a theatricality that would have made Diane proud. “How can this be? Mark! How are we supposed to live without you?” Inside, I was beaming. The game was finally afoot. 4. The man had planned it all out: pretend to be “arrested” at the victim’s house so I wouldn’t go looking for him at the local precinct. “Mom,” I gasped, clutching her hand. “I have to see him. Take me to the station.” Diane backed away as if I were radioactive. “The officers said no visitors! He’s being processed. It’s high-security.” She wiped her eyes, her gaze darting toward Ben. “But Natalie, we have to think about his soul. We need to send money to that family. If they sign a waiver saying they forgive him, his sentence might be lighter.” She was laying it on thick, nodding at Ben to join in. “Mommy, please! Save Daddy!” the boy cried, clutching my skirt. I felt a chill. They were asking me to fund his honeymoon with Valerie. They thought I was the world’s biggest idiot. I nodded. “You’re right. Let me get my card.” I went back into the room. I saw the relief on Diane’s face through the crack in the door. I didn’t grab my card. I grabbed the folder of “evidence” Mark had been “keeping” in his desk—the fake documents he’d used to convince me of his crime. But tucked in the back, I found something real. I drove straight to the address of the “victim,” Valerie Thorne. When she opened the door, she looked the part of the grieving widow—sad eyes, messy hair—but she couldn’t hide the smug superiority in her gaze. “What are you doing here?” she snapped. “Haven’t you people done enough to us?” She was holding the hand of a thin, pale little girl. The performance was flawless. You’d think her world had actually ended. Diane, who had followed me, immediately dropped to her knees, sobbing at Valerie’s feet. “Valerie… please. We were wrong. I’ll do anything. Just please, find it in your heart to forgive my Mark.” She almost let the word “dear” slip out before “Mark.” It confirmed everything. Then Diane reached up and tried to pull me down to the floor with her. “Natalie, kneel! Beg her for your husband’s life!” 5. Are you kidding me? The wife apologizing to the mistress? Not in this lifetime. I wrenched my hand away. Diane lost her balance and hit the floor hard, letting out a sharp yelp of pain. I blinked, looking confused. “Mom, how did you know her name was Valerie?” Diane’s eyes went wide. She scrambled for an excuse. “I… I didn’t at first! Mark told me on the way over. He said we owed her everything. He told me to take care of Valerie.” Ben chimed in, “Yeah, Dad mentioned her before.” I looked at Ben, and my heart turned to stone. My son. He was lying to me for a new Lego set and a father who didn’t even want him. He was a little traitor in the making. I looked at the little girl standing behind Valerie. She was staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. She looked… hauntingly familiar. She looked exactly like I did in my childhood photos. A dark, terrifying suspicion began to take root in my gut. Valerie stepped forward, blocking my view of the girl. She sneered, “If you want me to drop the civil suit, I want half a million. Not a cent less. Or I’ll make sure he rots.” She slammed the door in our faces. Diane turned to me, her face contorted with desperation. “Natalie, please! Save him! I’ll be your slave for the rest of my life! He’s my only son!” She was wailing, but I knew the game. She was trying to guilt-trip me into emptying my savings. “Mom, stop it,” I said, lifting her up. “Mark is my husband. Of course I’m going to save him.” A flash of triumph crossed Diane’s face. Valerie, listening behind the door, must have felt the same. Then I pulled out the folder. “But you’re right, Mom. Mark wanted to be an honest man. I can’t let his sacrifice be in vain. These are the documents he mentioned—the evidence of his ‘crime.’ I’m going to take them to the police station right now so they have everything they need for the investigation. We shouldn’t make the detectives do extra work.” 6. I turned to walk away. Ben went white, trembling. Diane scrambled to block my path. Valerie threw the door back open, looking like a cornered animal. If I took that to the police, the “fake” robbery would become a very real investigation into their fraud. “Natalie, honey, go home and watch Ben,” Diane stammered. “I’ll take the papers. You’ve had such a long day. Here, have some water.” She handed me a plastic cup from the small table by the door. As I reached for it, I noticed a white, powdery residue at the bottom. Valerie chimed in, her voice shaking. “You know what? Maybe we don’t need the evidence. I… I’m sure it was an accident. I don’t want to be bitter.” An accident? A robbery-homicide was an “accident”? I set the water down, my voice ringing with righteous fury. “No, Valerie. I won’t let you be silenced. My husband has caused you so much pain. I know that if he were here, he’d want me to do the right thing.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 before they could stop me. “Hello? I’d like to report a confession. My husband, Mark Miller, just admitted to a 2003 cold case robbery and homicide. I have the evidence in my hand…” I ignored their screams. I hopped into a passing taxi. Diane and Valerie were pounding on the windows, screaming my name as the car pulled away. My phone started blowing up. “Natalie, if you go through with this, I will disown you!” Diane texted. “Natalie, let’s talk! We can figure this out! You don’t have to be so drastic! Come back!” Even Valerie was suddenly “forgiving,” pleading for me to stop. And then, a text from Mark’s “private” number: “Babe, don’t worry about the police. Just take care of Ben. I don’t want you stressed. Stay home.” The desperation was palpable. As the taxi sped toward the precinct, a single sheet of paper fell out of the folder. I picked it up. It was a DNA test. My hands shook as I read the results. The suspicion I’d felt earlier was confirmed. I looked up. We were at the station.

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I was the only man at the academy. When my predecessor finished handing over his responsibilities, he left me with a single sentence that hung in the humid air of the faculty lounge like a threat. “It’s paradise, Nick. But it’s also hell.” 1 Tyler Kent didn’t look back after he said it. He just shouldered his tattered duffel bag and walked out the gate. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my mind a complete blank. To be honest, I’d been in a daze ever since I signed the contract. I was a PE major, fresh out of state college with a resume that had been rejected by every suburban high school in the tri-state area. Verity Academy was the only place that called me back. It wasn’t until I arrived that I realized Verity was an all-girls boarding school. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why would a private girls’ academy hire a male gym teacher? Even for athletics, wouldn’t they prefer a woman? But the salary was nearly double the market rate, and they provided a private studio apartment on campus. I told myself to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth. Take the win, Nick, I thought. Just do the job. When I first arrived, the Dean of Students, Vicky Russo, told me to shadow Tyler for the afternoon. The sight of him nearly made me jump. The man wasn’t just thin; he was haunting. His cheeks were hollowed out into deep craters, his eyes were ringed with bruised-looking shadows, and his lips were a ghostly, bloodless grey. He was over six feet tall, yet he looked like a skeleton draped in a thin, translucent layer of skin. My first thought was that he was terminal. Cancer, maybe. Or a serious addiction. Tyler was icy. He gave me the technical rundown—schedules, equipment keys, locker room protocols—but nothing else. Yet, I felt his eyes on me. Every time I turned my back or reached for a clipboard, I could feel his clouded, yellowing gaze tracing the lines of my shoulders. It made my skin crawl. As he finished the handover, Tyler gave me one last, lingering look. It was a jagged cocktail of envy, resentment, and a deep, vibrating fear I couldn’t yet name. “It’s paradise,” he repeated, his voice a raspy whisper. “But it’s also hell.” Then he limped away. I watched him go, thinking he’d clearly lost his mind. When you’re that sick, I figured, your brain starts playing tricks on you. I sat down at my new desk and stretched, trying to shake off the unease. I was excited, or at least I wanted to be. I started organizing my gear in the drawers. In the very bottom one, tucked under a stack of old rosters, I found a personnel file. It was Tyler’s. I opened it, expecting to see a man in his late forties. My heart skipped a beat. Tyler Kent was twenty-four. My age. I squinted at the paper, my blood turning to ice. His start date was only one month ago. Attached to the corner of the document was his headshot from the day he was hired. The man in the photo had a broad, dazzling smile and bright eyes. He was wearing a white tank top that showcased bronzed, powerful muscles—the kind of physique you only get from years of dedicated training. He looked like an Olympian. If I hadn’t seen the shell of the man who just left, I never would have believed they were the same person. A cold tremor started in my gut and worked its way up my spine. What could happen to a man in thirty days to turn him into a ghost? What kind of “paradise” did this to people? 2 I didn’t have time to dwell on it. The door creaked open, and Vicky Russo stepped in. “Come on, Nick. Your senior girls are waiting for their first session. Let’s not keep them standing around.” She reached out, her hand lingering on my forearm as she guided me toward the door. I felt a flush creep up my neck. Vicky was in her early thirties, possessing a lush, curated beauty. Her pencil skirt was tailored to perfection, hugging curves that felt almost distracting in a school setting. I wasn’t used to that kind of casual intimacy, especially not from a superior. Vicky noticed my hesitation and offered a small, knowing smirk. “We’re all adults here, Nick. No need to be so stiff.” She tilted her head, her eyes scanning my face. “If you’re blushing at me, you’re going to have a heart attack when you see the students.” I looked away, embarrassed. But she had a point. If I was going to survive in an environment surrounded by women, I needed to get my head in the game. As we walked toward the athletic complex, Vicky gave me the “Verity Pitch.” The school was a sanctuary, she said. Most of the girls were orphans or from foster systems—children of the state who had nowhere else to go. Verity was funded by the “Pure Virtue Foundation,” a massive charitable trust that covered every cent of their tuition, board, and healthcare. I felt a surge of genuine respect. In a world where everything has a price tag, a foundation dedicated to lifting girls out of poverty felt like a miracle. But then she mentioned the rules. Verity was a “closed campus.” No one left except for major holidays. If a student tried to sneak out, the punishment was “severe and non-negotiable.” The same applied to the staff. I looked up at the perimeter fence—twelve feet of chain link topped with coils of razor wire. Security cameras were tucked into every corner, and the female guards at the gate looked more like mercenaries than campus safety. “Vicky,” I asked, my voice low. “If someone actually breaks the rules… if they try to run… what kind of punishment are we talking about?” Vicky stopped walking. The air between us seemed to thicken. She looked at me, and for a split second, the polished mask slipped. Beneath the professional poise, I saw a flash of raw, jagged terror. “It’s better for everyone if you just don’t break them,” she said. The fear vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined it. She pushed open the heavy double doors of the gymnasium. I stepped inside, and the world changed. 3 The gym was a cacophony of high-pitched chatter and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood. As the doors swung shut, the noise hit me like a physical wave. In the center of the court, about thirty girls were warming up. They were wearing fitted spandex shorts and tight athletic tops. Everywhere I looked, there was glowing, flawless skin and the fluid movement of young bodies. My breath hitched in my throat. Vicky clapped her hands sharply. “Line up!” The girls scrambled into a perfect formation, their eyes instantly locking onto me. “Ladies, meet your new Physical Education instructor, Mr. Nick Dawson.” Thirty voices chimed in a practiced, melodic unison that echoed off the high ceiling. “Good morning, Mr. Dawson! Welcome to Verity!” I felt the heat rise in my cheeks again. “Hi… uh, hello, everyone.” A few of the girls giggled, whispering to each other behind manicured hands. Vicky patted my shoulder, her smile unreadable. “Enjoy your first lesson, Nick.” The moment she left, the atmosphere shifted. The girls’ gazes became bolder, more predatory. I had changed into my own workout gear—a navy tank and shorts—and I could feel their eyes roaming over my arms and chest with an intensity that felt wrong. It wasn’t like being a teacher. It felt like being an exhibit. Or a piece of meat. I shook it off. Focus, Nick. First impressions are everything. I took a deep breath and stepped into the center of the circle. I led them through a series of deep stretches and rhythmic warm-ups. They were remarkably coordinated. But as I moved among them, I noticed something odd. Every single one of them had a “perfect” physique. Their skin was luminous, their muscle tone was impeccably balanced, and they moved with a strange, synchronized grace. It wasn’t just one or two girls; it was all of them. It felt statistically impossible to have a class of thirty girls who all looked like fitness models. I pushed the thought aside. We were doing a teamwork drill—the three-legged race. It was a classic for building core stability and communication. As I was handing out the Velcro straps, a girl stepped forward. “Mr. Dawson? I’m the class captain, Josie Hart.” Josie had a soft, round face and wide, innocent eyes that contrasted sharply with her athletic build. She was, by any standard, stunning. She walked right up to me and touched my arm, her voice a sugary pout. “We’ve never done this before. Would you mind showing us how it works? You know, as a demonstration?” I hesitated, then nodded. It was a good way to build rapport. “Sure, Josie. Let’s do it.” I knelt to strap my left leg to her right. As I did, Josie leaned in close—closer than she needed to. I caught a glimpse of the other girls’ faces. They weren’t cheering; they looked murderous. There was a palpable wave of jealousy and resentment directed at Josie just for being near me. I stood up, and Josie immediately clung to my arm for balance. She smelled… incredible. It wasn’t perfume. It was something deeper—a rich, intoxicating scent that made my head swim. “Ready?” I asked, my voice sounding strained. We took a few steps. I was trying to explain the mechanics of the stride, but Josie was heavy against my side. Suddenly, she tripped. She went down, pulling me with her. I landed hard, pinned directly on top of her. The scent—that strange, floral, musk-heavy aroma—exploded in my senses. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. My vision blurred. A voice in the back of my mind—dark and honey-thick—started whispering: Go ahead. Do it. Take what you want… I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper. The sharp pain cleared the fog. I realized my hands were clamped around Josie’s waist, and my face was inches from hers. I scrambled back, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. “I’m sorry! I—” I was terrified. This was it. First day, and I’d be fired for misconduct. If she complained, my career was over before it started. But Josie wasn’t angry. She looked… disappointed. Almost frustrated. The rest of the girls stood in eerie silence. They didn’t laugh or tease. They just watched us with those cold, hungry eyes. I somehow finished the class, moving like a robot. The moment the bell rang, I practically sprinted out of the gym. At the corridor corner, I ran into Vicky again. She leaned against the wall, watching me with a tilted head. “Class finished early, Nick?” I couldn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. Just… getting the hang of things.” Vicky’s smile widened. It wasn’t a kind smile. “Don’t worry, Nick. You’ll have plenty of time to get close to the students. Go on, get some lunch. You’ll need your energy.” I made my way to the cafeteria, my nerves fried. As I walked through the doors, that smell hit me again. It was overpowering here, wafting from a large, steaming vat at the front of the serving line. Dozens of girls were lined up, holding out ceramic bowls for a ladle-full of a thick, amber-colored broth. I moved toward the vat, curious, but Vicky appeared out of nowhere and caught my elbow. “That’s the student menu, Nick. Staff dining is through those doors.” The faculty meal was decadent. Oysters, braised turtle, ginseng soup, and slow-roasted chicken. It was better than any five-star restaurant I’d ever been to. Vicky sat across from me, watching with eerie satisfaction as I ate every bite. “You’re done for the day, Nick,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Explore the grounds. Head back to your room. Just stay away from the Shadow Wing at the back of the campus. It’s off-limits to everyone except authorized personnel. Clear?” Her eyes turned cold, a silent warning. I nodded. I spent the evening wandering the empty courtyards. By 6:00 PM, the campus felt like a ghost town. Not a single student was in sight. My feet eventually led me toward the Shadow Wing—a massive, windowless concrete block. The curtains were drawn tight over every glass pane. As I drew closer, I heard it. A faint, rhythmic sound. Moaning. It sounded like dozens of women, all crying out in unison. It was the sound of a fever dream. Were the girls in there? What was happening behind those thick walls? Curiosity overrode my fear. I crept toward a ground-floor window, looking for a gap in the curtains. Suddenly, a heavy hand slammed onto my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Two female guards stood behind me, their faces grim, their hands resting on their holstered batons. “Mr. Dawson. You were told this area is restricted.” I stammered an apology, claiming I’d gotten lost in the dark. “Don’t let it happen again,” one of them barked. I retreated to my dorm, but the adrenaline wouldn’t subside. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Josie’s scent still clinging to the back of my throat. Just as I was finally drifting off, a sharp, frantic knocking erupted at my door. “Mr. Dawson? Nick? Please… it’s Josie.”

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Saturday at noon, the buzzer rang. A lawyer was standing on my porch, looking crisp and out of place in my neighborhood. “Susie Beck has passed away,” she said, her voice practiced and neutral. “Her will names you as her sole beneficiary. It’s an estate valued at five million dollars.” Susie Beck. My ex-girlfriend. We’d been over for two years. The lawyer handed me a brass key. “She said there was something you had to collect in person.” When I got to her place, the wake was still in full swing. Her current boyfriend was draped over her casket, wailing for the benefit of the room. The second he saw me, he started screaming that I was there to rob the dead. I didn’t have the energy for him. I went upstairs. I pushed open the door to the study, and there she was—a girl, maybe five or six, with dark, searching eyes. She stared at me, unblinking. “Are you Ben? My mom said if she died, I was supposed to go with you.” 01 Saturday morning, the vents in my cramped apartment were humming with the smell of searing meat. I was standing over the stove, dropping cloves and a cinnamon stick into my beef stew—the secret she’d taught me. Then the doorbell rang. The woman outside was in her thirties, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit with a briefcase that screamed billable hours. she looked me up and down, then forced a professional smile. “Mr. Ben Bennett?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at the card she held out. Halloway & Associates. Diana Halloway, Senior Partner. “What is it?” “I am the executor of Susie Beck’s estate.” She paused, letting the name hang in the air like a ghost. “Her will names you as the sole heir. This includes the property, her vehicle, and liquid assets totaling approximately five million dollars. If you have a moment, we should discuss the details.” Susie Beck. I handed the card back and started to close the door. She wedged her hand against the frame. “Mr. Bennett, I realize this is a shock—” “A shock?” I looked at her, my heart thumping a jagged rhythm against my ribs. “I haven’t spoken to that woman in two years. You show up and tell me she left me five million dollars? Either she lost her mind, or you’ve got the wrong house.” Ms. Halloway didn’t flinch. She pulled a notarized document from her bag. “This is the will. You can verify the signature yourself.” I didn’t take it. “Why isn’t she here telling me this herself?” The lawyer went quiet for two beats. She looked up, her expression softening just a fraction. “Ms. Beck was killed in a car accident three days ago. The body has already been cremated.” The hallway went silent. Downstairs, a neighbor’s kid was crying. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. I took the papers then. I flipped through them. The seal was real. The stamps were real. And that signature—I knew it better than my own. I used to sign for her packages all the time because she hated her own handwriting. She used to call it “chicken scratch.” “Why me?” I asked, closing the folder. “What about the guy she was with? Justin?” Ms. Halloway shook her head. “Mr. Justin Shaw was not mentioned in the will.” Justin Shaw. I’d heard the name. Two years ago, when Susie called to end things, I’d heard a man’s voice in the background calling her name. That was him. I shoved the papers back at her. “I don’t want the money. Give it to charity. Give it to him. I don’t care.” “Ms. Beck expected you to say that.” The lawyer reached into her bag again and produced a small, cream-colored envelope. It looked like it had been crumpled up and smoothed out a dozen times. Inside was a single slip of paper. One sentence. You always forget the cinnamon in the stew; who’s going to buy it for you when I’m gone? I gripped the paper so hard my nails dug into my palm. “Is there anything else?” Ms. Halloway hesitated, then handed me a brass key with a small tag: 1802. I knew that number. Susie used to say she wanted to live on the eighteenth floor because it felt like being closer to the clouds. I told her it was a long way to fall. She told me she liked the view. “When did it happen?” “Last Wednesday night. 10:47 PM. On the I-95. A single-vehicle accident. She hit the guardrail.” Last Wednesday. I’d been working late. My phone had buzzed around nine, but I thought it was a spam alert. I never checked it. After the lawyer left, I shut the door and went back to the kitchen. The stew had cooled, a thin layer of fat congealing on the surface. I turned the burner back on. I watched the bubbles start to break the surface, the scent of cinnamon rising in the steam. She remembered how I liked it. She remembered I hated cilantro. She remembered everything, except how to stay alive. 02 The moment the key turned in the lock, the door was pulled open from the inside. A thick cloud of incense and lilies hit me. The living room had been stripped of its furniture to make room for a makeshift shrine. In the center hung a black-and-white photo of Susie, surrounded by white roses. A man in a tailored black suit stood in the foyer. His eyes were red and puffy, but his hair was perfectly styled. He glared at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into his yard. “What are you doing here?” Justin Shaw. The voice from the phone two years ago. I didn’t answer. I brushed past him. The room was full—distant relatives in black, business associates in expensive watches, and in the corner, a middle-aged couple. The woman was sobbing into a tissue; the man was staring at nothing, a dead cigarette in his hand. Susie’s parents. I’d met them once, three years ago, at a Thanksgiving dinner that felt like a lifetime ago. “I asked you a question!” Justin followed me, his voice rising. “Susie’s gone. You don’t get to show up now and play the grieving ex. Isn’t the inheritance enough for you?” The room went dead silent. Every head turned. I set the key down on the entry table. “I’m here for something she left me.” “Left you?” Justin let out a sharp, jagged laugh. His eyes were wild. “Nothing here is yours. You broke up two years ago! Two years! Do you have any idea what her life was like? Do you know—” He choked up, glancing at the photo. “The night she died, she was on her way to see me.” A murmur went through the crowd. Susie’s mother stood up and grabbed Justin’s hand. “Justin, don’t waste your breath on him. Susie was too kind for her own good. She left him a little something out of pity. Just think of it as a parting gift to a beggar.” I looked at her. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Ma’am,” I said quietly. “Your daughter is barely cold, and you’re already trying to play the saint with her money?” Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “How dare you!” “I’m just here for the truth.” I walked toward the stairs. “The lawyer gave me the key. Susie left me something. I’m taking it and leaving.” “Stop right there!” Justin lunged for my arm. “You’re not welcome here! Get out!” He was close enough that I could smell his cologne. It was a brand Susie had bought for me once. I’d told her it was too heavy, and she promised to get me something lighter next time. She never did. She just got a different man. “Justin,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Your hair is out of place.” He instinctively reached up to touch his head. I used the second of distraction to slip past him and head up the stairs. The master bedroom door was open—a big bed, a walk-in closet, a framed photo of Justin on the nightstand. I kept walking. The door at the end of the hall was shut. I turned the knob. The room was small. A twin bed, a desk, a bookshelf. A computer sat on the desk, a thin layer of dust on the monitor. This was Susie’s sanctuary. When she used to stay at my place, she’d talk about having her own “think tank”—a room where she could shut the world out. I went to the desk and pulled the top drawer. Right on top was a photograph. It was us. Three years ago, at the coast. She’d dragged a stranger over to take it, saying we needed “official evidence” for our future wedding. In the photo, she’s beaming, her eyes crinkled at the corners, and I’m leaning into her, looking resigned but happy. Under the photo was a thick, bulging envelope. Before I could touch it, a scream erupted from downstairs. “Junie! Junie, stop!” Heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs. I turned as a small figure appeared in the doorway. She was five, maybe six. Thin. Her bangs were too long, obscuring half her brow. She wore a navy blue sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing pale, spindly wrists. She looked at me with an intensity no child should have. “Are you Ben?” she asked. I slowly put the envelope down. “Do I know you?” She didn’t answer. She walked into the room and stood right in front of me, forcing me to look up. “My mom said if she died, I was supposed to go with you.” 03 I knelt so I was eye-level with her. “What exactly did your mom tell you?” She watched me, her pupils dark and vast. “She said you have a sharp tongue but a soft heart.” She paused. “She said you make the best beef stew.” The shouting downstairs was getting louder. Justin’s voice cracked as he hit the landing. “Junie! Get out of there right now!” The girl didn’t move. She glanced at the envelope in my hand, then back at me. “You should take those,” she said. “She wrote them for you.” “How do you know they’re for me?” “She wrote every night.” The girl pointed to the drawer. “She’d finish one and put it in there. She’s been doing it for six months.” I pulled the drawer open further. It was packed with envelopes, all stacked neatly, each marked with a date. Justin burst into the room, Susie’s mother right behind him. “Junie!” Justin grabbed her arm, yanking her back. “What are you doing? Come to Daddy.” Daddy? The girl stumbled, but she didn’t make a sound. She just looked at me—not for help, but with a strange, analytical gaze. Like she was verifying a fact. “Justin,” I said, standing up. “Is she yours?” Justin pulled the girl behind him. “She’s my daughter. What’s it to you? You want to try and steal her, too?” “I’m not trying to steal anything,” I said. “I’m just wondering why Susie’s will didn’t mention her.” Justin’s face went stiff. Susie’s mother stepped in, her voice frantic. “The girl belongs with Justin. They just hadn’t finalized the paperwork yet. You don’t put things like that in a will.” “Is that right?” I looked at the girl peeking out from behind Justin’s leg. “What’s your name, kid?” She opened her mouth, but Justin clamped a hand over it. “Stop talking to him! This is none of your business!” “Did you and Susie ever get married?” I asked. Justin didn’t say a word. “No,” I answered for him. “And if you aren’t married, how is she on the birth certificate? Whose last name does she have?” Susie’s mother looked at Justin, her eyes darting nervously. Justin gritted his teeth. “This is a family matter. Take your money and get out before I call the police.” Junie twisted out of his grip and stepped back toward me. Justin’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. “Junie!” The girl looked up at me. “My name is Daisy. My mom picked it.” “Daisy,” I repeated. “Your mom picked it?” She nodded. “Was she married to him?” She shook her head. “Then who’s your father?” She looked at Justin, then went silent. Justin lunged for her again, this time with force. His fingers dug into her small arm. Daisy winced, but she didn’t cry out. “Let her go,” I said. “Why should I?” “Because you’re hurting her.” “She’s my daughter. I’ll do what I want.” I stared at him. He stared back, his eyes bloodshot, his composure crumbling. Susie’s mother started pulling on his sleeve. “Justin, honey, let’s go downstairs. Let’s just let him leave.” Justin dragged Daisy toward the door, but she suddenly looked back at me. “My mom said if she died, I was supposed to be with you.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. Justin froze. Susie’s mother froze. I stood there, paralyzed. “Shut up!” Justin hissed. “Your mother was drunk when she said that. She didn’t mean it.” Daisy ignored him. She just kept her eyes on mine. “Will you take me?”

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I was moving to France for a prestigious faculty exchange, and Madeline was my biggest cheerleader. Everyone in our circle envied me. They told me I had the perfect partner, a woman who was even secretly planning a surprise wedding to celebrate my return. But then I found the files on her laptop—hundreds of petitions sent to the board, demanding the return of a specific male student from the same overseas program. The name on the wedding venue bookings wasn’t mine, either. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t even confront her. I simply offered them my silent blessing because, honestly, I had stopped caring. It was only when I vanished from her life that Madeline finally lost her mind at the altar. 1 “Oliver, are you absolutely sure about switching to the permanent tenure track in Lyon? And… have you talked to Madeline about the wedding date? It literally clashes with your flight.” I stared at Madeline’s computer screen, dazed by the sheer volume of wedding drafts. The other professors had whispered to me that she was planning a surprise, telling me to act surprised. Madeline herself had kept her lips sealed, and for a fleeting moment, I’d been touched. I thought she was finally making an effort for us. But every single draft featured the names Madeline and Daniel. My name was nowhere to be found. No wonder she had been so supportive of me taking the position in France. She wasn’t cheering for my career; she was trading me for Daniel’s return. I clenched my fists and took several deep, jagged breaths. Finally, I spoke with a hollowed-out certainty. “This wedding… it was never for me anyway. Keep the departure time as it is.” Eight years of devotion had led to this. If this was what her love looked like, I didn’t want it anymore. Just as I confirmed the ticket, my phone buzzed. It was Madeline. “How long do you expect everyone to wait for you, Oliver? I know it’s your send-off, but do you really have to pull the ‘Prince Charming’ act and show up late?” I looked at the clock. The party wasn’t scheduled to start for another thirty minutes. Her impatience had arrived well before the guests. I gave her a non-committal response and hung up. My eyes fell on our matching phone cases. A wave of nausea hit me. I had picked them out with such care, but Madeline had called them “tacky” and “unprofessional” for the department. She’d only agreed to use hers at home. Seeing it now just felt like a weight around my neck. I peeled it off, tossed it into the trash, and walked out the door. When I arrived, a colleague thrust a massive bouquet of roses into my arms, winking toward Madeline. “You really picked a winner, Oliver. She went all out for you!” Whenever she upset me, Madeline usually apologized with flowers. But this was different. Roses? She never gave me roses. Before I could say a word, my colleague excitedly pulled the card from the stems and read it aloud to the room. “Dearest Daniel, thank you for coming back to me. You make my life bloom like these roses. Love, Madeline.” The silence that followed was deafening. I felt my fingernails dig into my palms, the sharp sting of pain the only thing keeping me upright. “Oh, I think those were meant for me!” A set of footsteps approached. Daniel stopped right beside me, plucked the flowers from my hands, and took a deep, theatrical breath. “Madeline always did know I have a thing for red roses,” he said, beaming. Then he turned to me with a smug, knowing tilt of his head. “You must be the ‘best friend’ she mentioned. Thanks for the assist on the transfer, man. I owe you one for getting me back from France.” 2 I looked at those roses and felt a ghost of a laugh catch in my throat. I remembered a day when Madeline had accidentally smashed all our dinnerware. She hadn’t bothered to replace it, and when I came home late, exhausted and hungry, she realized she’d forgotten about me entirely. Guilt-ridden, she had run out in a torrential downpour and returned with a massive bunch of chrysanthemums. I had laughed then, telling her those were for funerals, teasing her about her lack of romantic intuition. But looking at the roses in Daniel’s hand, I realized it wasn’t a lack of intuition. It was a lack of intent. She hadn’t been “bad at romance” for eight years; she just hadn’t wanted to waste the good stuff on me. “Yeah,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “I’m her ‘best friend.’ Let me show you in.” The moment Madeline saw Daniel enter, she stood up, her eyes locked on him as if the rest of the room had dissolved. Her friend, Cassidy, sidled up to me, offering a pitying pat on the shoulder. “Oliver, don’t read too much into it. She just hasn’t seen Daniel in forever. Don’t be weird about it.” I waved her off with a casual shrug. “Why would I be weird? They look great together, don’t they?” Cassidy blinked, stunned. She was the one who had watched me crawl out of bed with a 103-degree fever to go buy Madeline hangover meds. She was the one who had taken my frantic midnight calls asking if she knew where Madeline was. As Madeline’s best friend, she had likely viewed me as little more than a placeholder for the last decade. Seeing she had nothing left to say, she drifted away awkwardly. A few minutes later, I noticed Madeline’s phone on the table. She had a plain white case on it now. On a whim, I nudged it. It wasn’t a case—it was a skin. And tucked underneath the translucent plastic was a small, red-backed passport photo of the two of them. My hands shook as I looked at it. In all our years together, there wasn’t a single photo of me in her phone. She’d always cooed that “we see each other every day, why do we need digital memories?” I had been stupid enough to believe her. But her laptop was a shrine to Daniel—thousands of photos from every conceivable angle. The realization didn’t break my heart; it simply extinguished it. The send-off party for me had officially morphed into a homecoming for Daniel. Madeline was a shadow at his side, laughing at his jokes, hovering over him, even intercepting his drinks. When I tried to maintain a polite smile, she pulled me aside, her voice sharp with unprovoked irritation. “Stop looking at him like that! Can’t you just be a gracious host? Is it so hard to be happy for someone else’s arrival?” The words hit like a physical blow. The sheer audacity of it—trading my life for his and then accusing me of being the small-minded one. Even though I was already halfway out the door, the sting of her blatant favoritism still tasted like ash. I didn’t want her to see me cry. I grabbed a margarita from a passing tray to hand to a colleague, but Madeline swiped it out of my hand, splashing it across the floor. With her other hand, she firmly covered Daniel’s eyes. “Daniel, don’t look! You know you can’t stand the sight of blood-red colors!” Daniel let out a charming chuckle and pulled her hand down, pinching her cheek playfully. “Maddie, that was a lie I told during a game of Truth or Dare in high school. I can’t believe you still remember that! You’re such a dork.” The tears came then, silent and hot. She remembered a high school lie from a decade ago, but she couldn’t remember a single thing about me. I hated the color blue, yet when we renovated the apartment, she painted the bedroom navy. She’d looked at me with genuine confusion when I pointed it out. “I thought you liked blue…” I had spent years telling myself she was just forgetful. I was too afraid to admit that she simply didn’t care to remember. Eight years is a long time to live with someone and leave absolutely no footprint in their world. Daniel walked over, patting Madeline on the back. “Oliver, don’t be mad. She gets like this when she drinks. I used to make her warm honey water back in the day—one cup and she’s a total kitten.” 3 I didn’t say a word. I just watched her lean into him, her head resting on his shoulder with a comfort she never showed me. “Oliver, do you have honey at your place?” Daniel asked. “I’ll text you the recipe. Make sure she drinks it.” How could I ever compete with the person she’d loved since she was fifteen? It was a losing game. It was time to forfeit. “Why don’t you come over and make it yourself?” I suggested. Madeline looked up, her expression flickering with a brief, panicked uncertainty. But when the Uber arrived, she didn’t hesitate. she held the door open for Daniel, ushered him into the back seat, and only then realized there was no room for me. She started to step out, looking conflicted, but I was already closing the door. “Don’t worry about it,” I said through the window. “I can’t compete with a friendship that goes back to middle school.” Madeline looked down, unable to meet my eyes. As the car pulled away, I saw them through the rear window. She was curled into him, but whenever she felt like she might get sick, she’d sit up and steady herself. I started laughing to myself on the sidewalk. She’s holding it in. Whenever I picked her up drunk, she’d vomit all over my car without a second thought. I was the one who had to apologize to the drivers and spend my Sundays scrubbing the upholstery. She didn’t hold it in for me because she didn’t care if she disgusted me. She cared what Daniel thought. When I eventually got home, Daniel was in the kitchen, and Madeline was surprisingly sober after her honey water. “Maddie, I just got back and… I don’t really have a place to stay yet. Do you have a spare room?” Madeline didn’t even glance at me for permission. “Of course. Actually, take the master suite. It’s more comfortable.” “Madeline,” I said, my voice flat. “Are you planning on sleeping in there with him too?” She froze, then turned to me with a cold, warning stare. “That’s none of your business, Oliver.” I laughed again. My mistake. Why ask a question when the answer is already written on the wall? I retreated to the guest room, but a few minutes later, Madeline pushed the door open. “Oliver, it’s not what you think.” I almost wanted to applaud her. The sheer nerve it took to offer an explanation at this point. “I get it. I really do.” “Good. Because—” “But Madeline… we’re done. It’s over.” She looked at me with genuine confusion, as if the idea of me leaving her was a linguistic impossibility. Before she could respond, Daniel burst in, looking pale. “Maddie, someone’s watching me through the window!” We were on the 28th floor. The nearest building was blocks away. It was a ridiculous, transparent plea for attention. But Madeline didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his arm. “Don’t be scared. I’ll stay with you.” As she went to set up a sleeping bag on the floor of the master bedroom, I didn’t care. Let them have the bed I’d slept in. They deserved each other’s ghosts. In my exhaustion, I knocked over a glass lamp. A jagged shard sliced deep into my palm. I had to go to the ER. Madeline saw the blood and frowned, offering a half-hearted suggestion to come with me. A year ago, I would have been pathetically grateful for the gesture. Now? I turned her down. Her face darkened instantly. As she ushered me out the door, she whispered one last thing. “Oliver, don’t do anything desperate just for attention.” I realized then: when someone doesn’t love you, even your pain is just an inconvenience to them. My last spark of affection for her finally went out. 4 I returned from the hospital, exhausted, to find Madeline in the kitchen making breakfast. In eight years, she had never cooked for me. Not once. She used to call me during my lectures just to demand I come home and make her dinner. Seeing her at the stove now was a final, bitter lesson: I wasn’t unworthy of a home-cooked meal; I was just unworthy of her effort. I ignored the bowl of oatmeal she’d set out and grabbed a box of cereal instead. Madeline’s brow furrowed. After a few seconds, she snatched the cereal from my hand. “You just got back from the hospital—” “Maddie!” Daniel’s voice drifted from the bedroom. “You haven’t read to me yet. Come help me fall back asleep.” Daniel appeared in the doorway, giving me a mock-apologetic look. “Sorry, Oliver. Maddie used to tuck me in back in the day. You don’t mind, do you?” Madeline dropped my cereal box on the counter without a backward glance. “Ignore him,” she said to Daniel, and followed him out. I sat there, staring at the cereal, when her phone—left on the counter—started buzzing. It was a notification from a wedding planner. “Hi Madeline, are there any other specific details for the ceremony tonight?” Tonight. She was doing it tonight. I decided then to give them exactly what they wanted. I finished my breakfast, and a few minutes later, Madeline emerged, leading Daniel by the hand. She dropped his hand the second she saw me. “He’s just… lightheaded. I was making sure he didn’t hit the wall.” I smiled. “You should keep holding it. Wouldn’t want him to ruin that pretty face.” Madeline stared at me, floored by my easy tone. Usually, I was the jealous type—I’d hated it when she hung out with other guys, and our biggest fights were over her secretive phone habits. Now that I didn’t care, she didn’t know how to act. “Oliver,” Daniel said, “Maddie booked a tailor for me this afternoon to get a suit fitted. Why don’t you come along? She surprised me with this homecoming, but now she wants me in formal wear!” I declined. I had a flight to catch, and my bags weren’t packed. Madeline slammed a bowl onto the counter. “What could you possibly have to do? He just got back, he doesn’t know the city. Would it kill you to be supportive for once?” I set my own bowl down calmly and looked her in the eye. “I haven’t packed for France yet. Is that a good enough reason for you?” She went quiet. She looked down, a rare flicker of guilt crossing her face. “Isn’t your flight next week?” She had pushed for me to go, yet she didn’t even know the date. I didn’t bother answering. When I didn’t move to clean up the kitchen, her temper flared again. “Oliver, do you really think I’m going to take that ‘breakup’ talk seriously from last night?” She was so deluded. She actually thought I was just throwing a tantrum to get my way. When she saw I remained expressionless, she let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Fine! Fine! We’re done! Happy?” She grabbed Daniel’s hand and stormed out. She missed three or four calls from me over the next few hours, but I wasn’t calling to beg. I was calling to say goodbye to the apartment. As I packed, I realized I owned almost nothing in this place. I checked her social media. Her pinned post was a “Save the Date” for a private ceremony that evening. As my plane climbed into the sky, I hit ‘send’ on a pre-recorded video message. My phone began to blow up with her calls as I crossed into international airspace. “Where are you? Why would you post a video like that?” “It’s not what you think, Oliver!” “Get back here right now!” I turned the phone off. The cabin pressure popped my ears, and for the first time in eight years, I could finally breathe.

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My husband is the top gynecologist in the city, but he vanished for three days and three nights to care for his secretary who claimed to have depression while I was hemorrhaging during childbirth. Later, intimate photos of the two of them spread throughout the entire city. Liam knelt by my hospital bed, his face swollen red from slapping himself. “Jenna, I was drunk that night and mistook her for you. I deserve to die.” To prove his innocence, he grabbed a scalpel and stabbed it into his own chest. Blood gushed out. I watched him confess with this insane performance and gave him one last chance. Until Sophie, his secretary, and I were both held hostage in a remote warehouse. “Jenna, you grew up in elite European schools. You’re strong—just hold on a little longer! Sophie can’t take it. She’ll lose her mind!” Liam roared as he begged the kidnappers on his knees. The high-altitude wind chilled me to the bone. But Liam didn’t know that these five years were just a gamble I made with my family. If I won, I’d spend my life with him. If I lost, I’d return to the Rivers family and inherit the fortune.

After escaping from the kidnappers, I dragged my battered body to make a call. “Dad, I lost the bet. I need to leave the country. Can you help me make arrangements?” My father paused but didn’t ask questions. “Alright. Get ready. I’ll send someone to pick you up in seven days.” After hanging up, I found a clinic by the roadside. After having my wounds simply bandaged, I returned to the villa under the servants’ mocking gazes. I never expected Liam to be waiting at home. When he saw me, he acted as if nothing had happened, pulling me into his arms. His mouth opened and closed, but all that came out was a pale: “I’m sorry.” “Sophie has depression and can’t handle stress. You know that, Jenna.” I stood still, my heart already frozen solid. Yes, between Sophie and me, he would always choose that homewrecker without hesitation. When Sophie was in a bad mood, he could stay out all night on our wedding anniversary. When Sophie had menstrual cramps and needed care, he could abandon me when I was burning with fever late at night. When Sophie’s parents got food poisoning, he could still skip my mother’s funeral to see her. But I remembered that in the beginning, when I was trapped abroad fighting against my family, he fought his way through the medical world to become a top figure in the field. He gave everything he had just to be with me. But now, that man who would firmly choose me had disappeared. I wiped the tears from my face. “Liam, but do I deserve to wait for death on the ninety-ninth floor?” Our eyes met. Liam seemed to notice my weakness. A flash of emotion crossed his face. The next second, Sophie suddenly screamed: “Liam, don’t leave me! I’m so scared!” Liam quickly pulled her into his arms, his eyes gentle. “Don’t be afraid, Sophie. I’m right here.” This scene was so familiar. Years ago, when I was injured after being kidnapped by my father’s enemies, he held me in his arms the same way, his eyes full of tenderness. “Don’t be afraid, Jenna. I’m right here.” The same person, the same words. Only the person in his arms had changed from me to Sophie. I looked at the intimate pair, my heart filled with desolation. When Liam looked up again, his face was full of irritation. “Jenna, is it really necessary to be so aggressive just because I chose to save Sophie?” “Besides, you didn’t die, did you?” He strode quickly to the third-floor balcony. “If you want an explanation, I’ll give you one!” But just as Liam took a step, Sophie threw her arms around the man’s waist. “No!” She cried with tears streaming down her face. “Miss Rivers, this is all my fault. I won’t bother you two anymore!” “Please don’t let Liam hurt himself, okay?” I somehow laughed out loud. “Fine. As long as you get out of this city, I’ll give Liam one more chance.” But after Sophie left, Liam, who usually never showed his emotions, began roaring and crying hysterically in the villa. “Jenna Rivers, you always satisfy your own needs without caring about anyone else’s wishes!” “You’re so selfish!” His eyes held a trace of coldness as he turned and left the villa. I clutched my aching abdomen and picked up my phone to schedule surgery and draft divorce papers.

The divorce procedures were complicated. As I browsed divorce information on the computer in the study, I accidentally discovered a private folder. I tried Sophie’s birthday as the password. Photos flooded out of the folder like a deluge. I knew the answer in my heart, but when I saw the proof with my own eyes, my heart ached so much I could barely breathe. Every record in the folder featured Sophie. When I was doubled over with menstrual cramps, they were chasing the sunset by the sea. When I couldn’t get a cab in the pouring rain, they were kissing under the stars. When I was being bullied by a doctor at my first prenatal checkup, they were entangled intimately in a romantic hotel. Liam expressed his love, saying he regretted not meeting her sooner. I let out a bitter laugh, my heart aching all over. The screensaver on the computer related to me seemed so pathetic compared to these thousands of photos featuring Sophie. It turned out the happiness I thought I had was built on ruins of lies. The sounds of a man and woman making love in the living room jolted me from my thoughts. Their movements continued until midnight. Torn clothes, lingerie, and mysterious stains on the carpet. Liam and Sophie lay naked on our marriage bed, their bodies tightly joined. I trembled with rage and disbelief. In five years of marriage, Liam had used his supposed germophobia as an excuse. We’d been intimate only a handful of times. Even when going through the motions of sex, he always frowned with disgust, and afterward would scrub himself raw in the bathroom, as if trying to remove a layer of skin. I never imagined he would be so shameless with another woman. I hugged the toilet and vomited until only acid remained in my stomach. After some time passed, Sophie appeared wearing my silk nightgown, deliberately showing off the red marks on her chest. “Sorry, Jenna, we made a mess of your room.” “But you can see it too, right? Liam can’t bear to let me go. I’m the one he loves.” Seeing my silence, Sophie even provocatively held up the sachet in her hand. “Your sachet is really useful. Liam got even more intense in bed when he smelled it!” I recognized the familiar scent and trembled with rage. The scars on my knees from kneeling to pray for blessings still remained, throbbing on rainy days. Back then, I had reverently hung the sachet I obtained on Liam’s body. But it became a toy for him and Sophie’s flirtation. When I knelt in the scorching sun until darkness fell, my knees rubbed raw, my entire body peeling from sunburn, what was he doing? Rolling around in bed with his little secretary, enjoying paradise. But the next second, Sophie dropped to her knees in front of me with a thud and slapped herself hard.

“I know I’ve wronged you, but Liam and I truly love each other!” “I don’t want status or to compete with you for anything. I just want to stay by Liam’s side.” Her cheeks were red and swollen, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. Liam seemed to hear the commotion and rushed out from the bedroom. His expression changed several times before he ultimately chose to believe Sophie. “Jenna, I never thought you’d stoop to physical violence out of jealousy!” I found it absurd and grabbed Sophie’s collar. “Sophie, when did I touch you? Stop acting!” She secretly dug her nails into my arm. I instinctively dodged, and Sophie took the opportunity to fall to the ground. Her knee was bleeding, and she cried heartbreakingly. “It hurts so much, Liam. I’m bleeding. Will I be okay…?” In his panic, Liam knocked me to the ground. Sharp pain shot through my abdomen. Blood flowed down my legs, but I barely registered it. Liam quickly opened the car door to take Sophie to the hospital. “Sophie has poor blood clotting. If anything happens to her, I won’t forgive you!” As we got in the car, Liam suddenly grabbed my arm. “I remember you and Sophie have the same blood type. Come to the hospital with us!” Without waiting for my answer, Liam roughly shoved me into the car. Halfway through the drive, there was a loud crash. We’d had an accident. My forehead slammed hard into the front seat. Excruciating pain swept through my lower abdomen. I tried to lift my head to call for help and saw Liam protecting Sophie firmly beneath him. He carried Sophie away and calmly made calls to have people handle the situation. Not until I struggled to crawl out from the back seat did he remember my existence and look at me with some surprise. “My stomach hurts so much…” Hearing this, Sophie asked weakly: “Liam, my knee is bleeding so much. Will I die?” Before, even if I just scraped my skin a little, Liam would be extremely anxious. He’d apply medicine, feed me candy, and cheer me up. This time, he looked at me with disgust as I broke out in cold sweat. “Jenna Rivers, how long are you going to keep up this act?” “I’m not…” My voice grew weaker and weaker. Until the ambulance arrived, Liam never looked at me again. My forehead was badly swollen, my arms torn and bloody from glass. Finally, I was sent to the hospital in a daze. When I woke up, my hospital room was already surrounded by Liam’s bodyguards. Seeing me open my eyes, Liam dragged me all the way to the blood draw room and threw me on the floor in front of the nurse. “Draw as much blood from her as you can. I just need Sophie to be safe!” Blood drained from my body at an alarming rate. By the time there was no more blood to draw and my vision went black, the nurse gasped in shock. “Miss Rivers has been taking special medication recently. This blood can’t be used!” Liam’s fury exploded instantly, his eyes dark. “Let’s see you try to weasel out of this!” “Sophie was right—you’re trying to kill her!” Before he finished speaking, he ordered his men to force me to kneel on broken glass without hesitation. I cried out in pain, my whole body nearly collapsing to the ground. Liam covered Sophie’s eyes with his hand, not wanting her to see this bloody scene. He looked down at me from above. “Jenna Rivers, you think too highly of yourself. Did you really think I’d soften and let you off?”

Intense pain swept through my entire body. I gasped for air. Sweat slid into my eyes. The last trace of warmth I felt for Liam in my heart vanished completely. The bodyguards dragged me and threw me outside the hospital. It was more than ten degrees below zero outside, with heavy snow falling. I wore only thin clothes but was pressed into the snow. The bone-chilling cold made me gasp. The freezing wind blew right through me. Sophie stood under the eaves wrapped in a fluffy blanket, watching my suffering. Liam raised his hand to tighten the blanket around Sophie. “Sophie, be careful not to catch cold.” Half my body was buried in the snow. I was shivering so hard my teeth chattered. My heart felt suffocated. I slowly bent over, covering my face to swallow my grief. I went from wailing at first to finally losing all strength, left with only faint breathing. Until the kidnappers sent a message. In the video, Sophie’s kitten was tied up in a cage. Covered in blood, it seemed to have lost all signs of life. Seeing this scene, Sophie nearly fainted. Her face turned deathly pale as she shouted at the kidnappers through gritted teeth. “However much money you want, we can give it. Don’t hurt my cat—” The kidnapper on the other end laughed. “Want to save your cat? Of course. A life for a life.” “Break Miss Rivers’s legs and send her to us as a hostage.” Liam froze in place, his chest heaving violently. But I could no longer speak, only begging brokenly. “Liam, don’t…” A flash of hesitation crossed Liam’s eyes. But the next second came Sophie’s crying plea for help. “Please, I’m begging you. The kitten has been with me since I was little. It’s my life.” “If the kitten doesn’t survive, I won’t live either!” The man who had been hesitating grew determined after hearing Sophie’s cries. Liam picked up a nearby stick and approached me step by step. My heart sank to the bottom. I begged. “Liam, you can’t do this to me.” He gritted his teeth and used all his strength to smash the stick into my knees. My legs were broken alive. Heart-piercing pain drilled through my flesh and into my heart. Liam held me tightly, his voice trembling. “Jenna, forgive me.” “I can’t live without Sophie. When you come back safely, I’ll atone to you.” Sophie smiled smugly at me and turned to the kidnapper in the video. “We’ll send you the hostage right away. You must keep my kitten safe!” I was dragged and hauled by Liam to the kidnappers’ location. Liam’s eyes were filled with crimson. “Don’t blame us, Jenna. I can’t let any danger come to Sophie’s cat.” “You were born with everything, but Sophie is all alone with only her cat to keep her company.” I was covered in injuries, without even the strength to resist. “Now that we’ve brought the person, release Sophie’s cat!” Liam pushed me into the kidnappers’ hands. The kidnapper looked at me mockingly. “Miss Rivers is truly pitiful—worth less than a mistress.” The atmosphere grew cold. Half-opening my eyes, I watched them hurriedly leave with Sophie. Only the kidnappers and I remained. They immediately grabbed my hair and violently smashed my head against the ground. Once, twice, more than ten times. Dark red blood flowed continuously from the torn flesh, tasting fishy and bitter when it reached my mouth. The kidnapper laughed sarcastically. Seeing that I didn’t struggle or beg for mercy, he immediately lost interest. “Miss Sophie said to leave no survivors. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for provoking the wrong person.” When the cold barrel pressed against my temple, I closed my eyes, my tone extremely calm. “You really think you can kill me?” The moment the trigger was pulled, there was no expected gunshot—only the dull thud of heavy objects hitting the ground. Both kidnappers had been subdued by the men in black my father sent. Walter, the leader, rushed forward and knelt on one knee. “Mr. Rivers sent us to bring you home!” Three minutes later, more than a dozen helicopters circled on the rooftop. I picked up my phone and sent a text to my lawyer. “Withdraw all of Liam’s medical symposium funding and take back the mansion he’s currently living in.”

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After marrying Ethan Pierce, I got pregnant nine times. But I miscarried all nine times. I thought there was something wrong with my body, until I heard him talking in his study. “She betrayed me. Her dirty womb doesn’t deserve to carry my child.” “Only the pure and innocent Lily deserves to bear my child.” It turned out every miscarriage was his doing. He pampered his pregnant mistress, caused my grandmother’s death, and pushed me to the edge. But when I left him to study abroad and became a renowned doctor, he showed up in a wheelchair, begging for my forgiveness. I just smiled faintly and introduced the man beside me. “This is my husband. What are you to me?” Sophia’s POV After my ninth miscarriage, I dragged myself home exhausted, clutching the medical certificate. The moment I walked in, I heard voices from the study on the second floor. My footsteps froze. A bad feeling stirred in my gut. The next second, I heard that familiar voice, cold and detached. “Clean up the mess. Don’t let Sophia find out.” “The oil stain on the floor has been wiped clean.” Through the speakerphone, I heard his secretary Robert’s hesitant voice. “Mrs. Pierce has been hoping to have a child with you. This is her ninth miscarriage. Shouldn’t we tell her the truth?” I forced my stiff legs to carry me up the stairs. Through the crack in the study door, I saw Ethan lean back in his chair and let out a cold laugh. “She should have known the future heir of the corporation could never come from someone like her.” “This is just a taste of what she deserves.” My face went pale. My weak body trembled violently. I clutched the miscarriage notice in my hand, but tears still fell beyond my control. The man who had dined with me so gently just yesterday, who promised to go with me to my checkup, now seemed terrifyingly unfamiliar. Thinking back to every pregnancy after our marriage: being bumped into while walking, mysteriously falling down stairs, midnight fevers, food poisoning… I thought it was my body’s tendency to miscarry. I never suspected anything. Every time, I blamed myself for not being more careful. Now, looking back, every seemingly coincidental incident had something sinister behind it. But Ethan loved me so much! I forced my eyes wide open. Even though breathing was difficult, I struggled to see the person clearly. After each miscarriage, Ethan would pray in the church for a month for our unborn child. To fulfill the child’s wish, he endured rumors throughout our social circle that he was impotent, and took medication for a whole year without batting an eye. To let me rest at home and prepare for pregnancy, he hired ten nannies to take care of my every need, arranging everything down to the smallest detail. Everyone in our circle praised how madly Ethan loved me. But now the truth hit me like a slap in the face. Love and not love, which was real? I trembled as I touched my abdomen, fresh from surgery. Dull pain radiated from below, making it almost impossible to stand. “If Mrs. Pierce ever finds out, will she leave?” Robert sounded worried. Ethan looked at the photo on his desk of the two of us smiling brightly in college, his tone firm. “We swore to be together forever. Even if she betrayed me, I won’t let go. This is just a small lesson.” “It’s only a child. It won’t affect our relationship.” He paused, then continued. “That college girl Lily got pregnant with my child after that accident at the gala. Let her have it. But I promised Sophia that the position of Mrs. Pierce will always be hers.” Every word cut into me like a blade. I stood frozen, my blood running cold. I covered my mouth tightly, trying to suppress the sob rising in my throat. I suddenly didn’t know whether I should confront him about cheating with a college student, or continue explaining that the child was a misunderstanding. The first time I got pregnant, Ethan and I had been broken up for three months. Because of my special constitution, I was hit by someone on an electric bike. It wasn’t until sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen that I realized I was three months pregnant. My parents died when I was young, my grandmother was in poor health, I called him twenty times, but Ethan eventually blocked me. With no choice, I contacted a classmate who worked at the hospital. After the surgery, when my classmate helped my weak body out of the hospital, we ran into Ethan, who had just finished a meeting and rushed over. His eyes fell on my classmate’s hand supporting my arm. His face darkened like a storm. “Sophia, are you that desperate for a man? We broke up less than three months ago and you’re already pregnant with someone else’s child?” Without waiting for my pale face to respond, he turned and strode away. I wanted to explain, but he simply didn’t believe it was his child. Not until my classmate went abroad did Ethan come to marry me. “If you want me to forgive you, marry me.” I agreed. I thought I could spend the rest of my life explaining. I thought Ethan had let go of this matter. Out of carelessness for losing our first child, I gave up my career to stay home and prepare for pregnancy, just wanting to make up for that regret. Even at the cost of my own body, I never regretted it. But Ethan never believed me! My vision blurred the scene before me. I opened my mouth but couldn’t make a sound. The doorbell suddenly rang downstairs. The sharp sound made the person in the room look up toward the door. My emotions were complicated. I didn’t know how to face him. Instinctively, I turned and ran downstairs in a panic.

Sophia’s POV I opened the door to a delicate, innocent face. Her features were refined and pretty, her skin smooth and fair. Youth practically radiated from her. I looked at the woman before me in disbelief. Tears filled my eyes. I even forgot to run away. Footsteps approached from behind. A pair of large hands gripped my shoulders. Ethan’s voice came from above my head. “Why are you crying?” He frowned slightly, looking down at me in his arms, his fingers tightening. “Did someone bully you?” I didn’t answer. The paper in my hand was crumpled. I stared hard at the woman in front of me. Ethan followed my gaze. As if only now noticing the person at the door, displeasure flashed in his eyes. “Why are you here?” Lily nervously twisted the corner of her clothes, then pulled out a certificate from her bag. “The doctor said the fetus is unstable and I should drop out to rest. I’ve already processed my leave of absence.” She glanced at the man’s dark expression, then at me, stammering. “You… you said… if I ever had any trouble, I could come to you…” “You’re the baby’s father. You can’t abandon your responsibility.” Lily seemed to gather courage, looking at the man before her. Ethan irritably rubbed his temples and let go of me. “Come in first. I’ll go upstairs and call someone to take care of you.” Then he squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. She’ll leave soon.” Ethan didn’t explain Lily’s identity or the pregnancy. He turned and went upstairs to the study to get his phone. After he left, Lily’s previously timid expression vanished. She walked straight to the sofa and sat down, looking at me from across the room as if she were the mistress of this house. “So you’re that promiscuous wife Mr. Pierce talks about?” Promiscuous wife? Is that how Ethan referred to me behind my back? I struggled to breathe. Having just had surgery and lost a lot of blood, combined with my emotional turmoil, I staggered, bracing my hands against the doorframe, nearly collapsing to the ground. Seeing me like this, contempt flashed in Lily’s eyes. She crossed her arms and walked up to me step by step, warning in a low voice. “You’re a slut who slept with other men. How are you worthy of bearing Mr. Pierce’s child?” She proudly touched her still-flat belly. “Mr. Pierce said I’m the purest one. Only I’m qualified to bear his child.” “Everyone says Mr. Pierce loves you, but…” Lily looked at my dazed expression. “If it came down to the child or you, who do you think he’d choose?” What does that mean? A bad feeling suddenly hit me. I jerked my head up to look at her. The sound of a door closing came from upstairs. Before I could react, Lily suddenly grabbed my hand and violently pushed herself to the ground. Tears instantly streamed down her face. Lying on the floor, Lily clutched her belly, breaking out in cold sweat from the pain. “The baby, my baby…” Hearing the commotion, Ethan rushed downstairs and scooped Lily into his arms. “How did you fall? I’ll take you to the hospital right now.” But Lily grabbed his arm tightly, her eyes on me, her voice weak. “Mrs. Pierce, I never wanted to compete with you, but why can’t you tolerate even a child? Why did you push me?” “I didn’t!” Meeting Ethan’s gaze, I shook my head in denial. “I didn’t push her! You know I just had a miscarriage. How could I harm someone else’s child?” I kept shaking my head. I’d had nine miscarriages. No one knew better than me the pain of losing a child. How could I possibly want to harm anyone? Ethan clearly didn’t believe me. His eyes were frighteningly cold as he spoke word by word. “I saw it with my own eyes! Sophia, are you trying to deceive me again like last time?” “She fell on her own! She’s trying to frame me!” I didn’t understand why Ethan would never truly believe me. “There’s a camera at the door. Why won’t you just check it?!” I explained desperately, a sense of helplessness welling up inside. Ethan’s expression shifted, but Lily in his arms went stiff, then clutched her stomach in painful cries. “Mr. Pierce, my stomach hurts so much. Did we lose our baby?” Ethan’s thoughts were interrupted. He immediately lifted Lily in his arms. “Lily has always been pure and kind. This is your first time meeting today. She has no reason to frame you. I saw you push her with my own eyes. There’s no need to check the footage.” “Sophia, you’ve disappointed me again.” Ethan held the pale-faced Lily tightly in his arms, pushed past me standing in the doorway, and hurried out. Unprepared, my already unsteady body was knocked aside. I fell heavily to the ground with a thud and cried out in pain. Ethan’s steps paused. He didn’t look back. I finally understood. Ethan had never believed me. Those lost children were his punishment for me.

Sophia’s POV I sat slumped on the floor, looking at the miscarriage notice soaked with tears. They were both Ethan’s children. Why could he be so cruel as to personally send away nine of my babies? Before I could figure it out, my phone rang urgently. “Sophia, your grandmother’s condition has suddenly deteriorated. She urgently needs surgery…” My head exploded with a roar. I couldn’t hear the rest. By the time I reached the hospital, Grandma had lost consciousness. Seeing her lying on the bed with a breathing tube, my heart ached terribly. “The patient is very weak. The surgery can’t be delayed. We’re still short ten thousand dollars.” The doctor dutifully informed me. “We can’t reach Mr. Pierce. Your grandmother’s condition is critical. We recommend immediate surgery.” I desperately gripped the doctor’s hand, begging. “Please do the surgery first. I’ll pay the fee right now.” “I’m sorry, Sophia. The hospital has procedures.” I frantically dialed Ethan’s number. Once, twice, three times… Time passed. On the tenth call, the phone finally connected. A cold male voice came through. “What is it?” “Ethan, grandma -” I started to speak, but before I could get the words out, a young female voice cut in. “Mr. Pierce, I feel so terrible. My stomach hurts so much.” Ethan’s voice carried a hint of helplessness. “Don’t move around. The doctor will come check on you soon.” Then he hastily threw out a sentence and hung up directly. “Whatever it is, we’ll talk about it when I get back.” All the blood in my body rushed backward. My fingertips trembled slightly. When I called again, his phone was off. I had no choice but to steel myself and call Robert. “I’m sorry, I can’t give you that money. Mr. Pierce has instructed that because you did something wrong, you need to be punished.” I trembled with rage. Under my insistent questioning, Robert told me Mr. Pierce was with Lily in the VIP ward on the top floor of this very hospital. The elevator to the top floor was private access. I didn’t have a card, so I could only climb eighteen flights of stairs step by step. Along the way, my legs went weak and I fell to the ground. My knee hit the sharp edge of a step, and blood instantly flowed from the wound. Thinking of grandma hanging on by a thread, I had no other choice. I gritted my teeth and limped upward. By the time I stood at the VIP ward door, my body was soaked with sweat. My legs were sore and trembling. Blood had stained my white dress red. I raised my hand. Through the glass window, I saw Lily nestled in Ethan’s arms, acting cute. “Our baby was frightened today. The doctor said parents should spend more time with him. I heard babies can sense their mom and dad. Can you feel him?” Amused by her innocent words, Ethan rarely smiled. “It’s only been two months. It’s still just an embryo.” “But he wants his daddy to feel him.” Lily hugged Ethan’s arm coquettishly, completely different from her timid daytime performance. Ethan ultimately couldn’t resist. He obediently placed his large hand on Lily’s belly, his movements gentle. My nose stung. This was a scene I had imagined too. Once upon a time, I also dreamed of having a cute, well-behaved child with Ethan. But Ethan personally strangled my last hope. Thinking of Grandma in the hospital bed urgently needing medical fees, I finally raised my hand and pushed open the door. Hearing the sound, Ethan turned around. Seeing me, he froze, his gaze fixed on the wound on my leg. He frowned slightly and immediately wanted to get up to check on me. Lily timely gripped his hand, gently reminding him. “Mr. Pierce.” His advancing steps stopped. He suppressed his emotions. “Sophia, Lily has already forgiven you. As long as you come apologize, we can let this matter go.”

Sophia’s POV I clenched my fists, my heart filled only with bitterness. Their intertwined hands stung my eyes. I looked away, my gaze falling on Ethan’s face. “Ethan, Grandma is critically ill and needs surgery. We’re still short ten thousand dollars…” Before I could finish, Lily frowned in displeasure. “Sophia, even if you don’t want to apologize, you don’t need to use such an excuse, do you?” “I’m not.” I cut her off sharply. Lily’s eyes immediately reddened. She hugged Ethan’s arm, trembling. “Mr. Pierce, did I say something wrong? I’m so scared. Will Sophia try to harm our child again?” At this, Ethan’s expression darkened. “Sophia, it’s just an apology. If you did something wrong, you should be punished. No excuse will work.” Punishment? I tugged at my stiff lips. He’d already punished me with nine miscarriages. What more did he want? I suddenly remembered that before, when I fell and scraped my skin, Ethan’s eyes were full of heartache. He would cancel all his meetings and carefully stay by my side, summoning his private doctor to gently apply medicine to my wounds himself. But now I was a complete mess, soaked in sweat, blood still flowing from my wounds, yet he could still turn a blind eye. It was Ethan who comforted me after my miscarriages, who accompanied me through those days of lost hope. But he was also the father of those children, and their executioner. I was exhausted in body and spirit. My head felt dizzy. I dug my nails into my palms. The pain was the only thing keeping me conscious. Grandma was still waiting for the medical fees. I couldn’t be willful at a time like this. “Sophia.” Ethan’s cold tone carried veiled coercion and threat. I gave in. I bent down. “I’m sorry.” Ethan turned his head away, no longer paying attention. “Fine. This matter ends here.” He carefully helped Lily down from the bed and walked out. “Lily still needs to be examined. You should go back and treat your wound.” “Grandma needs surgery immediately!” I tried to reach out and stop Ethan. “We’re still short ten thousand.” Lily displeasedly blocked my arm. “Sophia, I heard from Mr. Pierce that your grandmother raised you since childhood. Even if you really don’t want this child, you don’t need to curse your grandmother who has cancer to death, do you?” “I didn’t!” Seeing the dissatisfaction in Ethan’s eyes, I desperately tried to explain. “Grandma’s condition has really deteriorated. She needs surgery now!” “Enough!” Ethan roughly shook off my hand. “I’ve already instructed the attending physician. If there’s any problem, they’ll contact me directly! Sophia, the position of Mrs. Pierce will always be yours. You don’t need to lie about this kind of thing.” The disappointment in his eyes was like a tangible force, transforming into countless swords that stabbed deep into my heart. In his eyes, was I really the kind of person who would use such things to compete for favor? I stood there, watching the two of them leave intimately, my vision blurring. Nurses nearby were gossiping. “Look at her. Can’t even have kids. How does someone like that get to be Mrs. Pierce?” “I heard she was jealous of that young girl’s pregnancy and tried to hurt the baby herself!” “Can you believe it?! She graduated from a top university, used to do pharmaceutical research. Who would’ve thought she could be so cruel? And she even lied about her grandmother being sick.” A sense of helplessness rose from the depths of my heart. I took out my phone and begged the doctor to operate immediately. I promised I would raise the money. “I’m sorry, Sophia.” The doctor’s words cruelly revealed the truth. “Your grandmother just passed away.” I hadn’t even seen her one last time. I turned and ran downstairs. When I gasped my way to the ward, I just saw Grandma being wheeled toward the morgue. That tightly wound string in my head finally snapped. I forgot even how to cry and collapsed straight down.

Sophia’s POV When I woke up, I stared at the white ceiling of the hospital room, feeling somewhat dazed. As if I’d had a dream. I forced myself up. Pain from my lower abdomen and wounds all over my body cruelly reminded me. The person closest to me in this world was also gone. My eyes were dry. I’d cried all my tears. “You’re awake. Drink some water first.” Ethan pushed open the door holding a glass of water. There were faint dark circles under his eyes. “You’ve been asleep for three days. Drink some water first.” I ignored his outstretched hand. “Where’s grandma?” Ethan frowned and set the glass aside. “It’s too hot. Grandma has already been cremated. Her ashes are at home, waiting for you to go back and bury them.” My nose stung. I remembered before I got married, Grandma held my hand. “You must be happy for a lifetime.” When I was born, my parents despised me and abandoned me on the street. It was grandma passing by who couldn’t bear it. She brought me home, raised me personally, and found every way possible to let me attend school. Some people didn’t understand. They mocked her, saying what good was it for a girl to study well? Better to marry someone rich. But Grandma always told me from childhood. “People can’t rely on others for a lifetime. Knowledge belongs to you. No one can take it away.” I failed Grandma’s expectations. I lost myself in this relationship. I didn’t even see the old woman one last time. Ethan stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. “Sophia, you still have me. I told you, I’ll give you a family.” Give me a family? It was my poor judgment that made me trust the wrong person, letting Ethan destroy my family! Ethan moved his lips to say something, but was interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket. “Get someone over… yes, it’s been too long… not good for the baby…” The voice came in fragments, but I could still tell it was Lily acting cute with him. Before, I would have been mad with jealousy, would have questioned him, gotten angry. But now my heart felt no ripple. Ethan glanced at me beside him, then finally nodded in agreement. “I know. Do it your way for now. I’ll come back now.” After hanging up, Ethan stood, gently adjusting the blanket corner. “Rest well. I’ll come check on you later.” I closed my eyes, ignoring him. Ethan stood in silence for a while, then finally turned and left. My fingers curled. My hand gripping the clothes trembled slightly. Ethan, I have nothing left. I gritted my teeth and forced my body up. I took a cab home. I had to let grandma rest in peace. Then I would find Ethan and divorce him. When I reached the villa entrance, strange sounds came from inside. The air was filled with an odd smell. My heart sank. A bad feeling washed over me. When I opened the door, the scene before my eyes broke my heart! The living room had been temporarily converted into a cold white memorial space. White lilies surrounded the space. In the center stood a dark urn, with an enlarged photo beside it It was grandma. Then, a strange man grabbed the photo and tossed it into a metal tray. Flames shot up, swallowing the familiar face in an instant. “No!” I screamed and ran over, trying to reach into the fire to grab the photo. “Stop Mrs. Pierce.” Ethan’s calm voice came from nearby. Bodyguards immediately stepped forward, holding me firmly outside, not letting me near the fire. “Ethan!” I lost it. “Grandma is already dead! What more do you want?!” Lily shrank back and clung to Ethan’s arm. Her lips, painted with bright gloss, pouted slightly. “Sophia, I just got pregnant with Mr. Pierce’s child and now this happens. People say your grandmother’s ghost will haunt me. We need to get rid of the bad energy.” “Absurd!” I was so angry my lips trembled. I looked at Ethan. In my memory, Ethan hated this kind of thing most. The only exception was praying for their child. I still remembered that day. Ethan was soaked through with rain, but the cross he took out from his coat was perfectly clean and dry. “Sophia, the only exception is you.” But now, looking at Ethan less than five meters away, I blinked my dry eyes. I was no longer that only exception. Ethan stared at me steadily, his tone calm and cruel. “Lily has been having nightmares and can’t sleep. She just needs a ceremony.” He paused, then continued. “Don’t worry. Grandma’s ashes have already been burned once. They won’t burn away completely.” What does “won’t burn away completely” mean? I suddenly felt the man before me was terrifyingly unfamiliar. That was my only relative, and the grandmother he promised to take care of for a lifetime. “Mr. Pierce, time is almost up.” A man in ritual robes stepped forward from behind. “The lingering anger won’t go away. An evil spirit is clinging to her. Miss Lily is pregnant and weak. She’s already been possessed.” Hearing this, Ethan withdrew his gaze and turned to look at them. “Continue.” The man was heavily equipped. He took out a bag of white phosphorus from his pack and threw it expressionlessly into the urn. “No! No! Grandma!” My eyes turned completely red. I pushed through the crowd blocking me and rushed forward. “Watch out!” Before I could get close, the white phosphorus contacted the high temperature and suddenly ignited in the air. The urn exploded. A small piece of porcelain flew past my cheek. White ashes were blown everywhere by the intense heat. Through the hazy white dust, I saw Ethan holding Lily tightly in his arms. He used his back to shield her. I suddenly remembered when the lab had a chemical explosion before, he also held me in his arms like this. Even if his back was burned, his first concern would be whether I was hurt. Blood rushed to my head. Something sweet and metallic surged in my throat. I spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. Ethan, the price of loving you is too high. I don’t want to love you anymore. I’ll give you a gift you’ll never forget.

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